Everything belongs to J.R.R Tolkien.
This is my first attempt at fanfiction, so please give me any advice and criticism that you have. Please rate and review, it would make my week.
The rain had been coming down in sheets for what seemed like ages. The whole world looked grey and cold. Bilbo was cold, and wet, and befuddled besides. Adventures… Bilbo mused, feeling around fruitlessly for a pocket handkerchief, Nothing good about them! Not one thing. Smelly, and wet, and dangerous things, they are, and are certainly nothing that a respectable, good Baggins like myself should be involved in.
Gandalf, directly behind Bilbo, could practically see his thoughts written across every part of his small, soaked body, from his slumped shoulders to his dripping hood. Gandalf was not so sure anymore that bringing along the hobbit was a good idea.
Thorin, at the head of the party, was thinking very different thoughts about adventures in general than poor Bilbo. It shall be so grand to be back as Lord of Erebor. He thought to himself, guiding his pony to the side of the road to avoid a large mud puddle. Once that horrible Smaug is gone, there will be much work to do to make it habitable again. First, I will have to defeat the dragon, of course, and pay the burglar. Will I even want to pay him? Yes, yes, of course I will, I am not greedy like my grandfather. I am not like him at all… Now, let's see, where will I put my Arkenstone when I get it back?
Kili rudely interrupted his uncle's thoughts with his excited gabbering. As if the rain was not enough, now he'd have another annoyance as well. And just when he'd been doing so well ignoring everyone, too.
"What is it, Kili?" Thorin asked wearily. he did not mean to be cross, it was just that his mind's wanderings in the future were a much better place to be than in present when the weather was this bad.
"There's something in the road up ahead!" Kili exclaimed, pointing straight ahead at the road in case Thorin had not gotten the message. There was a dense fog, and it was a wonder that he had been able to see anything ahead at all. (Unbeknownst to him, Kili had gotten bored and had ridden ahead, and had come across something rather unusual so close to the Shire.)
"Of course there's something in the road up ahead! There's always something! A slimy log, a rock, a puddle, yes, there's much to be found in the road ahead." Thorin said, trying to lighten the mood of the Company and failing miserably at providing some semblance of humor.
"No, Uncle! A person, or an elf, or something of that sort, up ahead." Kili said, exasperated.
"I can only assume we'll be upon it in a moment, and then we can take a look, if it would please you." Thorin agreed. Thorin would have normally been far more intrigued by something like this, but he was far too wet and miserable to care at this point.
Indeed, only about a minute had passed when Thorin's pony came up alongside a figure laying in the mud next to the road. It's limbs were splayed at odd angles and it's shoulder-length black hair was flung around it's head, tangled and stained with red. It was glowing slightly, and did not appear to be breathing. It's fingers were white at the knuckles as it gripped a long knife in one hand. A broken bow lay nearby; the ground around the figure was stained red. Thorin could see it was an elf and was, therefore, not inclined to stop, but Gandalf was staring at him, waiting for him to do something, and riding on without a second glance would probably not be what Gandalf wanted. So Thorin grudgingly dismounted and nudged the figure with the toe of his boot.
It moaned weakly and stirred a little, rolling onto its back. Thorin could not be sure if it was a male or a female; those elves all looked the same anyway. Not that it actually mattered what it was. It looked to be beyond help anyway, so it's gender really was of no importance. He was about to remount when he was stopped by Gandalf's loud clearing of his throat. Sighing in annoyance he knelt down by the figure, listening for any signs of breathing. If he strained, he could hear a faint, shallow rasping. It was alive, at least.
"It's alive." He said, getting to his feet. "It'll be alright on it's own."
"The blood is pooling around it's body." Fili pointed out. "If that is what you call alright, then you had better remind me to never let you try to heal me again from anything more than a cold!" Thorin sighed. They had far too long a way to go to sit here chattering about some random elf carcass. It was nearly nightfall anyway. They would have to set up camp soon.
"Thorin." Gandalf reproached gently, leaning on his staff. "Have you no compassion?"
"If I had compassion, I would just finish it off so it will not die so slowly." Thorin countered, weighing his axe in his hand.
"Are none of you wondering what an elf is doing in these parts? This is highly unusual, wouldn't you say?" Balin pointed out. "Perhaps if we help him, he can give us some explanations as to what is going on the cause him to be here."
"You keep saying 'him'." Thorin said. "How do you know it is male?" Balin waved him off.
"While we discuss his gender, he lays dying." Gandalf said.
"So we have decided it's a 'him'?" Kili chirped.
"It seems that way." Fili agreed. Thorin growled a little. He did not like this distraction from the quest, but Balin had a point. It was unusual for one of those folks to be anywhere near the Shire. Plus, angering a wizard is never a good idea, if Gandalf was bent on compassion for its sake, it was best to go along with it.
"Fine. All of you, quit yammering. Out of pity and for want of information, he can come with us, and we will attempt to heal him." Thorin decided. "Now, set up the camp. And Fili, Kili, and Balin, since you seem to be the most vocal about the matter, you can take care of him."
Fili and Kili rushed off to get supplies as Balin tried to assess the situation. The blood seemed to be mostly coming from three main places. There was a large stab wound in his abdomen, which seemed to be causing most of his woes, but by no means all. His arm was broken quite badly on his left side, and his right leg had taken an arrow as well. Bruises and cuts covered his face and body. Overall, he was in pretty bad shape.
What shocked Balin the most was the youth in his face. Surely, because of his species, he had to be at least three hundred years old, but he appeared to be only sixteen or seventeen in Men's reckoning. And yet, this young thing was clearly a warrior. Even unconscious and beaten, you could never have mistaken him for anything else. Those wounds must have been inflicted by an enemy of some sort. This type of injury did not just happen in an accident, clearly. He would have an interesting story to tell when he awoke. If he awoke. Balin silently added.