"Do you hear me?" came the wizards voice on the edge of her mind. It brought her out of her exhausted reverie staring into the darkness of her empty flagon, and she looked up at him with a sigh.
His brows furrowed under the large brim of his tall hat, "Something is on your mind."
It was not a question, but an observation.
She looked around the inn, which was quiet at this hour, and the fire in the hearth was reduced to glowing embers, "What good will I be to the company of Thorin Oakenshield, Gandalf? I have not a fraction of your power, or knowledge. Surely there are others...?"
He bent closer to her, the candle-light illuminating his ancient face, "There are no others."
The company of Thorin Oakenshield had not the slightest clue she had been keeping near them for days now, (since they crossed the border out of the Shire) not even the wizard Gandalf. Not that it was hard to be undetected by such a large and rather obnoxious group of dwarves. They were anything but quiet and left quite the (at times literal) breadcrumb trail behind them as they travelled. They built large cook-fires, and ate a remarkable amount of food, so much that she was surprised that their ponies could pack all of their provisions so well.
During a short meeting in Bree several months ago, Gandalf had spoken to her briefly about the quest he had a part in, and demanded that she kept it secret. He had told her only a few bits (ones that he obviously found important to her): the date he guessed they would be leaving Hobbiton, that they would be using the Great East Road and that he felt that he would have to take leave of the company at some point in the journey, and he wanted her to step in when he stepped out. When she had asked him for more information, he grew stern and irritated and quickly left the inn. His reaction troubled her for weeks after their meeting.
And so, she had planned to be on the Great East Road during the time Gandalf had told her to expect them, and caught on to their trail with ease. Since then, she had been following them on foot, keeping to the shadows and using the hilly landscape to her advantage to keep pace with the ponies, waiting for Gandalf to ride off to some other (undoubtedly more important) quest of his own.
Upon reaching the bridge that crossed the Mitheithel River, she had to wait till the company had crossed and set up their camp for the night before slipping across the bridge and making her own camp in a hollow some few hundred yards off of the Road.
The next night, the company had reached the Trollshaw forest, and had left the Road to make camp in an abandoned farmyard that one of the dwarves (one with a sharp eye!) must have spotted from the Road. She made her own camp on the side of a hill that faced the farmyard, but had more than enough foliage for her to hide in. She built no fires, and with no fire, there was no warmth and little comfort.
Just as she was unbuckling her sword belt, a powerful voice thundered over the hills and trees, "I've had enough dwarves for one day!" and was followed shortly after by: "I'm going to seek the only one around here who has any sense!".
Moments later, a horse rode by figure wrapped in a large grey cloak with a tall pointy hat galloped away from the forest and down the road at a furious pace.
By dark, she could hear axes falling on dry wood, and not long after that, the breeze picked up the scent of a stew simmering and sent it over her, making her realize her hunger. Turning over her mail coat and fur cloak that she had just taken off, she found her pack, in which was some bread, cheese and jerky, among other things. Contently leaning back on a gnarled root that protruded from the ground, she ate a meagre supper, while the company of dwarves smoked and ate well.
She had nearly dozed off when a chorus of battle-cries came from somewhere in the forest. Rolling into a crouch, she was able to get a better view of the dwarf camp from between two large thorn bushes. Their fire was still burning brightly but there were no dwarves to be seen. Instantly concerned, she gathered up her things, belting on her sword, swinging her bow and quiver over one shoulder, and her pack over the other, and headed down the hill towards the dwarf camp. Halfway there, she was stopped in her tracks by an echoing howl of pain that was not a sound any man, elf, or dwarf could make. However, she did know what creatures could make such sounds, and it drove her into a sprint. She did not even halt at the dwarf camp to drop her pack – she tossed it within the ring of light the fire had created and kept running, with her bow now in her hand. Around a bend she ran, and nearly collided with a pony. With a quick glance around, she counted only nine ponies, when there should have been thirteen. Looking a bit closer, she could make out the tracks of two sets of troll prints, and followed them deep into the musty forest.
With deft hands, she notched an arrow to the string of her bow as the glow of a fire came into view. The sounds of the battle had disappeared entirely, though she thought she could hear trolls arguing and rough dwarvish curses every now and then. When she realized that the fire was in fact in the middle of a small clearing, she stepped off of the trail of the trolls and made for the outline of a thick oak, and crouched behind it, with her bow at the ready. There was in fact three trolls, not just two, and they had four ponies penned up in a makeshift corral, and thirteen angry dwarves bound in various odd ways – some were in sacks, some just had their hands and feet bound, others were tied to a log that had been driven into the ground. Weapons of many kinds, and most sizes were scattered on the ground in the clearing, but out of reach of the dwarves. All of the dwarves were grumbling and complaining and cursing. Cursing being the most common of the three.
Being so close, she could listen in on the conversation between the trolls with ease, and had to smile a bit as they were in an intense argument on the best way to eat the dwarves and the ponies, and the dwarves always had something to say about each idea a troll came up with – skinned, not skinned, raw, in stew, squashed into jelly, with sage, without sage... the trolls seemed to like their food.
The argument began to get a bit heated, and made her nervous as she tried in vain to think of something to do, until the most remarkable thing happened. The halfling had gotten up from where the trolls tossed him, his hands and bare hobbit feet were still tied, but he joined the argument. The dwarves all looked at him in confusion, unsure of what this hobbit was thinking he was doing. Many of the dwarves began to protest and curse at the hobbit and the trolls.
She had realized that the hobbit was trying to buy them time – hoping Gandalf would return? Or did he think he would stall them until dawn? Regardless, she did not want to wait to find out. Standing up and drawing her bow, she took aim at the closest trolls neck, and let the arrow fly. It hit, but was a bit too low to kill the troll. Cursing, she ran into the clearing, notched another arrow and shot it at the same troll, this time, though, she did not miss her target. The arrow embedded itself deeply in the trolls throat, and the troll crumpled to its knees. The other trolls were yelling and howling in rage, charging at her with out stretched hands. Without thinking, she charged at them. She knew trolls were slow, and dumb. Diving between ones legs, she reached up and sank the arrow into the flesh of the trolls inner thigh, rolled forward, and found her hand hit something steel.
As she got up, she kicked out and sent a sword spinning towards where the halfling stood, in awe. She had hoped he had the sense to use it to get the dwarves free. Turning to face the trolls again, she drew her swords. They felt warm, and alive in her hands, almost humming with excitement. She dodged a club that was headed for her head, leaped forward and thrust a sword deep into an arm, severing plenty of muscle and tendon, and brought the second down into the crook of the trolls elbow. Blood splattered over her arm and face, hot, and it carried a stench that made her cringe. As she yanked her swords free, the troll made a terrible sound as it staggered to the side, giving her space to move to dodge the other troll trying to grab her barehanded. She managed to cut a couple of its thick fingers off and hacked others through to the bone. The other troll had righted itself now, and still had the club, but wielded it in its other hand. It was far more clumsy with its off hand, but it was even angrier now and swinging its club unpredictably, nearly hitting the other troll more than once. The other troll, with the severed fingers, was trying to swat her with its ruined hands, sending blood flying everywhere.
She found herself struggling to get her swords to reach the trolls to do any more damage, and was eventually pushed back against the massive fire, cornered by two very angry, wounded, and hungry trolls. She did not think the trolls wished to eat her though. "Where are the dwarves?" was a thought crossing her mind between her trying to figure out what she could possibly do next and realizing how hot the fire was at her back. Her thoughts were answered with many wild, loud, and vicious yells. Looking past the looming figures of the trolls, she could see many of the dwarves charging the trolls, with their weapons back in their hands, engraved edges glinting in the firelight.
Chaos had broke loose when the first dwarvish weapon bit into flesh. The trolls went wild, moving faster than she thought trolls ever could. The dwarves were equally as terrifying, relentlessly advancing on the trolls, working in twos or threes to over take the trolls. The trolls attempted a retreat, and nearly trampled her as they stumbled backward and crashed into the fire, sending sparks flying. She was knocked aside by a trolls knee as he fell, it was all she could to to assure she did not stab herself with a sword as she fell, and rolled out of harms way. As she recovered from her fall, she saw one troll fall and be swarmed by four or five dwarves as they made sure it would not be getting up again. The sound of a warhammer repetitively smashing into bone seemed to be louder than all of the other sounds in her ears. It was a sickening sound, and she found herself cringing again as she stood up, jamming her swords back in their scabbards at her hips. Grabbing her bow and a single arrow from the quiver strapped to her back, she took aim on the remaining troll. Determined to make sure the arrow would hit its target, she let go of the string, and the arrow whizzed through the sparks and embedded itself into the trolls temple and the troll fell in a plume of dust.
The dwarves that had been attacking it seemed to be making sure it was dead, and seemed to be pouring all of their anger into the task, while the other dwarves spoke among themselves, and stared at her with many different expressions. She used her sleeve to wipe some of the blood off of her face and neck, still slightly disturbed by the scent of it. She looked up, and was not surprised to see one of the taller dwarves striding towards her, with his sword still in his hand. The firelight was dancing across the bloodied blade of his sword, and smouldering in his eyes.
His voice was rough and deep as he spoke to her, his furious eyes locked on hers, "You! Who are you? Who sent you? How-"
She raised up to her full height, which was only a couple inches taller than him, "Thorin Oakenshield. Son of Thrain, son of Thror, and King Under the Mountain..." she was not going to forget her manners now, even if the tone of her voice wasn't exactly polite, "how delightful to meet you."
He seemed to be stunned by her greeting, or stunned that she knew who he was, yet he hadn't the slightest idea who she was. The demanding power in his voice seemed to waver a bit, "And who are you? What brought you here?"
She turned her eyes away from his as she returned her bow to its quiver and looked over the audience of sweaty, dirty, bloody dwarves that had been gathering behind Thorin, "You want my name then? I am Silwen Narethelen," she smiled at him, "And what brought me here is the terrible sounds that came from this forest not an hour ago."
Someone in the company whispered, "That's a half-elven name!" but she chose to ignore the observation and the whispers that arose with it.
He pushed the tip of his sword into the dirt, leaned on it, and growled at her, "The truth."
She nodded, "That is part of it, but I do not feel this is the place for interrogations. Why don't we leave these creatures to rot and talk around a comfortable fire?"
He gazed thoughtfully at his sword, lifting it and stabbing it back into the dirt, "You will talk here," he said in a low voice, "or I will make you talk." Turning to the broad, fierce looking dwarf beside him, he whispered something, and the dwarves began to leave, taking their distressed ponies with them.
Silwen raised her eyebrows and waited for the other dwarves to all leave, "So be it then..." she cleared her voice, "I have been following your tracks since you left the Shire. Some months ago, Gandalf asked me to keep my eyes and ears open for your company in this area, and made me aware that he expected to have to leave your company at some time. He had thought that in his absence, I would be of some help to you and your purpose, Thorin Oakenshield."
She felt his eyes sear into her as he growled, "What would a half-elven... girl know of my purpose?"
She met his glare and with a snarl, he turned away from her, staring into the fire with a deep and dark intensity she hadn't witnessed in years. She took a deep breath, "You have a map. And a key. But you have not the knowledge to put either to use. I know of those who could give you such knowledge. Following a map you can not read is folly."
His posture went rigid at the mention of the map and key that had been passed down to him by his father, and his dark stare changed to one of longing – still straight into the flames. Silwen crossed her arms, and waited for his reply, becoming irritated by the blood drying on her skin and cracking each time she would move. She looked up at the sky, and could see the moon just peeking over the tops of the trees, casting even more light into the already fire-lit clearing.
Finally, he turned away from the fire and faced her, "You and Gandalf both say there are few who can read this map," he patted a gloved hand against his chest, probably where the map was tucked safely into a pocket, "but he wanted me to go to the elves. I will have you know I will not trust them, nor will I go to them for help."
Silwen understood him on a level deeper than he knew, and found herself nodding slowly, then said plainly, "Old wounds, but wounds nonetheless."
The dwarf turned and began to walk out of the clearing and called back, "Welcome to my company, Silwen Narethelen."
He was swallowed by the forests shadows, and she found herself alone, splattered with blood, smeared with dirt, with three very dead trolls, and (not that she knew it yet) facing the beginning of her own unexpectedly pivotal tale.