Hello, Fanfiction! I apologize that it has been a long time since I've updated and I'm really sorry about that! But, I just haven't really had much inspiration for this story recently, but I promise I will finish The Unexpected Journey and perhaps all the rest of them as well! Thank you so much for reading this, it means a lot to me! Anyway, here's the chapter, it's quite short, but I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit or any of the characters, only Amariel and some insignificant others.

Chapter Four: Old Tales and Odd Coincidences

APOV

They journeyed across mountains that lay in a great line like a spine across the land. It was as if long ago they were a great beast, who lay down one day and never got up. Perhaps the beast fell into an enchanted sleep, and perhaps its soul was still in there somewhere. The ranges were high from the west and low from the east, curling at the end like a tail. They crossed valleys and hills covered with rugs of trees, green, yellow, scarlet, and orange, but their peaks were enveloped in snow. They travelled far in the first week of their journey; they saw grey, rugged outcrops, waterfalls that drifted like skeins of white lawn, and in fields they could see the amber glint of rivers and the occasional reflective flash of a cobalt lake. The company scarcely stopped and if they did, it would only be for an hour and a half at most. Thorin seemed driven to get to his homeland, making him hard and not the most pleasant to speak to. Amariel kept mostly to herself and Silver Prince who proved to be rather good company and a kind friend. Mithrandir spent the majority of the week riding next to Bilbo, talking and advising him throughout their travel. She felt the slightest bit left out at this, but overall didn't really mind. After all, she was used to it, after spending a large part of her life alone in exile.

All lingering light was obliterated by the rapidly falling night. The once salmon and indigo sky transformed into a vast expanse of onyx-black that engulfed all of the surroundings. A canopy of luminous stars transpired amongst the ocean of blackness. Some were dull, merely flickering into life now and then, but there was an ample amount of shimmering stars to illuminate the dark, eerie night. The faint wind brushed her pale blonde hair into her eyes, resulting her to tuck the loose strands behind her ears every time it occurred. The majority of the dwarves were sound asleep, wrapped up in their blankets, and snoring loudly. Amariel had trouble sleeping; she always did, so sat wide-eyed looking at the landscape before her. They had decided to camp near the edge of a steep cliff, for there was a fair amount of shelter there, and reasonably flat ground. The She-elf found it rather amusing at first to watch as Bombur slept for he sucked in a tiny swarm of insects every time he inhaled and how they flew out again every time he exhaled; but it soon got boring. Thinking that no-one was watching, Bilbo got up, stretched, then crept toward his pony named Myrtle, holding a juicy apple for her to crunch on.

"Hello, girl," he patted Myrtle. "That's a good girl. It's our little secret, Myrtle; you must tell no-one." Amariel resisted the temptation to chuckle at the sweet, friendly hobbit; he really was something. Suddenly, a howl like scream echoed out from the forest on the other side of the cliff, capturing her attention. She knew what had made that horrid noise, as she had heard it many times before, but never wished to hear it again.

"What was that?" asked Bilbo, his words etched with worry and confusion. Amariel glanced over at Kili and Fili who were leaning against a few rocks, wide awake, and listening to Bilbo.

"Orcs," answered Kili in a monotone voice. There was another howling cry, and she noticed Thorin jerk awake.

"Orcs?" questioned Bilbo as he awkwardly made his way over to them.

"Throat-cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there," Fili explained without fret. "The lowlands are crawling with them."

"They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep," Kili continued for his brother. "Quick and quiet; no screams, just lots of blood." Amariel visibly grimaced. It was in her nature to despise those miserable Orc creatures, more than most people in Middle-earth. Kili noticed her grimace and a smirk came to his face. "What? Scared, are you, elf? I never knew an elf to be afraid of such petty things." He glanced over at his brother and they started to laugh. Before Amariel could send them a good retort, Thorin stood and spoke up.

"You think that's funny? You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?"

"We didn't mean anything by it," Kili tried to reason, obviously feeling guilty.

"No, you didn't," he replied harshly and began to walk away from them. "You know nothing of the world." Amariel studied Thorin as he walked up to the edge of the cliff, and stared over as if recalling powerful memories. As she looked away from him, her gaze lingered on the frightened hobbit, who was trying to take in what they had said.

"Don't mind him, laddie," Balin said, going up to the two dwarves. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs. After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had got there first."

TPOV

Thorin's mind circled back to the events of the Battle for Moria; the Battle of Azanulbiza. It was not hard as his thoughts were forced there often; too often.

Thousands of thousands of dwarves fought blindly but bravely in their iron armour and helmets against the merciless, brutal orcs with all their remaining might; they must defeat the enemy. Screams and cries of anger or agony alike pounded against his ears. Wails and shrieks sent sudden headaches his way, but refused to give in, to give up. He swung his heavy, silver sword with all his strength knocking down orcs, only to be attacked by many more. Thorin's hexagonal shield hammered the orc-scum violently, making sweat plaster onto his exhausted but fierce face.

"Moria had been taken by legions of orcs led by the most vile of their race: Azog the Defiler," retold Balin with sorrowful eyes.

He spotted a huge, fearsome-looking herculean orc. The orc was more masculine and taller than any orc Thorin had laid his eyes upon before. He had piercing blue eyes, dark tattoos that covered his face and torso, and was etched all over with battle scars. But the one thing that stood out most about this orc was his skin. The majority of orcs had rough skin that ranged from a sickly green to a dark brown or light peachy colour; but this orc had smooth ghostly skin that was the colour of bone-white. He was a pale orc. The Pale Orc swung his gnarled mace, knocking numerous dwarves off their feet in one go. Fury filled him.

"The giant Gundabad Orc has sworn to wipe out the race of Durin," Balin continued then swallowed. "He began with beheading the king."

Thorin watched in despair as his grandfather, rightful king of Erebor, challenged the deadly Azog. He began to shove his way through the battle to get to his grandfather but a mob of orcs crowded his vision with axes or swords. Thorin fought his way through, anger surging through him, but he was too late. Thror's body lay limp on the rocky ground while his shocked head was gripped in Azog's hand. The Pale Orc gave a ear-piercing roar before flinging the head of the king onto the ground which rolled over to Thorin's feet. There were not many words to describe the feeling he felt. But he felt pain, so much pain.

"Noooo!" he cried, tears threatening to spill but they were overcome by fury and hatred.

"Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing, taken prisoner, or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us."

The Orcs seemed to multiply in quantity and overpowered the dwarves whom were to few in number to hold up against.

"Retreat!" Thorin heard a dwarf yell and beckon for others to follow him with his axe. "Retreat!" But he would not give up so easily; he would fight to the death if need be. He would fight for a homeland, for Moria, for the dwarves... for his grandfather.

"That is when I saw him; a young dwarf prince facing down the Pale Orc."

Fire was shooting from Thorin's eyes. As Azog wielded his mace with furious speed, Thorin blocked it with his shield and sword. The force sent his shield flying to the ground, leaving him with little means of protection. Another massive swing, and Thorin was sent hurtling to the rocky ground. His breath staggered, and he tried to reach for his sword but found nothing. He had no weapons; but he would not let the Orc kill him without a fight.

"He stood alone against this terrible foe, his armour rent... wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield," explained Balin.

Azog leaped over to destroy Thorin once and for all. The Orc brought down his mace on the dwarf, but Thorin blocked his fatal blow with an oaken branch that he had seen lying on the rocks. Thorin rolled away, escaping another attack from the roaring beast. His blood was boiling and his heart was racing. Every hard blow from Azog sent shock through Thorin's arms, until it was too much and he got thrown down. His entire body ached but he still had strength left deep down. The Pale Orc brought down his mace, but Thorin rolled out of the way and picked up his fallen sword. Azog sent one last attack Thorin's way but before his mace could connect with anything, the dwarf sliced half his arms right off. A agonized bellow echoed throughout the battle field as Azog clutched his stump of an arm in pain.

"Azog the Defiler learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken."

The Dwarf Prince watched as the Pale Orc was rushed into the caves of Moria by other orcs.

"Du Bekâr! Du Bekâr!" shouted Thorin in encouragement as he called for the dwarves to continue their courageous fight. Again, the dwarves and the orcs fought, but the dwarves now had the advantage. Thorin fought ferociously with new found strength, ducking blows and ending the lives of many miserable creatures.

"Our forces rallied, and drove the orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated," Balin then told them sadly. "But there was no feast, no song, that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived."

The battlefield was infested with corpses of their kin and orcs, and scarlet blood had stained the rocks. The surviving dwarves clung to each other, weeping over their losses. Thorin walked over to the top of the battle field, still holding the oaken branch, and gazed around at the broken bodies of his kin, his friends. The sunlight became visible from behind a cloud and shone in Thorin's eyes.

"And I thought to myself then, there is one I could follow. There is one I could call king," finished Balin. Thorin turned away from the cliff face and looked solemnly at the now wide awake company who was staring at him in awe. The dwarf prince tried to force his mind away from that dreadful day and onto the quest that lay ahead, not that it would provide any certainty of safety anyway.

"But the Pale Orc?" the trivial hobbit asked, hardening Thorin's features. "What happened to him?"

"He slunk back into the hole whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago." Thorin answered.

APOV

At these words Mithrandir spared her a knowing but worried glance, but the She-elf did not see it, for she was too busy gazing in wonder and sadness at the dwarf prince.

The weather over the next period of days was not wonderfully inviting at all. Every second, Amariel was getting drenched to the bone with buckets of chilled water. It seemed as if the rain was never going to stop nor even slow! This resulted in the company all being rather grumpy and short-tempered, even including Thorin. Amariel tucked a soaked lock of her silver-blonde hair out of her face as she rode, exhausted, along the slippery forest road. She patted Silver Prince's neck and tried to dry some of the water off his mane but had no such luck, it just kept on coming! Mithrandir rode beside Amariel on his horse, gazing at her with a slight amusement. Amariel, feeling his gaze, spun her head around to look at the wizard.

"What?" she snapped, curtly, her annoyance getting to her. Usually, the elves were peaceful and calm beings, but the She-elf in question was obviously different.

"No need to be angry," he said in an almost tutoring tone. He then carried more sarcastically. "I'm merely enjoying your oh so sweet-natured attitude." She rolled her eyes and squeezed Silver Prince's stomach, urging him to speed up a bit. As Amariel slowed her pace again so she was further away from the wizard, she heard Bilbo trot up to Mithrandir on his chubby pony.

"Here, Mr. Gandalf, can't you do anything about this deluge?" said Dori, miserable.

"It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done. If you wish to change the weather, you should find yourself another wizard!" Mithrandir shouted back. This caught Amariel's attention, for a sudden question came to her mind, only to be asked by none other than Bilbo.

"Are there any?"

"What?"

"Other wizards?" he clarified. She dropped back a little to catch her friend's answer. In all her years of knowing him, she'd never thought to ask that obvious question. Well, she did know there was another wizard by the name of Saruman who she had briefly met before, and let's just say, much preferred Mithrandir.

"There are five of us. The greatest of our order is Saruman the White." he answered. Amariel almost scoffed at the word 'great' describing Saruman. It was not that he was weak, no, he had incredibly strong power, but somehow people had come to believe that greatness is only for the chosen few; for the powerful. But the truth was, greatness was for them all. It was not about lowering expectations; it was about raising them for every last one of them. Greatness was not in one special place, nor was it in one special person. Greatness was wherever somebody was trying to find it. "Then there are two Blue wizards;" He paused for a moment and sent a worried look at the She-elf that went unnoticed, and quickly added, "You know, I've quite forgotten their names."

"And who is the fifth?" questioned Bilbo.

"Well, that would be Radagast the Brown,"

"Is he a great wizard, or is he... more like you?" At this remark, Amariel struggled to hold in a laugh. The hobbit had offended Mithrandir without even knowing it! But it was shortly washed away when a gush of water fell directly onto her head, chilling her to no end. However, she found it strange that no other member of the company was as wet as her. Surely, the water hadn't only fell on her... Then it hit her, and she turned to glare coldly at the wizard who had a visible smirk on his face. He quickly hid it and answered Bilbo.

"I think he's a very great wizard, in his own way. He's a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others. He keeps a watchful eye over the vast forest lands to the East, and a good thing too, for always evil will look to find a foothold in this world."

RPOV

A stout wizard clothed in ragged brown shawls and who wore leather boots examined a pear green leaf that was moist with dew.

"Not good," he muttered, "not good at all!" He waddled hastily over to a mushroom infestation, trying to ignore the limp animals lying motionlessly on the grass, never to see the sunlight wizard plucked off a mushroom, sniffed it and recoiled in disgust, before stuffing it into his threadbare sack bag. His heart speeding up rapidly, he hurried over to a gnarled tree and felt then tasted the sap leaking from it. Infected. Growing more worried by the second, he gave a short whistled and a bird appeared. The stout wizard took of his hat, making the bird curl up in a nest that was tangled into his knotted hair. Once the bird had landed, he plopped his hat back on and spotted a small mocha-coloured hedgehog struggling uselessly on the ground. The wizard gasped and picked up the dying creature, desperation filling him. Who could've done this? What could've done this? Why?

"Oh no! Sebastian! Good gracious!"

Running through the thick bush, he jumped over fallen tree trunks covered with moss, ducked under wispy branches, side-stepped rocks and stones, until he eventually arrived at his rickety cottage that was moulded into a large tree trunk. It had a thatched straw roof, a few small windows, and a lopsided door that looked as if t could fall off any second. The wizard flung open the door and ran in. Odd objects and strange things clattered the fall, fell from the ceiling, and hung from the walls. The air had become slightly stuffy as he tried to feed the poor hedgehog various types of medicine in a variety of different ways. None worked.

"Move back! Give him some air, for goodness sake!" He ordered desperately as the hedgehogs family crowded around Sebastian. Incantation after medication, he tried to cure the creature but all his attempts failed.

"I don't understand why it's not working; it's not as if it's witchcraft —" He paused and a dark look of understanding came to his face. It was a dark, strange look.

"Witchcraft..." he mused fearfully. "Oh, but it is. A dark and powerful magic." Suddenly, a noise was heard and his head snapped up. Dark shadows could be seen through the windows, crawling up the wizard's walls. His eyes grew as wide as golf balls, and he swallowed a gulp. Buh-boom, buh-boom, buh-boom, went the pumps of his heart. Quickly but silently, he picked up a nearby wooden bench and secured it against the door, blocking it. A slight cough captured his attention. The hedgehog had started to splutter and curl up into a ball. His brown eyes started to water as the body of Sebastian became still. The cottage creaked and groaned as the black creatures crept onto the house, and started to scratch at the roof. He hurried over and grabbed his staff and what looked like an azure stone that had been embedded at the top. As all the mice, birds, and hedgehogs began to leave the cottage or hide, he cradled Sebastian in his arms and whispered a powerful spell while holding the blue stone to his muzzle.

"Lerya laman naiquentallo," he muttered, his eyes closed in concentration. "Sí a hlare ómaquettar." The objects on the ceiling rattled as the creatures dug harder at the roof. "Na coilerya en- vinyanta." A few things rattled and smashed to the floor. "Sí a hlare ómaquettar. Na coilerya en -vinyanta." Black liquid poison sunk into the blue stone from the hedgehog, as the wizard's eyes rolled back and he went into a trance. A huge, black, spindly leg broke through the roof. Suddenly light returned vanquishing the darkness, and Sebastian's eyes fluttered open and the hedgehog gasped for air. The black creatures crawl off the roof and crept back into the forest. The wizard broke out of his trance and looked relieved at the hedgehog in his arms. Running outside, he saw the horrid, giant beasts disappear back into the depths of the woods.

"Where on this good earth did those foul creatures come from?" he uttered to himself. Although it was rather silent now, his mind was buzzing. What were they? Why were they here? How many more helpless animals will they hurt? Where did they come from? A young brown bird tweeted and landed on his shoulder and he conversed with it.

"The old fortress?" he repeated in wonder and worry. "Show me."

The brown wizard darted through the forest on his carved hickory sleigh lead by a team of Rhosgobel Rabbits. As they followed the bird further and further into the forest the gloomier and darker it became. Massive cobwebs were plastered against trees and over spots of the dense canopy. Soon, they came to a halt, and he got out of his sleigh and stared into the distance and saw an old, ruined fortress.

APOV

"We'll camp here for the night," ordered Thorin. "Fili, Kili, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them." The rain had finally stopped, and their travel had become a but more bearable with the sunshine dancing on their faces. Amariel looked around and saw that they were at an old, broken down farmyard that obviously hadn't been occupies for many years.

"A farmer and his family used to live here," informed Mithrandir, confirming Amariel's suspicions.

"Oin, Gloin!" Thorin called, making the two brothers come over to their leader.

"Aye?" asked Gloin.

"Get a fire going."

"Right you are!" Gloin replied, and him and his brother got to work.

"I think it would be wiser to move on. We could make for the hidden valley," Mithrandir strongly suggested. Amariel sighed and heaved up all of her luggage that she had just placed down on the ground, upon hearing that they would be going soon. But what she heard in reply, was not one she was expecting.

"I have told you already, I will not go near that place!" answered Thorin, glaring over at her. This angered her. She didn't mind so much him insulting her, but he would not insult her people, her friends, her kin.

"Why not? The elves could help us," the wizard said, sticking up for his friend. "We could get food, rest, advice."

"I do not need their advice," Thorin said, making the She-elf's temper rise.

"Excuse me! Who do you think you are talking about! These are my kin, the wisest and fairest of all the three-peoples of Middle-earth! They could help us get into the Lonely Mountain! They could help you reclaim your throne — but no! You will let your pride and reputation prevent you from doing that! Amin feuya ten' lle!" she shouted letting all her annoyance spill. Suddenly, a tree's branch cracked from above them, nearly landing on Thorin. For a moment everyone watched in shock. No-one had seen her get so angry before, even Mithrandir was rather surprised. Thorin looked slightly bewildered for a second before regaining control again.

"Now, you listen to me, elf! You are lucky I am keeping you here in this company, if it was by my own judgement, I wouldn't have given you a second glance, but others persisted. However, anymore of this shouting, at me even more, you will be excluded for this venture! Understand?" he growled. She gave him a curt glare, but decided to return to her normal self.

"Of course, I am very sorry you had to experience my little rant. If you'll excuse me," she apologized, and walked away to sit on a nearby log. Soon, Bilbo came over to join her, looking a little awkward.

"Um, are you alright?" he asked. She turned and gave him a small smile.

"Yes, I just lost control of my temper, is all," she replied honestly. She was still a little shaken by her outburst. Why did she do it? And was that tree branch just a coincidence? It somehow didn't feel like one...

"Oh, well, that's good," he replied. This conversation was rather awkward so Amariel decided to become quiet and listen to Mithrandir and Thorin argue.

"We have a map that we cannot read," urged the wizard. "Lord Elrond could help us."

"Help? A dragon attacks Erebor, what help comes from the elves? Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls, the elves looked on and did nothing! You ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather, and betrayed my father," argued Thorin, anger and hatred in his eyes. Amariel felt almost sorry for him. He had so much hatred in him, that there was not much room for anything else. It saddened her to see that as it reminded her of what she, herself, had been like a few years before she went into exile.

"You are neither of them. I did not give you that map and key for you to hold onto the past," answered Mithrandir sternly.

"I did not know that they were your to keep," Thorin fired back. At that moment, she noticed Bilbo had went over to tend to a pony with Balin. Seconds later, Mithrandir stomped past her, shaking his head, and muttering something about dwarves and stubbornness.

"Everything alright?" asked Bilbo, watching Mithrandir's retreating form. "Gandalf, where are you going?"

"To seek the company of the only one around here who's got any sense," he huffed in reply.

"Who's that?" Bilbo called after him.

"Myself! Mr Baggins!" answered Mithrandir as he stormed away from the company. "I've had enough of dwarves for one day." A small smile found it's way to Amariel's face. She loved her old friend very much, even if she sometimes could not understand a word he said! She knew he'd be back soon — at least, she hoped.

"Come on, Bombur, we're hungry!" shouted Thorin to the chubby dwarf. The She-elf rolled her eyes, and let her mind wander back to her incident with the broken branch, and couldn't help but wonder what had happened...

Please rate and review!