A Hobbit Fanfic:
The Witch Woman of Mirkwood.
By: Stella Limegood
Chapter 1: The Elf in the Barrel.
"Oi!?"
"Oi! Tom lookit this!"
"What is it now Gyles?"
There was the sound of scuffling feet across a hard wooden deck.
"Cor….well I'll be?" said a gruff voice.
"Oi Tom…do youse suppose e's dead?"
"Hmm."
"Tom? Is e dead? Tom? Should we fish em out the river Tom?"
"Hush boy! I'm thinking. I is."
"But…but Tom…if'n we don't fish him out soon, I think he might drown!"
There was a slight scoffing noise and a very pointed silence.
"It's just e's looken a bit bashed up already, e does. Shoo…I think e might be bleedin! I'm thinken so I is! And look at them ears! I think e'smight be a you know what, Tom!"
The man named Tom spat over the small barge's deck at that, "Ha. Supposing he is? Huh. What's it got to do with us? Eh? Why should we simple men folk gets involved with um." This was said with an accompanied shoulder shrug of well-practiced indifference and matter of fact straight out bitter contempt that only the elderly can truly harness.
"Besides," continued the bitter bargeman named Tom, "he's already too far away for us to reach, and most likely he's already dead that un. Probably floated all the way down in that barrel. Me thinks. Heck besides youse see them scars, lad. A goner that one, best let em feed the fishes I say. Aight."
"But…but Tom e's…..an…e's an," the young man named Gyles stuttered nervously.
"Go on boy say it!" challenged the older man.
"Well. E's an Elf!" exclaimed Gyles in righteous exasperation.
"So. What." Snapped Tom.
"So what? So WHAT?!"
"You heard me boy. So what."
"E'S AN ELF! TOM! AN ELF!" cried Gyles in horror at the elder bargeman's lack of care or respect.
"Ha! That's suppose to impress me is it? Is it? Golly. Look lad, let me tell youse bout Elves. All them uppity royals and well-to do folk of what's that place in the East where the old King lived, lives? Ack. Doesn't matter. The point is lad they's all think the world of these shiny so called Elves," began Tom quite seriously, his one good eye fixed upon the young Gyles face.
"That's aight Tom! I member, me mum youse to tell me that they was magical like! And that they's bring good luck!" interrupted Gyles in excitement.
Tom promptly smacked the lad on the head, "Ouch!"
"Shut your dumb gab boy! I's telling youse something important I is! 'Magical indeed!' ((HUFF)) BOULDERDASH! That is! Boulderdash and Sauron' shit. I's say!" shouted Tom indignantly!
"But me mum...?" tried Gyles, in what many people would have considered a heroic attempt.
"Yours ma knew squat! Elves is nothing lad: but pointy eared, trouble making, tree-hugging, self-centered, rude, stuck up, cheating, scheming, pretentious, vain, nosey, bossy, repulsively wealthy, flower growing, bad at sharing, showing off, predjudicious, lazy, dangerous, untrustworthy, tight-ass, fancy pants well-too do braggish, long haired, gits and snobs! GITS AND SNOBS BOY! THAT IS WHAT Elves IS LIKE!"
….
..
.
.
.
For a good few minutes there was nothing but silence in the air after Tom's avid declaration on Elves. And for a brief second the world that was Middle Earth believed that, that was all that was going to be said on the subject between the two human beings.
Fate though had other plans and in a small yet surprisingly firm, serious voice rather reminiscent of a turtle coming out from its shell, Gyles spoke up,
"Youse never even really met an Elf afor ave's youse, Tom."
….
…
..
.
There was another lengthy pause filled with sheepish glaring and quite aghast indignation at having been called out. Before yet another resounding slap followed by a distinct, "OUCH!" filled the air of the two humans.
Meanwhile growing all the more distant as it went gently down the river, from the two bickering mortals on their little boat, was indeed a large wooden wine barrel. An Elvish wine barrel in fact, that had been damaged by not only the rapids of the river, but orc arrows and blades, of which had been previously flung at it with deadly intent.
The reason for this deadly intent from orcs towards a simple barrel, could only be assumed to be because of the being that was currently passed out inside the wooden thing, bleeding profusely. Who had hours before after being startled, throttled, attacked, burned, beaten and finally stabbed not to mention shoved, had for better or worse accidently fallen into the wine cellar shaft under the Mirkwood Palace, and inadvertently escaped the Orc Leader's final end game.
Which to put bluntly, was a game that would have consisted of this poor being's most definite demise. For inside this lost and lonely barrel, being pulled along the river, barely hanging onto the grace of life that the Valar had gifted him with was an Elf.
A truly special Elf, whom many in this current time and place upon the world of Middle Earth were already, believing to be dead, for the Orcs of Dol Guldor had preemptively attacked the home of the Wood Elves.
A home that was burning, much to the great anguish of a young Elf prince named Legolas. Who at this moment found himself being forcibly dragged away from his dying home, by the remaining survivors of his people; alongside a strange company of dwarves led by a wizard, that had arrived most fortuitously the day before.
As the Wood Elves tried to get their young prince to safety, they could not help but weep as he screamed aloud in desperation for them to turn back, "ADA! Lelthlan amin! I MUST SAVE HIM! HO NA CIN HARAN! ADAR! TAURIEL BY THE VALAR PLEASE! WE CAN NOT LEAVE HIM! NIN ADAR!...Nin adar! Adaaaaa…."
Eventually Prince Legolas's screams gave way to the softer wails of grief, while the Wood Elves fled on, under the determined guidance of the wizard named Gandalf, who in this desperate hour took it upon himself to take charge of the unexpected nightmare that had occurred much to his own personal shock.
Beside Gandalf, on the wizard's right tread a small Hobbit named Bilbo Baggins, who despite his size found himself caring a small elven child in his arms to safety, in this new awful chapter of his unexpected adventure.
Simultaneously in the distant Lake of Esgaroth, the citizens of Laketown finally began to spot the great black cloud of smoke and ash in the sky coming from the Woods in morbid fascination. Unaware of the wretchedness that would soon be heading towards them, in the following months for their fate was changing, as was the fate of all of Middle Earth.
Most especially fate was changing for the blood soaked Sindarin Elf struggling to live, who was riding in the floating barrel, journeying down stream of an offshoot of the Forest River.
An Elf, who happened to be none other then the King Thranduil Oropher.
But perhaps of much more significance at this moment in time, fate was changing for a very unique person in the world of Middle Earth. A person who even the Valar and Maiar themselves would have been shocked to discover existed, for this person was of a race thought to be nothing but myth even by the HighValarian Lord Manwe.
For who could believe? That there existed in any of the world after nothing but countless centuries of known monstrosities such as: orcs, vampires, trolls, wargs, goblins, werewolves, monstrous cats, twisted worms, twisted Maiar called Balrogs, that the Dark Lord Melkor, the fallen Valar had made for once something else altogether?
That He the evil being also called Morgoth by the Elves had created another race not of his usual foul design, but rather for reasons uncertain and forgotten even to one such as Him, had instead deeply desired to do the opposite?
Who could believe that the one responsible for all evil in the world had made beings like, His own lost goodness?
Who could believe the dark one had made like his, once own greatly forgotten light, a race that was not horrid or necessarily cruel, (unless angered)?
No one could.
None could ever believe in such beings.
Even Melkor, or as he was later known as Morgoth, eventually forgot them.
So like shards of crystal light in a dark cave they hid amongst the mighty sea of darkness of their maker until they vanished away out of sight, only to find themselves pleasantly forgotten by the entire world.
Until today that is; where one who was going by the name of Milo at the moment and would have happily remained hidden forever if fate hadn't decided it needed to change found they had just spotted what appeared to be?
"BEDKNOBS AND BROOMS! WHAT'S AN ELF DOING SWIMMING IN A WINE BARREL DOWNRIVER?! HEY! HEY! YOUR GOING TO MESS UP MY WASHING! ALLO! CAN YOU HEAR ME!?" shouted the one called Milo, as a washboard was suddenly dropped.
The unique character named Milo found themselves to be ignored, as they watched wide-eyed, the red bloody barrel crash right into what had appeared to have been the pleasantly potion induced soapy suddzing of Milo's dirty laundry from the previous week.
A small sound of, "Oh no," was made as the net that Milo had 'equipped' to keep the laundry from floating away was also ignored, by both Elf and Barrel.
Milo's unique midnight brown eyes widen like two horrified saucers!
Now the net was meeting the bottom of the current lying in tatters. While the barrel continued it's steadfast trip down the river, dragging a wonderful pair of blue underwear and everything else of Milo's clothing with it.
This instigated an immediate frown upon one Milo's face that transformed easily into a full-blown gale of disgruntlement. Milo began muttering,"Ohh no sir. Nooo sir. I can't have this. I can't have this! Ungoliant's pincers! I will not have this! Not by the stars, will I put up with this!"
With a strange flick of the hands the barrel found it's journey abruptly halted, then with another flick of the hands the barrel came flying in the immediate direction of shore where Milo's feet were standing.
It landed on it's side, and out of it toppled what had once been the proud feared King of Mirkwood, now lying in a undignified sickly heap of soapy river water.
Milo's approach to the barrel stopped at the sight of the wounded Elf.
For a few seconds there was a vast internal debate on what to do. Questions were raised and asked such as, 'Can I afford to do this? He's an Elf? Perhaps I should just mercy kill him, after all that's what people like his kind would expect of one such as me? Right? No. Look at him, Millasia, he's nearly dead already, I know I could call for help! What help? Right, well…should I save him or not?"
As the internal debate waged the dark almost raven haired person going by the name Milo crept closer to the wounded …..man.
For despite being an Elf, despite his partially scarred yet oddly entrancing face, and his wounded much disheveled appearance he was Milo noted very much a man. 'Or perhaps a male of his species,' would be more appropriate?
Milo wondered and in a state of open curiosity tinged with, yes dreadful awful concern, brought a small long but finely fingered hand to the stranger's face. Thoughts began to run wild upon the contact, 'His skin feel's soft even the scar side like fine fur. Yet under his closed eye's I can sense the battling shades of dark, sweet spiders, so much pain in this one. Poor unlucky thing, he won't live the day out if I do not intervene, but?'
Milo suddenly stood up and let out a primal sound of vexation at life in general, "OH WHAT AM I SAYING! BROOMS ABOVE! You don't have time for me to second guess like this," Milo spat at the fainted elf.
Milo glanced again at the arrow sticking out of the barrel, and then back to the wounded elf knowing that the decision had already been made the second the elf had fallen out of it.
Milo sighed it might be dangerous but it had to be done, "Very well then, I'll save you. YOU HEAR THAT ELF-MAN? I shall save you, I, Millasia, will do this. So your dern lucky elf and you best not forget it."
Milo then stomped a foot in determination and began removing the heavier items of the elf's clothing, "Right then, now the only question is after I strip these wet clothes off, tie a few tourniquets to stop the blood loss, cast a few small 'precautions', how am I going to carry you home Sharp Ears?"
Ten minutes later a very strange sight indeed was to be seen in the southern part of the Forest of Mirkwood. It consisted of what seemed to be a very mundane pale skinned, ordinary 'human boy' with dark black auburn hair and darker eyes, wearing dull peasant cloths carrying via piggy back style (rather on thin shaky legs it might be noted) an extremely tall dazzling slumped over silver haired very handsome even by Elvish standards, Sindarin Elf.
However this alone was not what made the scene so odd, nor was it the drool coming out of the male elf's mouth that fell on the struggling human's shoulder making the scene odd. Although Elf drool in of itself was a rare thing to witness it was mostly just disgusting, and not so much as strange as it was gross.
Whereas what was distinctly interesting to the casual observer was the floating piles of folded laundry following the duo well above the ground of their own accord mid-air, and the small dog-sized spider suddenly chattering away at the human's wobbling heels?!
Now that…that was quite altogether something no one on Middle Earth had ever seen!
**************************************************(End Chapter)
Disclaimer:
So I of course do not own the Hobbit nor Lord of the Rings. I make no money off of this (darn) but am merely a humble fan playing Goddess with things. The only thing I own is my O.C. and the idea of their origins. That's it, besides the plot idea, everything else all goes to Tolkien. The lucky genius.
This story takes place right during the second film if you go by film standards and interrupts the story of the Hobbit. Smaug is still in the mountain sleeping and literally right after the dwarves were imprisoned the Orcs of Dol-Guldor attacked in this fic of mine instead of just waiting.
Reasons why I started this fic: Recently I have been lucky to receive a great many followers for my other fic The Avengers and Jokul Frosti, however, my mind simply doesn't dwell on one fic alone and well, taken with the Hobbit films and an avid ring fan myself if I do say so, I couldn't help peeking at the fanfiction for the Hobbit.
Being a Thranduil lover and an Elf-obsessionist myself, I found I was greatly disappointed with the fandom. Over and over everyone is writing the same formula, girl or elf maid gets to Mirkwood, ends up in cell, King falls in love and then well that's just it, bada bang bada boom! There are at least 27 fics, (I counted) out there that follow this procedure all of which are creative but all of which have a running route of sameness. Which is aggravatingly borderline boring! And that my dear readers and fans I can not stand! Not at all. So in the hopes of spicing the fandom up and inspiring change I decided despite my other unfinished and working fics; what the hell?
I'll give this fandom a go!
However, Jokul Frosti still remains my priority, and for now my only lengthy epic, and my main primary focus, in fact it's next chapter is being edited by a friend. Hopefully in the next two weeks I'll have it up.
My Joker fic as I promised a friend is also being worked on, however that one requires me to be in a dark place in order to write it. Which I'm sorry if that sounds weird but it's true, it's hard to right insanity, which is also a reason why Jokul Frosti is taking time in it's updates.
Anyway this fic for the Hobbit is largely an experiment on my part and a predecessor of sorts to a larger fic I'd like to do in the future, but not until the Avengers with Jokul Frosti is finished.
Therefore, this is meant to be a shorter fic then my usual stuff and more loose. I won't say anymore on this, I'll let all of you good people judge this hopefully short story as you will.
A special note on my real life: I have shortened my hours at the 7-11 where I work, for Illustration Work. Wonderful news with this is I have at last achieved a client and a job and been paid in part for it. Therefore much and I do mean MUCH of my time will be otherwise occupied away from my writing. This is sad but true, but look at it this way if I can make a living, I can live to write another day when I have the time!
None of my fics are on hiatus.
I just: between work, trying to make a career, trying to do art for a living, trying to help my struggling parents, and save up money, and looking for future options. I sadly, unless there's a way I can make money off of fanfic writing? Can't only write, also I have decided to start a book.
A story of my own to publish one day.
So things have become busy, but do not my fret dear readers! I never forget a story I weave, and hopefully one day I'll learn how to write faster and better!
In the meantime, tah for now, and forever thanks.
P.S. I am not an expert on Elvish language nor Tolkien, this is not to be taken too seriously this fic, so please no exaggerated critiques if you don't mind, unless you must get it out of your system then by all means have at it! But don't expect a reply I don't usually answer back because I have no time. It's as simple as that I'm afraid.
P.P.S.
One thing I truly think about fanfiction is this, if your going to change one little thing in a story, then by all means why stop there? Don't hold back, I say change it good and hard!
Just like Granny Weatherwax from Discworld! Pratchet is a genius!
Finally Thank you everyone who reads this! I love you all – Ever yours obnoxious Stella!