In a den in a tree there lived an elf. Not an elegant, ornate, gaudy den with lavishly placed ornaments on the walls or decor not for the touching. In fact, there was not a member of a thingamabob or a thingamajig in that den that was not put to good, utilitarian use. Not a sitting stool went unused in the practices of an elf. Never were the drawers remained closed for an entire day as potions, assortments and ideas were dragged out, just to be shoved back in. On tables laid maps and scripts of old, tales of young. There were also assortments of concoctions, placed in baskets sewn from the longest pine needles you'd ever seen, that hung from the ceiling three climbs high. There were engravings along the interior of the trees lining, telling fierce stories of deities who had once roamed the lands of Middle Earth long before any man, dwarf, orc, elf, nor hobbit. Chillingly, these were stories long lost and forgotten, acknowledged by no more than tens of peoples. Engraved on these walls were ancient secrets of old, and to remain secrets until they be decrypted. A language engraved on these walls, the forgotten language of...actually, you aren't even sure of what, to be honest.

All you could focus on at the moment was the fact that a dwarf had somehow managed to stumble his way into your hollow, which in this case would make him your first, and last, guest.

You had been minding your own that day. For as long as you can remember you have greeted loneliness as the preferable option as opposed to actual social interaction beyond your forest. You were always plotting, preparing...there was something happening, stirring, something that would change the course of a generation. Strangely you had no idea what that was, only that it came along with your bloodlines ancient tales. As elf as you may be, you were actually a different line of elvish descent from any of that in Middle Earth. In fact, you were the only one of your kin that was left, or so you were told. You couldn't remember anything of your past, as if someone, or something, had purposely cut out any and all memory of your youth. This was something that burned at you, but you were patient. You knew your time would come when you would unravel any and all information about the extinction of your family, your entire race. You were raised in the Woodland Realm, but departed at an early age. Or escaped. That is the more proper term to use. You simply did not desire to cower within the helm of elves while events unfolded in the outside world; you knew there was trouble stirring and you needed to be there with those who needed your aid, for you knew that you carried ancient powers that no longer existed in this life. You knew you had a purpose for surviving. But who exactly were you supposed to even aid, anyway?

You despised dwarves; their piggishness, that unsatisfiable quench for more. So what exactly was this cretin doing face first on your floor, anyways? He sure wasn't looking for a friend. Maybe he was trying to...oh, come on.

That was when you realized what had happened.

You had a chute followed by a ladder that raised up to about the second climb of your tree, which was the tree's only entrance and exit. It wasn't as if you had designed it, this tree; you had actually stumbled upon this great hideout a few years prior when you were trying to escape a horde of massively built deer. The chute, covered by years of fallen branches and sharp pines and massively bushy brush, was demolished by your lack of balance as you had tripped head first into the forgotten chute. That was when you had woken up three hours later on your back to see nothing but darkness and the chute that you had fallen into, but from below. The light that shone down on you from the chute only made you think about how you found the light at the end of a tunnel. Had you kicked the bucket?

No, you were alive.

It was most amusing to you, that this dwarf had managed to make the same idiotic mistake that you had all those years ago, and now here he lay before you passed out. His hat had fallen off during the fall and laid within a foot of him. He had two long braids that whipped out from the sides of his little head. It amazed you how his hammer managed to not pierce him while landing. It was during your observing that you noticed he had an arrow lodged in the back of his right thigh, almost completely covered by his mass array of dark clothing. You almost decided to pay no attention and let him bleed out, considering he had broke and entered into your domain. Nobody else knew that you were even there, and you intended it to stay that way. That idea stayed put until you realized that the arrow was not of a human or an elf, but that of an orc.

You hated dwarves, but my did you hate orcs more. You couldn't dare let orcs have the satisfaction of taking more lives, not this time. You immediately got to work.

He mumbled and groaned as you heaved him from the floor and stomach first onto a tabletop. Although you had a few inches on him height wise, it was very strenuous to lift him and to be careful as to not toy with the arrow just yet. He had to be awake in order for you to proceed with your medical procedure, in case of vomiting or seizure. To be honest you had only ever practiced on other elves, never have you worked with a dwarf beofre. There was no time to waste, though. The arrows poisons were already casting effects, and who knew how long ago this dwarf had even been impaled. What to do with your time…

Mm, that'll have to work. One, two….

It was as soon as you ripped out the arrow that he sprung back to consciousness, as well as nearly sprung off the table. He was going wild, the searing pain causing muscle reactions was the complete opposite of what you need right now. You seize and straddle him onto the table with all of your might, all the time he flails and kicks. You have to grab one of your empty bottles hanging from above, for that is only what will save this poor, fish-like man. You finally take advantage of a moment where he slows his movements and you place both of your hands directly onto his torn skin, and you begin to chant rapidly. This was no ordinary white elven magic, nor was it a dark witchcraft; it was one of your many inherited, unexplainable trades that was what deemed you different from all other races to begin with. You had the ability to absorb ill magic and release it through tedious, excruciating concentration.

From the moment you began to speak, you began to wonder why exactly you were risking your life for this man in the first place. There wasn't a lot of time to do that though, so you had to push aside that question for now. Your veins began an eerie glow, visible through your skin as you begin to extract the poison from within him. The poison was moving throughout you, and this was where you needed your mind fixated the most; if you lost concentration, you would die.

Why were you even doing this again? Oh yeah, jackass orcs.

You lean back your head and open your mouth, a dark powdery smoke released into the air and you quickly detain it with your empty on-hand bottle and seal it up for good. Just because a dark magic is not inside you physically does not mean it will disappear entirely. Magic works that strange way.

"Uh…"

Uh?

You look back down at the dwarf to remember that you were still straddling him, but now he was wide awake and bewildered. He stared. You stared. The silence remained silent, and you tried to speak, but had nothing at all to say. He continued to stare at you until you began to acknowledge that awkwardness still actually existed. Whatever was going through this dwarf's head, you were actually a little bit interested to know. After a few minutes you get up and return from your drawers with a bottle of tree sap and large leaves to bandage and glue is gaping wound. He sat up as well. Still staring.

"Stop that."

He wouldn't stop staring though. Maybe he had never experienced elvish magic. Was he suffering mentally? How hard did he really hit the floor? He must be confused. You just decide to let him breathe.

"Bofur."

"Come again?"

"Bofur. My name. My name is Bofur….hello."

"Hello Bofur," your respond quickly.

You quickly finished up your business and then cross your arms, puzzled, "well I must admit that I have never had a visitor, so thanks for stopping by and I'll be showing you your way ou-".

Wait. Your tree is no longer secret. You had no idea who the hell this little brat even is, and you just went out of your way to save his life. Killing him was now out of the question, you just saved him, for Eru's sake! You spin around to face him to hopefully have a solution, but there he was. Staring at you with big eyes. This was getting annoying.

"Staring is rude."

In Bofur's eyes, he had never seen an elf quite...like you. He wasn't even sure that you were an elf, besides the pointy ears and reputation for strange, foreign magic. Never before had he seen a being with skin a gentle shade of plum, with hair as green as alpine that reached your waist. At five feet tall, he was only ever used to short, stubbly women with great length of hair and fuzzy faces, but never had he seen an elf that was around his height. You were short for an elf; a mere five foot four. You were not as lean as the common elf, either. you bore muscles that would give one uneasiness, but not to Bofur. You were a marvel, and with that he couldn't keep his eyes off of you.

"Thanks."

"Thanks for what?"

"Saving my life, I reckon?"

"Oh, yeah. That. Of course."

"Your name...what is it?"

"I...Kiev."

[Key-Ev]

Why were you getting on a first name basis?