welcome to. . .
A Dream of Life Again
Author Notes:
Hello everyone and welcome to my revisited tale of the reclaiming of Erebor. Firstly, for those that have been following me along on this journey since the beginning I want to thank you for all the support you've given, your encouragement and patience has been so appreciated. And for those of you that are visiting my story for the first time, I enthusiastically welcome and thank you for taking this time to give my story the chance.
Warnings:
Rated M for language, violence, adult content/suggestive themes, and sexual content/darker material in later chapters. There could be potential spoilers for anyone that has not seen or read the Hobbit, you've been warned.
Disclaimer:
The wonderful world and characters of JRR Tolkien belong to him alone. Only thing I own are my OCs and the tweaking of the fantastic story; so new ideas and plots are mine. I do this simply for fun and because I'm a crazy fangirl dreaming of impossibilities.
.I
"Tch, Ashlyn, please," the scorn of her voice is full of the attitude of a little sister.
"I'm telling you, that's exactly what happened!"
Elevated proclamations, eye rolls, sighs and 'whatevers' abound between sisters, flying back and forth like leaves caught up in a swirling torrent. As voices escalate, admittedly, so do pitches. And tempers. Tempers fly quickly in this family.
"Look, I get it, if you don't wanna say then don't say! But geez. . . I mean, c'mon. Really?" The quirked brow and patronizing tone are almost enough to push over the edge, and she knows it. "It sounds like something straight outta one of the C. S. Lewis books you always have your nose stuffed within."
". . ." a hiss escapes; teeth are clenched. "Do you want to know what happened, or not?"
"Well not if this is going to be another of your imaginary trips to Georgia on the back of a unicorn with Aunt Ag and Aunt Donna. . ."
"Ugh, just shut up and listen! PLEASE?!"
Finally, the pleading sincerity is what grabs her.
A deep and shaky breath escapes out as a relieving rush of warm air.
"This is how it went:"
"What was that?"
The dark haired brother glanced up from the bow he was working in his deft hands, listening; his ears prick, his head tilts carefully, "orcs. . ."
His face went stark white in the darkness and he asked in bafflement, "Orcs!?"
His voice caused the outfit's leader to waken, instantly alert to the threat yet leagues away from their camp, his blue eyes glancing out into the night.
"Throat cutters," the blond stated matter-of-factly, a look to his brother to let him in on the secret, "there'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them."
"They strike in the wee small hours when everyone's asleep." The younger, Kili he was called, added, having picked up on his brother's que. "Quick and quiet, no screams—just lots of blood."
Oh he did not like the sound of that. No, he did not like the sound of that at all! It made his throat tighten and nerves tremble as he glanced back out into the dark. The high pitched sounds grew louder. Unbeknownst to him, the brothers exchanged a glance, chuckling softly, fairly amused at themselves—until He stood.
"You think that's funny?"
Bilbo—though not too often addressed as such, but rather as Master Burglar—turned, looking from the boys to their uncle, only now realizing that the brothers may have been poking fun at his expense.
"You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?" His deep voice cut, his brooding eyes sized them up like children, and they felt it all the more with his chastisement.
Kili squirmed beneath his uncle's scrutinizing gaze. "We didn't mean anything by it."
"No you didn't," He all but snarled, "you know nothing of the world."
They watched him brush through the camp, storming quietly past the rest of their slumbering comrades the way clouds silently build to thunderheads high in the heavens, walking toward the edge of the cliff to peer out over the valley below.
"Don't mind him laddie," Balin softly encouraged while he approached the mouth of the cave where the boys sat. He let out a long sigh before he shook his head. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs."
The Hobbit—Bilbo—and the two brothers listen as Balin told them why, why their Leader hated orcs so much. They listened to the tragedy that had befallen their people when they were still but babes; heard how Thorin had fought in a battle that, though won, was more of a loss for the loved ones felled, for the kin lost.
"And I thought to myself then. . ." Balin breathed in deeply, his wizened eyes full of admiration for Thorin, majesty befalling the figure's back as he stared out across the plane. "There is one who I could follow. . . there is one—I could call King."
Thorin turned gravely to find the entire camp awake now, gazing upon him with eyes of astonishment. Many of them had never known, could never have guessed the extent of the suffering he had lived through. He could see hope burning deep within each of their eyes, eager for what was to come. Because if there was anyone stubborn enough, determined enough, to accomplish what he set out to do, it was Thorin Oakenshield. He exhaled deeply as if to brace himself for leading more of his kin into danger, before he walked back through their midst, his eyes, a deep blue in the dark, shining.
Then, just as Bilbo was about to sate his curiosity of the fate of the pale orc and continue on Balin's story, the forest erupted to life; the branches snapped, bushes shook violently. A warg howled nearby, fast approaching.
"Arm yourselves," Thorin shouted while moving toward the thundering forestry, "Closed ran—" he was unable to call out his warning as the trees suddenly burst open. His eyes widened, breath faltering as he stared up at what came rushing out of the woods—
"Wait, wait wait!"
The story pauses; her eyes blink rapidly for a moment, her face utterly blank.
"What?" Aggravation seeps in, a little, at the voiced question for the reason of pausing the story.
"You're forgetting some details here."
An empty stare is the only response to offer.
"Well?"
"RRRrrgggh! Well what?!"
"Well, are they hot?"
". . . are. . . they. . ."
"Yeah. Are they hot? I mean, you haven't described them or anything. And that's a pretty important detail. . . don't you think? We, the "readers" I mean, should know what your characters look like. Especially if they're supposed to be the heroes. And. . . what are they all doing out in the woods? Camping? Nice night for a stroll? What's the backstory?"
"Seriously?!" The roar escapes, rightly provoked, though unintentionally.
"It wouldn't kill you to give us a little more info here. And what on earth is a. . . a ware-rguh?"
Anger must have shown, because the snicker creeping onto her face is suddenly swiped off and an innocent, void expression replaces it.
"Whatever Kaylee," if she didn't want to hear, whatever.
The truth is there. Maybe that has to be enough. Maybe. . . maybe there is a way. . .
"Hey, I'm sorry—don't be all butt-hurt and run off!" Kaylee shouts, standing hastily from the stool at the kitchen counter to block the path to the stairs.
"It isn't as if you care."
"Yes, I do. I always care," she protests. "I am your little sister."
"Yeah, that means that we have to love each other."
"Now that is not necessarily true. . . and in some situations most certainly not the case." Kaylee's lips quirk mischievously, "but in mine you know it is. Which also means I'm always willing to listen to your. . . thoughts."
A sigh calls out. She thinks she's being generous with that term; because she thinks this was just a dream, a fantasy. Maybe it was. . . there's really no proof to the contrary—
"—so sit down and finish what you started with your. . . tale, okay?"
". . . okay."
"But first, were they hot?"
"Kaylee!"
She giggles; it's obnoxious how good she is at pushing buttons! But, she is the baby of the family.
"Phhhhhhfffff. . ." a deep exhale. "Okay, okay, where was I?"
The wind whistled softly. It brought an almost. . . winter chill. She stared out across the damp grass, took in the thick mounds of rocks and trees that towered above like mountains, looking at them with little thought until—
—she realized, this wasn't Kansas.
What in the world. . .
Brows knotted in confusion, she rolled over slowly, taking in what she could until all she saw was forestry surrounding her. It was immense. With a groan and barely contained hiss, she pushed up; her eyes watered against the ache, but continued to roam around, confusion escalating. A howl caused her to jump violently and freeze.
A coyote? Where did it—wait. . . not Kansas. . . then. . .
The silence that encompassed felt so absolute, until it called again. Branches crunched nearby. She blinked, heard heavy breathing. And then the sound that made her blood freeze: it was like a hiss. Or, a growl. Maybe even like a chuckle. Peering into the blackness, her thoughts racing and her heart pounding, she struggled to catch sight of whatever made that sound. The blood sounded in her ears—her heart beating madly in her chest. She caught sight of a gush of steam—something's hot breath slipping into the chilly night air. There was a rumbling growl, punctuating the obvious intent of luminescent yellow eyes staring back from the darkness.
I'm dreaming. This is. . . this is some kind of night-terror. Not real. This isn't real. This cannot be real. It's not happening. Only dreaming. I'm only. . .. Hallucinating! I'm hallucinating—
Her thoughts ran wild as she tried to explain to herself what was happening. It all felt very real, to be nothing more than her mind playing tricks. Her sight was nearly cut off from the blackness, but something massive was there, and she had the impression that it had moved forward. Moved forward fast, in fact, lunging toward what it had to have thought was going to be easy prey.
Her fingers burrowed into the ground, easily tearing grooves into the earth made soft by a previous rainfall. She bolted out of the line of fire, her feet somehow managing not to slip. The earth thundered through her as she felt whatever had tried to kill her strike the ground where she must have just been standing. Stumbling, sucking in panicked breaths, forcing herself to remain upright, she forced herself to move. She could not fall, would not fall.
The hiss slicked out again through the night, foreboding and indistinguishable.
Instinct kicked in and she was gone. Her feet didn't know where to step and her eyes didn't know where to look, but they did take in everything. Hyper-alert, her ears pricked at the sound of that thing getting it's own bearings back and beginning to chase her down. Her mind no longer thought about things like controlled breathing. No, in fact, her mind wasn't doing much thinking at all. Her nerves kicked in, her muscles took over. She dodged trees by barely the skin she wore, probably shedding many a thread on the rough bark. Her body knew only to run, only to move.
It was probably bigger than her. Her body sensed this, felt it in the tremor of earth as it plodded frighteningly fast behind her. Big and fast—her body threw her to the side, the hairs on her neck standing on end with its hot breath; something crashed in the not so distant distance and she dimly thought it must have taken out a tree. The sheer force the beast must have to do something as powerful as that didn't cross her mind. She had altered directions, flight mode still reigned in her body. She sought refuge.
She was only aware of the branches that battered her forcefully enough to cause harm. There was no sense of the water pelting her face nor the debris of the forest floor groping and clinging to her feet—at least, not until it caused her to stumble. She flew on, despite this, her body re-aligning itself and expounding her adrenaline reserves to push her forward. Whatever pursued her, there was no mistaking it as anything less than deadly. It crashed through the path behind her, growling and howling angrily as it pummeled into the trees she'd dodged for just that effect.
Something inside screamed, made her alive with awareness: aura, sixth sense, hyper-vigilance—whatever it would be called by whomever chose to talk about it, right now in this moment she had it and she was using it to the fullest to flee for her life from an unknown danger.
It's a dream. It hast to be—that's why I feel so slow. . .. why I can't fall! If I fall I can't get up and keep running, but it's just a dream and I'll wake up here, soon. I'll wake up. . .
Because that monster, she knew, had to be out of a nightmare. It was ugly and deformed—she could sense that behind her. It wasn't a coyote—far too big for that. Neither was it a wolf—too misshapen, too big, to horrifying.
Almost too late she saw that it had gotten around her, was charging her head on. Once again blessed instincts overruled her mind and she dropped to the ground, sliding as she would for a soccer ball through the mud and beneath the razor claws that sought to rip into her. With a tremendous ruckus and pained yelp from the monster she slid away down the slope. Grasping for anything within reach, anything she could get her hands around—and finding that was little more than nothing—she slammed hard into very solid ground. A slight grunt, a mild squeak—she was lucky to be standing with only an aching arm. Her breath rasped as she held it close, blinking the stun away as her adrenaline addled mind began to unfog.
Her eyes darted fervently around, searching for any hiding place, point of safety. She needed refuge, even in this nightmare. And there—a small light in the distance—she caught sight of her hope just as it howled above her, angrily this time.
Again she was running, though she was slower for her pause. But this time, she had destination to run to.
"Wait, wait, hold up!"
"Oh, for the love of all that is Holy, what now!?"
"How on earth did you get to wherever it is you're talking about now?"
"I'll get to that in a minute," a glare and head-shake to deter her.
But, it isn't over.
"Okay, but, what about the guys—the hot ones, who have to be hot because otherwise they aren't worth talking about. What happened with them?"
"I said I'll get there," the words said through a clenched jaw do little to steer her back into listening mode.
"Well then who the heck are you talking about now?"
"Kaylee! Do you want to listen or not?"
"Ashlyn, I believe we've been over this, once before," she gives her trademark, 'sister' look.
"Are you just going to keep interrupting the whole story then? 'Cause maybe I should find someone else to listen," finally, finally the threat comes out, full force.
"Hey! Rude. . ." She pouts a little. "I'm asking perfectly sensible questions—well, except maybe the ones about the hot guys—but still, perfectly logical, I am a teenager here, obviously that's going to be my focus of interest." A smirk graces her features while a scowl is reciprocated.
"Kaylee. . ."
"Well, at least give me something semi-believable! You can't just wake up in some random, not-kansas place!"
"Arrrrg! Fine!" Exasperated hands get tossed up in the air and Kaylee is triumphant. "But no more interruptions!"
"Well, no more unnecessary interruptions," she has to have the last word. Always.
"Are you done yet?"
". . . hmm. . .. Yes. Proceed, story-teller,"
A groan escapes, but she's relented and consented and there will be no opportunity for her to take that opening back.
"Alright then, the beginning. But ONLY enough to explain the 'not Kansas' part. It started—"
To Be Continued. . .
CelticAngel86 signing out
