Chapter I Part I–The Uninvited Guest


In the beginning, there was a great many of them, and they sang together in harmony. Then Discord came upon them, and for a period they fell silent in dismay. He-She-Many-She too had stopped, but the new music was sweetly alluring and She sang to that tune instead.

So let these things Be! Eä!


"Give her this brew every morning for another two weeks and she will be well," said Avatya, dipping the ladle into the cauldron. The mixture smelled faintly of kingsfoil and liquorice, not unpleasant a scent, and tasted faintly sweet. "You will take the entire pot when you leave."

The Dunlending bowed deeply, proclaiming his gratefulness. Avatya turned away, and let the words of thanks die away unaccepted. Gratitude was not her due.

Acute senses perceived a person fast approaching in the distance.

"Leave," Avatya ordered, tilting her head to look back, and the man jerked upright with an apology, his face drawn from old worries.

The brew was for his wife, she remembered, who had been slowly fading with the coughing sickness. The fact mattered very little to her. "You can carry it?"

The Dunlending nodded, picking up his shoulder pole by the door. On one end he secured the handle of the pot, the other he had balanced with a basket of rocks. He bent his knees and lifted both pot and basket, bowing his head again as he left. Avatya walked past him and came to the window. Situated at the base of hill, the entire village was spread before her.

No doubt the wizard would reach her soon. He was near enough to know that they were both aware of each other's presence.

She clasped her hands together and waited.

Keen eyes saw a grey figure dismount from a brown horse in the distance. Vestiges of a greater power still clung to him, a reminder of who he had been and who he served. Avatya remembered the days when he had worn the form of an Elf and cladded in white and blue. Those days were long gone indeed. Now he was but an old man, as limited as she.

Oh, but the difference is that he walks Free.

He strode upon village's dusty paths. Though they knew nothing of him, the people parted to let him through without hindrance. In a short order he had come close enough to see her standing at the window, and waved. Avatya let her arms remain as they were. Seemingly undaunted by the cold greeting, he marched up the hill and knocked on the open door.

"Good morning," said Gandalf. "May I come in?"

"That depends entirely on what you want."

"I am looking for someone willing to go on an adventure."

"No thank you." The rejection came swiftly.

His face softened a little. "You will be helping the Dwarves reclaim one of their kingdom, Me–"

"I am Avatya now," she said, proudly, clenching her hands into fists behind her back. "I hope you will call me as such."

"Avatya," Gandalf repeated slowly, looking at her with something like pity. She stared back, expressive as the wooden walls of her abode. The wizard sighed.

"You will be doing a lot of good if you help the Dwarves."

"But will that be enough?" The bitter question slipped from her lips before she could stop it, and Avatya held up a hand when the wizard opened his mouth. "No, I know the answer; you do not have to tell me."

Of course it would not be enough. As if helping to take back one kingdom for the dwarves would wash away the blood that dripped from her hands.

It was a foolish thought and she would do well not to forget it.

Her foolish days were past.

"Well," Gandalf said, "if you do wish to join, go to Bag End of Hobbiton in the Shire on the twenty-seventh of April. You will know that you have reached the right place when you see my mark."

"And if I do not?"

"Then you will have missed a good opportunity to make amends–"

"You need not speak to me of making amends," Avatya said very coldly. "Do not tell me how I should fulfil my Oath."

Gandalf was silent for a moment.

"There is, of course," he said at last, "that to consider."

Her wrists momentarily flared with a soul-deep itch, echoed in her ankles, but Avatya resolutely ignored it, seething. So this was it? Tightening the noose wrapped around her neck? How dare he. How dare this wizard the arrogance to step into her abode and—

"Do not come and pretend to give me a choice, Wizard, if you have come only for one response."

Gandalf looked at her with something unreadable in his eyes. "I shall not force you on this," he said slowly. "But know this: I count you as a friend–"

"I would rather you not."

"–and I know this is not something you would ordinarily do."

"You are right," Avatya said. "I have heard your case. You may go."

With a sigh, Gandalf tipped his hat to her. He lingered at the doorway, as if wishing to say more, but eventually turned and stepped out. Avatya stood by the door, almost a statue, and watched the wizard mount his horse and leave the Dunlending village.

Arrogant wizard. Did he think she would come at his beck and call as a tamed dog to a master? Avatya felt her lips pull into an ugly sneer that would surely cause the Dunlendings to reconsider coming to her had there been anyone to see it. She would obey only the Power she had sworn to and atone for her crimes to this marred world. Walk among the Free peoples who had forgotten her deeds and repay her debts until she too was free.

Until she is free.

Avatya sighed. The wizard had his own decisions to make. She did not fault him that. He had come with an offer instead of a command, unlike the other.

Him, she most dearly hated. It was most unfortunate that they had not crossed path in the beginning, for she would have greatly enjoyed ripping his tongue from his mouth. Such a weaselling snake with a speech as barbs coated in honey.

No, she should not think such. Thoughts as these were what caused her current situation, and she would rather be thrown into the Void than add to her debt.

Two ages of the world it had been, and she was no closer to the end of her Oath.

Avatya closed her eyes.

Her solitude was broken when a village boy ran to her window, eyes wide in terror, babbling about broken arms and bones jutting from skin.

She shook her head, barked at the boy to be silent, and picked up her healer's pack.

How much more until her Oath was complete?

The village slumbered. Under Tilion's light, Avatya checked each herb container to ensure that none of their contents had turned foul in storage. She would need to gather more horehound; her supply had been exhausted in the brew for coughing sickness.

She put away the jar of preserved athelas leaves.

If she did help the dwarves...

A lot of good, Gandalf had claimed. It would not be enough, but one kingdom was surely more valuable than merely curing coughs and broken bones. Her will wavered.

This was her price to freedom.

A cold, disapproving wind blew in from the west, flipping the sheets of waxed paper.

"Of course," Avatya said, some resigned bitterness in her voice as she glanced westwards out of the window. "I will obey."

At the end of the day, she was still chained and subject to the whims of a master. With a sigh, Avatya stood up and gathered what little she required for an "adventure". The rest she stacked on the shelves, carefully marked and labelled for others to use in the future.

When Arien peaked over the Misty Mountains, Avatya was long gone, heading to north the location known as "Bag End, the Shire".


Hello all! I... don't actually know what this is, except that it bothered me so much I couldn't sleep and wrote this at midnight like the sleep-depraved nut I am.

This is just the beginning, and with some hope, luck, and less procrastination, the next chapter, Part II, will be coming quick. I figured that shorter chapters would be better motivation for completion /shrugs. This is NOT a fic where random female character falls in love with hot dwarves and romance happily ever after, and I'd be mightily offended if you claim it as such. :]

Arien: Q. Maiden of the Sun. The sun.

Avatyar: Q. v. forgive.

Tilion: Q. The Horned. The moon.

Fic cover attributed to Phobs, who runs a Tumblr and Deviantart of the same name.