Alright, folks! Here it is - the first chapter of TBE. Things start out a little slow, but get ready for a wild ride!
A few things you should know before reading:
- This fic will probably make a whole lot more sense if you read So Be It and So It Begins first. While there will be references to past fics, and it might get a little confusing, you can read it alone as well. On the same subject, this is the most detailed and thought out fic of the three, and I am realizing that there will be pieces of TBE that do not match up with SBI and SIB.
- TBE is definitely AU. It was not originally intended to be that way, but if you are looking for something entirely canon-compliant, I recommend looking elsewhere.
-This fic is a crossover of the LotR movies and the Hobbit movies. Since the books and movies are so different, and the main character is not included in any of the books, we will be using almost entirely material from the movies, though I will add in details from the books when possible.
- Characters will be a little OOC. To wrap the whole storyline up and tie it together with certain events, I will have to deviate slightly from their original personalities. So, if someone seems "off", there is a good chance I meant for him/her to be that way.
- I am in no way an expert in Elvish! This fic will contain a fair amount of Elvish, however, although the dialogue should be fairly easy to follow. Translations are also available at request.
- I love, love, love reviews, opinions and critiques! Seriously. Be it good or bad, let me know your thoughts! Just no flames, please. :) As long as the criticism you offer is constructive, I have absolutely no objection - in fact, I greatly appreciate it.
Trigger warnings: Suicide/suicide attempts/suicidal thoughts, self-harm, depression, assault, violence. other (not yet added).
I hope to see some familiar pen-names here!
Enjoy!
The world is changed.
I feel it in the water.
I feel it in the earth.
I smell it in the air.
Much that once was is lost. . . . For none now live who remember it.
It began with the forging of the Great Rings . . .
Three were given to the elves. Immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings.
Seven to the Dwarf-lords: Great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls.
And nine. Nine rings were gifted to the race of Men, who, above all else, desire power.
For within these rings were bound the strength and will to govern each race.
But they were all of them deceived...
"You must find them, Tauriel." The wizard leaned heavily on his staff, eyeing her tiredly.
"I will not, Mithrandir," she said flatly.
His face darkened slightly. "I am not giving you a choice in the matter. They will need you. If you wish, you can hide your identity from them and harden your heart against them, but it will not change the fact that, without you, their quest will fail." His eyes narrowed to slits, but somehow his face was still open and welcoming. "If I am not mistaken, you have been blessed with the ability of foresight, and despite your complete and utter denial of it have seen small pieces of what may eventually come to pass."
Tauriel remained silent, her eyes flashing green fire.
Gandalf the Grey sighed. "It always amazes me how much anger you can force into one glare."
"Tell me," she said suddenly, "how do you know this?"
He regarded her soberly. "That, I cannot say. It remains to be seen what paths we will choose. A single choice can change the course of a war."
Tauriel's eyes dropped. "I am afraid," she whispered, baring her emotions in a rare and impulsive moment of trust.
"I know," Gandalf said. "We all are. Indeed, who in their right mind would not be?" Placing a hand on her shoulder, he met her eyes. "You are strong, Tauriel. You may have been knocked down, but I believe in my heart you will rise again." Releasing her, he stepped away. "Just remember that the answers to what we seek are often staring us in the face. It is the way of the world, and neither change of season nor passage of time will change that."
"Wait!" The word burst from her, and she regretted it as soon as it left her mouth. "What of Legolas?"
He turned towards her, the skin under his eyes crinkled cheerfully. "Let it suffice to say that he, too, will be faced with many choices in the coming battles. Perhaps one of them will involve you. I know that you were close." His face hardened suddenly. "He no longer is willing to sacrifice everything for you, Tauriel. I would even go as far as to say he despises you. You abandoned him. He will not forget that for a very, very long time." Leaning heavily on his staff, he vanished into the dusky blue-grey light of early dawn.
Streaks of crimson were painted across the sky as a rider raced across the ridge. Twilight was quickly falling, and the dappled stallion was winded, froth flying from his mouth as long legs ate up the ground. His hooves pounded a rapid tattoo against the hard-packed earth.
As they raced towards the Prancing Pony, Tauriel glanced to the side. Another horse, straining to overtake her stallion, was galloping several hundred feet away. The rider was heavily cloaked, and while there were no noticeable weapons on his or her person, she would have bet several bars of gold that they were armed and ready to defend themselves.
Pulling back on the reins, Tauriel eyed the other animal. A high-stepping, dish-faced blood bay, the dainty mare was too delicate for her tastes. Her pasterns would soon begin to break down, followed by lameness. Bigger boned animal often had longer and more successful lives.
The mare turned her head to the side, ears pricked forward and a curious expression in her big brown eyes. Tauriel was suddenly reminded of two other mares, both lean and lithe with red-toned coats. They were just memories now, echoes of her past, but she would never forget them.
The little mare – or perhaps she was still a filly – was very clearly tired and winded. She was trying so hard, but Tauriel knew it would never be enough. A burst of anger filled her at the rider who was letting this tiny horse run herself to the ground.
Lips flattened into a thin line, Tauriel continued to ease back on the reins. Tálagor snorted in annoyance, but obeyed.
The bay mare shot forward, a squeal catching on the wind.
A smile tugged at Tauriel's lips. Tálagor, slowed to a canter, was chomping hard on the bit and eager to catch up with the other horse.
"Lau, mellon nin," she said firmly. She could wait.
Half an hour later, Tálagor paced through the gate. Blowing hard, the grey skidded to a stop. Stones skittered across the ground, churned up by his huge hooves and Tauriel's boots as she dismounted. She glanced around.
To her surprise, Tauriel saw the cloaked rider dismounting smoothly, a gleam of sharp eyes showing underneath their hood. Looping the reins around her hand, Tauriel urged her horse forward. The little bay nickered throatily.
A hobbit passed, obviously tipsy.
"Pretty pony," he slurred.
The "pretty pony's'' ears snapped back as he lunged, teeth bared. The hobbit yelped, dancing backwards despite his imbibed state.
"Not 'specially friendly, is 'e?" he said owlishly, blinking hard.
Tálagor rumbled low in his throat.
"He is not particularly fond of small folk," Tauriel said, unapologetic. "You would be wise to avoid him."
The hobbit nodded vigorously, then lurched away.
Tauriel watched him go, a splinter of unease piercing her. The roads were not safe. Not tonight. The wind had picked up, and it showed signs of storming. It was not a good time for the intoxicated hobbit to be blundering away.
Shaking her head, Tauriel glanced at the bay mare tied next to Tálagor. Securely fastening the stallion's reins, she edged towards the dainty horse. She would be surprised if this one was a kicker, but you could never tell.
Placing a hand on the bay's velvety soft nose, Tauriel smiled. There was something about this one that drew her in.
"Hello, little one," she whispered in Elvish.
The mare responded with a throaty whicker, nudging her face against Tauriel's body. Slightly surprised that she would respond in such a way, Tauriel considered the delicate blood-bay in a new light.
"You understand me, don't you?" she asked. The little horse bobbed her finely sculpted head emphatically, and for a heartbeat Tauriel saw Memory staring back at her.
A laugh caught hard in her throat. Pushing the mare away, her face fell.
"I'm sorry," she said softly to the horses. "I have to go."
Drawing her own cloak tight around her, she turned away. The skies opened, fat drops of rain falling down on her.
Somewhere out in the darkness, a shrill scream split the air.
It was cold. So very, very cold. Everything was covered in ice, melting underneath her bare feet as she walked the treacherous road. The thin white shift she wore did nothing against the chill. Shivering, she winced as her foot slipped.
"Legolas?" she called out. "Kili?" The silence was deafening.
A choking gasp came from behind her.
Whipping around, she felt a stab of pain in her foot. A shard of ice had pierced the soft skin in between her toes. A sob caught in her throat, and once again she watched Kili fall to the ground. Blood flowed from the gaping hole in his chest, hot and sticky. It reached her feet, covering them in rusty red, pooling around her ankles. Staining the snow red, it continued to rise. Now lapping around her legs, it soon covered Kili's body.
Crying out, she forced herself forward, desperately feeling for any sign of him. Finally, she felt his hand. Grasping it, she pulled upwards.
Kili's blank eyes stared up at her, and then suddenly shifted.
Falling back, she found herself staring at Legolas's blood-coated corpse. His grey eyes were filmed over, but his mouth still moved.
"Goodbye, Tauriel," he rasped, and fell again beneath the rippling red waves.
She screamed.
Tauriel woke herself with her own cry, her dagger drawn and in her hand as she panted, trying to make sense of her surroundings. Disoriented, she tried to calm herself, and slowly the painful ache in her chest subsided.
Blinking hard, Tauriel peeled her fingers off the hilt of her sword. Her bones ached. Nestled between the bay mare and Tálagor, she had watched and waited. When the Nine had first thundered in, her heart seemed to stop beating. She had held her breath, watched the swirling cloaks and the pools of darkness underneath their hoods. Their horses, massive red-eyed and coarsely boned creatures, had watched her in turn, their breath billowing in great clouds.
Shuddering, she berated herself for giving in to exhaustion.
The broken gate, a sober reminder of the evil lurking nearby, was being removed by a small band of hobbits. Tauriel eyed them nervously. Word would spread, she knew, carried by both the mouths of eager gossips and the ones who knew something was not as it should be. The creatures, too, would be whispering of the Black Riders and the One Ring. She could already hear the birds trilling away, repeating a single note again and again.
Drawing up her hood, Tauriel was suddenly grateful for the protection it provided against prying eyes.
"I have to find the Ring Bearer. The Nine are searching for it. The Ring is calling, I can hear it. Already, his will is weakening." The words were muttered, half to herself and half to the horses.
The little bay whickered throatily.
Tauriel turned and looked at her, her throat suddenly tight. Where was the mare's caretaker? The question rang loud and clear in her mind.
Jaw clenched, Tauriel turned away, then paused.
"You want to come with me, do you not?" The Elvish words came smoothly to her tongue, and even before she had finished speaking the tiny bay was muttering low in her throat. It was a sound of pleasure, and tingles ran down her fingers. This horse was far too alike her former mares for comfort.
"Very well, little one. You will come with me." She paused, then sighed. "I suppose I should give you a name, little one. I will call you Suldal. It is a name well earned."
Suldal muttered again.
"Will you follow me? I have no rope." She knew that it was odd, speaking to this horse as she was, but the words came smoothly to her tongue.
The mare whickered.
Resisting a smile, Tauriel flung a leg over Tálagor's back. Shifting slightly, she leaned forward to adjust his mane. The stallion swished his tail, annoyed.
Clicking her tongue, Tauriel urged him forward. Time was running out.
She rode hard, tracing their steps until she reached Amon Sûl, or Weathertop as it was called amongst the local folk. Small drops of rain were being spit from the sky, providing a small distraction from the chilling screams currently coming from the woods.
The chill was slowly creeping in.
Her hands growing numb, Tauriel watched as the man – Strider, they called him – left the four hobbits. The Ring Bearer appeared to be sleeping.
Now shivering slightly, she eyed the two horses. They would provide warmth and protection against the wind.
Shaking herself fully awake, she resisted the urge to abandon this seemingly pointless vigil. With a non-existent sigh, she placed her head flat on the ground. Her ears, fine-tuned to the sounds around her, were picking up hoofbeats. There were many pairs, most heavy and wild. And then there was one, lighter and more focused.
The sound of a pacing, Elvish-trained horse carrying a rider.
Shooting upright, Tauriel searched the area. A faint smell of smoke caught her attention. Choking on an exclamation of shock and surprise, Tauriel watched as five riders approached Amon Sûl. Cloaked in shadow, they sent a chill down her spine.
Fingers tightening on the hilt of her sword, Tauriel watched helplessly as, far above her, swords were drawn.
The Ring Bearer was resisting. They all were. But it would not be enough. The Ulaer were far too strong, and they were small and untrained.
Flexing her fingers, Tauriel began to rise. She would not – could not – stand by and watch them be killed. A shout was carried down on the wind, but it was not the hobbits that cried out. It was the man, Strider.
Craning her head upwards, Tauriel watched as fire bloomed on the Ringwraith's dark wrappings. Swords clashed and sung, and several Ulaer fell, burning bright in the darkness.
Slowly, silence fell.
She did not know that, above her, a blade had struck home.
They were searching frantically for something. The Ring Bearer – Frodo, the others called him – had been injured. She could see his life slowly draining away, much as if someone had sliced his wrist and let his blood pour out.
There was another elf here, she was sure of it. But they had not yet chosen to reveal themselves, and she was hesitant to do so herself. Her healing skills had long been forgotten.
Strider passed within inches of her, not noticing the shadowy figure pressed tightly against the tree. He held his light high, eyes roving the ground.
"There," he muttered to himself.
Tauriel regarded him with curiosity. He was unlike most Men she had ever known, and yet in most ways he reminded her of her kin.
A twig creaked.
Her head snapped to the side, looking for the source. A soft ring of Elvish steel, and then someone spoke.
"What's this? A Ranger, caught off his guard?"
The world faded around her.
Arwen.
This chapter was a prologue of sorts. Hopefully, it wasn't completely mind-numbing!
R&R, please!
