The moment the trees of Taur Im Duinath rise in the distance—pale trunks catching the light like silver spears—Thorin reins in his pony so sharply the beast snorts.

“We turn back,” he mutters.

I stare at him. “Turn back? For what reason?”

His jaw works, stubborn and ashamed all at once. “We do not enter that forest.”

“Aye, we will,” I growl, nudging my mount forward. “Unless you plan to camp out here like frightened hobbits.”

Gandalf strides past us toward the birch-shadowed path. “This is the swiftest route north,” he says. “We are going.”

Thorin stiffens. “Gandalf, you do not understand—”

“I understand quite well,” the wizard cuts in. “You are stalling. And wasting daylight.”

The Company murmurs behind us. The air shifts—uneasy, curious. Everyone feels it, though only a few truly know why.

I swing down from my saddle and round on Thorin, voice low and cutting.

“She is not the danger here.”

Thorin flinches as if struck.

Kíli blinks between us. “She? Who is—”

Fíli elbows him hard, but it’s too late. The question hangs there.

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my scalp tattoos. Someone needs to say it, and Thorin sure as an orc’s backside won’t.

“Lad,” I say, turning to Kíli, “your uncle was married once.”

Silence slams over the Company.

Kíli’s mouth falls open. “Married? Uncle Thorin? To whom?!”

Thorin’s shoulders knot in fury and shame, but I press on. Someone has to hold the line here, and it has never been him.

“To the rightful Lady of these woods,” I say. “To the High Princess—now Queen—of the Teleri. And don’t go looking at me like that.” I jab a finger at Kíli. “Aye, she is real. Aye, she was his. And aye…” My voice hardens. “He broke the vow.”

Fíli inhales sharply. “Broken… how?”

I look Thorin dead in the eye.

“In a tavern,” I say. “Ale in his veins, temper high. Looking to wound himself and anyone near him. And he kissed a dwarrowdam...”

Kíli recoils. “He WHAT—?”

“Aye,” I snap. “And she saw it.”

Thorin’s face collapses inward. Shame like cracked stone.

Kíli whispers, “What… what did she do?”

I swallow once.

“She didn’t shout. She didn’t weep.” My voice roughens. “She pulled a dagger from her own belt and cut the entire braid he’d woven into her hair. Took the vow with it. Let it fall to the floor.”

Gasps ripple through the Company.

“She turned her back on him,” I finish quietly. “Stood tall. Left without a word.”

Thorin’s eyes drop, unable to hold mine.

Kíli stares toward the white-barked trees as if seeing ghosts. “So that is why he won’t enter the forest.”

“Aye,” I grunt.

The wind stirs. Leaves shiver. Even the ponies shift uneasily.

Gandalf clears his throat. “We are going in,” he says firmly. “Whether Thorin walks or not.”

I fix my axe straps and start down the path.

“Come,” I call over my shoulder. “If the Queen truly wished us dead, she’d not bother with forests and shadows. She’d meet us in open ground.”

Bofur whistles under his breath. “Think she’s still angry?”

I snort. “She has every right to be.”

The birches part ahead, pale and sharp as spears. A hush falls over the world—the kind that precedes judgment.

Kíli edges closer to me. “What… what is she like?”

I smile grimly and grunt, the kind of sound that comes from memory hitting harder than any axe-blow.

“You ask what she’s like, lad? She’s taller than any elf you’ve seen, and stronger in spirit than warriors twice her age. Steel wrapped in silk, that one — moves like moonlight until the blade flashes, then she’s a storm. I’ve never known an elf to carry herself with such fire, such command. When she walks into a hall, even the stone stands straighter. You will understand when you see her,” I say.

Kíli squints at me, slow dawning suspicion in his eyes. “Dwalin… you speak of her as if you’ve been memorizing her.”

I grunt, looking away. “Aye, lad… I spoke plain. Because I’ve got eyes. And I watched him lose what most folk would spend a lifetime praying for. Any dwarf, man, or elf would count themselves lucky to stand at her side."

"It’s the only time I ever lost respect for him Kíli.. he did wrong by her.”