It was the night of T.A 2770, in the reign of King Thrór, a dark day that plunged Erebor in fire, a day when the Dwarves and the Men of Dale lost their lives. A sea of flame filled the great city, while an ebony-scaled dragon loomed in the evening sky, covering the city in darkness. Smaug burned mighty buildings to the ground, and left anybody who dared to escape unscathed. Smoke and fire filled the skies, covering the stars.
From the valley of the Withered Heath came the dragon Smaug, whose desire was for Erebor's riches consisting of glittering mountains of gold and treasure. It was an unforeseen event. Many died from the fire drake's siege, and the great city fell into ruin. Alas, the king, who had barely escaped through a secret entrance, left with his son Thráin II and his grandson Thorin, accompanied by a band of loyal followers. The company went southwards, but promised to return once more to reclaim the fallen city when the time had come
...
The news about the Sack of Erebor spread fast in Middle-earth, and when morning had finally come, Dáin Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hills, and cousin to Thorin, went out in hopes of saving the lives of those who had survived. He was aware of the dangers, but his heart could not bear to see such suffering from his kin. Along with his men, clad in their iron mail, they rode east towards the city of Erebor.
In a far distance, the grey smoke that rose from the burned towers filled the hazy blue sky. A pungent smell lingered in the air, and Dáin frowned at the sight that laid before him. The Khazâd of Erebor were now homeless, their clothes torn, and their faces grim and fear-stricken. There were not many of them left. Dáin unmounted his boar, and walked towards the remaining dwarves of Erebor who quickly took notice of him.
"Ay...it has been a long night." Dáin removed his iron helm and looked at the throng of dwarves before him. "You are all welcome to live in the Iron Hills. You may have lost your homes, but fear not, for there is always a new beginning," he said, encouraging the dwarves in the best way he could.
The short speech of Dáin uplifted the spirits of those who remained, and an echo of thanks followed, their eyes gleaming with tears of gratitude.
"For now the evil dragon resides in the Lonely Mountain, what will become of the king?" Dáin worried deeply for his relatives, more so for the cousin he thought of as a brother.
Dáin watched as the survivors were led towards the Iron Hills, but he remained for there was a strange feeling tugging his nerves, as if telling him he needed to stay.
A soft cry was heard near the fallen towers at the entrance towards the kingdom. Dáin reminded himself that this was as far as he would go. With anxious steps, he looked for the origin of the voice, and with his sharp ears he found the voice coming from under a huge slab of rock from a jagged tower.
"Tua amin..." a little voice cried out in Elvish.
The voice was apparently in deep pain and Dáin made no haste to uncover the elf trapped under the rubble. With great effort, Dáin began to remove the chunks of rock that covered a much bigger form; a grown elf who shielded a much younger one. It was apparent that the male elf died protecting the child, Dáin found that there was too much sadness in a day. With sympathy, Dáin looked at the terrified elf-child.
The lord of the Iron Hills wondered why two elves would wander into Erebor on such an unfortunate day.
Tears welled in her clear grey eyes. The silver dress she wore was already in tatters, and she was covered in bruises and wounds, but she fared better than the elf that laid dead beside her.
She tried to wake the elf, but to no avail. He was already dead.
"Ada?" she cried, embracing the man who Dáin identified to be her father.
The elves were indeed fair and young-looking, unlike the race of men and dwarves. The elf had a fair complexion, long black hair and a slim build. The young elf on the other hand had beautiful red tresses and ivory skin.
Dáin could not leave the child alone, not when the city was in ruin, not when a dragon lurked within the Lonely Mountain. Cautiously, Dáin sat beside the young elf and patted her back awkwardly, for it was unknown to him the ways of the elves when it came to comforting their brethren.
"I-I do not understand Elvish, or whatever you call it. But I do know for certain that you are sad and alone," he comforted. The child did not respond, but she looked disheartened and at the verge of tears.
Dáin found himself in a terrible situation-here was the descendant of Durin, the lord of the Iron Hills and a seasoned warrior who had fought in many battles, unable to comfort a mere elf child.
"Ada..." she cried, and soft, translucent tears fell down her cheeks. The elf child grieved, and Dáin sat there speechless and clueless of what to do.
"Don't cry." He patted the child's back. "If it pleases you, I can be your Ada?"
"Mani ume lle quena?" She wiped her tears and looked at Dáin, but her blue eyes still held sadness. Dáin still could not understand what the child was saying, and though his men might be worrying, he could not leave just yet.
Dáin could not think of any way for them to communicate, and he could not make her come with him when her father laid dead on the cold stone.
Repeating his words, Dáin hoped the child would understand what he was trying to say.
"If it pleases you, I can be your Ada?"
But she frowned, and Dáin wondered if his choice of words was wrong.
"My lord."
Dáin looked up and saw his friend, Bor, who had thick brown hair and a pointed beard. He looked at the child and then to the male elf.
"Right on time, my friend. Why not carry the body of her father? We cannot just leave him here, for she apparently would not come with us."
"But my lord, she is an elf," Bor mouthed silently, hoping the child did not hear.
But Dáin caught the slight movement of her pointed ears, and it was known to him that the Elf-folk had keen senses. Before Dáin could attempt to reason or explain, the young elleth fell and fainted. Dáin instantly caught her with a swift swoop, and he knew what had caused such a happening.
Although his race did not think highly of the elves, Dáin personally did not bear any sort of hatred towards them, and to rumors he listened that when elves lose a loved one, death may soon come knocking at their doorstep.
"My lord, do we leave the body?" Bor asked with a masked expression.
Dáin knew his friend had a disdain for elves, and this he understood. "I understand that it is against your will, but we must honor her father's death; it is by my order.
"Bor did not make any complaint, but he could not hide his emotions well. More dwarves assisted Bor with the same reactions, but Dáin paid them no heed.
In his arms, the child wept unconsciously. Dáin felt a strong desire to protect her; he wondered why such a feeling crept into his heart, it was unlikely, unthinkable-even for a dwarf. but Dáin felt it was right, and he had decided.
"Ada..." she mumbled, and Dáin looked at her with warm eyes and a small smile.
"I can be your Ada."
And the lord of the Iron Hills returned home with an elf child, a first for the dwarves of Middle-earth.
A/N
I would like to thank a good friend of mine, airwren (You can find her on Watttpad) she has provided me good council and I love her so much!
The story will be a combination of the two great storylines: The Hobbit and The Lord of The Rings, so there may be parts from the books, some parts from the movie, and some parts which I've altered completely (or given my own version, of course all rights reserved to our great master Tolkien) I've decided to post this story on this site as well, you could find my account on wattpad Cinnamonkaye :D thankyouuu 3
Elf phrases used :
Tua Amin - Help Me
Mani ume lle quena - What did you say?
Ada - Father