Oh wow, I never thought this day would come so early. I welcome you all to my first Middle Earth fanfic. I originally planned to write this after I'd finished my other stories, but I'm currently in such a Tolkien-fever after watching the Battle of the Five Armies that I couldn't keep myself away from my computer. I won't start posting regularly though because I still want to finish Libras before fully immerging myself into something so different.

But that doesn't mean I cannot share the prologue with you, right?

I'll try to create a mixture of the films and the book and of course since there's an OC many things will be entirely new and far from either. Regular chapters will be longer than this, around 2000 words. I hope you'll enjoy the start and please let me know what you thought of it. Reviews are a fanfiction writer's payment, so please?

Okay, I'll let you read now.

Pronounciation: Cyrka - Kee-r-kah

Dwarves are a hardy folk. Everyone knows that. They can endure without the warmth of sunlight for years at a time. They have some of the best craftsmen and fiercest warriors in all of Middle-earth. They are proud, loyal and greedy.

And they value their laws above all else.

Any trespasses are met with unyielding consequences. Those who do not cherish the rules are banished from society. A young dwarrowdam learned this once.

Similar to other races Dwarves have to seek permission from their king to marry. But Dwarves harbour much disdain for those different from themselves and foreign to their culture. So when Cyrka decided to marry she went to King Thror, King under the Mountain. But poor Cyrka, for her loved one was not a dwarf but indeed a hobbit.

Meriagrin Brandybuck was his name and quite a fine fellow he was – outgoing and with a streak for adventure. His peculiarities had sadly made him an outsider amongst his people and so he lived an isolated but happy life as a fisherman in the borders of the Shire.

How the young pair had met no one knew and they did not often talk of it, but within weeks of their meeting they had become quite smitten with each other. But this crush soon developed into deep love and so they made plans for the next step in their relationship.

Cyrka stepped before her king and she talked of her love so fondly that her words could have moved a mountain. But Thror had no place for sympathy in his heart for her. Cyrka walked away that day without the king's permission. But she was headstrong – perhaps too headstrong for her own good.

She walked away and left her home, not to see Erebor for many years to come.

She and Meriagrin married anyway. It was a small ceremony in Meriagrin's garden on a sunny day in June. They had invited some of his closest friends but told nothing to her family. Cyrka had acted against her race's rules and so rendered herself an outlaw in the eyes of her people. But that did not matter to them back then. Cyrka and Meriagrin were happy and in both their hearts rested hope for the future.

A year later those hopes seemed to manifest for in that year they were blessed with the most precious of gifts – a baby girl. A tiny thing she was, with chocolate brown hair and pearl white skin. Her feet were hairless and dainty just like her mother's but she had also inherited the beardless, smooth skin so typical amongst Hobbits. In the eyes of her parents she was perfect beyond all measure. They named her Eleara, after Cyrka's mother. Finally their life was perfect and they thought nothing could ever change their luck.

How wrong they were.

Fifteen years later their luck came to an end. It was a hard winter that year, colder than usual. The snow had blocked all roads in their proximity. Meriagrin became ill with pneumonia but so far away from any town or village there was not much Cyrka could do for him. He died, much too early and greatly mourned by his young wife and daughter. Eleara was young at the time, her aging rate closer to that of dwarves, but she perfectly understood what was going on and the struggle that came after her father's death. Mother and daughter worked hard to provide for their needs but even they reached their limits.

They had few acquaintances and after the death of Meriagrin those became even fewer. Cyrka did not know how long they could continue like this.

And so she decided to do something no Dwarf had ever dared doing before – to ask Thror's forgiveness. What else could she do? Eleara was too young to be forced to work and she would not sit by and watch her daughter fade away through hunger and cold, without a family or friends.

With the first sun rays of spring they took to the road, Eleara excited and Cyrka worried. Her body often shook with fits of coughing and many a night she could hardly close an eye.

Eleara watched silently.

The journey was hard but eventually they reached the Lonely Mountain. Its halls were still as Cyrka remembered them – filled with golden light – and Eleara's big eyes turned to all directions to take in the wonders that surrounded her.

Together they were announced to Thror and they pleaded their case. But even after many years the king's heart was still made of stone. The child was born out of wedlock, he said, for he would not acknowledge Cyrka's marriage. They were a shame to their people. No dwarf of Erebor would be allowed to give them shelter, under threat of exile.

And so they left, abandoned by those who could and should have saved them.

Cyrka grew weaker day after day. Beyond the woods of Mirkwood lay a house. This house belonged to Beorn, the famous shape shifter, and he had watched the pair for quite some time. He took them in, giving them plenty of food and two warm beds. But all this came too late for Cyrka. She breathed her last, unable to cling unto life for the sake of her child.

Eleara was left an orphan at the age of sixteen.

That same year Thror too lost everything. Only months later the dragon Smaug came upon Erebor, driving the people of the mountain away from their home and into an uncertain future.

Eleara spend some time at Beorn's house but soon the wide world beckoned to her. She wandered from east to west and from north to south but she never again found a place she could call home. She never returned to the house of her parents in the Shire and she felt a warm tingle inside her every time she heard from strangers the tale of Erebor and Smaug.

She never forgot how her mother's people had shunned her own kin.

Our story begins many, many years later when a group of thirteen dwarves, a hobbit and a wizard came together to reclaim the Lonely Mountain.