an: hey guys, so here's the revised version of OB&A I was mentioning on tumblr, if anyone has seen it there (and if not, here's a shamelessly selfish promo! ;D). I'll try to update every other few days, if not five, just to let you know, the updates will be posted on tumblr (ctwritesnonsense on tumblr, my writblog)... and before I let you read, I should let you know there'll be a bit more backbone to this version of the story, some from the book some from the extended edition of the films. soo with that, I will leave you to it; please keep hands and feet inside of the fic at all times, and do enjoy! :)
{the Hobbit and everything that goes with it belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien; my story and character(s) belong to me}
Her slender fingers ran along the scabbard for the dual swords with a sense of reverence. She would have taken them if they didn't bring a stinging reminder of that day.
How could anyone forget, after all?
Smoke chugged up into the darkened day, and even as the demolished civilization spilled out like an ant hill, she could spot the one dwarf that looked up at them on the risen incline with hope in his eyes…
Instead she chose the set of twin long knives hanging next to the dual swords, and she pulled them off the wall to fasten them at her back with her arrow-filled quiver.
I must do this, if not for my father… then for them, she thought.
She located a set of twelve throwing knives and admired their sleek curved blades that left little room for the wooden handles attached, even if for a moment, before placing them in her quiver along with the blue-feathered arrows that seemed to stand out amidst her otherwise olive-green and brown wardrobe.
Finding she remained undetected, to which she thanked the stars, she proceeded to flee the lower echelons in search of the cellars a level below; she didn't stop running until she had let her weight drag her down below the cellar's trap door into the small stream that ran beneath the kingdom's halls.
The cold water stung at her skin, and she held her breath as long as she could, until she was past the drawbridge and it was further down the river when she emerged free. She emerged from the waters in the pelt of a gray wolf, and looked back at the way she had come after shaking her fur of residual river water through a pair of stormy eyes.
She silently bid farewell to the temporary home she had made of the Woodland Realm before turning about to lope away and on in the direction of southwest.
|} x {|
It had only taken a day's trek for her to come upon the battlefield.
Granted it would be nearly impossible for any elf to not sense the tension that thoroughly permeated the air of battle, to hear the cries of exertion and those being slain as they waged on, to smell the stench that consisted of blood sweat and death as it drenched the land that had once been green and thriving now soiled.
It was any wonder this battle would later be known to all, from dwarves to men alike, as the Battle of Azanulbizar.
The unfortunate orc gave a vain gurgle of anguish before falling at the prince's feet, its stomach stabbed clean through only to spill its black blood onto the already-ruined land.
Chest heaving slightly with the minute respite he took, the prince began to wonder just how long this battle would last. Already five –no, six, he had to remind himself—years had passed in this blasted campaign to reclaim their ancestral home, and in the process they had lost more lives than he cared to admit. It seemed only the maker knew just how many orcs they would have to defeat before actually gaining victory.
A guttural roar sounded from an orc that came at him from the right, yanking him from his thoughts and back to the brutal, grim reality he stood in.
The dwarf prince twisted to meet his next foe's reckless lunge only to freeze in place as an arrow's sharp head shot right through the beast's jugular from behind. He found the strength to move as the orc fell before him, his eyes looking past the clashing bodies of orcs and dwarves alike to see something he would never have expected to see in all his life.
A willowy elf clad in light armor –it looked like leather from where he stood, which was at least forty yards away— stood there with their bow drawn; the elf's mane of brown hair had been drawn up into a braided plait, and it seemed they were fair-faced beneath the dirt and blood, as was the way all elves looked to his knowledge.
The dwarf held stares with the lone elf, finding he had never seen the shade of blue that was in the elf's eyes –no this was not an ellon, he deemed, this was an elleth as plain as can be—as it looked like the shade of pale blue one would see at dawn's rising… Beneath the armor and weapons she would no doubt be a beauty to behold.
The elleth lowered her bow as a silent gesture that she did not see him as her enemy, and the longer their stares held, there was a light in her pale eyes that made him believe she knew him from another time.
But where, he wondered?
A snarl sounded behind her as an orc rushed the assumedly-distracted female, causing their stare-down to meet its end.
The brunette elf met the orc's charge as she caught its distorted face with the curve of her bow, a solid 'whack' adding to the cacophony of battle around her, as the orc drew away long enough for her to return the bow to her quiver in exchange for her knives; black blood flew like a geyser from the orc's severed neck as the long knife's curved blade drew back from her latest kill, the beast's head sent flying as the remainder of the orc fell at her feet on its knees.
She looked over her shoulder at the dwarf prince who had seen her cut down the orc within less than two minutes, blue holding blue, and the right corner of her lips quirked up in a measure of pride. Like the swiftness of a deer she returned her attention to the battle, the elvish blades on hand singing as they hacked and sliced as many orcs she could reach, leaving both gutted and beheaded orcs in her wake.
After hours and many now-dead orcs had passed, the battle was at last over.
The she-elf stabbed her knife's blade into the ruined earth of Moria's eastern gate and looked about as she stretched her tired muscles that begged for rest, mentally tallying the dead that consisted of both dwarves and orcs. Her heart sank with pity towards those who remained standing as she acknowledged that the count had been high, and she wiped dirt and blood from her nose and cheeks, sniffing. She surveyed the bodies again and closed her eyes for a moment to murmur a prayer of lament for the fallen.
"Oi, you."
Her eyes opened and she turned to look at the prince whose stare she had held in battle, looking on a dark-haired dwarf clad in scuffed and chipped armor who looked as tired and dirty as she; beneath his furrowed brow set into a mistrusting scowl, though, she met a pair of blue eyes that looked a combination of storms and clear skies.
Later in life she would come to love that color, but that is for another tale.
The elleth nodded to him, "My condolences, for your losses." She said, her voice clear and polite; he wagered that past the formalities she was overly-confident in who and what she was, as all elves were.
If he was surprised she offered her condolences towards his fallen kin instead of snide words, the dwarf prince did not show it in his rugged features. "Why are you here? We did not send for aid… least of all from your kind." He demanded gruffly, cocking a dark brow.
"I understand that, for that is why I am the only elf you see before you." She ignored his snide remark, straightening slightly the more their stares held. "I have come on the behalf of old alliances, old alliances that have been strained for the last few millennia, between our two peoples." She stated evenly.
Those old alliances were all-but dead, he thought to return; instead he kept his brow lifted, and folded his arms at his chest. "What is your interest in reviving an old alliance, I wonder?" He asked, attempting to keep a tone of disinterest though his voice betrayed him, as a curious edge entered his question.
This must be the one, she thought; this was the prince she had seen that day that was, for all intents and purposes, a dark stain in her memory. "I am Eäriel, daughter of Húldaer from the Woodland Realm, and I have come to offer my help to you during this campaign, Thorin son of Thráin." She replied.
"Your help is no longer needed, I am afraid, as the campaign is now over…" The prince began to declare.
"I ask you one thing, master dwarf… Our two peoples have created a bitter rift where there was once friendship and alliance, so I am asking if we can at last have peace." Eäriel interrupted patiently, shifting her weight from one boot to the other as she watched a million emotions flit in his blue stare, though the one emotion that stood out seemed to be thoughtfulness.
Thorin pondered on her words for what felt ages, but even as their stares held, he acknowledged that she was indeed one tenacious elf.
|} x {| Several Decades Later |} x {|
Embers danced, vain and sluggish, as they gnawed and consumed the broken logs that had been fed to them.
Men talked and laughed now and then in the otherwise-quiet common room of the inn, seeming to be passersby much like she.
Taking a sip of mead from her pint as her eyes remained fast to the orange and red flames in the fireplace's hearth, the hooded female returned her mug to the tabletop and sat back in her padded seat, crossing her legs under the table. Once in a while the quieter patrons of the Prancing Pony looked over their shoulder at her as she sat otherwise-silent in her corner, and while she was not deaf or blind to the atmosphere around her, she ignored their curious glances.
Lest it involved her in some way shape or form, she didn't care what they did or said.
To say she saw him before sensing him would be rather far-fetched, as it seemed within a moment she sensed his familiar presence enter the pub. She was too familiar with his presence to be surprised, as she had been friends with him as far back as she could remember, and she watched the gray-clad (and gray-bearded) man seat himself in the chair across from her. A warm smile tugged at her lips as she sipped her mead again and watched him order the same drink she had ordered from one of the passerby tavern girls, "you're punctually late." She greeted him.
The elderly man returned the smile, his metallic blue eyes twinkling knowingly beneath his rather bushy gray brows. "I did not come by the faster route as you did." He replied in the same calm tone.
She sat back in her seat and arched a brow, her pale blue eyes mildly bored and curious in the same instance as the girl returned with his pint and shortly left. "I never travel the main roads, you know that. What is it you want me to do this time?" Within the last span of years she had come and gone throughout the western region of Eriador running errands for him when he required her to play messenger bird, keeping herself busy with 'menial and mildly mundane' tasks, as she had once told him after a trek past the snow-covered Caradhras.
She just hoped he wasn't going to have her travel far, not again; going south wandered too close to territories she didn't wish to see just yet.
"I am glad you've asked, my dear. And don't fret, this time you will not go south. I've actually got an interesting proposition for you; it is a task only suited for one like yourself, so don't bother trying to worm your way out of it." The old man sat back slightly in his chair to look on her elatedly.
Beneath her hood, her right brow gave a twitch, and she silently cursed his wise stare that she knew saw each and everything even though she was no different, her lips forming into a slight pout. "I am listening." She grumbled.
an: sooo I hope this was an interesting prologue, hope you guys liked it. again, I'll post updates on tumblr, and with that feel free to tell me if this is better than the previous version or if it stunk, so until next update, lates! :)
