The trees change the moment we cross the threshold.

They rise like pale pillars—white-barked, silver-veined, whispering with a sound I don’t hear anywhere else in Middle-earth. The air cools. The light dims. Even the ponies slow as if the forest itself is watching us.

I tighten my grip on my bow and glance at Gandalf.

“Where are we?” I whisper.

“Taur Im Duinath,” he answers. “The Realm of Living Rivers.”

The way he says it sends something down my spine—respect, caution, memory. I’ve never heard of this place, never heard of the elves who rule it. But Dwalin suddenly mutters something I’ve never heard from him:

“We shouldn’t be here.”

Thorin halts so abruptly his cloak snaps. His jaw clenches. His shoulders square—as if bracing against a blow no one else can see.

“We turn back,” he growls.

Gandalf sighs. “You do not command the roads, Thorin Oakenshield. This path is the quickest and safest to the Mountain.”

“That may be,” Dwalin says, stepping forward, “but she won’t want us in her woods.”

“She?” I echo, looking between them.

Thorin’s face goes stone-still. He doesn’t answer.

Dwalin does.

“Lad… these are the lands of the High Queen of the Teleri.”

I blink. “I didn’t know the Teleri had a queen.”

“They do,” he says. “And you’ll not find another like her.”

Gandalf’s gaze flicks toward Thorin. “Their Queen is… formidable. And not fond of uninvited dwarves.”

Thorin’s silence is thick enough to choke on.

“What happened?” I ask.

Dwalin exhales through his nose. “Your uncle broke a vow.”

My stomach drops. “A vow?”

“Aye.” Dwalin nods once. Heavy. Final. “A marriage vow.”

The world lurches.

I stare at Thorin—my uncle, my king, the most stubborn stone in Erebor’s ruins—and for once he doesn’t meet my eyes.

I whisper, “He… he was married?”

“Not just married,” Dwalin replies. “Bound before stone and river. She was his wife, lad. The High Queen herself.”

Gandalf adds quietly, “A union kept secret for the sake of peace.”

My heart pounds. “Then why—why would she hate us being here?”

Dwalin’s jaw tightens. “Because he broke her heart. Broke their oath. She caught him in a tavern with another. A drunken mistake—but a mortal one.”

Dwalin’s voice drops, rough as stone ground underfoot. “Thorin broke more than a vow that night.” His gaze drifts toward the trees. “One kiss in a tavern, holding up with a dwarrowdam, meant to forget an argument, cost him a queen. Cost him respect. Cost him the best part of himself.” He exhales. “Some wounds are carved deeper than any blade.”

I look back at Thorin. He looks carved from grief.

“And what did she do?” My voice is barely breath.

Dwalin closes his eyes. “Cut the braid he gave her. With her own dagger. Cut it clean from her head… and walked away.”

Their words twist together like threads of a story no one wants to finish. A vow broken in ale-stained shadows. A braid severed by the High Queen’s own blade. A marriage unspoken, hidden behind stone and silence. And now a realm we must cross—a realm bound to a woman my uncle cannot even name. I keep waiting for someone to explain, but each answer only opens another wound.

Before I can speak, a sound rolls through the trees.

A low, haunting call—soft as mist, sharp as silver. Not a roar. Not a cry.

A mew.

But not from any creature I’ve ever heard.

Dwalin’s head snaps up. “Ghost elk.”

My skin prickles. “Ghost what?”

“The white elk of the Teleri,” he says. “Only their High Queen rides one. The beast is sacred. Born of river and moon. If that call is hers…”

He looks into the deep silver dark of the forest.

“…then she already knows we’re here.”

The Company grows still.

Even the birds stop singing.

Another call echoes—mournful, chilling, beautiful. It rolls across the forest floor like a warning carried on water.

My heart stutters.

“What does it mean?” I whisper.

Dwalin answers without looking at me.

“It means, lad… your uncle’s past is about to walk out of those trees. The High Queen of the Teleri... Brace yourself. She's unlike any other Elven Sovereign.."