Arien let the cool water sift through her fingers, a ploy to let whoever was following her think she was distracted. She strained those elven ears, silently cursing the fact that against a human, or elf, her size gave her a distinct disadvantage. She didn't look up, but every sense strained for the sound of someone approaching, even just the rustle of leaves. There was nothing.

She sheathed the two daggers and stood, forcing herself not to show the exhaustion in her muscles by bracing her hand against the tree trunk to her left.

"Considering you know someone's following you, I'd keep those daggers drawn."

Arien froze at the voice behind her, hands dropping casually to her sides where they were in easy reach of her weapons. She didn't allow herself to turn, assessing what she could from the voice alone. It was deep and commanding, a voice used to being obeyed. With a slight northern lilt to it. Male, and fully grown, and skilled at stalking if he had remained undetected and been able to get so close to her. He didn't have the light, higher voice of an elf, so human, then.

"I hope you're not going to stand there frozen all day."

Arien finally turned, and had to stop her mouth from falling open at what she saw. Not human, no, this was what she'd been told a dwarf looked like. He was taller than her, but not in the way the elves were. She'd probably come up to his chin, whereas on an elf she came up to their waist. He had long black hair that reached his shoulders, but it wasn't carefully braided and silken as the elves' hair was. And he had a beard. Arien had never seen a beard before, and certainly not one with a plait.

He wore a sword at his back and an axe in his belt. Every movement, every breath he took suggested warrior, and his gaze seemed to burn into her, as if he saw right into her heart and was not impressed at what he found. He would have been handsome, she thought, if it wasn't for the promise of violence she saw in his eyes.

"Who are you?" she gasped.

"A dwarf," he said simply. Gruffly.

She knew that. But she didn't get the chance to point that out before he strode forward and gripped her arm, forcing her to walk in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Arien snapped.

"Taking you to my king's seat."

"You will not," she hissed, twisting her arm to get free of his hand. But his iron grip didn't loosen.

"If you value your life you would be wise not to resist," he growled. Tall, broad shouldered, every inch of him corded with muscle, he was a warrior of pure blooded power.

Arien tried to pull her free arm round so she could reach her daggers, but he gripped her wrist and twisted it away.

"Oh no you don't."

Arien bared her teeth at the tone, but gave up struggling, seeing it was pointless.

"Who are you?" His words were tight.

"You won't tell me, so why should I tell you?"

He spun her round so fast it took a moment for her vision to catch up with her body.

"Because you are in my kingdom, and at my mercy, and I have every right to know who, and what you are."

It was the 'what' that made her go still, made her seethe with quiet rage. But instead of snapping, she answered as truthfully as she could.

"I am no one. I am nothing. I do not belong anywhere. So you can take me, hold me prisoner, and no one will come to help me, and I will not try to escape."

He stared at her, then opened his mouth and offered her a truth in exchange for her own.

"We will not imprison you. You will be required to stay for a time, but beyond that we will not confine you."

It was an effort not to breathe a sigh of relief.

"What's your name?" he growled. It was the only way to really describe how he spoke. A snarl or a growl or just... teeth baring. But with a deep, rich, warm voice that made her feel as if underneath the strong, prickly exterior he was kind and gentle. A voice that made her want to...

Want to what? She shook her head to clear it of the thought and focused on the answer to his question.

It was no use trying to hide her identity. No one would know who she was anyway.

"Arien Feathalion," she said in response to his question. "My name is Arien Feathalion."

"I am a dwarf of Erebor. Anything beyond that, I cannot tell you, but know that what I have told you is a great deal from me."

Arien didn't struggle as he made her walk in front of him, and not just because she honestly didn't have much choice. No, it was because he came from Erebor. Erebor, the last of the great dwarf kingdoms, famous for its wealth, its beauty, and the skill of its dwarves. And Arien wanted to see that mountain, even if it meant being a prisoner.