A/N: Greetings all! I would like to say I am delighted by the attention this is getting so far, despite the fact it is still very early days, so thank you. :) Other than that, I don't really have to much to say, except possibly 'let's get on with it'. ;)
Big thanks to the following people for favouriting/following: ro781727, Sparky She-Demon, SethadoreVGC, MissCallaLilly, Likarian, Kassanova, Just4Me, animexchick, CandiLover, ruffledpeony, caribbeanwinter, RavingRebel221, Colafusion, CoffeeRanger, Lady Arien of Rohan, ceb0063, Arianna Le Fay, heather. taft3, Ice and Fire Dragon and CrystalVixen93. :D Thanks, guys x
Review Response(s):
Just4Me: Aww, that's really kind of you to say. Thank you, and I'm glad to hear you're looking forward to it. Thanks also for your unbelievable patience. :P
Sparky She-Demon: Glad you think so, and hopefully it'll live up to its potential!
CrystalVixen93: Hopefully this wait wasn't too long ;)
'The past beats inside me like a second heart.' ~ John Banville
Chapter 2:
Alana was lying back on the bench again. Unwanted tears were slowly making their way down her cheeks. She was so lost in thought she didn't notice them. She was too busy remembering. Remembering the day her life changed forever.
Alana was sat in the kitchen, a book in her hands. Every now and then she would pick off a little bread from her plate and pop it in her mouth, chewing absently. Her mother walked in, Aragorn perched on her hip and playing with the ends of her blonde hair. Of the whole family, Gilraen was the only one who didn't have dark hair. Alana glanced up and smiled at her mother, placing her book down on the table and standing. The young girl then took Aragorn from her mother's arms, smiling at him when he babbled excitedly. It was at that moment that Arathorn, Alana and Aragorn's father, came running into the house. His footsteps - hurried and heavy - echoed around the house as he ran up the stairs. He came down a minute later with their weapons.
"Father, what is it?" Alana asked, alarmed. "What's wrong?"
Arathorn looked grave. "The village is under attack. Orcs. We must get out of here." He passed Alana her sword after Gilraen took Aragorn back. The poor boy looked so confused. Arathorn placed his hands on his wife's shoulders. "Get Hortha and head to Rivendell. Take Aragorn and Alana with you. I will join you when I can."
Alana gasped, eyes wide. "You're staying?!"
Arathorn sighed. "It is my duty to protect the villagers. Now go, all of you."
The family all ran out of the house. Alana's hands were shaking as she gripped her sword hard enough for the blood to be drawn away from her knuckles. Aragorn was crying, not knowing what was going on and scared for this reason. The panic hanging in the air seemed to invade every pore of Alana's body as she looked around her. Buildings were burning, the screams of men, women and children causing cold shivers to shoot down her spine. Already the ground was littered with bodies.
Gilraen murmured reassuringly to Aragorn as the boy tumbled into hysteria, just as they reached the stables. Arathorn gave each member of his family a parting embrace and kiss to the forehead, before running out to join the fight without a backward glance. Alana, after a scant second of hesitation, followed, her mother calling after her. She did not stop. She could not stop. Their village was very small - only around thirty to forty residents - but each and every one of them that could fight was doing so. That cut their numbers in half. Around two hundred orcs were invading the village, setting more and more things on fire and just causing chaos. Alana threw herself on the first orc that came into range, slicing through its stomach and then slitting its throat with a cry. Pure fury and hate were thrumming through her veins, adding a sharpness to her senses. Fighting became instinctual, a dance so familiar she could perform it with her eyes closed.
"Alana, what are you doing here?!" Arathorn cried, dispatching an orc as he did.
"I can fight, so I'm helping!" she replied through gritted teeth as she parried an attack. She kicked the orc in the shin, causing it to growl and become distracted. She then lopped off its head with a strong thrust of her sword.
Arathorn ran up to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "You must go back to your mother and Aragorn. I know you can fight, which is why I'm sending you with them. You can protect them. You must protect them. Please, Alana, go back. You cannot stay here."
Alana shrieked as an orc appeared behind Arathorn's back, ducking out of his grip and thrusting her sword into its chest. It died with a foul gurgle, black blood spewing from both the stab wound and its mouth. She turned back to her father, who was watching her with surprise and pride. "Alright, father, I will." She hugged him tight. "Stay alive."
Arathorn nodded. "I will do my best, now go!"
Alana took off running in the opposite direction, back to the stables. Hortha was ready to go, with Gilraen on his back and Aragorn in her arms. Alana grabbed Hortha's reins and pulled him out without a word. Gilraen was visibly relieved to see her daughter again. They managed to make it out of the village unseen and swiftly reached the brow of a nearby hill, overlooking their home. Alana glanced back one last time, only to see the whole village in flames. Their house and stables were among those burning.
Over the cry of the orcs and the vicious crackle of the flames, she could hear her father's voice, telling everyone to get out of there. To retreat. As he moved to battle another orc - this one far taller and paler than the rest and with a claw for an arm - the beast caught his shoulder with it's jagged sword. Arathorn fell onto his knees, stunned by the impact.
Alana found herself screaming. Calling out to him. "Father!" He glanced up to her. Even from this distance, Alana knew there was nothing but acceptance in his eyes. The pale orc thrust his sword into Arathorn's chest, and the man who'd raised Alana slumped to the ground the moment the blade was pulled from his body. "No!" Alana screamed, tears flooding down her cheeks. She fell to her knees, sobbing. She could detect Gilraen's cries and Aragorn's shrill wails behind her, but she couldn't hear them properly. Grief was muffling all sound.
But then a strange calm settled over her. Determination flared in her chest as she remembered Arathorn's last plea to her. She looked up, stood, and whispered to the air, "I promise to protect them, father. I promise."
And with that, she turned and grabbed Hortha's reins once more, tugging him into movement. With every step they moved further away from their Chieftain, their family, their home. But Alana refused to look back. She had to deliver on her promise. Looking back would only crumble her resolve. She had no other choice but to just keep ploughing on.
It took a moment for Alana to realise someone was standing over her. Hastily wiping the cold tears off her face, Alana looked up at her visitor. It was Thorin. His face was blank, but his eyes showed a mix of both impatience and concern. "Sorry," she mumbled, sitting up, "I didn't realise you were there."
Thorin huffed and sat down beside her when she shuffled over to one side. "You seemed lost in your memories."
Alana nodded. "I was."
"What were you remembering, if I may ask?" Thorin glanced at her.
"I was remembering the day orcs attacked my village. The day I lost my father." She looked up at the stars, unable to meet his eyes.
"Who are you?" Thorin suddenly asked. "Who are you, really?" There was no hostility to his tone, which was an admittedly pleasant surprise.
Still, Alana was taken aback by his question. "What do you mean?"
"There is far more to you than you like to admit. The way you hold yourself is somewhat familiar." He glanced over at her again. "You almost remind me of myself. We have both lost our homes, both lost loved ones at the hands of orcs."
Alana laughed bitterly. "Yes, there is something I am not telling you. Something very few people know about." She looked at him. "Since you are leading this company, and are a King, I can trust you to your word. If I tell you, you must promise me you will speak of this to no one else without my permission."
Thorin seemed to realise this was an incredibly sensitive and serious subject, for he sat up straighter. "I swear."
Alana exhaled loudly. "My father was Arathorn II, the Chieftain of the dúnedain." She took a deep breath. "Through him, I am a descendant of Isildur. My brother is his heir."
"You are royalty?" Thorin asked, shocked.
Alana let out a humourless laugh. "No, we have not been true royalty for nearly a thousand years and many, many generations. Just because I am descended from a line of Kings does not mean I am royalty myself. That fate was lost long, long ago."
"Following that logic, I am not royalty, either," Thorin pointed out gruffly. "Yet you have addressed me as such." He placed a hand on her shoulder, and it provided a grounding weight that Alana couldn't help but mentally cling to. "I swore I would not share this secret, and I shan't, but this quest will last a long time. You should tell the others."
Alana nodded, her gaze going back to the stars. "Perhaps, if the time is right and I trust them enough, I will tell them." Her eyes flickered his way. "You must understand though, that there are some who wish to see my line wiped from existence. It is for our safety we do not share this with people we do not know. Even those we do are mostly unaware of who we really are."
Thorin frowned at her. "You do not know me," he pointed out. "My word as a crownless King likely means little. Why tell me?"
Alana smiled sadly. "Perhaps because, just as you see yourself in me, I see myself in you. Dwarves are a notoriously honour-bound race. You gave your word you would keep my secret, and I believe you. Besides, you are my leader now, and for the foreseeable future. It makes sense that you know more about me, does it not?"
For a long while, both of us were silent, listening to the feeble chirping of crickets. Then Thorin looked at me again, asking softly, "Who else knows?"
"Gandalf knows. He has long been a friend of our family. Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn of Lothlórien are also aware, as is Lord Elrond and his family." She could see Thorin was growing angry. "I know you do not trust elves as a race, but the elves of Imladris and the Golden Wood do not hate you as you think they do. It is only the elves of Greenwood that harbour a resentment for your kind, and Thranduil is not one who has been trusted with our identity. I met him once." She sneered a little. "I could not stand him."
Thorin grunted out a strange sort of laugh. "Perhaps I misjudged you," he muttered dryly.
Alana chuckled. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Master Dwarf. You know only very little about me." She then stood. "I think I shall retire. Goodnight, Thorin." Without another word, Alana left Thorin to his thoughts. She ducked inside Bilbo's house and quickly found a fairly large armchair sitting empty in Bag End's secondary living room. She unbuckled her belt with her weapons and placed them on the floor beside her. Her bow and arrows were still in the main hallway, and she trusted they would be safe there. Alana's hidden daggers remained on her person at all times, as she refused to be completely unarmed, even in a safe place and amongst trusted (enough) company. She leaned her back against one of the arms of the chair and threw her legs over the other. She drifted into a dreamless sleep with her cheek pressed up against the back cushion.
Alana felt someone grab hold of her and she woke with a violent start. Her hand automatically went to the hidden dagger in her boot and she withdrew it, holding it threateningly against the neck of her attacker. It took her a moment to realise there was no attacker, and she was just being woken to leave.
With an embarrassed smile, Alana put the dagger back. The dwarf in front of her - Bombur - seemed to be in an apparent state of shock, for he was unmoving. "Sorry, Bombur. Instinct."
Silence greeted her comment. Alana tried to get off her chair, but Bombur was in the way, staring sightlessly at the space in front of him. She gently poked him in the arm, causing him to blink himself out of his daze. "Oh, sorry, lassie," he stepped back, allowing her to get to her feet. Alana's back made a few satisfying popping sounds when she stretched, but unfortunately the position she'd fallen asleep in had left her with aching shoulders and a stiff back and neck. Groaning softly as she tried to free up the muscles in her arms by rolling them around, Alana made her way into the kitchen to pick up some breakfast. She accepted the bacon and eggs offered to her by Bofur, and quickly wolfed down the warm food in a manner completely unbefitting a human woman, but in the company of dwarves she could be considered quite proper. She then placed her plate in the sink and went to her chair once more. She buckled her belt back around her waist, then ducked into the main hallway and pulled her quiver onto her shoulders. She finished by strapping her bow across her back. Making her way outside, Alana went straight over to Eluviel. The dapple-grey mare snorted in greeting.
"Good morning, Eluviel," Alana said, stroking her face, where a white blaze ran from between her eyes to the end of her nose. Eluviel had a black mane and tail, and white socks on her rear legs and front right. Alana began rummaging through her pack, making sure she had everything she needed already packed in the bag. She found nothing missing, so just stood absently stroking Eluviel's coat as she waited for the dwarves to be ready too.
She was joined a minute later by the grey wizard. She glanced up at him. "Bilbo's not woken, has he?" the Ranger asked him quietly. With a heavy sigh, Gandalf shook his head. "Can't say I blame him; not all are eager to go on their first adventure. Hobbits probably doubly so." She gently scratched behind Eluviel's ear. "Still, there's something about him. I have a feeling he will come, in the end."
"I would not count on it if I were you," Thorin said gruffly as the dwarves filed out of Bilbo's house.
Dwalin grunted his agreement. "The hobbit is too cowardly to leave his own front gate. He would not last a week out in the wild."
Alana sent the old dwarf a glare. "You are too quick to judge," she snapped. "Bilbo is not like other hobbits; of that, I am sure." She glanced at his door. "He will come."
"You willing to bet on that, Alana?" Fili asked, grinning.
Alana smirked. "I would be willing to bet all the gold on me. Unfortunately, I doubt the rest of you have that much. That, and I plan to spend much of it at the next town we reach. Still, I guess it can't hurt to gain a little more. How much?"
"How about twenty gold coins?" Dwalin asked challengingly, raising an eyebrow.
Alana nodded. "Very well. Twenty it is. Anyone else in while we're at it?"
There were many shouts, each person picking a side. Only Thorin stayed silent, which surprised Alana; Gandalf never gambled. Most of the dwarves bet against Bilbo appearing, but Alana, Gandalf, Kili, Oin and Bofur said otherwise. Alana and Gandalf shared an amused look. When they both thought alike about something, they were very rarely wrong.
Alana soon found herself riding at the very back of the group, Eluviel walking slowly to match the pace of the ponies the dwarves were riding. Gandalf eventually moved towards the front, no doubt to talk with Thorin, or to keep an eye on him the very least. As the dwarves chatted cheerfully to one another, Alana began to sing quietly to herself.
"Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!
O Queen beyond the Western Seas!
O light to us that wander here
Amid the world of woven trees!
Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!
Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!
Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee
In a far land beyond the sea.
O Stars that in the Sunless Year
With shining hand by her were sown,
In windy fields now bright and clear
We see you silver blossom blown!
O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees,
Thy starlight on the Western Seas."
The dwarves closer to her could hear her singing, and their conversations came to an end fairly promptly so they could listen in. As soon as she finished, their raucous laughter began again. Alana knew they had been listening, for she had heard the shift in volume after she began her song, but let them get away with it. It was unlikely they knew the song she had sung, so she was safe enough. At least Thorin did not hear it. No doubt he would recognise the song, or at least its origins. Prejudiced as he was, he would not be happy about her singing an elvish hymn.
Their progress through the forest had been steady, but it wasn't long before the Ranger heard two frantic cries. "Wait! Wait!" Alana turned her head back, and there was Bilbo, a pack on his shoulders and his contract in his hand. He wore a purple coat over his usual attire.
Apparently, no one else had heard his shouts. "Stop!" Alana shouted to them. Many of the dwarves were startled by her call, but they all did as she asked.
Bofur frowned. "What is it, lassie?"
Alana grinned at him. "We have a visitor."
It was at that exact moment that Bilbo came into the view of everyone else, puffing and panting. Alana was internally impressed; they had travelled quite far beyond the borders of Hobbiton, and yet he still managed to catch them up. He must have been running the whole time. He had some endurance, that was for sure, which she knew would only prove to aid him later. Bilbo ran past her and came to a stop in front of Balin. His chest was heaving, and he was clearly breathless, but still he managed to wheeze out, "I signed it!"
Balin inspected the contract closely. "Everything appears to be in order," he announced finally. "Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield."
The dwarves cheered, and Alana and Gandalf grinned. Thorin somehow managed to look unimpressed. Alana frowned. He really needed to sort out his attitude. "Give him a pony!" he barked.
Alarm flashed in Bilbo's eyes. "No, no, no, no, that... that won't be necessary, thank you, but I-I'm sure I can keep up on foot. I-I-I've done my fair share of walking holidays, you know. I even got as far as Frogmorton once-" Before he could say more, Bilbo was lifted off his feet by the young Durin brothers and placed on the back of a pony. The startled hobbit yelped.
Alana couldn't stop herself from giggling at the sight of his pout. He looked cute, in a strange, childish sort of way. Thorin huffed, and, somehow, Alana managed to hear it. Naturally, as one of the dúnedain, she had better hearing than ordinary men, but even so she should not have been able to hear him. It must have been pretty hearty. "Move on!" the King ordered sharply.
Rolling her eyes, Alana steered Eluviel alongside an extremely uncomfortable-looking hobbit. She glanced down at him. "Relax, Bilbo," she whispered, making him jump violently. Alana raised an eyebrow. "If you want to be able to ride her properly, you have to relax. You're making her uneasy like that."
Bilbo shook his head, but Alana could see the muscles in his dead-straight back loosen a little. "I've never ridden before. What if I fall off?" he asked in a high-pitched voice.
Alana grinned down at him. "We were all in your position once. You simply have to trust in both your pony and yourself, and it shouldn't happen. Follow my advice, and you'll also find the ride far more enjoyable."
She then pulled Eluviel to a stop so the rest of the company could go past her. She ended up at the rear of the group once more. "Oi, Alana!" The shout caused her to look up just in time for her to hold out her hands and catch a flying coin purse. Grinning, Alana shouted back her thanks and tucked the money away.
