The sky above Erebor burned red with fire and ash. I stood at the front gate, breath sharp in my chest, axes slick with blood. Steel rang, wargs screamed, and the ground shook beneath us. But dwarves are stone. We held.

Then a horn sounded.

Not dwarven. Not elven. Not of Men.

A call like water striking stone — sharp, silver, unmistakable.

Heads turned. Even Thorin looked.

Through the smoke, riders broke across the ridge — armor glinting pale as birch-bark, cloaks of silver-green streaming behind. Not elves of Thranduil’s making. Not Men of Dale.

Taur Im Duinath.

And at their head — you.

Twenty years since I last saw you. Twenty years since the river ran to the mountain in exile, and you stood with us when no other realm dared. Twenty years since you stayed at Thorin’s side, gave him counsel, steadied his pride… and left with nothing but a broken heart for your trouble.

I remember it clearer than battle-scars.

Thorin noticed you first. Wanted you first. Made sure every dwarf in the Company knew it.

So I stayed silent.

I thought — foolishly — that one day he would stop letting hatred guide him. That he would see past your ears, your realm, your blood. That he’d speak the truth he choked on every time you looked at him.

But Thorin loved his pride more than any promise.

He let you go.

And I let him.

Because a loyal dwarf does not reach for what his king keeps for himself, even if that king never knew how to treasure it.

But now—

There you were, riding with Dáin’s host, spear raised like a silver flame, white birch circlet catching the sun. Armor of pale steel and moss threaded green, hair like winter moonlight.

My heart stopped, clean and sudden.

Thorin’s head snapped toward me.

“So,” he said low, “you stare after her now?” I did not answer. There was no lie I could find.

Because the truth struck like a hammer:

I never stopped wanting you. I only buried it under loyalty and stone.

And now, twenty years later, you rode back into our lives — not as a lady seeking Thorin’s approval, but as a sovereign with an army at her back and a realm behind her name.

I realized something then, as the gate shook and the orcs screamed beyond the walls:

I am no longer a warrior waiting for my king to claim what he never deserved.

I am a dwarf with breath in my lungs and a heart I can no longer silence.