A/n:

Okay, so I have'n written in a long time. And I'm more of a one-shot writer. But this story has been stuck in my head ever since the first Hobbit movie came out. And since it is too long for a one-shot I decided to give it a try. Reviews are more than welcome, but keep in mind, English is my second language. So don't be too hard on my grammer and spelling.

You are more than welcome to ask anything about this story, if something bothers you or you don't understand something. I'll try to answer, but I won't give away the plot ;)

Well, let's begin, shall we?

'You bring sad news, Mithiriel.'
A tall, fair woman bows, before answering. A small young woman at her side.

'Yes, my lady,' the woman, Mithiriel, answers. Her chrystal blue eyes red from crying. 'I have come to tell you he has passed away this morning. I told him not to go, but he didn't listen. That stupid, stubborn dwarf!'

A sob escapes the hair-haired she-elf as she remembers the state the said dwarf was when they brought him in. Only a breath away from death, an orc arrow near his heart.
'He wanted to serve that king of him. That is why he had left. I told him, mother. I told Gimma he had no king anymore. That he was save with us, that he did not need his king.'
'He did not belong here, Mithiriel,' the soft voice of the fair Elven Lady replies. 'He was a dwarf and longed to be with his brothers. Now that he has passed away, he will finally have peace in his heart.'
She looks at Mithiriel, then she looks over at the young woman standing next to her youngest child. Feeling the eyes of the Lady of Lórien on her, the woman stand up straight, avoiding eyecontact while doing so.
A smile forms upon the face of the Elven Lady.
'You have grown, Mallosseth, since the last time we met. You have turned into a beautiful young woman, even if you are just an elfling still.'

True. Though looking like a young adult at the age of 25, Mallosseth is not even close to becoming of age. At the age of 50 will she finally reach adulthood.

'I am afraid I will always lack the height of elves, though,' Mallosseth says in a soft voice, though loud enough to hear. 'Not even the height of the mortal men is given to me.'

The chrystal blue eyes of Lady Galadriel meet the sapphire eyes of Mallosseth, her smile never fading as she speaks.

'My dear child, height is not what makes one matter or not. It is the deed one does.'
'But it is not your height you are afraid of.'

Mallosseth freezes when she hears the voice of Lady Galadriel inside her head. Then she lowers her head, causing her golden hair bangs to fall over her eyes.
'No.'

'Why do you fear your powers?'

'They have grown, my lady. I fear I do not control them anymore. I might hurt someone.'

'Let us talk about the real reason you are here, Mithiriel,' Lady Galadriel says, looking back at her daughter. 'When have her powers started to grow?'

'Since Gimma had left to find his king they have become more powerful. And this morning she had no control of it, right after the passing of him.'

Lady Galadriel places her hand on Mallosseth's head. She stands there for a while, and then takes away her hand again.

'Losing a father is difficult,' she tells her softly. 'Especially for one so young. Your emotions seem to have clouded your vision and stand in your way of controlling it.' Placing a hand on the cheek of Mallosseth, she continues. 'Your fathers departure has begun to make you wonder where your place is. Thát is what has triggered your powers to grow. For you are neither elf nor dwarf, yet both at the same time.'

'My heart is not at ease within these walls of wood,' Mallosseth agrees.

'It is a home you seek, my child, and a home you must find.'