Chapter 1

"Are You? Are You?"

"I am telling you, I did not kill my wife or my sons! Why would I? I loved them with all of my heart and soul!" a dwarf with salt and pepper hair, aged skin, green eyes, with a long grey beard and dressed in rags asked a council of elders in the city of Dragon's Cradle in the Blue Mountains. He was the city's best forger and ran a blacksmith shop where he and his family had resided for over eighty years.

"Yurbir, you have been a loyal citizen of this city for many years… It pains me to think that you would commit such a crime, especially against your own family… However, I cannot grant you your freedom. As a unanimous decision of the elders of Valtek, Yurbir… I sentence you to hang by the neck from the old oak tree in the center of the city." And with a bang of a gavel, the officials began to carry the blacksmith away, not in silence but to the heartbreaking cries of his youngest daughter.

The child's uncle had to hold her back as she wailed, "No, papa! He is innocent! You cannot do this!" tears of sorrow falling from her starlight eyes.

The entire city stood before the old oak as Yurbir was set up in a noose and awaited the signal. The elder who sentenced him stepped forward, "Yurbir of Valtek, do have any last words?"

Old green eyes scanned the gathered citizens and came to rest on his daughter's beautiful starlight ones. He smiled sadly as he said, "Strange things did happen here… No stranger would it be if we met at midnight in the hanging tree… I love you, Torshar… My beautiful moon…" then the elder nodded and the executioner pulled the rope, earning a gasp from everyone. Torshar stood in utter shock at what was happening before her.

"Torshar…" his strangled voice reached her ears, "Flee… Flee…" and his body stilled. Without a second thought, the young girl wretched herself from her uncle's grasp and ran from the city, without a single glance back.

Flee…

Bolting straight up in bed, Torshar was breathing heavily and sweating from the vivid images that haunted her dreams. Tears threatened to fall as she pulled her knees up to her chest and laid her face on them.

"Father… How long must I run…? When can I find a place I can call my own?" she whispered and a sudden knock jolted her out of her stupor, "Who is there?"

"It's me, Torshar, Ruwina. Your performance is scheduled to begin next hour… Sorry for disturbing you." She voiced the walked away.

Once her footfalls disappeared, Torshar slowly got up from her bed, stretched, and began to dress. Though she traveled all over Middle-Earth, from the Iron Hills to Gondor, the Shire to Rivendell, Torshar always longed for a proper family after losing her father. Thror, the great king of Erebor, had offered her a place in his kingdom but she respectfully declined due to the fact that she found his grandson very attractive and she would go mad being cooped up in a mountain. She was, after all, a traveling versifier; singing songs of love, joy, sorrow, forgiveness, and songs of ancient battles.

The mirror did not lie when she gazed upon it to fix her messy hair, dark circles under her eyes; her skin was paler than normal due to her sleepless nights and tiring days. Sighing, she brushed her white hair, pulled it back out of her face to allow her four family braids to fall over both shoulders; her mother and one brother on her left and the other brother with her father on the right. She smiled sadly, 'The last of my line…' Torshar thought grimly and dressed herself in a floor length, navy blue dress with three-quarter sleeves and a square neckline with a matching pair of shoes. When happy with her appearance, Torshar went over to the bedside table, picked up her necklace of gold, kissed it, and clasped it around her neck.

The place she was staying, as well as performing, was known as "The Prancing Pony" in Bree. This was her favorite stop because, without fail, Gandalf the Grey would appear and they would converse after her performance. The thought of the old wizard brought a smile to her face as she went down the steps to the bar/dining area where she discovered a nearly packed house.

Ruwina spotted her and waved with a smile as Torshar made her way through the crowd. They embraced for a moment and shared a smile as Ruwina got the attention of the patrons, "Alright, lads! Are ya ready for tonight's entertainment?!" with a cheer from the men she continued, "Then I give you, Torshar!"

She stepped up on a makeshift stage and began to sing, "There's an inn,
There's an inn,
There's a merry old inn,
Beneath an old gray hill,
And there they brew a beer so brown,
That the Man in the Moon himself came down,
One night to drink his fill,
Oh the ostler has a tipsy cat,
That plays a five-string fiddle,
And up and down he saws his bow,
Now squeaking high now purring low,
now sawing in the middle,
So, the cat on the fiddle played, 'Hey Diddle-Diddle',
A jig that'll wake the dead,
He squeaked and he sawed, and he quickened the tune,
While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon,
"It's after three!" he said…" her set continued until the clap of thunder accompanied by buckets of rain.

"How about "The Hanging Tree", lass? On a night such as this…" a man dressed in gray robes with a long white beard asked with a voice that the versifier knew all too well.

Nodding, she took a seat beside the fire and quietly gathered up her courage to begin, "Are you,
Are you,
Coming to the tree,
They strung up a man,
They say who murdered three,
Strange things did happen here,
No stranger would it be,
If we met at midnight,
In the hanging tree,
Are you,
Are you,
Coming to the tree,
Where the dead man called out,
For his love to flee,
Strange things did happen here,
No stranger would it be,
If we met at midnight,
In the hanging tree," as she was singing, a short figure entered The Prancing Pont out of the pouring rain. He shed his wet cloak as he approached a seat that was open near the fire; taking no notice of the performer.

"Are you,
Are you,
Coming to the tree,
Where I told you to run,
So we'd both be free,
Strange things did happen here,
No stranger would it be,
If we met at midnight,
In the hanging tree…" before she could continue, a verbal argument broke out between two men at the bar.

"You think you can win her heart with pretty words and flowers?! She's a dwarf and desires gifts of gold! Which I can give her!" on yelled and the other punched him in the jaw. But before the fight turned even more ugly, the young dwarf woman in question got up from her spot beside the fire, moved into the middle of it, grabbed them both by the front of their trousers, and directed them to the door where she promptly threw them out.

"For your information, gentlemen, to win my heart you must be courageous, kind, intelligent, understanding, and compassionate! From your display, I would say neither of you are worthy!" she then returns inside to a silent bar, "Forgive me, lads… They seem to have put off my mood… I bid you a good night…" groans echoed in disappointment as she moved to go back upstairs but was stopped by a gentle hand around her arm.

Turning, she came face-to-face with her old wizard friend, "Gandalf…"

"My dear, you should not depart us just yet. You did not finish your song."

"I am tired, Gandalf… Those men have ruined my mood and I no longer desire to finish the song. Good night."

"Before you retire for the evening, why don't we go greet an old friend of yours?" he asked as he pointed out the figure before the fire, smoking his pipe.

Torshar's breath was caught in her throat as she followed the wizard's line of sight to the Erebor prince. His raven locks had grown longer with a few strands of silver at the top which made him appear older. Her feet carried her without a thought, towards him. He took no notice of the woman until she spoke in a whisper, "Are you…? Are you, Thorin Oakenshield?"

His body stiffened at the sound of his full name and he slowly turned his gaze up to see the person who addressed him. The hard look disappeared as his sapphire blue eyes met her starlight white ones, "Torshar?"