Legolas
The sound of battle roars through the afternoon sky like an enraged dragon as I make my way down the river after the escaped dwarven prisoners. Orcs, hideous and of all shapes and sizes, tail the party as well, attempting to strike at the dwarves with their weapons from afar without falling into the clear blue rapids below. Remarkably not one has landed a blow past the barrels the dwarves have encased themselves in, and their attempts to stall them have been remotely unsuccessful due to the swiftness of the current that carries the small dwarves away with ease.
I cannot say the same.
Although my targets are not Oakenshield and company per se, I take out all orcs I come across, sometimes killing multiple at once. Most of which are dead before they can identify their killer, others only catch a glimpse and then an arrow or a dagger is lodged deep within their skull or throat.
As I near the doors where the dwarves path has been closed off, my bow firm in hand, I notice Bolg leading the orcs that are assaulting the dwarves. Our guards lie dead at their feet, blood pooling from their lifeless bodies. The orcs appear desperate to kill the dwarves as they slice at them with their weapons, but their targets are fighting them off quite well considering they're cornered with the doors closed and only stolen weapons they must've acquired by accident down the river.
Moreover, the scrawny one Tauriel spoke with earlier has managed to climb out of the water to reach for the lever that can open the doors. The only obstacle that blocks his task is an arrow that has struck his calf, leaving him writhing on the ground, groaning in pain like a worm.
I stop for a moment to take in the sight.
I must recapture them quickly, before the gates can open. They cannot go free.
Swiftly, I maneuver my way further down the river, cutting through and shooting down any foe that dares block my path. One after another they fall, their corpses falling to the waters below as I rush along the edge. After jumping to the other side of the river yet again, I land on a flat rock. I look to the dwarves again. As I do, I hear an arrow shoot past me. I look just in time to see an elven arrow pierce an orc that's about to strike the scrawny dwarf with an axe. Without looking, I already know it was Tauriel. No other guard could achieve such a shot from that far a distance. My suspicion is only confirmed when I glance over my shoulder and see her and a few other guards a few paces behind me.
But an arrow whizzes past Tauriel and me from much farther back.
I follow its path only to see it strike the lever hard enough that the doors open. The dwarves immediately pull their wounded comrade back into a barrel, brace each other for the fall, and escape down the river and out of our immediate reach. I glance back in the direction of the shot and a foreign elven woman with long black hair and fair skin runs past Tauriel, a longbow in hand. While she runs she shoots at the orcs closest to the dwarves and takes them out with lethal precision, her lithe body dodging any attacks intended for her smoothly, her movements as fluid as the flow of water and her blue eyes just as clear, showing no fear or struggle.
Before long, she has caught up with me. But sooner than she can pass me, a handful of orcs launch an attack on us from both sides, stopping her from moving forward or escaping. The two of us cluster together and look over our opponents. She growls something under her breath and then the next second, the two of us are back to back as we take out the charging orcs with a mixture of our bows and daggers.
Between opponents, I catch glimpses of her in action. Not once does her stance falter despite her being a foot shorter than Tauriel and engaged with a much larger enemy. And the aura of confidence around her remains constant as well, which I strike as odd considering her lack of armor or clothing around her midsection.
Soon, the two of us are down to our last orc. I end mine quickly by launching forward and plunging my dagger into the orc's eye. Once he has fallen, I spin around and draw my bow and arrow.
Panting for breath, my gaze focuses on the woman before me, my arrow aimed straight at her heart. Her bow and arrow are drawn as well, directed at me in kind. For a moment we merely stare at each other, and then Tauriel and the guards surround us, their weapons drawn and pointed at the stranger.
Realizing the disadvantage, the woman glances around. She then drops her weapon and laughs. "I bet you ten silver you will regret this later, prince," she utters with an odd accent I'm unfamiliar with, her blue eyes glued on mine. "I guarantee it."
"Enough." I lower my bow and turn to Tauriel. "Tie her up and confiscate her weapons. We're taking her back with us."
To my surprise, the way back was quiet—minus the grumbling from the orc we captured. The woman never said a word. She only looked at me once and smirked. A blizzard raged in her eyes, one of which the intensity I've never seen before.
But she did not complain, not even when she was thrown into her cell and stripped of her weapons.
That coldness is all I can think about now as I stare down at the lifeless orc before Father now, the decapitated body lying motionless in a pool of its filthy blood.
"My, how unbecoming," the woman's accented voice suddenly purrs behind us. Father and I turn to face her. Her wrists are tied behind her back and two guards stand at her sides. The corner of her lips are curled up with contempt as she eyes the two of us. "For a king to close off his kingdom while the rest of the world is in peril, no wonder the mortals hold no respect for us."
"Quiet, girl! You will speak when spoken to," one of the guards snaps and drags her closer.
Father narrows his eyes at her, his eyebrows furrowed. "Who is this?" he asks and looks to me.
"She is the woman we captured at the gates. She helped Oakenshield and his men escape," I explain.
Father quietly snorts through his nose and refocuses on her. "You are not one of us yet you address royalty so casually. What have you to say for yourself?"
"Only that if you do not release me immediately, Smaug and Bolg's underlings will be the least of your worries," she snarls.
One of Father's eyebrows quirk up. "Bold words from a prisoner. Are you perhaps unaware of your own predicament?" he asks.
She grins. "The fact that I still remain bound shows that you are the one who is unaware, your highness. And you would be wise to heed my words, lest you anger me further."
"What have I to fear from a lone woman?" Father laughs. He then makes his way to leave and waves the woman and guards away. "Lock her up. She will be dealt with at a later time."
The woman chuckles and looks briefly down at the ground. "Tell me," she calls after Father before the guards can grab her. "Who do you think of at the mention of the wood elves of Thedas, Fereldan in particular?" she asks.
Father stops. He looks back at her, a quizzical look on his face. His eyebrows crease together as he considers her words, and then they rise and his eyes open wide, some form of realization crossing his mind.
The woman smiles. "Ah, it seems you've finally understood. Good," she murmurs and looks back down at the ground. She then looks up and glares at Father, murderous intent clear in the endless blue. "Now unless you wish me to destroy your kingdom from the inside out, you will untie me immediately! Am I understood, Thranduil, oh noble king of Mirkwood?" she shouts, authority coating her voice like moss does a rock.
Father jolts and everyone looks to him, uncertain how to react. "Release her," he utters, his eyes fixated on the woman.
The guards stare at him in confusion. "Your Majesty..?"
"I said release her! Now!" Father yells and scowls at the men. I watch him just as perplexed while the guards follow his sudden change of heart. When the woman is free from her binds, she rubs at her slender wrists and Father bows his head deeply. "My humblest apologies, Warden," he says. "Had I known you would be gracing us with your presence, such misunderstandings would have been avoided."
"I'm certain," she scoffs and crosses her arms, her cool gaze scanning the others in the room, myself included. "Based on the expressions of your men though, they have yet to catch on to the situation. Allow me a proper introduction," saying this, the woman lowers her arms by her sides and stands tall, her small hands balled tightly into fists. Her firm gaze is directed straight ahead, a power hidden deep within their depths. "My name is Aranel Mahariel, Grey Warden, descendent of the Dalish Sabrae clan, and Hero of Fereldan. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." She bows her head then refocuses on Father.
Surprises racks through me and my breath catches in my throat.
Hero of Fereldan? No.I look at the foreign elven woman. I take in all that she is— her long dark hair, small frame, scarce leather armor.This is the woman who single-handedly defeated three dragons and decimated almost half a horde of darkspawn on her own? The woman of legend from across the sea?
No matter how hard I look at her, the words don't seem to add up. How can a woman so small and lean, whose armor barely covers her curves, be the woman of legend? She must jest. For although her stunning looks match the description I've heard of her in stories, such a powerful woman would not be captured so easily… unless that was her plan all along, knowing such an act would happen.
Her words from earlier suddenly replay in my head. "I bet you ten silver you will regret this later, prince. I guarantee it."
Dread fills my stomach. The statement only furthers my suspicion. How I hope I'm wrong.
"Pray tell. What has brought you to our woodland realm?" my father inquires during my quiet reverie.
I jolt back to the present moment and stare at the two before me. He poses a good question. Why would the Hero of Fereldan be in Middle Earth in the first place, if her words are indeed the truth?
Aranel purses her lips and stares at Father with disdain. "Up until my capture, I was lending my assistance to the dwarves serving under Oakenshield. After all, who else better to ask to fight a dragon than a warrior who's already slain one?"
She pauses and takes a few steps to the side before refocusing on Father, sparing a quick glance at me.
"Unfortunately however, my job was interrupted not once but twice. The first being when my company was imprisoned within your walls, and the second… well, that's self explanatory."
"Again, I offer my sincerest apologies. We were unaware you were among their company," Father attempts to reassure her.
She nods once. "True. This I can understand," she replies and crosses her arms. But then her eyes grow harsh again. "What I do not understand however, is why even after hearing Thorin's request you still refuse to lend aid without having him indulge your selfish desires."
At these words, Father's taken aback and it can be seen in the way his eyes snap wide open with alarm.
She smirks in response, the reaction apparently one she was expecting. "Yes, I overheard your conversation," she continues. "Your walls are far less secure than you realize," she says and looks around the room. "Sneaking in was easier than unlocking a broken chest. But that should be the last of your concerns." She stops and paces a few steps. "From your conversation, I gather you do not understand the severity of the situation." She halts and stares at Father. "I come from a land who has just overcome a blight—one that united all of Fereldan for the sake of taking out the enemy and nothing more. Yet here you stand, refusing to lift a finger, hiding in the shadows like a cowardly rat while the rest of Middle Earth crumbles at your doorstep. And for what? Thorin refusing to lend you a hand as you did to his people in the past?" she nearly spits out the words, her anger apparent in her scrunched up expression, ruining her dazzling regal features.
She takes a couple steps closer to Father and the guards prepare to intercept her, but I hold my hand up to have them hold.
"If their attempt fails, how long until Smaug and his men are banging at your doors?" the Warden persists. "Do you think you can simply lock yourselves away and take the army out later yourself, that they will not dare come for you?" She scoffs and shakes her head. "Do not be a fool. By then, their forces would have multiplied and you would have no allies in sight. You're only hope is to gather your forces and fight now, otherwise your kingdom will fall along with the rest of Middle Earth! If you don't, then all of your people will die!"
Silence descends the hall. No one says a word while the two political figures lock gazes with each other.
Several moments pass before the Warden's gaze softens and she takes a step back, looking almost alarmed at her reaction. "My apologies," she whispers. "I did not intend to vent my frustration on you. It is your decision how you and your people handle this situation. I let my feelings get the best of me. For that, I am sorry."
Father takes a deep breath and his lips form a thin line. "Your words are not lost on me, Warden," he says and closes his eyes. "I will… consider them."
Without another word on the matter, he reopens his eyes and shifts his concentration on the guards.
"Fetch her belongings and return them immediately," he orders meekly and the two guards bow and rush to complete his command. He then looks at the woman. "Warden, to make up for the treatment you received here, allow me to prepare a boat for you so you may catch up with your companions. My son, Legolas," he motions to me, "will accompany you along with our captain of the guard. While the boat is being prepared, please join us in a feast to formally welcome you into our kingdom. In the morning, you may set sail with my blessing."
As soon as he's finished speaking, the guards return and hand the Warden the weapons we confiscated. She hooks the daggers on the straps on her thighs and slings her quiver full of arrows over her shoulder. She then stares at Father and weighs his words carefully, her longbow tight in her hand. "Very well… if that is what you wish," she permits, although I see the reluctance when she avoids eye contact.
"Legolas," Father address me then. I wait for what I know will be new instruction. "Please show our honored guest around then guide her to her resting quarters. I imagine she needs her rest." I nod and bow slightly. Father then walks away and motions to his attendants. "Come. We have much to prepare," he says to them, and then they disappear down the nearest steps.
The guards excuse themselves as well, and I signal for the Warden to come along with me. She does so quietly, and I watch her in the corner of my eye as we proceed down one of the nearest halls. "You remember what you told me earlier when we captured you?" I ask and focus straight ahead.
"Yes," she murmurs.
I dig into my pocket then hold out my fist for her. She opens her palms and I place ten silver coins in her hand.
With an amused snicker, she follows me down the rest of the hallway, ten silver pennies richer and a smug smirk plastered on her tiny face.
I never thought I'd write a fanfic for Dragon Age and the Hobbit, but here I am. *Sigh* This site leads me to strange places, but at least my imagination enjoys the view. Hope you liked this! I have no idea how I feel about it to be truthful. If you have any comment or suggestions, please let me know either in a PM or review! Thanks and happy reading! :)