Forest-Folk

I’d been locked in the guestroom for three days with only the occasional visit from Lord Aelfric to break up the monotony. He even brought me parchment and ink so I could write. His attentiveness made me slightly uneasy. Elves were typically aloof from humans so why did he go out of his way to visit me? Shaking my head, I banished the thought. It didn’t matter. I was more worried about the others locked in the dungeons. The elves wouldn’t mistreat the dwarves, but I didn’t like Thorin being locked away like an animal in a cage. Especially knowing he was angry with me for hiding the truth about my origins. He shouldn’t be angry. Claiming to be from another world isn’t something you spring on someone without really knowing them. How did I know he’d believe me? I paced around the sitting room, my footsteps muffled by the thick rug covering the stone floor. Where was Bilbo? The guard mentioned nothing about a Hobbit being captured with the rest of the Company. I pressed my index finger