Rivendell sets my teeth on edge the moment we cross the bridge.

Too clean. Too quiet. Water everywhere, whispering like it knows secrets it hasn’t earned. The stone underfoot isn’t honest stone—too smooth, too patient, like it expects you to behave yourself just because it’s pretty.

I don’t.

I keep to the Company’s edge, shoulders squared, eyes forward, every sense pulled tight as wire. She walks among us, close enough that I know her pace without looking. I don’t look. Not here. Not now.

Then Lindir steps out.

All light and welcome and damned familiarity.

He smiles like this is home—which it is—and his gaze slides past Thorin, past the Company, straight to her. His face changes. Softens. Brightens. He says her name like it’s always been his to say.

And then he touches her.

Pulls her into an embrace like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Something in me goes cold and sharp all at once.

I don’t move.

I anchor.

My feet plant into the stone like I could crack it if I wanted. My shoulders roll back, armor settling, jaw locking so hard my teeth grind. Every instinct I have screams the same word, over and over:

No.

No one touches her like that.

Not openly. Not easily. Not in front of me.

The Company feels it immediately.

Balin’s head snaps my way. Kíli stumbles half a step, glancing between Lindir and me like he’s trying to work out what insult he missed. Even Bombur goes quiet.

Lindir laughs—light, unguarded—and keeps a hand at her shoulder when he pulls back, still talking, still smiling. Too close. Too familiar.

I take one step forward before I realize I’ve moved.

Just one.

Enough.

Thorin’s voice cuts in low and sharp, pitched for my ears alone.

“Dwalin.”

I don’t look at him.

My eyes are on Lindir’s hand.

Thorin steps closer, his presence pressing against my flank like a wall I’ve leaned against my whole life.

“We don’t need to be this angry,” he says quietly. Controlled. Careful. “Not over an Elf’s manners.”

My nostrils flare.

“This isn’t manners,” I mutter.

Lindir finally seems to notice the shift. He turns, brows lifting slightly, gaze flicking from Thorin to me. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t bristle. Just… observes.

That almost makes it worse.

“Peace,” Lindir says mildly, palms open. “You are welcome here.”

I bare my teeth in something that is not a smile.

“Don’t,” I growl.

The word lands heavy. The water nearby seems to hesitate.

Thorin’s hand closes around my arm, iron grip biting through leather and mail. Not a command. A reminder.

“Stand down,” he says under his breath. “You’re making a scene.”

Am I?

The Company looks between us now, openly confused. Bifur frowns. Ori whispers something to Nori. Even Gandalf’s brows knit as he studies me with that infuriating calm of his.

No one understands why my blood is up.

Good.

They don’t get to.

I force myself to stillness, every muscle screaming against it. I don’t step back—but I don’t advance either. I hold the space like a shield braced against a blow.

Lindir inclines his head politely, stepping away at last, giving her room without comment. Smooth. Easy. Like he hasn’t just set my world on fire.

Thorin releases my arm slowly.

“Breathe,” he murmurs. “For once, take the cue.”

I exhale through my nose, hard.

My gaze never leaves Lindir as he gestures the Company forward, all grace and welcome and song threaded through his voice.

Let him have that.

Let him have his music and his smiles.

I stay where I am for a heartbeat longer, grounding myself in the weight of armor, the familiarity of iron, the certainty of things that can be broken if they cross the wrong line.

No one here knows what he almost touched.

No one here knows what is already mine to protect.

And if Rivendell thinks it’s going to test my resolve—

It’s about to learn exactly how much iron it takes to keep a secret.