Answers to Reviews:

Auguruj: She's secretly an expert spy, put into the world of Middle-earth to take account of everything that happens there and report back to her superiors...lol, just kidding. She's just got very, very good at lying, or at least using enough of the truth to be convincing. And dw about how the Elves react...you'll find that out when you read this chapter, so please, go ahead and enjoy it :D

Christmas 95: Hey, glad you're back! I was starting to miss seeing your name in my reviews ^^ And I'm glad you missed the story - means I've done my job of getting you hooked on it, and it means it's still interesting enough for you to read! And I can't wait for you guys to read about their reunion...it was a lot of fun to write, so hopefully it'll be a lot of fun to read as well!

Nika J: Hey, no worries! I always liked it when authors responded to my reviews - made me feel like I had a part in the story, in some way. I also like to thank everyone as personally as I can, because after all, it's you guys who make writing this story worthwhile, and make me want to keep sharing it with the world ^^ Yep, it will definitely come in handy, and yes, you'll have to wait and see about Damien. In the mean time, here's the next chapter for your reading pleasure!

JadedBlueButterfly: Welcome back! I understand, life can get in the way of things like this, but it seems I made enough of an impression on you for you to come back, which is great :D And wow, that is quite a few chapters...but all the more fun to binge read, no? And as I said in my message, Tauriel doesn't exist as far as I'm concerned. Her character was good, and plausible, but the reasons for including her and all that poisoned arrow stuff was awful, so I decided not to include her or anything else like that from the movie, and instead be almost completely faithful to the book...which you really do need to read! As for Thrandy refusing Fenna...well, he's very, very protective of anything he cares deeply about, and Fenna's definitely in that category now! Again, welcome back, and enjoy the next chapter!

Guest01: Aww really? Thank you! It means the world to me to hear that ^/^ And thank you for reading it! I wouldn't have nearly as much motivation to continue if no-one read my story. And yeah, Fenna tends to do that...and Thranduil's a sweetheart really, he just likes to pretend he's not just so he can look cool and mysterious lol.

Anon: Here's the next update for you! And thank you! Glad you like it, and I hope you continue to do so!


Me: *crawling through an undefined area. the sun is beating down relentlessly. No water is in sight. Vultures circle overhead* Please...I'm...so thirsty...can't...go much further...help...

*a silhouette appears in the distance, wavering around the edges because of the heat haze*

Me: Who...who's there...please can *cough* can you...help...I need...

*The figure draws closer, revealing a familiar crown and flowing summer robes*

Me: Hey...can you...I need water...shelter from-*my words are cut off as the figure reaches down and hauls me up*

Thranduil: What in Eru's name are you doing Devicorn!?

Me: Oh...um, hey Thranduil, I was...I was just...pretending?

Thranduil: Pretending? To die from heatstroke, when you are the one who insisted on drinking that cup of tea when it's 30 degrees Celsius outside?

Me: Erm, yeah...I like getting sympathy...

Thranduil: Well, you should have done this little charade of yours when my son was here. As it is, I am here, and you are getting no sympathy from me...in fact...*an evil grin appears on his lips*

Me: *sweating, and not just from the heat* Um, Thranduil, what're you planning...Thranduil...Thrnduil why're we going to the baths...and why are there loads of ice filled buckets in here...oh..no, no no-!


50: An Un-welcoming Party

"I can speak enough Elvish to get by, as can several others in Laketown…but to speak it as fluently as the ones that it belongs to? Now that is something I can only dream of," came a rough voice from behind me. I didn't pause in my murmurings to the slender paint mare who's stable I was standing in, having heard the person approach me a while ago.

"It is what comes from living amongst their kind, some of whom cannot speak any Westron at all, for the more recent years of my life," I eventually replied, murmuring one last Sindarin phrase to the mare before turning around. When my gaze settled on the speaker, and when I went back for a second look, I felt myself freeze for a moment, eyes narrowing as the details of his figure registered in my mind. Clothing that looks very much like a finer version of those the guards wear, a stance that speaks of skirmishes and battles seen, hair pulled back in a tail to keep it out of the way...a great yew bow and a quiver full of arrows, one of which is black as pitch and is made of…metal?

"And yet I have heard that King Thranduil does not tolerate any other than his own kin within his kingdom…quite an interesting tale you must have to tell…ahh, forgive me, I have not introduced myself. I am known simply as Bard…though many insist upon adding the title of Bowman to my name." So saying, Bard offered me a hand over the stable door, not seeming to notice the mask of unfamiliarity I had had to school my features into.

"Fenna Hughard, at your service. I can see why they call you the Bowman," I answered, finding Bard's handshake firm and sure. The dark haired man smiled slightly, patting the quiver on his back as I continued, "And yes, quite the interesting tale indeed, though it would take far longer than both you and I have to relate even half of it to you."

Bard laughed slightly, a warm sound that brought out a smile through my mask.

"Then I won't ask any more of it unless I know I have a week or so of free time," he chuckled, before leaning back against the stable door and growing somewhat more serious again. "However, might I ask what a companion of the Dwarves is doing out here, away from the town?"

"Well-" I began, before being stopped as the mare behind me, indignant at having my attention taken from her, lipped at my plaited hair and the tip of my ear, eliciting a snort of laughter from myself and from Bard. Leaning against the mare's neck and stroking her head as she eagerly lowered it for me, I continued.

"Well, I thought it would be best to organise some form of transport for the Dwarves, the Hobbit and myself so that, when we finally leave this town and make our way towards the mountain, we are not forced to walk from the shores of the lake all the way there. Being the one who knows the most about creatures of the horsey variety, I volunteered myself to pick out those who I thought would be best suited for our purposes from the stables your town has." I paused for a moment, smile drooping as my thoughts turned to the forest that I'd left behind. "And…I have missed being on horseback since I came here with the Dwarves. What better way to fix that than by riding a horse such as this one?"

"I can see no better," Bard answered with a light shrug, though the smile on his lips did not reach his eyes. I tilted my head at him, asking a question with the gesture in a very Elvish manner. The bowman was silent for a moment, gaze flickering this way and that before finally returning to mine.

"A Dwarf's lust for gold is almost enough to rival that of the dragon that lies within the Lonely Mountain. Noble intentions they may have…but I do not believe for a moment that anything good will come of those Dwarves of yours reaching their great halls," he sighed after another moment of silence, his voice hushed. Again, I was forced to school my features into neutrality, and to keep my voice as light as I could when I replied,

"Perhaps…perhaps not. We cannot know for sure." So used to speaking almost freely around Thranduil was I that it was a struggle to hold back the words, gestures, expressions I was going to use.

Bard snorted softly, the lines on his weathered face becoming more pronounced as he scowled into the distance.

"Greed is greed, no matter what is promised otherwise," he muttered, before shaking his head and making an effort to lighten the mood. "Anyway, enough of Dwarves and gold and dragon filled mountains – I expect you have had enough of that for the moment to last the rest of your life!"

You have no idea…no idea at all, I thought with a faint hint of a smile, happy to nod and go along with the change of subject. "Indeed…are you busy, Bard the Bowman? If not, would you care to accompany me for an hour or so as I put this one through her paces?"

Bard paused thoughtfully for a moment, before shrugging and smiling. "How can I refuse such a courteous offer? I don't think Alfrid will mind if I borrow his horse." So saying, the man stepped back, swinging the stable door open slightly so as to allow me to step out and fetch the tack for my steed. I wonder…well, I do not trust this mare as much as I would Aeolus, but that would be an impossible thing to achieve…and she seems like a good horse...ahh, bugger it, may as well see if I can do what Elves seem to be able to.

Smiling to myself, I then motioned for a frowning Bard to move back further before pushing the stable door open all the way and stepping out. Glancing over my shoulder, I stretched out a cloaked arm and beckoned to the mare, calling, "Tolo ar nin, Fëa," as I curled my fingers towards me. Snorting softly and making it clear that she thought it rather odd to be asked to come out rather than led, the mare, whose name in Westron was Spirit, nonetheless plodded towards me, pressing her head into my shoulder as she waited for me to close her stable door behind her.

Murmuring softly up into one attentively bent ear, I felt my lips curve up even further when I spotted Bard's somewhat floundering expression. "Aren't you going to fetch your mount?" I questioned lightly before, unable to supress a snicker, starting forwards again, Fëa following close behind me.

By the time Bard had recovered himself enough to go about getting his own horse for our little excursion sorted, I'd mounted up and started getting the mare I was on used to being directed with neither bridle nor saddle strapped on her. She had frisked about at first, showing me exactly why she was named as she was, but once I'd settled her with a word and a gentle pat with my hands she grew calm beneath me, much to the surprise of the stable hands moseying about the tree sheltered yard we were in.

"You 'ipnotized 'er, lass?" one questioned as he paused in his cleaning of a dappled brown gelding, and I shook my head, my laugh free, for once, of anything but happiness. It was amazing what being back up on a horse could do.

"No, I assure you, she is the same mare she was when I asked if I could ride her."

"Pah, and I'm the King under the Mountain!" called another of the younger lads, setting a ripple of derisive snorts and chuckles running through the rest of the young men, and shakes of heads through the older ones.

"Don't let Thorin Oakenshield hear you say that," came the gruff call of Bard as he appeared astride a gelding who's bay fur was in need of a severe trimming. Another set of snickers were heard at this, though they were fewer and quieter, and had soon disappeared.

Nodding to Bard, I then gently asked Fëa forwards, turning her towards the open gate with a tap of my heels and heading out into the chilly afternoon. Soon enough the four of us were out on the open land, with the Lake to our left, Mirkwood far to our right, and Erebor lying even further behind us. Fëa's trot was springy beneath me, the mare eager to be off for a run without a bit between her teeth, and so, with a nod to Bard, I allowed her her head. With only a moment's pause to see if it was alright for her to go, the mare was off, stretching herself out into a gallop that soon had us leaving the Lake behind. Bent low over Fëa's neck I closed my eyes, banishing any feeling bar a peaceful joy.

The thunder of hooves and rushing of the wind were the only sounds reaching my ears for a good while – the mare beneath me seeming full of a boundless energy –, but eventually I felt our pace slowing, and soon enough we were walking placidly along, waiting for Bard to catch up on his surprisingly slower mount.

"You ride very well," Bard said once he'd reined in his gelding next to Fëa, who was puffing happily after her run.

"Thank you – I've been riding since I could walk," I answered with a contented smile, giving my mare's neck a hearty pat as Bard spoke again.

"Another trick the Elves taught you, this controlling your steed with neither bridle nor saddle?"

"The Elves taught me…or rather I learnt from watching them, yes, but it is not a matter of one controlling the other. It is a relationship where you must give as much as you take, where…ahh, I find it hard to explain…it is an understanding between your horse and yourself. Once that understanding is formed, a saddle and a bridle become hindrances rather than a help."

"So you don't use them at all?"

"Sometimes. When the Elves want to carry extra arrows or the like into battle, for example, they use light saddles…other than that, though, no, we don't use them. Speaking of arrows…might I have a look at that black one of yours?" I asked, eying the weapon that would soon enough end the life of Smaug. Bard nodded, pulling the arrow from his quiver and offering it to me.

"So light!" I exclaimed softly as I took it, wondering at the fact that, despite the material it was crafted from, it was actually slightly lighter than a normal wooden arrow.

"Aye. It was forged by Thorin's father when he reigned over the mountain halls, using some means and materials that are not known to me," Bard said as I turned the weapon over in my hands, tapping it gently with a nail and starting at the crystal clear note that was produced.

"How did you come by such a thing?" I asked as I twirled the arrow between my fingers, concealing my not so small wonderment behind my question. Here was the weapon that would fell Smaug from the sky when no lance or sword of old had been able to do so. Such a small thing, to have so great a destiny, I mused as Bard happily answered my question, not seeming to notice that only half of me was paying attention. Such a small thing, and yet such a great change it could bring if anything were to happen to it.

For the rest of our excursion the two of us kept our conversation on topics no darker than the journeys we had both been on through this land. There were questions that Bard wished to ask me, that much was obvious, and there were questions and words of warning that I wished to ask and give him, but neither of us wanted to dampen the mood. When we weren't speaking of irrelevant things, Bard and I gave the horses a good run about, cantering here and there, trotting through small valleys and weaving around rocky outcroppings. I had, from the moment I settled upon her back, decided that I would be wanting to use Fëa for transporting me up to Erebor, and the rest of my time upon her back only cemented my decision.

After thoroughly tiring our steeds out, Bard and I started on our way back, each lost in our own thoughts and allowing the silence between us to remain somewhat comfortable.

I wonder how home has changed since I've been here? I mused, twisting and turning the ring Thranduil had given me about my finger. I wonder if I am still being looked for, or if everyone's given…up. My thoughts trailed off as Fëa topped the rise we'd been riding up, allowing the landscape to sprawl out below me. Things were different, of course, but if I ignored the town and the bridge, the darkness of Mirkwood and the towering snow-capped mountain in the distance, if I ignored everything but the whisper of the wind through the long grass, the rolling green of the land and the Lake, turned flat and shimmer-less by the blanket of winter clouds high above…then it was just like home.

I stared hard, fisting my hands into my cloak as a pain that was almost physical wrapped around my heart, a nail driven deep into an already open wound. I would have given anything, just then when friends were far away and comfort soon to disappear, for that view to be real, for my home to spring up in the distance, or even for the voices of my family to call to me. Just one little piece of home that was real, that was tangible, that would settle my aching heart….it was funny how such a little thing as a view could bring everything I'd easily kept at bay until now up to the surface in all its painful glory.

"Fenna?" came Bard's voice from below. I swallowed hard, blinking away the tears that suddenly threatened to spill, before urging Fëa forwards. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, it's…I'm fine," I managed to answer, rubbing absentmindedly at my twinging left shoulder and trying to hold back the tide of longing that threatened to sweep me away. "Don't worry." Bard nodded after a moment and left me to my thoughts as we headed back to the stables, though I could feel his curious glance every now and again.


To most everyone, if they had glanced upon King Thranduil as he languished upon his throne in all his ageless glory, nothing would have appeared different from usual. To those that knew him and knew him well, of which there were very few, his impatience would have been as clear as the sky above the clouds. The Elvenking had called certain members of his people to him as soon as he had heard and sensed that they had returned to his kingdom, cutting his audience day short in order to hear the news that they would surely have.

Tapping one long finger against his cheek, Thranduil was just beginning to think it would be easier for him to go and find the Elves when he caught the sound of four pairs of feet in the distance. Straightening slightly in his throne, the Elvenking fixed his eyes upon the end of the path leading up to his throne, watching, waiting.

Moments later, four figures came into view, their clothes travel stained but their smiles light with the happiness of being home. Their carefree talk continued until they drew near the steps leading to the throne dais, where they fell silent as they approached their King.

"Faelwen, Taluharn, Baledhel, Raina. You are well, and your business with the Lakemen went smoothly, I trust?" Thranduil questioned, despite his want to forgo the niceties in favour of getting right to the point. The four Elves nodded, with Baledhel murmuring,

"Our business went well with the Lakemen, and we are in good health and cheer, my King," in response. The flicker of the young ellon's eyes over to Faelwen, however, betrayed that these few words were not all there was to be said. Turning his eyes over to the leader of the small company, Thranduil tilted his head and fractionally raised one eyebrow.

"…We did, however, encounter a small problem after we had concluded business with the Lakemen, when we were resting for the time it took for the barrels to be filled once more," Faelwen sighed after a moment, and it was actually somewhat of an effort for Thranduil to remain impassive as he waited for the story to be told…for when had it ever not been a story when Fenna was somehow involved in goings on?

And so the tale unfolded. Thranduil had already figured out that the Dwarves and his mortal friend had escaped via the barrels being sent down to Laketown – Of all the foolish ways to go – and had presumed they had not been caught by the very Elves stood before him until they had shown themselves in the floating town, but to hear that they had been so badly received by the Master and his folk did nothing for his anger, which was already close to the surface thanks to recent events. What did appease him though, even when it truthfully shouldn't have considering exactly what it was that had happened, was the fact that, yet again, Fenna had managed to make things right. She had fooled these Elves into believing that Thranduil himself had ordered that the quest of the Dwarves was to go ahead, that she had been appointed by him as their guardian – though how she had managed to do that was somewhat baffling considering her terrible skills at lying – and that absolutely nothing and no-one was to hinder it upon pain of his wrath. As such, the four Elves before him had done their utmost to convince the Master of the Lakemen to free Fenna, the Dwarves and a Hobbit who appeared to be travelling with them from the cells they were being held in, and to help them in any and every way they wished.

"And Fenna?" the Elvenking questioned at the end of the narrative, deciding that it would perhaps be best, for now at least, to play along with the story Fenna had concocted.

"She was fine, my King. No worse for her stay in the cells. She stayed with us for most all of the time we remained in Laketown…she asked us, in the event that you summoned us, to tell you that all is going as well as can be expected in times as dark as these, and that you should not worry," Faelwen answered, and Thranduil felt the corner of his lips twitch, a sense of relief that he would never admit to wash through him. Of course she would.

Nodding, Thranduil then waved one ringed hand. "Thank you. You may go." As one, the four rafters bowed before turning and heading away from the throne, their talk resuming moments later. The Elvenking waited until they were far out of sight before relaxing back into his throne, a giving a slow shake of his head even as he allowed the smile that had been threatening him out on to his lips. That mortal is no end of trouble for me, he sighed. Not only has she managed to escape my halls, with the Dwarves no less, without my knowing of it until too late, but she has also managed to tie me into their quest, and thus their success or failure and whatever each of those may bring, as effectively as if I were bound with iron chains…and all with such a simple few words. And then she tells me not to worry…I am of half a mind to journey to Laketown simply because of that.

Thranduil closed his eyes, thoughts unable to help but linger upon Fenna and her…shenanigans, which had become a normal thing for him, as of late. Damien had yet to discover that Fenna was missing from the Elvenking's halls, and Thranduil was going to do everything in his power to keep it that way for as long as possible, but even despite this almost all the forces that had been battering at Thranduil's defences had been withdrawn, slinking back into the shadows only for a good half of them to be seen not two days later, heading out of the forest and in the direction of Laketown, presumably because of the Dwarves having been spotted in that direction. Unable to do anything bar hindering their progress – most of his guards, despite the gifts of their race, were weary and in need of respite – Thranduil had simmered in frustration as he was given the news that the foul things that Dol Guldur spawned had reached the edges of Mirkwood nearest the Laketown – a place out of his reach unless he wished to muster his forces and march into what he knew would soon turn into a full out war. He was not ready to do that. Not yet.

All he could do now was watch and listen and wait, hoping that the Dwarves, this Hobbit that was apparently with them, and Fenna would reach their destination without incident, though that was something he doubted even the Valar could do. A journey with only minor happenings would be a better thing to wish for…as was his friends safe return to his halls.


It took us the better part of two days – the night in between spent resting upon the shores of Esgaroth – to row to the point of the Lake nearest Erebor where the ponies and the rest of our supplies had been taken for us.

Bard, along with ten other men, had agreed to accompany us to this point on the behest of the Master, whose tone had changed rather drastically once he had seen the attitudes of his people towards the Dwarves. They had been endorsed, encouraged and heralded as the bringers of a new age – as they should have been in the first place, and would have been had Damien not shoved his fist into things without a thought for the wider consequences. The best weapons that could be found were given to them, and they were given grand clothes and almost too much food to eat and bear with them up to the mountain, and all the comforts they could need and want. Even Bilbo seemed content to stay, though I suspected it was more out of loyalty to Thorin and the others than any actual desire to remain in the confines of Laketown.

However, the year was drawing on, and Durin's Day was nearing, and so it was that, just under two weeks after our arrival, Thorin had come to me and told me that we would be leaving in two days.

There had, of course, been a great fanfare, with trumpets blaring, children singing and men and women gathered along the route out of the town, throwing flowers and calling good fortune to us – something we'd be needing plenty of if my eyes had not deceived me when, sat in the boat as we rowed out of town, I had spotted shadows lumbering amongst the trees on the far shore.

"I don't like staying here," I murmured to no-one in particular as I sat with my back to the circle of tents, swords across my lap as I stared hard at the reaching arm of Mirkwood, its shadows darkened by the deepening night. Something hangs heavy on the air, a watchful thing, lurking, waiting for its chance…

"Too quiet, isn't it?" muttered one of the other men from Laketown as he strode by me, bow in one hand and an arrow at the ready in the other. I nodded, tapping my fingers along the flat of my long sword, disquiet refusing to go away. Nervousness wasn't part of my disposition…but here, out in the open, under the blanket of an evilly black night, every sound sent a tremor of worry through my already tensed body. Every flicker of the shadows in the light of the flames snapped my gaze around.

The sooner we get on to open ground, the better, I thought to myself, twisting and turning at the ring around my finger and tuning out the soft mutterings and laughter of the Dwarves behind me. At least they were happy…but for how much longer?


It was near dawn when I awoke, the light just beginning to change from dull to slightly less dull. I sighed softly as I blinked the sleep from my eyes, thankful for the few dreamless hours I'd been able to snatch between the other ones, the ones haunted by shadowy figures with flaming eyes, cruel laughter and seductive whispers that caressed my ears with terrifyingly coaxing words. My nightmares had shifted into these equally unrestful moments as soon as I'd gone to sleep with Bilbo – and the Ring – nearby for the first time, and they wouldn't stop until I was well away from the Hobbit. Things weren't so bad when I was awake, the barrier around my mind and almost complete immunity to magic helping no end with this, but I could still sense the presence of the One Ring as if I were the one carrying it, a shadowy thing at the edges of my thoughts whose desire to convince me that nothing bad would come of it was unceasing. Even now I could feel it a little way away, calling ever so softly to me despite its words being blurred by the barrier around my mind and despite my resolve to-

I froze. Something wasn't right. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing straighter than Thranduil's guards, and my senses were screaming at me for all the wrong reasons.

Quieting my breaths, I listened with all my might. Nothing. No birds, no wind…not even the soft sounds of the ponies and the horse left under guard nearby. Absolutely nothing.

With a silent efficiency so swift that even Thranduil would have been impressed, I dressed, slinging on my light chainmail underneath my tunic and belting my swords and other weapons to my waist, careful to keep my figure low lest the sun reveal me to whoever or whatever had instilled such fearful breath-holding in the land.

Loosening my two swords, I paused for a moment, forcing my swirling thoughts into a pool of quiet as Bainor had taught me to do. It would not do to go out into a potential battle with my head at the centre of a maelstrom. Once I was sure that I was as calm as I could be, I crabbed silently over to the flaps of my tent and poked my head through cautiously.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the pre-dawn light, but when they did the first thing I noticed was the body of one of the Lakemen barely ten feet from me, a dirty black crossbow bolt poking from his right eye. I balked, swallowing the bile that crawled up my throat and forcing my eyes from the gruesome sight even as it confirmed that there was something very wrong going on.

The second and last thing that caught my eye was the group of about fifteen Orcs padding as silently through our camp as they could, their bodies surprisingly lithe and their armour light. Stealthy buggers, I thought, forcing my breaths to stay slow and soft even as fear dug poisoned claws into my mind, and the smell of the foul creatures stabbed at my nose.

Crossbows adorned the backs of several of them, and in the hands of the others were gripped wickedly curved blades, edges serrated like dragon's teeth and stained with crimson. Used to slay the other guards whilst they had their backs turned.

A soft hiss of words blackened the air between the Orcs, and they paused by the edge of the dead fire at the centre of our camp, swinging their ugly heads from side to side as they, seemingly, tried to decide which tent Thorin was in. For why else would they be here? Why else would they have slain the guards in a manner that would have made Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad proud, left all the other guards sleeping soundly in their tents, not sent the ponies and horse running and then proceeded to the exact area where the Dwarves had their tents.

Damn that bastard Damien, I thought as the leader of the pack of fifteen, a slightly taller Orc with a great scar running down the middle of his back, lifted his nose to the air and sniffed. He's getting better at this…However, I doubt he reckoned with me being here.

Stepping fully from my tent, though careful to stay in the shadows of another, I narrowed my eyes and gauged the distance between me and the Orcs, silently loosening my blades further in their sheaths as I did so. It was a fair way, and I'd never been a very good shot with any form of projectile, especially in the almost dark as it was now. Drastic times called for drastic measures, though. Distractions were needed, and needed fast.

Taking a deep, steadying breath I palmed the two throwing knives I'd brought with me, drawing both arms behind my head and taking aim. The Orcs remained unaware of me as they waited for their leader to make a move. Steady. Stay focused. Wait for the right time, wait….straighten and-

With a short exhalation I snapped my arms forwards and threw the knives.

There was a moment's pause, as the knives flew silently through the air in a deadly whirl of silver. Only a moment, but one in which I managed to draw my swords silently from their sheathes.

Next, there was the soft thump thump as my knives hit their target, sending the leader staggering back with a cry as one buried itself in his neck, and the other in his hand. Instantly there were snorts and grunts from inside the tents around us, setting the Orcs glancing nervously about.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you it's rude just to barge into someone's camp like this?" I called loudly, fingers white around the hilts of my blades and a ringing starting up in my ears at the sight of blood pumping from the wounds I'd just created. It was a stupid thing to do, to stand here and wait for the enemy to recover from my surprise attack, but there was nothing else I could do. I wasn't going to throw myself into battle without a second thought – I was nowhere near a good enough fighter for that, even with the training I had received from the Elves. Numbers were the only thing that would keep me alive in this situation…but said numbers were having a hard time dragging themselves from their slumber. Come on, come on!

"Wha's goin' on?" came the sleepy rumble of Fili's voice from his tent – a sentiment echoed by several other voices. I opened my mouth to cry out a warning in answer, but before I could the air in front of me filled with hisses. Quick as a whip crack I was diving to the side, crashing through one of the Lakemen's tents as I barely avoided the four bolts of death heading towards my face. An angry curse sounded from beneath me but I didn't stop to say I was sorry as I scrambled to my feet, didn't even care as I stepped on what felt like fingers. All I cared about then, as my mind slipped into battle mode, was getting these Dwarves the hell out of here. Because where there were fifteen Orcs, there were bound to be more nearby.

"Fenna, what the he-ORCS!" came a wild cry of surprise from my right as finally, finally, one of the Dwarves appeared from their tents. There was a moment's pause as this information pushed aside the last vestiges of sleep from everyone's minds. Then there was chaos.

At Nori's yell the Orcs spun around and began firing their crossbows into the tents around them. Screams of pain from some of the men rent the air. From the others the rest of the Dwarves rolled, in various stages of dress and all wielding as many weapons as they could manage.

Without a moment more of hesitation the Dwarves leapt into battle, furious war cries mixing with the clang of steel on steel as the launched themselves upon the nearest Orc.

Blood fountained into the air as I ducked a wild swing from an Orc and sliced his throat, gagging at the stench and the sight. Another tumbled beneath my dual blades, stomach ripped apart with two swift slices.

Fili and Kili flew past me, thrown back by the leader of the creatures, but before I could rush in and lend a hand Thorin had decapitated the brute with a clean swing of his blade, fury glinting in his eye.

Soon the cries and screams of battle began to fade, and in the next moment all but the moans of the dying had fallen away into a silence more stomach churning than the corpses at my feet. Swallowing back the wave of dizziness and bile that threatened to overwhelm the fragile hold I had on myself. I thought I'd hardened myself to this…but of course, when I need my senses the most they decide the time is right for me to realise once more just how much I hate battles.

Keeping my eyes focused on nothing but things that looked like Dwarves and Hobbits, I moved swiftly amongst the group gathering in the centre of our interrupted campsite, letting out a shaky sigh when all the Dwarves, and Bilbo, were accounted for. My relief was short lived, however, when Bard called out to us, supporting one of the other men.

"These Orcs were sent to kill the Dwarves and the Hobbit before they could wake," he called, carefully settling the man he'd been carrying against a nearby tree stump, wiping at the blood trickling from a cut above his eye. "They shot the guards with crossbows and sliced their throats before they could raise the alarm, and then snuck in." He spat on one of the corpses, thunder in his eyes. I nodded, yanking my throwing knives from the body of the lead Orc and trying not to throw up as I did so.

"They did. They were sent by the Necromancer…he wishes for my companions to die before they even have a chance to reach the Mountain."

"Why? What've we ever done teh that bastard?" cursed Nori, to muttered agreements from the other thirteen members of our company. I sighed, shaking my head.

"You've been set upon this quest, that's what. It's forcing the Necromancer's hand, and he's doing everything he can to turn the tides back in his favour."

"Great. Not only do we have to reach Erebor before Durin's Day, which in itself is enough of a task to be dealing with, but now we have to take into account the fact that hordes of Orcs are probably going to come after us."

"Trust me, that's not the-" I began to say, but before I could finish a horn sounded from within the eaves of Mirkwood, rough and painful against my ears. Shit.

"Get your stuff and pack it on the ponies if they're still where we left them. NOW!" I yelled when no-one moved at my first words, shoving the nearest Dwarves towards their tents with no care for what they might trip over.

"What's that horn?" questioned Kili as he hurried to where his tent had been.

"Reinforcements," I replied grimly, my nausea momentarily forgotten as I kicked aside a corpse in my rush towards my own tent. Everything I'd brought with me was already packed, aside from the bedding which, at this moment, was the least of the things I needed to think about taking with me.

Sweeping everything up from where it lay and stepping out of my tent, I then grabbed the canvas and the wooden poles that had held it up into one big bundle, tying up with a piece of fabric before slinging my pack over my shoulder.

Bard and the other men still on their feet were already helping the Dwarves with the ponies when I joined them. The creatures were half out of their minds with fear at the scent of blood staining the air – only the strength of the ropes they'd been tied down with had held them in place when the fight had started.

"Calm! Calm, please, my friends. Let us saddle and bridle you, and then you may be off as fast as your legs may carry you!" I cried in Sindarin, throwing my things to the ground and attempting to soothe the ponies and Fëa. I was nowhere near as good at it as the Elves, but my words must have had some effect, as the creatures kept all four legs on the ground after hearing me.

The Dwarves and men were swift to act in this small moment of calm, getting everything strapped down and in place in the blink of an eye. Even that, though, was cutting things close.

Turning from putting everything on Fëa I stared towards the forest, my breath stopping when I spotted what was spilling from under the boughs. A company of Orcs, forty or so strong, emerged from the pre-dawn shadows, covered from head to toe in blackened armour and wielding pikes and bows and swords notched with the lives of their previous opponents. As soon as the spotted our frantic group their leader let out a bellow, legs stretching to cover the muddied ground.

"We're set!" came a cry from behind me, and I spun to find all the Dwarves, and Bilbo, wrestling with their mounts, waiting for me. Hurrying over to Fëa, I was about to mount when a thought struck me, stilling me despite the danger thundering towards us.

"Bard! What will you do!" I called, and the black haired archer turned to me, a grim look on his weathered face.

"We will fight. Though your ponies and horse are fast, you will still need a head start if there are more of these things on their way. We will buy you enough time to get away!"

"But you'll…there's too many of them for so few of you to fight and come out alive against!" I caught my breath. No….no, no no no! He'll die! And that means-

"Fenna, we need to GO!" yelled Thorin, his pony snorting and rolling its eyes, itching to be as far away from the battle as it could.

In a split second, with the eyes of the Dwarves, the Hobbit and the Lakemen on me, and with the fate of someone as important as Bard in my hands, I made a decision. Murmuring rapidly to Fëa, I then sent her cantering off.

"What are you doing!?"

"Go. Head for Erebor. I know the route we were going to take, so I'll catch up."

"But-!"

"GO DAMN YOU!" I roared, slapping the nearest pony on it's hindquarters. With a squeal it was off, nearly unseating Bombur. The other ponies, seeing their friend racing away, wasted no more time and galloped after it, disregarding their rider's commands and shouts for them to stop.

"What are you doing!?" questioned Bard from behind me, breath misting on the air as he and the other remaining men stared at me in shock. I took a moment to respond, nudging my pack behind a rock and out of the way before turning to his dawn shadowed figure.

I shook my head, motioning for him and the men to follow me as I then raced back up the rise. The Orcs were close now, so very close, and the wind they brought with them was tainted with death.

"Fenna, what in all of Middle-earth are you-"

"I'm helping you, that's what I'm doing. I'm not letting you die for these Dwarves and for me. You've already done enough for us," I interrupted, drawing my swords and gesturing for everyone else to do the same. Bard opened his mouth, but I stopped him with a swift glare.

"Save your words for when this fight is done, Bowman, and instead let your arrows fly."

"…Aye. Fire when ready, men," Bard answered after a moment, knocking an arrow and, with swift precision, picked a target and let it sing from his bow. Moments later one of the Orcs was staggering and tumbling to the ground with a howl. One down, thirty nine to go, I thought as more arrows began to fly through the pre-dawn air. If we could get enough of them dead or injured before they reached us, we might stand a chance. But that wasn't going to happen. It never did in this world where battles were fought with swords and bows and magic instead of guns and bombs. Right now, if I was honest with myself, I would have preferred the guns and bombs, despite the destruction they caused.

Eleven of the Orcs had fallen to the arrows of the Lakemen before they reached us, but as I'd predicted it wasn't enough. They broke upon us like a furious sea and set my ears ringing with the cry of steel on steel. Chaos descended on gleeful wings, and soon everything was a blur of blood and metal and flying bodies.

I swayed aside from a viciously swung sword, ducking past the Orc's defence and slashing through his side before he could attempt to kill me again. Another was swift to take its place, but a thin knife punched through its throat and sent it to the ground.

A mist seemed to lift from over eyes as I was surrounded on all sides by my first true fight, where the blows were not softened and my opponents wanted to kill me rather than teach me. Everything took on a crystal clear look, each blade of grass a sword swinging for my gut, each splinter of wood a hand reaching for my throat.

I ducked this way and that, whirling death about me, watering the ground with blackened blood. I could hear the cries of men mixing with the grunts and groans of the Orcs but I ignored them, ignored everything but making sure that myself and the men were the only ones to come out of this alive. Damien would not be allowed to change this story that I had done so much to protect. He would not destroy this world, and the people, that I had come to love so dearly.

Something caught around my feet and I stumbled, my balance thrown far to one side. In that moment the Orc I had been fighting took his chance.

WHAM!

Pain burst like a supernova across my nose. A pained yell escaped my lips as I reeled backwards, swords dropping from my hands as they flew to my face. Blood poured between my fingers, but that was the least of my worries as a pair of arms as thick as tree trunks snared me from behind. I felt myself yanked backwards against a stone-like chest, the breath rushing from me as my lungs were squeezed beneath iron bands of muscle.

Another Orc, seeing me held so helplessly and struggling for breath, let out a roar of triumph and ran towards me, blade pulled back. I saw what he was going to do, could almost feel the blade piercing my gut as the Orc holding me threw me on to it.

No. No, no NO!

Drawing on every ounce of strength I had I drew my legs up as high as they would go before driving them backwards and down, aiming for something soft and squishy I hoped and prayed would-

My captor squealed in pain, dropping me to the floor as his hands fell to his nether regions. Another bright burst of pain slammed across my side as the Orc who'd been charging me accidentally tripped over me in his attempts to stop, but I brushed the hurt aside as I grabbed my fallen swords and threw myself to my feet.

Finishing off my would be killers I spun, searching for more and finding all I could want. The men who'd survived the earlier battle were struggling on top of the rise I'd charged down, their backs to each other and faces streaked with blood and desperate expressions. Bard was hacking this way and that, lips drawn up over his teeth in a grimace that was both pained and determined. Everything was a mess…and I had to sort it out before any of the Orcs managed to escape after the Dwarves.

Once more I leapt into the fray, blood pouring in rivers from my nose and various other wounds I didn't even bother to take notice of. Everything was still crystalline, and my mind was a serene lake of thoughtless movements, of dodging and slicing become second nature thanks to my training. I was not perfect, and I never would be, not if I didn't-

With a grunt of exertion I blocked an Orc's blade with one of my own, swept it aside with the other and then spun and plunged them both into its wide open chest, twisting until it's body went limp before spinning around and-

There were no more enemies left. Forty bodies, not counting those of the men who'd fallen, lay in dark lakes of their own blood, black eyes staring at nothing. A silence bloomed around me, around us, for I was not the only one to have survived this strangely pivotal battle.

"Is that it?" came Bard's voice over to my left, his hair matted with blood and lumps of…I didn't like to guess. I glanced around, finding nothing but the empty heath and shadowy forest in the distance. Nothing came running out of it as I watched, no other small armies come to end my attempts at protecting this world.

"I tink tou…owww," I groaned as, with the suddenness of an unexpected eighteen wheeler turning a corner in front of me, all my wounds began to throb at once. The cuts along my arms and legs weren't too bad, apart from one here and there, but my nose…I could tell it was broken, and badly from the way I nearly fainted when I brushed it lightly.

"Fenna…ahh," Bard winced as he, wiping an arm across his forehead, came to my front and saw the mangled thing that had previously been my nose.

"Dat guh pack'd uh puckh," I commented, sheathing my swords and trying to bring my mind away from whatever state it went into when I was fighting. Adrenaline was shaking through my body, and I couldn't decide whether I wanted to turn and run after the Dwarves now or fall to the ground amongst the bodies and rest.

"I can tell," Bard said, and though his voice was light-hearted, his smile didn't reach his eyes, and drew further and further away from his lips the more he looked around him, the more faces of his mean he saw lying dead upon the ground. I'll kill Damien for this. He's a dead man walking, I thought, tilting my head back so the blood would hopefully stop flowing from my nose. A golden tint was beginning to gild itself along the edges of the clouds high above, heralding the nearing dawn. If only it'd come a bit earlier…but Sauron's probably made these Orcs impervious to sunlight or some bullshit like-

"…"

"Wh-whu?"

"You're going to need this," Bard said again, holding out a piece of leather he'd sliced from…I didn't want to know where. I swallowed.

"U'r gnna thet muh nuthe?"

"I'm going to try," he answered. Oh great, more pain. Just what I need, I thought as I took the piece of leather from his hands and, after a hesitation, placed it in my mouth and clenched it between my teeth. Why, oh why, could this journey not have been simple? Why does everything have to go to shit when I get so much as a pinkie toe involved?

"Alright, you're going to need to hold as still as you can," the bowman said, reaching out and gently pressing his hands to either side of my nose. I let out a muffled mewl of pain, tears of agony leaking from my eyes even as I nodded. God, it was so painful – worse than the stab wound I'd received from Daghad, in a way. At least I'd been a bit out of it when that pain had kicked in. This, though…my head was still filled with the rush of battle, a clear space waiting for something to fill it.

"On the count of three."

"Uuk."

"One." Bard braced himself, and I tried to let out a slow and steady breath.

"Two-"

With an almighty CRACK Bard snapped my nose back into place.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" I screeched, staggering away from the dark haired man as I clutched at my once more bleeding nose. Pain, bright, brilliant pain, stabbed through my skull, a white hot needle that burst the dams in my eyes and drew out every curse word under the sun from my mouth, the leather having been let go as soon as I'd screamed.

"I'm sorry," Bard called, and between swear words and moans of pain I managed to spit back,

"You said you'd do it on the count of THREE!"

"It would have hurt more if I'd done it when you expected me to."

"HAH!...Ooohhh, ohahahowww fuck!"

It felt like hours had passed by the time the pain began to subside enough for me to stand without fear of fainting. The blood coming from my nose had steadied to a slow trickle, and I'd just about regained control of the flood of tears. Still, it took another minute or so for me to calm my cursing.

"Let me look…that's better, though it's still slightly crooked," Bard mused as he had me turn to face him, eyes flicking over my face several times before he allowed a ghost of a smile to surface. I grimaced, which only made my fading pain flare again, and reached up a hand.

"Damn that Orc," I muttered as I felt the slight kink that there now was in the bridge of my nose. "If I hadn't already killed him, I'd have smashed his nose in in the same way." At my words, Bard's smile vanished again, and I felt myself coming back down to the cold, blood soaked earth with a not so gentle bump.

The men who'd survived along with Bard and I were standing quietly, looking about them with mixtures of shock, anger and sadness. They'd not seen any battles aside from small skirmishes with raiders or one or two Orcs, I'd wager. Until now, of course. And what a time to introduce them to war, I thought, shaking my head, carefully wiping the blood from beneath my nose and checking over my other injuries. When the biggest battle of their time is looming on the horizon.

"You should go," Bard said, bringing my gaze back to him. "Catch up with those Dwarves before they get too far. I hummed, turning my eyes once more to the bloody mass of bodies that littered my surroundings. Bard had lost at least half of his men here, all of them more than likely leaving behind wives, children, homes and hungry mouths to feed…I clenched my hands tightly.

"Fenna?"

"I'll stay and help you gather the bodies. The Dwarves can wait," I replied, wiping my blades off as best I could. Bard looked about to argue, but seeing the look on my face he instead sighed and murmured,

"Thank you," before calling to his remaining men, taking their attention from their fallen comrades.

The work that followed the small battle was grim and world wearying. Each of the fourteen men who'd fallen were carefully gathered up and taken to the boats we'd arrived in not a day ago, their hands no longer able to grasp the oars and their eyes seeing nothing of the bloody dawn that stained the already red landscape crimson. Their weapons we picked out from amongst the corpses of the Orcs and placed in their hands, and their clothes were arranged as best we could manage to cover their life ending wounds. Some we simply had to cover with a piece of cloth, so gruesome were their injuries. The guards who'd been assassinated in the initial attack were also brought over and placed within the boats, the quarrels that had ended their lives carefully removed.

Next came the men who were too wounded to do anything bar sit still and hope they survived, of which there were thankfully few. They were helped into the second boat, along with what belongings myself, Bard and the others could salvage.

Finally, the bodies of the Orcs were placed in one pile and set alight, the noxious fumes their burning flesh gave off carried swiftly into the now early morning sky, thankfully.

"I cannot thank you enough for what you've done, Fenna. Without your help we would all have been killed, of that I'm sure," Bard said as I, wiping my blades as clean as I could, re-sheathed my weapons and picked my pack up off the ground, thankful that the skirmish hadn't come across it.

I smiled slightly, wincing as my eyes and nose throbbed in protest, and as my left shoulder ached from the over use, and replied, "No, you'd have survived…I was just there to make sure of it." The bowman's expression lightened somewhat as he returned my smile, though it was swift to disappear again. He won't be doing much smiling soon enough…ahh, to think I thought coming to this world was a miracle, that everything was wonderful…how naïve I was…and still am, to be honest. I gazed out towards the boats where the bodies of the men lay, waiting to be returned to families unsuspecting that they'd just lost a beloved. This is only a small battle…and yet it is so terrible all by itself, the lives that it has taken. What will the real battle be like….no, I mustn't think on that now. Not yet.

"Still, it was selfless of you to stay and lend us your aid…if ever you're in need of anything, perhaps a place to stay where the Dwarves can't find you, then all you need to do is ask." His tone was forcibly light, and I could see how hard he was trying not to let his eyes stray like mine to the waiting boats, so I played along, for his sake.

"Thank you, Bard. I'll remember that," I chuckled quietly, before a thought struck me and made me give voice to it. "There is something you can do for me, actually."

"Oh?"

"If…should you happen to see the Elvenking in the near future…tell him I'm alright." Bard's eyebrows drew down in a bemused fashion – for a moment all else but my strange request was forgotten.

"If I…if I should what? The Elvenking doesn't leave his realm for anything…," he said, tone incredulous. I shrugged one cloaked shoulder.

"That's why I said if." Bard stared hard at me, a question clear in his dark eyes, but I kept my mouth shut. I'd already potentially said too much…and it was time I got going.

"If I happen to see him out for a stroll in the woods, I'll tell him," the bowman answered after a moment, and I grinned before, knowing that this was going to be the last time I saw Bard for a while, reaching out and clasping his shoulder.

"Again, thank you, Bard, for everything you and your people have done for us."

"It was the least we could do…now, go. You've some Dwarves to catch.

"Aye, that I do. Safe travels," I said, taking a step back. Bard nodded, expression becoming grim once more, before turning and heading for the boats. I stayed where I was, a pile of burning corpses to my right and a wide expanse of land to my left, watching as the three boats were pushed out into the water, their burdens far heavier than they'd been when we'd arrived here. I wish this hadn't happened…I wish none of this had happened, and that this world could have gone on as it should, I thought with a sigh as I raised my hand in farewell to the Lakemen, my steps weary as I then turned and trudged away from the sickly smell of the fire. I wish that this had been easy…but nothing ever is, and nothing ever will be.


Next Time...

51: Desolate

Once I'd found Fëa, and convinced her that everything was alright, it took me a day and an evening of riding to find Bilbo and the Dwarves. It hadn't taken me long to locate the hoof prints of their ponies – it was the fact that they were so confused and seemingly directionless, and that I had to go at a super slow canter in order not to miss them when they changed direction, that had made the going slow.

As my steed and I made our steady way onwards, the land around us began to change in a way that no oncoming winter had ever brought about. The rolling green heath, where heather was dying down for the winter and sprinkles of downy snow were icing the blades of grass, and where small creatures scurried and squeaked from out path, began to darken, to wither and fade away until only bare, blackened soil was left to peer out from under patches of dirtied snow. Trees that had once been full in canopy and covered in blossom were now only skeletons whose fingers desperately reached for sunlight that couldn't give them life any more than I could. Birds that had been curiously following Fëa and I had turned back a long while ago, and it wasn't long before all sounds of life, barring the beating of my mare's hooves against the ground, the rushing of air through my lungs and the sullen gurgle of the nearby Celduin river, were gone. Nothing remained bar a strange, foul reek, like ozone mixed with burnt, rotting flesh and other terrible things that I didn't even want to try and put a name to. All in all, it was a place I'd rather not have gone to had I been given a choice.

As night began to fall I slipped from Fëa's back and allowed her to walk beside me, not only because she was tired from a long day of near constant moving, but because I could barely see the hoof prints on the ground as the light failed. Were that I'd thought to bring along one of those lamps I've seen around Thranduil's halls, I sighed, brushing my single plait out of my face as I bent to examine the earth. My steed gratefully took this as an opportunity to rest and crop at some of the sparse grass, and I absentmindedly patted her nearest leg. She'd done well to come so far without complaint…as had I, for that matter. Though my time with the Elves had made me strong and swift in ways I'd never have achieved back in my world, stamina was still my weak point, and there were aches and pains all through my body that protested all the more when I shifted my weight from side to side. My face was another matter entirely – it felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, giving extra attention to my nose and eyes. It would be a while before having any kind of expression other than neutral gave me no pain.


Legolas: Father? Father, I'm back from my journey...father, where are you? *Starts searching around the throne room. Distant shouting and bellowing catches his attention, and Legolas quickly follows it* Father what-?

*Legolas stops as he takes in the sight before him. I, in my Devicorn form, am backed up against a wall, kicking and snarling at Thranduil, who's wielding a bucket of ice like a mace.*

Thranduil: *ducking as one of my hooves nearly decapitates him* You will take an ice bath, and that is final! I will not have any hypochondriacs in my home! And making all this racket is going to do you no favours-no, don't bite the curtains, they're First Age! *drops the ice bucket and throws himself on the curtains, trying to wrestle them from my jaws*

Legolas:...On second thought, I'm not back from my journey, and won't be until you two have become civilized once again...honestly