Take Me Chapter 1: Prologue, a hobbit fanfic

Deep under the mountain,

a fiery menace grows,

Sleeping under piles of gold…

The wind whipped past a cloaked figure. It was of short stature, much like that of a dwarf, standing at only around 4'10", if that. The figure was shadowed with a midnight black hood that was pulled across the snowy ground behind them. Footsteps crunched into the snow, leaving footprints behind. One could not tell which gender of a being made them, as they were in-between masculine and feminine boot shape. The boot shape though… It did not look to be the making of Man, Elf, Dwarf, Orc, or Hobbit. It had its own distinct shaping and pattern. The boot was of custom make, it just had to be. But what do boot prints show? One might say the species, one might say the type of person, one might say the hardships. But this boot print shows everything. It shows the treacherous perils the owner has climbed. The hardy nature of this short being. The will to survive, even in the harshest of times. The boot prints show the person in the most subtle way, that no longer could they hide under a hood. A hood that had now been removed so one could gaze upon the snowy mountain.

The black hood fell to the shoulders like a water fall, showing the silken texture to it and the fur-lined inside. A dark, spruce-wood shaded wave of curls roared free from its confinements. The curly mess ran past the shoulders and traveled to around the bottom of the shoulder blades. Braids intricately woven throughout, held pieces of fine gems and clasps. Clasps, that stated a name in the dwarven language of Khuzdul, held braids together so they wouldn't run rampant. Khuzdul…if this being had clasps in the dwarven language, then this has to be a dwarf! And the jewels that plagued the sea of hair must indicate that this being is indeed female! But what would a female dwarf be doing in these parts? This was the land of a long-past extinct race, Dark Elves.

*~•~*

Dark elves were elves that had been cast out from their kingdoms, mainly Greenwood, now called Mirkwood. They fled to a remote part of Middle-Earth and hid inside a valley of mountains. Their skin darkened to a shade of hazel, their eyes turned a lighter shade, and their statutes became shorter, around as short as dwarves. They had, almost literally, became dark. They had to blend in with the surrounding darkness to hide from enemies like goblins and orcs. Their irises were light, almost white sometimes, and the scleras were a black color. This helped them with having a good sense of night-vision in a way. But they were terrible. Men raped, children stole, and the women were followers of evil.

There was a king once. He was thin, skin black as night, his irises a dangerous white. He sat on a throne of bones that once belonged to child, man, and woman. Female dark elves sat at his side, like an alpha wolf surrounded by his many bitches. They tended to him in sick ways, fed him like a child, pleased him in propriety-less fashion. The "kingdom" was no kingdom. It was ruin. Ruin created by fear, hate, avarice, envy, slothery, gluttony, and lust. It was a rogue place, filled with the lowest of races. This place was known as Khänshólē, or more commonly known as Purgatory/Hell. It was named that for the fact of how terrible it was. If you found "refuge" there, you were likely banished, or sent to the mountain as punishment. No one willingly took a stroll to the harsh environment. Snow came down like a rain storm, pelting you underneath pounds of it. The cold was nearly unbearable, unless you got into the mountain (where it was surprisingly warm), or went 200 miles west to Mount Gundabad.

The reign of the king was long and tiresome. So many died from starvation, exhaustion, or…dieseases. Many wanted to rid of the tyrant, but he had enough followers to have spies (paranoid as he was) to stop their plans before they could manifest. He was like an infected cut. You could have many herbs and medicines to try and destroy it, but it would fight right back until you had the right concoction. But never did the rebellious dark elves have the right plan. They were reckless in planning, they didn't realize the full extent of killing their king. They killed the king after 200 years of tyranny and revelled in his death. Many celebrated, but many were in fear. Fear that was caused by strange activity from 200 miles west…Gundabad. Orcs were coming.

The orcs had heard of the newly dead king of the dark elves, and without a king, a kingdom is usually in ruin. This would leave the dark elves defenseless and the orcs would revell in the slaughter to come. And slaughter did come.

Two long years after the death of Maluninth, the orcs had finally struck. Azog the Defiler had planned the attack. He was an Orc of white complexion, battle scars riddling his face, and an Orc of high battle-tactical intelligence. He planned out everything to the very point. If a certain person were to try to fight back, he had a plan to make sure it didn't counter his attacks. If a certain Orc died, another one was there to step up. Azog had come prepared and was NOT going to lose this siege. He was lusting for blood. And blood he would get. For the "army" of the dark elves was not strong, in fact, it wasn't an army at all. All the dark elves had to protect them was dark magic and the scarce sword that those few lucky ones possessed. But not even that was enough. For ten moons, the battle for Khänshólē raged. For ten moons, dark elves fell to the crude blades of the orcs. For ten moons, a female dark elf laid in a makeshift bed and tried her hardest to produce a child from her womb. For ten moons, a dwarf held the hand of the dark elf and prayed to Mahal that his child would be born. For ten moons, a child struggled to escape Death's clutches.

A child was born on the last night of the battle. A dark elf/dwarf mix the child was. It's genealogy messed with by two different bloods. The child's height and half of their build already showing their dwarf side. But their dark elf heritage showed with their mocha dark skin and bright blue irises. The child was small, probably too small for their own good, but it lived on. The child was a girl, yes. But she had no mother, as the elf had died as she held her child. The pain had been too much for her small, malnourished frame to handle and she passed into the gardens of Limren peacefully. The father tucked his child away, shielding her from prying eyes, and escaped Khänshólē easily. He had escaped but his heart felt like an Orc had pierced it with his blade. He had to leave his beloved behind, not being able to bury her properly or say goodbye. Oh how his parents would be ashamed, yet proud at the same time. Once he had escaped and rode away from the god-forsaken battle grounds, he looked upon his daughter and placed a tearful kiss upon her ebony forehead. "My Khadinah," was all he had said before blazing into the night.

*~•~*

A furry muzzle was place against the head of the female, softly growling at the grueling cold. An ebony hand placed itself upon the head of the 5' beast and softly stroked the black fur. Eyes of a glowing white iris, slowly opened when the beast sensed someone else. A growl raised in its throat as it looked behind their master, and stared straight into the white air. The master of this dog silently shushed the animal with a silent nod, as if saying the prescence was of no threat.

*"Ozodl ezun hurun ai bulnd," a silk-like voice graced the air, obviously coming from the female, her back still turned.

"It is indeed," an old voice responded as if the owner knew of such troubles of the mountain. The female though was not surprised by the stranger's knowledge of Khuzdul and simply continue on, in Westron.

"You asked for my prescence, old friend," the young voice stated, as if annoyed by the fact that they had met here. "What is it you want? And why must we come here?"

A grey cloak, with a blue/grey pointed hat, came into view. A dark wooded staff crunched the icey snow below, the top of it gnarled as if it were caging something. A grey and white beard lay atop a chest that showed the figure to be male and old, perhaps very old. Then the face came into view. An old face of knowing. The grey eyes showed such knowledge that not even an elven scholar could comprehend its vastness. The man was a wizard, and it was Gandalf the Grey.

"You know very well why I brought you here," Gandalf's voice said. It traveled to the ears of the woman, the wind blowing aside part of her hair so that a slight point could be seen at the top. Gandalf stood there, in the biting cold, and waited for the woman to answer. She was short, he knew that much, but he didn't expect for her to have a 5' tall warg sitting next to her. The warg was bigger than her and sat with a gleam in his eyes. Gandalf had never seen such an animal with anything other than orcs and was surprised at the new revelation.

*~•~*

The wind whipped the face of the dwarven man as he rode his chestnut pony. A baby was cradled to his chest and he tried to support as much heat as he could to the frail infant. Faint muffled cries emitted from the baby as they rode on into the storm. The man couldn't help but feel like they were going in circles. The air was the same old white, and the sky was the same black. There were no stars in the sky tonight, it seemed, and it proved to be no help for directions. He needed to leave this cursed land and get to Erid Luin in the Blue Mountains. He needed to warn their king, Thorin Oakenshield. He needed to warn everyone of the demise of Khanshole, the Dark Elf "kingdom". But no one would probably listen to him, except Thorin.

Everyone was too focused on the birth of Fili, Thorin's sister's son. He would be heir to the throne and it was causing celebration. He was born a few weeks before Khadinah, but her birth would mean nothing compared to other births of female dwarves. She was a half-blood. A half-blood of a dwarf and a dark elf none the less. The dwarven man would be disgraced. He would be shunned and people would think him crazy. Khadinah would be shunned, called obscene names. The dwarven man suddenly thought to himself, 'What have you done, Frelin?'. A sudden wave of shame and defiance/pride washed over him; the shame for what he was going to put Khadinah through and defiance/pride for bringing a beautiful girl into the world, being able to call her his daughter.

Frelin was snatched from his thoughts by the sound of crunching snow. He whipped his head to his left, straining his ears to listen for any signs of life. He squinted his eyes, but dwarves weren't exactly known for their great far-sight, as they spent most of their lives in the dark mines and mountains. The violent blizzard occurring at that moment didn't help either. Frelin shrugged and urged his pony onwards, but before the horse's hoof hit the ground, another sound reverberated through the punishing air. But it wasn't just one sound. No, it sounded like multiple owners of feet and…paws? Paws either meant wolves or…wargs. A sense of dread filled Frelin. Wargs meant orcs, and orcs meant death. Frelin, in his state of worry and fear, slipped from the saddle of his pony. The pony reared and nearly decapitated Frelin, but he rolled out of the way in time. And he landed right at a pair of vile smelling claws, claws at the paws of a warg. Frelin timidly looked up and was met with a snarling grin. It was terrifying for the dwarf, an as he turned around, he was met with a white face. The face was riddled with scars and ugly as one could get. It was Azog the Defiler.

Azog was a pale Orc, his face was the playground for obscene scars, and he had only one hand (the other having been lost in the Battle of Azunilbizar by Thorin Oakensheild). He hated dwarves with a burning passion so fiery, one could probably burn in its depths. Azog looked down at the frightened dwarf and a sneer pulled up at his lips. Frelin was a muscular dwarf, an astounding height of five-feet tall, his midnight black beard was braided intricately (indicating the following: he had a child, his lover was dead, he was mourning her still, his child was a girl, and he was a survivor of war), and a helmet rested on his head keeping his hair somewhat manageable. Azog though, was seven-feet tall, and the dwarf could feel it. He felt it in his bones as Azog turned away from him for a minute to shout something in black speech.

Using this minute to his advantage, Frelin hurriedly placed a kiss onto the forehead of his frail daughter, who had been hidden cleverly in his thick coat. Tears started to gather up in the dwarf's eyes, but he quickly expelled thoughts of this as he pushed his daughter into a small sack on the side of his pony. He gave her rear a good smack to get her going, and she bolted off into the blizzard. Frelin smiled, a pained one at that, and turned to face Azog again. But Azog had watched the exchange and Frelin filled with dread. Azog motioned for an Orc to come up, and once he did, Frelin wanted to scramble after his daughter. The Orc held crude leashes to young wargs. Wargs that were waiting to sink their young teeth into something and to taste blood for the first time.

Azog let out a command and the wargs were released after the pony and baby. They were goners, Frelin knew. He stared longingly to his daughter and loyal pony, that unknowingly bolted into the blizzard with a pack of wargs at their heels. The worst part was that Khadinah had just been born the day before and wouldn't know what was happening. Frelin let out a sigh and faced Azog, ready to die. He had sent his baby daughter to death, so he might as well die too. Azog put on a bone-chilling smirk, his disgusting teeth showing, and wrenched a blade through the dwarf's stomach. He twisted the crudely made sword and yanked it out. Frelin fell to the ground in a dead heap, and Azog growled, not satisfied that the dwarf hadn't made a single sound of pain nor suffer, as was his intention. Azog looked into the wall of pelting snow and made a promise.

He would make the daughter of that scum suffer if she survived this day.

*~•~*

"You must be confused as to why a warg sits by my side, loyally," the female started, her head turning the slightest. A fraction of her features was visible and proved her to be beautiful in a way. Her sideburns were clearly longer than a normal woman, and they were braided like any other dwarrowdam. But she had no beard, and no facial hair appeared on her chocolate skin. This would make her attractive to Men and Elves, but ugly in the eyes of a young male dwarf. Her cheekbones were set high on her face, giving her an elleth look. Her ears were pointed in the slightest, much like how male Elves' ears were (less pointed than a female's of course). Her eyes were closed, but her lashes were proven to be long and voluminous. Dark lips were set in a lazy line, not a smile, nor stiff. A small beauty mark lie to the side of them, something one would never see on any Elf. But when she opened her eyes, they made her truly ethereal. The irises were a deep turquoise and the surrounding area was white, so unlike a dark elf. She was truly a mix-breed

Gandalf had not seen the female dwarf in years, but since he had seen her last, she looked more dwarfish. If one gave her facial hair, and light skin, she would pass for a dwarrowdam with flying colours he admitted. He saw her turn fully towards him and a confused look settled upon his wrinkled features. His mind was spinning and he didn't know why. Maybe it was because of her dark aura, as all dark elves had. Or maybe it was because she just had a very commanding persona (in a way of course, she was just one of those people). But either way, Khadinah was a powerful figure to Gandalf, and shouldn't be taken lightly. She had massacred dozens of Orc packs, trying to get information on the pale Orc. And the fact that her loyal black warg was with her at all times, made her even more intimidating. She was just 62 years young, mature to a dwarf's standards, who reached maturity at around 40 years of age. But still, Khadinah was a threat even if she was still young in the eyes of most.

Khadinah sighed and let her eyes travel back to the mountain of where she was born. The mountain where just 20 miles south, the exact spot she stood, her father was murdered for the joy of revelling in people's suffering. This is why she questioned Gandalf's choice for bringing her here. She refused to come near this place for as long as possible, but Fate said otherwise. Khadinah cursed Mahal for being brought into this mess of a world and not even getting a good start. She was born in the middle of a war for Mahal's sake! Her father was killed, she was sent off on a pony (of whom was killed later by a pack of wargs), and she was buried in snow for a full day, as a baby! Sometimes she wondered if Mahal allowed her creation just to sit back and laugh at her. She muttered under her breath some obscene curses in Khuzdul before composing herself and turning to Gandalf, who was now cocking an eyebrow at her.

"The warg that sits loyally by my side is *Eziluk," Khadinah started, turning to the black warg. Over the years, the coat of her loyal friend had grown tufts of brown and white fur. It wasn't the fact that Eziluk was growing old, it was more of the fact that traveling took its toll. If they spent too long in a sunny place, like the Shire, Eziluk's coat would go lighter. Khadinah stroked her hand over a spot of white behind Eziluk's left ear, the warg tilting her head just the slightest so she could lean it into Khadinah's hand. A satisfied purr escaped from Eziluk and Khadinah turned to the curious old wizard before her.

"She saved me on that fateful, retched night. And for that I am forever indebted to her," Khadinah said. Gandalf was still a bit confused but dropped the topic. He knew to never press the dwarrowdam, as she only told one what she wanted to: nothing more, nothing less. If you questioned her, well Gandalf could guarantee you would have a pained day. He watched the affection displayed between the two; it was as if they were best-friends, no matter their race. But Gandalf shook his head and got his thoughts collected. He came here for a reason. A reason that would hopefully help Khadinah, but could potentially harm her beyond help.

Gandalf positioned his staff so that both hands lay on top of the knobby top. "I think it best if you travel to Ered Luin," the wizard stated. He knew this was a lot to ask for, but he had his reasons. They were very good reasons, but dwarves are stubborn, so it would take a lot of convincing for Gandalf to send Khadinah there. He saw the woman stiffen, Eziluk noticing too. The warg nudged her master and Khadinah set a hand on her muzzle. She rubbed in between the eyes of the black warg, acting as if she were calm. But Gandalf knew that Khadinah was far from a relaxed mindset. He did not know why the dwarrowdam would be so opposed to traveling to the Blue Mountains, but he had his suspicions: having to leave Eziluk, being with other dwarves (of whom would most definitely make fun of the half-breed, as she had no beard), not getting to kill Orcs (which she was very fond of), and having to act normal (in a sense). Gandalf knew that these were the risks for Khadinah, but he had a feeling she would accept no matter what.

"Why should I travel to the Blue Mountains?" Khadinah asked. She faced the Grey Wizard and held a look of mistrust. She did not want to step foot near those mountains. Why? Because a group of guards had tried to kill Eziluk and herself. One guard was very young, thankfully, and felt bad for her. He had let her go, much to the displeasure of the others. His name slipped from her memory long ago, as it had been when she was young, only around the day of her coming of age most likely. But she would never forget his face. Brown eyes filled with concern, short oak-wood brown hair, and a thin layer of hair covered his lower face. Khadinah knew he would most likely be the laughing stock of Ered Luin, as he too had no beard. But at least he had somewhat of one. Khadinah had none and she felt more Dwarvish than Dark Elf. Another reason why she didn't want to go to Ered Luin.

*~•~*

Khadinah had finally turned 40 years of age. She had reached physical maturity, and somewhat mental maturity. Most dwarves reached both at the same time, but Khadinah did not. Her mental state was not…up to speed. Sure, she was extremely smart, but she was scarred. Khadinah had gone through too much as a child to be considered mentally stable. She knew this and accepted it. Khadinah was never suppose to be normal, she wasn't supposed to be born (in her mind she wasn't). But she persevered. She didn't care what others thought of her, she didn't care what they did. She just knew one thing, survive. And that is what Khadinah did best.

Khadinah urged on Eziluk, gripping the black fur for a sense of security. They had reached the Blue Mountains, well the boundary line. She had every right to be nervous. Word had reached her that the line was patrolled daily, and the guards were dangerous. They were merciless, crude, obscene, and killed on sight. Now that isn't true, you and I know this, but Khadinah didn't. Thorin, king in exile, ruler of Ered Luin, would never allow that to fester in his patrol guards. But when you're busy with running a kingdom, you can't control those few rogues.

The forest line, that indicated the boundaries, held towering trees. They held no leaves, just needles. Khadinah gulped as she looked up to the tree-line and subconsciously stroked Eziluk's fur. The beast growled at the trees as if she sensed something hidden there. Khadinah strained her eyes, trying to look through the thick forestry. But her eyes revealed nothing to soothe her worried mind. She took a deep breath and urged Eziluk onwards, despite the warg's hesitance. Eziluk softly padded through the thickets and sniffed the grass along the way, trying to get a feel for the terrain. But one scent made the beast try to turn around hurriedly. Khadinah noticed this too, and quickly ducked. An arrow whizzed above her back, where her head would've been.

Khadinah looked startled and slowly raised her head, looking for the source of the arrow. But Eziluk noticed first, and growled to her right. Khadinah shifted her hand to her waist, where a sword hung loosely. The sword was intricate, the top of it was a bit curved, as if its use was to hook heads from necks. The hilt was studded with a single black diamond right in the middle, the rest was wrapped with a fine leather. On the dip of the blade was Khuzdul runes; the name read Beheader. A fine name for a fine blade. But back to the startled half-blood.

Khadinah felt a burning pain in the back of her bicep. It felt like a tidal wave of pain had suddenly caught her in it and she was drowning. A strangled cry escaped her lips, and she fell to the ground, clutching the arrow. The arrow snapped as her arm came in contact with the ground, embedding itself deeper into her muscles. Eziluk made a surprised growl, not expecting this, and laid down by her master. She knew when to attack and when to just protect Khadinah. Now, not wanting further harm to befall the half-blood, she laid next to Khadinah's head and offered a small whimper. Khadinah smiled a strained smile, and raise one hand in the air; she was offering a sign of surrender.

The first figure she saw was a young male dwarf. She saw oak-wood brown hair and no beard. This caught the wounded female by surprise and she nearly questioned his authenticity out loud. He looked to be about five years younger than her and since she had never met a young dwarf, she didn't know if it was natural to not have a beard. Her mouth slightly dropped, Khadinah struggled to compose herself. She still couldn't wrap her head around the thought and this was wearing her down mentally. In her thoughts, she didn't notice the beardless dwarf looking down on her with a concerned expression.

"I'm so sorry I shot you," he said, his voice a bit panicked. "I thought you to be an Orc, as you are riding a warg," the beardless dwarf explained, and Khadinah found herself waving his words off. She didn't care why or that he shot her, more of a when she was going to get the arrow out. She struggled to stand from the ground and fell back into the dirt, Eziluk snorting as if she was laughing. Khadinah puffed in frustration, hitting the warg a bit, and struggled again. She wasn't all too surprised to see that the dwarf didn't help her up. Dwarves were known for their harshness at times, of course not as harsh as Elves, but still. The third time, a strong hand wrapped its way around her good bicep and pulled her from the ground. She stumbled a bit but quickly regained control.

"It's quite alright," she surprisingly got out. "I would've done the same if I were you," Khadinah stated and held her good hand out. She did this as a friendly gesture, wanting to get on good terms with this dwarf.

"I'm Khadinah son of Frelin," she said in an amicable manner. A small, yet pained, smile was on her red lips, and dirt probably was covering her already ebony colored face. But she didn't care. This dwarf reminded her of herself and couldn't help but feel a sibling-like bond forming already. He had a scruff of a beard and was taller than Khadinah (and Khadinah was done growing, while this dwarf wasn't). He was a misfit in a way, and Khadinah respected that, as she was one too. Thus, she held out her bloody hand and waited for the dwarf to take it. Her desires were filled and the male took it, shaking it with a smile.

"Kili, at your service."

*~•~*

Khadinah smiled fondly at the memory as it passed by like a gust of wind. Refreshing, yet not enough. Kili was a kind young dwarf, only around five years younger, but mature beyond his years. He helped heal Khadinah in a jiffy and sent her away. While she wasn't too happy about that, she understood his reasonings. "It's not very safe right now, come back soon though," he had whispered to her. She now heeded these words. But she also understood the underlying tone. Don't bring Eziluk back. She sighed deeply, two conflicting sides raging wars.

"You know why you must travel there, Khadinah," Gandalf's voice informed the half-breed. "I mustn't remind you, you only wish to hear confirmation for your thoughts," he proved yet another point in a matter of seconds. That's why Khadinah was irritated by the wizard sometimes. He proved point after point for her and it made her feel idiotic. But the wizard was right. She was only searching for confirmation for an answer she knew by heart. But she had to go over the scenarios.

She would either abandon Eziluk and head to the Blue Mountains, or she would continue on in life. But what was the fun in roaming? Sure, she loved Eziluk with all her heart, and she owed her life to the black warg. But with the faithful warg, she ran into trouble too much. She could just set her free and have to worry about her being captured by orcs or death. But when would that not happen with Khadinah. She thought Eziluk was more at risk of death with herself than the warg by herself; then she wouldn't have to worry about Khadinah's safety ahead of hers. But the thought of death reaping its spoils with Eziluk made Khadinah's stomach toss about. Could she really leave her best friend? She could have one last ride with the companion and on the outskirts of the Ered Luin borders, she would say farewell. It wasn't a bad idea. Khadinah had made up her mind and took a deep breath.

"I will go Gandalf."

A/N: Welp that's the first chapter of this story. +5K words (around 20 pages, wow. I'm aiming at 15-20 pages per chapter, so expect long periods of time between updates please. I am starting pre-quest, around 20 years, so this will be a VERY LONG work. This will be a Fili love story ;) . Please do realize that this story will be on under the same name. Hope y'all liked it! Please comment on what I can improve on or what you like in general!