So this is my first fanfic. I've often meant to write one, but never did...this one, though, this one has been demanding to be written. I know my summary's really terrible, but give it a try? This idea has been on my mind ever since I've started going through a serious Hobbit craze.
This is a prologue, really - an introduction to my OC.
I promise, the following chapters are a lot better than this one!
I don't own anything.
Reviews, well, reviews would be nice.
"Oh, come on, Bilbo, another story, please?"
Bilbo glanced down at the small ring of young faces around him, Frodo's among them. They were all looking at him pleadingly as he took another puff of his pipe and tried to rack his brains. He loved telling stories to the young hobbits, especially his relatives, of course he did, but for the life of him he couldn't bring up any at the moment.
His gaze roamed around his hobbit-hole, filled with the smell of food, the crackling of fire, the murmur of voices in the next room. A small family gathering, to celebrate his ninety fourth birthday. One that naturally ended up with a storytelling session.
"Bilbo, who's this?"
With a jerk, the hobbit realised that young Frodo had left the little group around him and was standing by a small glass frame on one of his windowsills, peering at it. The little hobbit picked it up and brought it over to his older cousin.
As his eyes fell on the drawing inside the glass, Bilbo sighed.
Of course. There was always another story to be told.
"That, my dear Frodo," he said, blowing out a smoke ring, "is the company of dwarfs I set out with, on my very first adventure."
"But there's someone else there, not just Gandalf and Thorin and all the other dwarves." Frodo's voice was incredulous, and almost immediately all the young hobbits were swarming around the drawing. "It looks like a human girl."
"That she is." Bilbo smiled at him. "It looks, my boy, as if you have found me another story to tell."
Eagerly, the hobbits settled down, whispering for everyone else to quiet, Frodo still on the chair nearest to him, eyes wide.
"That human girl," Bilbo began, "was known to us as Ella Aidan, and she was quite an unexpected companion…"
Ella was not happy.
She was standing on the jetty, arms crossed, as she watched her younger sister sit cross-legged on the floor, a sketchbook on her lap. She had been waiting for Emma for two hours. Not that she usually minded. She loved the skinny fifteen-year-old. But she also had about a hundred and one graded assignments waiting for her back home.
But no. Emma had wanted to draw. She had wanted to come all the way to the jetty and sit on the edge and draw. And of course their parents had made Ella go with her, because they knew how easily distracted Emma could be, and counted on Ella to be the responsible one and to take care of her.
Then Ella caught sight of the look on Emma's face, serene, calm, as her hand flew over the paper before her, and somehow managed to smile.
Her assignments could wait.
And then there was a loud screech, people shrieking, yelling.
Ella's head whipped around, just as Emma looked up, starting to get to her feet.
A motorcycle.
There was a bloody motorcycle on the bloody jetty.
Headed for the edge of the jetty.
The rider looked young, scared, frightened.
He couldn't control the bike, Ella realised.
And then she realised he was heading straight for Emma, with no way of stopping.
"Emma!"
Ella had never been a very fast runner. She liked to sprint, yes, but just burst of short distances, and never very fast.
And yet somehow she was at Emma's side in seconds, shoving her to the side as the younger girl let out a large scream as the motorbike crashed into Ella, sending the both of them over into the water.
Usually, Ella prided herself on being a fairly good swimmer. Not competition standard, naturally, but better than most of her friends. Whenever they had gone to the beach or the pool she was always the first to jump in.
But now, winded from the impact of the motorcycle, the rider still thrashing around in the water, she felt the energy drain from her. She couldn't lift her arms, move her legs.
One thought ran through her mind.
Emma. Emma was safe, Emma was alive.
The last thing she saw before losing herself completely into the water was Emma's face, leaning over the jetty, brown eyes wide, hair falling down both sides of her pretty face, her mouth open, screaming a name over and over again.
Don't die on me yet, Emma.
And Ella sunk into the water.