Hello everyone!
This is my first fan-fic to be posted here so you have my apologizes if its a little screwed up I have not yet found my way around here just yet.
Anyway, I would like to start off with the statement that I do not own The Hobbit or any of the characters there in the world of Middle Earth the credit of all that wonderfulness goes to J.R.R. Tolkien's brilliant mind, bless his soul in the here after and may his spirit rest safely among the Valor. I only claim credit for my own OC's including my main character Eilwyn, Eeron and their mentioned family.
I hope you all enjoy this first chapter. Please leave reviews I would appreciate any feedback you can give me. You have my thanks and I hope you enjoy.
Ever at your service,
LonelyWinterRose
Chapter One : A Most Unfavorable Meeting
Eilwyn's POV
My brother Eeron and I are more different than any other person in Middle Earth for we have every races' blood except Orc, Goblin and Troll running trough our veins.
Though some have instigated that our ancestors must have mated with them but those who did quickly learned not to taunt us as they met first handily the metal of our blades.
Our mother, Eadlin, was both Dúnedain and Dwarf. And our father, Eavan, was that of both Man and Elf with a little Hobbit four generations back on his mothers side.
You would think that we would be relatively short and you would be right in my case but not in my brothers as he is over six feet tall. But as for myself I reach a half inch above four feet and seven inches.
Clearly I inherited our mothers Dwarven genes along with her white blond hair though my slim body, dark green eyes and slightly angular facial features came from my fathers Elven blood.
My brother Eeron is only older than me by five hours as we were twins though his tall stocky muscular build is proof of his Dwarvish roots he too has angular features but inherited fathers dark hair and mothers gray Dúnedain eyes and height.
Thankfully neither of us have pointed ears but the sight of us together often turns people away from us more than knowing what we are. After all how often does one come across twins one above six feet the other below five who are of a mixed lineage who have one of the most dangerous undesirable occupations you could think of?
We are Dragon-Hunters and have traveled all over Middle Earth and even some of the lands beyond. And though what looks like a overly developed girl-child and a giant of a man facing off a dragon as if it were a small garden viper has turned more than a couple heads we pay none of their doubt and scrutiny any mind.
With our Dúnedain and Elven blood in us we have not aged past the human year of twenty-four though we have walked the earth for almost three century's now.
We are a team when we hunt and kill Dragons, with myself posing as a distraction engaging the dragons in riddles and pun filled stories that are offensive to them but are compliments too while Eeron sets the trap up and then when I have the giant viper chasing me I lead it to the trap and together we slay it.
I do most of the physical work as Eeron has a lame leg that he injured in our childhood from falling out of a not so little tree, and by little I mean an over fifty foot tall western fir tree, that and my much smaller form is faster than his larger one which was made with force in mind and while mine is suited for speed and agility.
We each have many scars despite our excelled healing their presence on our skin is living permanent proof of the hard life we live, though we do carve the scared skin to create designs putting beauty to the flaws. Unlike many other people we are not ashamed of our flaws in fact we show them off when we tell of our adventures to tavern folk and fellow travelers.
Many times we have traded stories for a nights stay, a hot bath and a hearty meal in between jobs as we spend most of our rewards on weapon and armor repairs.
You will be surprised how many people have a rather large fire breathing lizard problem and not so surprised that said large flammable lizards' breath can spout liquid fire hot and strong enough to melt even our specially made weapons and armor.
It was on one of our in between job times that we settled in a tavern trading a story and a few sparse coins for a nights food and board when an odd couple caught my eye.
At a table close to the taverns fire in the middle of the room sat a Dwarf and the Wizard Gandalf the Gray.
The later I have always found to be amusing company even though Eeron absolutely loathes him for reasons that I quite thoroughly understand since I agree with my brother that no matter his enjoyable company he meddles far too much in others affairs for my liking or anyone's for that matter.
Nearly half the scars on Eeron and I's bodies are from some of thick tangles we have gotten into over the years at Gandalf's not so subtle forceful and sly prompting.
Leaving my seat next to my brother and leaving the rest of the story telling to him not even bothering to excuse myself, after all why should I when I am clearly above them both in royal blood and occupation, I walk over to the table noting the way the two odd companions were leaning towards each other seeming to be having a very tense conversation but dismiss the thought just as quickly as I noticed it.
I really have never been good at minding my own business, it is probably the reason I like Gandalf's company so much seeing as we have found a strange kinship bonding over not being able to keep our noses out of others business though I do like to think that I do not meddle as much as he does.
However, I have a feeling that I will need a little false bravo if I am to be welcome in confidence so I put a slinking grace into my step as I slide right into the seat next to Gandalf ignoring the Dwarfs annoyed angry glare as I turn to Gandalf.
I have faced dragons who had tried to draw me into a thrall by their Dragon-Speak so the Dwarfs glare is nothing in comparison.
Frankly I have seen rabbits with a stronger loathing for my interrupting them and their glares were much more unnerving that this Dwarf. Though that probably has something to do with the fact that one would not expect such a loathing glare from a cute innocent looking rabbit no matter that they were quiet a bit larger than normal rabbits.
Then again they had been companions to the Wizard Radagast the Brown and he is not necessarily the sanest of individuals, the bird feces coating thew side of his face and the bird living in a nest made of his hair on top of his very head is testament enough of that.
However, I have always trusted Gandalf to tell me any gossip he has come across as he always seems to know any news my brother and I may have missed during our expeditions.
"Gandalf." I say in greeting with a large smile spread across my face.
The old Wizard could be an old coot and a smug bastard at times, thinking that he is always right and half the time ending up so, but when ever he is around life is never dull.
Not that Eeron and I's occupation is not interesting enough but I do become bored every now and then.
Smiling at me in greeting his gray-blue eyes twinkling with thinly veiled mischief as he returns my greeting. "Hello my dear. Thorin allow me to introduce an old friend of mine, Eilwyn Fire-Bane."
Turning to look at the Dwarf, Thorin, Gandalf motions to I reach across the table and shake his hand not waiting for him to accept my hand shake as I have found over the years that once someone sees or at least thinks they see what I am they are too hesitant to complete a common courtesy such as shaking each others hands in greeting and introducing themselves.
"Pleasure to meet you Master Thorin." I say with a small smirk that most likely gives off just as much mischief as Gandalf's eyes are.
I was rather surprised when the still disapproving grumpy Dwarf shakes my hand back squeezing my hand to test my strength. I knew of some of the customs Dwarves undertook so I squeezed his hand back firmly staring him directly in his eyes which were a deep stormy blue as we withdrew our hands.
My smirk falls from my mouth as I withdraw my hand hastily from his and I tense it into a fist the skin almost burning as it blisters and tingles in pain.
I knew what the burning meant.
This Dwarf was a descendant of Durin a direct line if I had to guess by the worsening pain.
His line is cursed by Dragon-Sickness and Gold-Rage something that my brother and I have come across rarely as most Dwarves and Men who we found to be cursed with it were wary of going near any Dragon or large amounts of the shiny gold metal that the sickness covets like a starving man a great feast.
The few that we did come across were very territorial and more than slightly homicidal when it came to their riches.
Reaching into my red Dragon skin trench coat I pulled out my favorite pair of dragon-spine skin gloves pulling them on and securing the leather laces that tightened the glove around my wrist and upper hand.
Turning back to Gandalf I quirk a smirk at him and his bushy gray eyebrows which are raised high and seem to wiggle like caterpillars on his forehead in question to me putting my gloves on.
They were a present from him for my 217th birthday. He magicked them to protect me from the molten heat of Dragon fire and their acid like blood. It was a rather thoughtful gift that still makes Eeron jealous despite his dislike for the Grey Wizard.
Raising my left eyebrow in an arch in reply I give a small shake of my head shrugging my right shoulder and flipping my long white blond braided hair off my right shoulder motioning subtly over to Eeron who was quite occupied with a young flirtatious barmaid in his lap with her lips seemingly stuck on his neck.
It was a sickening sight to be sure, because I really didn't want to imagine my brother like that and hoped that if he was going to entertain company tonight his story telling would have been good enough without my help to be able to secure us two separate rooms.
It wasn't often that we slept more than eight paces away from each other but whenever he has wanted to enjoy the company of a woman for the night or even through to the next morning neither of us want to be less than three rooms away from each other. Me for not wanting to have to over hear what he will be doing all night and him in his own words, "to protect my innocent untried ears from the sounds of the world of love that his little sister should have no knowledge of."
Turning back to face him I use my left forefinger to trace a line from my left temple, to my lips and down along the opposite jaw line disguising it as brushing a few stay stands of my pale hair out of my face.
It is the same figure as the scar on my back he was kind enough to heal for me and then design it's odd shape into the tail of a dragon when a Dwarf with Dragon-Sickness decided that he would lay open my back while I was trying to help him escape from a dragon.
He latter told me when he was dying from the burns of the dragons fire that he would rather of had the dragon take his gold than a mere slip of a girl that was clearly a half-breed, and that at least the dragon would love it as much as he did.
Dwarves ailed with the Dragon-Sickness are in likeness to little children, they like shiny things and don't like to share their shiny toys with others.
At least this is what my brother and I have summarized from our experience with the two and twenty we have come across in our travels.
Gandalf inclines his head towards Thorin, who it seemed was still grumpy and was staring at me like I was the oddest creature he had ever seen, which really isn't so far off the mark, raising his right eyebrow higher in question.
I blink twice wrinkling my nose up a little in answer confirming his question of whether Thorin was cursed after all there were known members of the line of Durin that were flukes since the curse had skipped over them.
Our entire silent conversation barely spaced across twenty seconds, we were just that good at it.
Not even Eeron could catch us like this and he has been my constant companion since the day we were born, he knows me better than I know myself and knows all of my cues but Gandalf and I could do this without anyone else being any the wiser.
Giving him my full attention, which is a miracle unto itself for I'm rarely focused on only one thing, I tell him why I came over to him, "Eeron and I just came back from a hunt up north two days ago and no one here knows of any news that is at least the slightest bit entertaining." I tell him.
"And you left the comfortable seat over there," his hand motions to Eeron and the Barmaid both of whom's lips now seem to be locked sickeningly together like they were trying to suck each others faces off, "just to see if I had any news?"
"Gandalf," I say half seriously, "you are an old crazy coot sometimes and nearing senile the other but even you know that trolls never freely chose to face the dawn. There are no if's in any Wizards vocabulary, no guesses, no assumptions and absolutely no plausible way that you can not tell me at least one interesting thing you have done, seen, or heard of since last we met."
His pale gray-blue eyes conjure a twinkle looking extremely mirthful as he casts a sly glance over at the Dwarf. "Right you are my dear there are no "if's" in a Wizards vocabulary. And as a matter of fact I have heard many things though my having seen or done anything is yet to be determined."
My curiosity peaked as he had just unknowingly, or maybe knowingly knowing Gandalf as I do, told me that he is about to do something and, or, see the same I swing my left leg over the bench straddling it as I eagerly look up at him widening my dark green eyes to compel him to tell me.
"Well don't pull my brothers leg Wizard what have you been planning to do? Do you need help? Eeron and I are on break for a while and hunting of late is quickly becoming boring!"
"Peace Eilwyn, peace." He says chuckling. "I don't think your brother would appreciate that pun. Nor do I see how your style of hunting could possibly be boring. And before you ask," he stops me holding up his hand, "no, it is not up to me to ask for you and your brothers help. Not that I am planing anything that your help would be required for. Yet."
He says the last word under his breath and the others no doubt intentionally loud enough for the Dwarf across from us to hear. His words mean one thing while he himself means another thing altogether and if I was any less of the brilliant person I am I would have fallen for his tricky words but I have experienced Gandalf's round about word play often enough to see through his words.
After a while one does become emune to all things Gandalf and learns to see all of his hidden slight signs and seeing the quick flick of his eyes looking over at the Dwarf and I narrow my eyes at the maddening Wizard. He knew he had my curiosity trapped and was waiting for me to comply with whatever he will say next.
Wary I turn to look back at my brother meeting his tensed gray eyes looking down to where his hand is gripping the pommel of his sword Night-Fear who's entirety is pitch black, blade and all, his lap now free of the 'friendly' barmaid.
I give him a small shake of my head and blink my right eye three times before turning back around to face the other two occupants of the table hoping that he got the meaning that I was fine but that I might need him for back up in the soon to near future.
I let my face tug down into a frown as I lock my eyes to Gandalf's and then the Dwarf, Thorin's, not liking where this conversation could possibly be going.
My brother and I do not mind offering our services when they are needed, we even do some at no price if the people who hire us do not have the funds to pay our normal substantial wages but we, myself especially, don't like to be backed into a commitment we didn't offer to involve ourselves in.
"You wouldn't be trying to acquire my brother and I's unique services by forced suggestion would you Gandalf the Grey? We don't take kindly to that kind of persuasion as you well know." I say my voice dangerously soft, the same voice I use to say good bye to those who have wronged me and would soon meet the spear of my blades.
I see him shift uncomfortably in his seat and out of the corner of my eye I see the Dwarf reach under the table no doubt clutching his own sword should the need arise that I lose my temper.
Even those who didn't know the full extent of our job knew when to back away from us when we were angry or to foolishly take up arms even when it is clear we would beat them.
I myself suffered from a type of Dragon-Rage, a rare side effect of once having engorged myself on the acid of dragons blood a feat that almost killed me but cursed me with a temper not my own and unnatural blood-lust instead.
The story of how I came about to acquiring my curse can only be shortened to this; never get into a drinking contest with a dragon because they do not drink mead or ale but other dragons blood spiced and heat by the fires of their own belly.
"No my dear, I only meant to offer the idea of letting myself and some odd numbered companions acquire you and your brothers services." He manages to stumble out without much grace as he is clearly nervous and remembering the last time I had taken my ire, which he had done a magnificent job of raising it himself in less than ten minutes, out on him.
I relax my posture forcing myself to let go of the hold the blood-lust has on me putting a bright and hopefully unrelieved smile on my face.
"Good you know we would hate to hear you of all people say otherwise." I say aware of Eeron's presence arriving at my back.
Turning to face the Dwarf I let myself look over him completely for the first time.
His shoulders were broad and even under all the layers of clothing he had on I could tell that like most Dwarves he had muscles in abundance, something Eeron had in common with him though not to the extreme.
A finely trimmed black beard covers the lower half of his face, it was much shorter than other Dwarves' beards that I have see, so short it might be guessed that he was in mourning or that he was very young.
But seeing as he was in a tavern instead of in his halls singing to the gods in grief and that the fine creases barely visible by his eyes which were a startling sapphire blue and the few silver streaks in his otherwise black hair that fell thickly past his shoulders, he was clearly rounding to his 200th year or so.
He had a thinner slightly hooked nose and full lips were paled against his dark beard.
He looked more of the race of men rather than the race of Dwarves except for his larger muscles and he was of a Dwarf's height though he may have been tall for a Dwarf around five feet or a few inches taller if he stood up.
He was rather handsome in a rough around the edges, dark and brooding sort of way.
I have never stopped to think about the looks of the opposite sex before or what I preferred in them having always been content to live the life of a Dragon Slayer but this Dwarf has done what no other male from either the race of Men or Elves has ever done, he has caught my attention and I have never bee attracted to anyone like this Thorin.
I could tell just by the way he held himself he had the look of royalty about him marking him as the direct descendent of Durin as I expected, the two braids in his black hair on either side of his head only backing that thought up farther.
Those particular braids were worn by the royal line of Durin, worn by the males who were first in line and direct heirs to the throne.
The throne of Erebor to be exact.
That's when it all clicked together in my head.
Gandalf meeting a Dwarf so far from any Dwarven Strong-Holds.
A Dwarf who bares the name of Thorin, a name that is most likely followed by Oakenshield and announced as Thorin son of Thráin son of Thrór .
Said Dwarf's touch burned my skin severely which means that his line, the direct line of Durin, is cursed with Dragon-Sickness.
The same sickness the took hold of Thrór King Under the Lonely Mountain.
A mountain of which was now claimed by a great fire drake named Smaug.
Smaug a dragon who is probably the most gold-greedy dragon to have ever flown in the skies of Middle Earth.
A dragon, a creature who my brother and I hunt for a living.
My brother and I who's services the aforementioned Wizard has requested of us to accept.
Services that were undoubtedly to be the slaying of the Dragon Smaug who even now still lay in claim of Erebor among it's riches.
The great Dwarven kingdom Erebor who the aforementioned Dwarf, Thorin son of Thráin son of Thrór was in right to rule should he return from exile.
An exile caused by the dragon Smaug who the Wizard Gandalf wants me and my brother to slay so the race of Dwarves led undoubtedly by Thorin Oakenshield could reclaim the Lonely Mountain.
My mouth and throat suddenly felt as parched as my skin did when I was first burned in fever by dragon fire.
Realizing I had been silent for several minutes I look up from my clenched fists my emerald eyes dull, hard and empty as I look mistily over my shoulder at Eeron meeting his own matching gray eyes knowing he had reached the same conclusion as I had.
Gandalf the Grey wished to have us travel to the Lonely Mountain which was practically on the other side of Middle Earth to slay one of the greatest dragons to have ever been cursed to exist.
With my face pale I look back over at the Dwarf and Gandalf.
"Which type of service do you seek from us? Do you have a caravan you need guarding? A noble in need of having a less waggling tongue? Or maybe you require certain weapons and other supplies one can only get from certain places that are plagued by all sorts of dark creatures? If it is none of these but the one I think it is then you are to be asking too much." I feel my skin pale even farther feeling both freezing cold and as if I am burning alive at the same time. But I was glad my voice hadn't broke even though that is sounded a little too breathless, not the good kind, and world weary to my own ears.
"You must understand my dear that I cannot reveal all my plans, as surely you know. Indeed it is not really my quest or place to ask you at all." I can tell he is trying to calm me and placate Eeron who by the feel of his tightening grip on my shoulders is close to unwinding himself.
Yes, we hunt Dragons for a living but Smaug is one Dragon we will not hunt until the dawn falls and our ends near. We still have century's left to live and we have not yet heard the call of revenge.
No neither of us wanted to be offering our services to kill Smaug, it was not yet time.
"If it is not your quest, then whose is it?" I ask him in return though I already know the answer as he was sitting right across from me now.
When the Dwarf finally breaks his brooding silence and speaks it isn't to me or my brother but to Gandalf in such a scathing voice I almost feel the urge to flinch away from him, that or punch the living daylights out of him I couldn't decide which way swayed my swirling whirlwind of emotions more.
His voice holds a ring of Baritone not as deep as Eeron's, kind of gruff and raspy like rock brushing against a mountain side as they fall down from the mountains high peaks yet every syllable was said with such emotion it drew me in making me want to listen to it forever.
It was a dangerous feeling to feel for sure. Too much like the lure of Dragon-Speak for me to feel even the slightest bit comfortable with it though the tiny flipping motion in my stomach told me that it argued other wise to his rolling timber being anything but unpleasant.
"You came here for a reason Wizard and not entirely to convince me of this quest. This is no chance meeting nor are your two friends welcome." He spits the word 'friends' out like it is poison and whatever draw I previously felt towards the Dwarf ended right then and there as I can never stand a male looking down on me as though I am not their equal.
And no one, King or not, has the right to talk ill of my brother who has stayed by my side through thick and thin, through life threatening situations when he could have easily left me behind to get himself to safety. Eeron is a better man than any other, from any race, could hope to match and I will not stand for anything that hints that he is other than the best of the best.
Me, who's battle prowess was unmatched even by my own brother before I even came of age.
Me, who has slain nigh on 140 dragons with very little help from Eeron though it was against his wishes.
No one and certainly not this Dwarf, royal born or not, was going to speak of me as if I were a mere beetle to squash under his boot as soon as he sees me.
Turning to glare at him and ignoring my brothers tightening grip on my shoulders that was meant for a warning and reminder to not lose my temper I catch his sapphire gaze with my own emerald one.
"Do not speak of me as if I were less than you Thorin Oakenshield son of Thráin son of Thrór! You do not know me, nor my feats which are far greater than your own I'm sure and I know of them all."
I feel a small flash of smugness at the surprised widening of his eyes, having most likely not expected my bitter words nor the flash of silver and ringing of a muffled 'thunk' as I slam one of my throwing ax's onto the table causing a spider webbing crack to appear and several splinters of wood from the table to fly up into the air from the harsh impact.
I think to calm myself down but I have been on edge too much while in the Dwarf's presence to calm my rising heartbeat and my pitiful attempts to calm myself down are only fanning the growing flames of my rage.
Faintly I am aware that the room around me had fallen silent and that I was now the center of everyone's attention but I was lost in my growing rage and caught up in the darkening blue eyes of the Dwarf who was the cause of my ire.
Not even the rhythmic rubbing of Eeron's hands on the back of my neck and shoulders are truly breaking through to my clouded vision so stuck on my anger is my mind.
All I can think about is how frustrated and off center the Dwarf in front of me has been making me feel since the moment I first felt his angry gaze on me.
I know that my dark green eyes must look like they are spiting emerald flamed fire and that my glare is as sharp as a hundred daggers a sure warning of my curse rising to the surface in more ways than one.
We stare glaringly at each other for what seems to be forever with my anger and rage only growing with the time our eyes are locked in silent combat but I am determined to win and so I do not back down, my eyes never leaving his.
It is not until I feel the burning itch of my skin peeling away and white dragon scales taking their place that I realize just how close I am to falling into a murderous rampage that would be sure not tell friend from foe not stop from killing innocents in cold blood.
Deciding to make an exception and telling myself that I am not backing down but instead biding my time for a more worthy battle I turn on my heel and stride with angry steps through the clustered crowd of on lookers sending any in my way a fierce glare that was surely hot enough to melt a dragon hide scattering them like water droplets from a puddle when one stomps their foot in it.
I do not stop at the other side of the room but stomp my way right out the front door deciding that it would be best for me to take the rest of the night and my sleep outside of Bree's limits after all it wouldn't do to lose control in the middle of such a place.
Besides I felt the need to kill something and even if I had to settle with chopping down a couple trees it would be leagues better than killing the Crown Prince of Erebor and King in exile of the Durin's folk.
With this thought in mind I flee past the sleeping guardsman, through the gate and into the wood lands beyond determined to cut down as many trees as it takes for me to stop thinking about cutting down a certain handsome black haired dark sapphire eyed Dwarf.
So how was it? Bad? Good? Somewhere in between?
Leave a review or two.
Next chapter I am going to try and write in Thorin's or another bystanders POV just to spice things up a bit. I have always believed in looking at things from more than one direction or set place.
I will try to put up another chapter every other day or so, if not then as least one a week for however long the road goes on for not even the Eldar can see all of the future.
Ever at your service,
LonelyWinterRose