I defy the stars; I defy Heaven and Hell. The laws of the universe say that the man I love is lost to me. I say: watch me save him.

ached all over, her bones were stiff her head throbbing. She stood from the marble floor, still clothed in blood-soaked garments, yet it was not battle garb she wore but a dress. The fairy stood in the midst of crumbled remains of a long-lost palace, she was left to wander. Great tapestries hung in places where the wall still stood high enough, the colored threads in some had faded, others were left in tatters. One displayed a great island that she recognized as her home with the great white sails on ship masts that had come to trade. The next displayed the Akallabêth, the downfall, great waves were weaved into the fabric.

Arethusa reached out, her fingers dancing over the tapestries with reverence. She continued down the winding hall looking at the detailed portraits of history. She passed onto the War of the Last Alliance, one of the last events to occur in the Second Age, where it depicted Isildur cutting the One Ring from Sauron's finger and the shards of the broken blade Narsil, that prophecy said would be renewed. The arrases only reminded her of her age as she had seen the events with her own eyes. The last great tapestry was incomplete, the fairy fell to her knees while looking up at it. It showed Thorin and a company of dwarves with Bilbo marching across the plains before the Misty Mountains, the fall of Smaug and the gathering storm before the clouds had burst and then it stopped, incomplete as the day had not reached an end.

"Hello, child." It was a hooded figure who spoke but the voice was soft and feminine. Fear etched its way onto the fairy's features, Arethusa stood cautiously. "There is no reason to be frightened, I am Vairë, weaver of the great stories and wife of Námo, the Doomsman of the Dead." The dark hood was drawn back to reveal a face she had not looked upon in many years, with hair of spun gold and amber eyes. Arethusa was looking upon her mother though now she stood at the height of elves. The fairy could not choose which emotion would overrule the other, so she stood resolutely, eyes stained red with the tears she had shed.

"This is the end is it not?" A year ago she would have welcomed the end to be reunited with her family, to see the faces she had known since childhood yet her heart was still bound of Middle Earth, to a dwarf of all races. Vairë stepped forward, her delicate hand coming to moves the frayed wisps of hair from her daughter's face.

The Valar Queen shook her head, "No, it is only the beginning, my niphredil." She could see the troublesome past Arethusa had experienced in her eyes alone, the pain and grief but hidden beneath millennia of death and sickness was happiness founded in love. The very love she had seen in dreams for Arethusa while under the name of Rhyannon. The story of Beren and Lúthien had come again to repeat itself. "The promise you gave your life for was pure and strong, yet it has not been fulfilled in whole," Vairë smiled at her daughter's flummoxed expression, she had expected nothing less. "Arethusa, you shall be sent back to keep watch over Durin's sons. Your time in Middle Earth has not come to an end yet; like the tale you loved so much as a child, you will live and love again, it is as Ilúvatar wishes." The young fairy wished to cry, to cling to her mother, to look upon her beloved's face again, she had never felt so many dissonant things at once. Her heart was with Thorin in Middle Earth, her soul longed for peace with her mother, her body felt as if it were being torn apart.

Armor of bronze and gold appeared on her arms and chest, laying above the taupe dress. The ashen brown hair that laid frenzied over her shoulders turned to white, purer than the first snow and with the shine of silver that seemed to match the bead Thorin had given her, and the mark of her promise faded. "We will meet again." Vairë leaned forward, her lips brushing Arethusa's forehead. "Dadwen."

Her lungs filled with air so quickly they burned, she coughed expelling the blood that had been lodged in her throat and mouth. She half hated herself for not saying more to her mother after years of longing to see her once more. The Eagles had come, their shadows cast upon the ground as they flew over her collapsed form. The fairy stood and glanced down at her new armor and white hair, a strength had come upon her that she had not felt since the Battle of Dagorlad. She looked out to the frozen river and saw the corpses of orcs littering ice, their black blood seeping down into the water, among those dead was Azog and Bolg.

Arethusa ran onto the ice, searching. Her eyes widened at hearing the roar of a bear, and the squawk of an eagle. In the chaos, she spotted one of the dwarves and ran. "Dwalin!"

The grizzly dwarf turned, mouth agape in shock as he realized who he was looking upon. "Lass! We thought you were dead."

Arethusa smiled weakly, "Something I will explain in full at a later time, tell me where is Thorin, Kili, and Fili?" Their absence on the battlefield had caused panic to course through her veins. He looked back down to the open plain in front of the mountain where Azog's army had nearly been extinguished. "Beorn just left with them, they-," she hardly gave him time to explain, already knowing and fearing what she would find upon joining them. The fairy looked to the sky. "Gwaihir!" The great eagle was at her side in a moment's notice, head bowed and feathers shining. She climbed atop the bird's back and motioned to Dwalin to join her. "To the mountain, my friend."

Gwaihir jumped from the frozen waterfall and spread his wings, flying low to the ground, sweeping orcs and trolls away with his talons. Arethusa flicked her wrist, light flooding from her fingertips in surges of power she had never felt before. Elves and dwarves stopped and peered up at the beast and fairy as the orcs fell without being struck. She had left a trail of decimation in her wake. Dwalin swore she had grown wings with how quickly she moved from the back of the eagle and into the halls of Erebor.

"Where are they?" She was ushered into a room, whereupon three tables the Sons of Durin lay. Her eyes came to settle upon Kili and Fili first, they each had bloodied faces and long gashes on their arms and legs, though it appeared as if Kili had suffered far more damage than his brother. When she looked down at Thorin, her breath caught in her throat and her heart seized with grief. The wound was large and gaping, his mail embedded at the edges, hot tears trailed down her porcelain cheeks and for the first time, the company saw her power when she screamed, falling to her knees. The cry had been enough to echo through the mountain and into the air where the battle was still raging onwards, Beorn grew even more wrathful at the sound.

"Arthie? Arthie!" The fairy ignored the pleading shouts from the Hobbit, her focus was on the injured dwarves and nothing else. Bilbo watched curiously, no one dared enter the chamber, Gandalf would not allow it. Her arms were outstretched, hands lying on Fili and Kili's foreheads and her own was bent down, resting on Thorin's. The Hobbit could see her lips moving but heard nothing in her sweet voice. A light poured from her hands and arms, so bright it was blinding and while Gandalf continued to watch, Bilbo had turned, shielding his eyes much like the rest of the company. "What is she doing?" Bilbo turned back, his brows furrowed in worry.

Gandalf urged the hobbit and dwarves back before providing an answer to Bilbo's question. "Soul healing. It is a raw and pure energy, if she cannot save them then no one can." When the light had faded the grey wizard turned back to the room and saw that she had been successful in healing the dwarves, now time was needed for them to wake. Arethusa sat slumped against the leg of a table, sweat beading on her brow and a hazy smile on her lips. "Foolish, that is what you are Arethusa, foolish." She knew well of her foolishness, such a healing could have easily killed her, most would not have even tried to save them. All she had was a fool's hope and she was certainly a fool in love.

⌘⌘⌘

It took the rest of the day and night for Arethusa's strength to recover, come morning she woke surrounded by dwarves who had brought flowers and gifts of all types, dresses and swords, armor and books. "Miss Arethusa!" It was Ori who had first noticed that she had awakened, he clutched a knitted scarf of a rich blue material in his hands, Dwalin and Bofur let out relieved sighs. She sat up and laughed as all but Dwalin and Balin swarmed the bed, near suffocating her with the hug. Balin had been the one to notice her discomfort and quickly shooed the others from the room.

"You worry me when you have that look, Balin." The old dwarf chuckled, but the glint in his eyes did not dissipate in the slightest. Arethusa looked down at her hands, "It will take time for them to wake if that is what you are concerned about." She felt as if she hadn't done enough, the Sons of Durin would surely live, yet they had not awakened yet.

Balin shook his head and peered over his shoulder at Dwalin, who stood by the door of the room with his arms crossed, a brooding expression on his face that was reminiscent of Thorin. "No, no, lass. It's just that given your title, it makes you the most qualified to stand in while Thorin, Fili, and Kili are..." the elder dwarf shook his head not sure what to call the state they were in but Arethusa understood and interjected before he could add anything else. "I have no experience, even if by name and birth I am a queen. Would Dain not be better suited for this position?"

Dwalin huffed, amused by the notion of Dain stepping into the role of King Under the Mountain, even if it would only be temporary. "This is still a delicate situation, Bard and Thranduil hold you in higher regard than any of us dwarves," Balin explained. She could see the reason behind her being the choice then.

"I will do my best." Arethusa gnawed on her bottom lip nervously, having power had always frightened her because she knew from stories and from sights she had seen with her own eyes that power corrupts, no matter how innocent it starts off as; and she was at a predisposition by blood to the father of Darkness. "Your best is enough," Balin assured her.

"Tell me, how did it happen?" The question was vague yet Balin knew exactly what she was asking about.

"They thought you were dead, in a stupor all three of them charged. Thorin and Azog fell to each other's blades, Fili and Kili protected his body with life and limb." The old dwarf touched her shoulder affectionately before bowing his head. The two brothers left her in peace to prepare for the day.

For the longest time, she stared blankly at her new reflection. There was something about her colorless hair that she despised even after she had hated her lackluster ash brown hair as a child. The bath water was not hot enough to make her feel clean even if the dirt had been washed from her skin and her skin had looked near raw from the copious amounts of scrubbing. The dark thoughts faded when she stepped out of the bathing room to see the heaping piles of dresses and clothing that had been brought. Arethusa settled upon the simplest of the dresses, a burgundy shift that was mostly shapeless that was to be worn with a brown smock.

The fairy went to Fili and Kili first, checking over their wounds and replacing bandages. She sighed and leaned down, placing a soft kiss on each of their brows. When she entered the room where Thorin had been moved, Bilbo stood silently from his place beside the bed and left, knowing well enough that Arethusa worked best alone. It took thrice the amount of time to tend to the dwarf king, but when she had managed to bind his torso she sank down on the stool where Bilbo had set and moved the pendant of her necklace to rest on the middle of his chest again. The fairy took Thorin's limp hand within her and pressed her forehead against his arm. "Oh, Thorin. What if I can't do this? What if I fail? Or make things worse?" She almost fooled herself into thinking he would respond before she could succumb to grief-stricken madness, the fairy stood only before she left, she placed a chaste kiss upon his broken lips.

Only a day had passed since the battle, all but a handful of elves had left for Mirkwood, Bard and the majority of townspeople from Laketown had gathered in the great halls. Dwalin pulled forward a cart stacked with small chests of gold, one chest for each of the survivors. Nori hauled forth the next cart, it had been loaded with blankets, spare coats, and cloaks, spades, and whetstones, trinkets and toys. It was not the gold that brought the men and women to tears but the sight if clothing and blankets. "As was promised, a portion of the treasure for the survivors of Laketown to rebuild Dale and their lives. I insist that you take these provisions as well, they will be of more use than gold at the moment." Arethusa lowered her head, she supposed it was to hide the trembling of her lips or the nervous expression that had taken over her face. No matter how naturally the formalities came the prospect of being Queen terrified her to no end.

"Thranduil, the White Gems of Lasgalen." Dori held out the wooden chest while the Elvenking lifted the intricately engraved lid to reveal the shining gems and the necklace that laid upon them. The fairy was reminded of her own necklace at their glow but when she touched her neck it was a cold iron key that she wore. "I remain hopeful that an alliance can stand between the Dwarves of Erebor and the Elves of Mirkwood." She could not say what his response would have been had Thorin spoke the words but Thranduil nodded, the tension and strife between the two races would not be forgotten yet they would stand together in the defense of their homelands.

Arethusa turned to Dain Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hills. "Lord Dain, how may we be of service?" The orange-haired dwarf was older than Thorin no doubt, wider and shorter as well, yet for all the intricacies woven into his beard, the scars upon his face, and the fierce armor she could see how deeply he cared for his kin. Dain knelt and crossed one arm across his chest, the dwarves in his charge did the same.

"Ensure that my cousins live." The fairy stepped forward and laid her hand upon Dain's shoulder, the touch had obviously startled him. The kindness of her heart seemed to overflow through violet eyes and a gentle smile, he stood looking the small creature in the eye. The dwarf simply thought that his cousin could not have picked a better Queen to rule at his side, dwarrowdam or no.

She stepped back and looked at all those who had gathered, "A feast will be thrown tonight in honor of the victory and the fallen. I ask that everyone join us as there will be plenty." Arethusa fled from the Great Hall and into a long corridor that had been deserted, letting out a deep breath that caught when a hand fell on her shoulder. "Thorin will be glad to see how you have handled the affairs of treatise when he awakens." The fairy could find nothing else that she could say to the dwarf, with a nod she walked back to the Gallery of Kings and sought out Thranduil.

"Would you walk with me, Thranduil?" The Elvenking nodded and followed her lead as she walked from the mountain and onto the open plain where piles of orc corpses were still smoking from being burned and the snow was still stained a grizzly shade of red and black from the blood that had been shed. Had she been taller or he shorter, Thranduil would have offered her the crook of his arm. The smell that lingered in the air was foul yet the scent of winter flowers that had bloomed miles away carried to the mountain.

The silence was tense as both wished to speak though neither wanted to speak first. "I should have never doubted your ability to handle such matters." To receive such a compliment from Thranduil was enough to leave her speechless for a long moment until a smile threatened to form on her lips.

"You flatter me, enwina meldo." In return for her statement, she was rewarded with a very rare chuckle for the ever-stern Elvenking. "How does Legolas fair?" The fair prince's absence among negotiations had been duly noted. In the short amount of time, she had spent reacquainting herself with the young prince her fondness of him grew tenfold. Legolas was his father's mirror image in all but height and attitude.

"He left for the forest, until my return, he will rule in my stead and begin efforts to push the spiders away from our borders and other lands." A certain type of indescribable hope and happiness ran through her bones at the mention, she wondered if he would ever admit that her harsh words had been the catalyst to his new plans.

The two walked next to the frozen river, Arethusa adjusted her knit scarf and pulled the fur-lined surcoat tighter around her midsection, it was rather large on her frame and the boiled leather did nothing but weigh her down. She looked to the long path that led from the mountain's gates to Dale and the lone grey wizard that was taking it. It reminded her of the hearsay Gandalf had briefly made mention of when she spoke of Elendil. "I have heard rumors of a young ranger, the son of Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dúnedain and heir of Isildur; the last of the descendants of men from my home. When the time comes, I would advise you to send Legolas to meet young Aragorn, I foresee that he will do many great things." For all the flaws and misgivings that had been common in the line she had hope, and before recent events, she had dreamed of witnessing the return of the king to the realm of Gondor.

"I have heard the same whispers and concede with your advice." They each looked pensively at the ruins of Dale and debris on the ground. "When will they wake?" His concern for the dwarves was off-putting though she knew he had only asked such due to his concern for her.

Arethusa drew in a long breath, thinking about the three dwarves that lay under her healing powers was not something to bring good thoughts. She feared the worst, she feared that they would not wake, that she had been too late. That even though she loved them, it would not be enough. "I do not know. Thorin's wounds were nearly fatal, Kili's less so, I suppose Fili faired the best." They both turned to look up at the mountain, in the afternoon sun it was an imposing sight, with dark shadows cast upon the stone and the iron braziers alight.