"Ada! Ada!" Legolas screamed as he sprinted through the burning halls. All around him, elves, having killed the last of the invading orcs, were spilling forth from the mouth of the massive cave bearing any possessions they could grab in time. Smoke was billowing in great swaths and causing Legolas' eyes to water. His lungs were seizing on the heavy air and the acrid scent of burning cloth assaulted his nose. Even the stone beneath his feet, usually cool earth, was nearly hot to the touch as the intensity of the flames rose.
Vaguely, he could hear a captain shouting orders for the evacuation. It seemed that they had given up hopes of saving the Halls and instead were intent on ensuring that everyone made it out alive. Legolas trusted his soldiers to take care of such things, he had only one goal in mind.
Finally, he rounded the last bend in the winding corridors which led to the throne room of his father. He found crimson blood stains were guards were usually stationed and a metal spear sealing the door shut. He yanked the spear from its spot and pushed against the doors with all his might. But, the heat had warmed the hinges and sealed it shut. Giving a roar of fury Legolas lept into the air and slammed his shoulder against the door. Again it stood strong. He gave a cry of pain as he knew, on some base level instinct that one has for those they love, that his father was on the other side.
"Ada!" he screamed again, slamming himself into the door. At this point his shoulder was bloody from he abuse, but he didn't care. "Ada! I'm coming!"
He paused and took a deep breath, walking back several paces. He stood there and glared at the door, willing it to bend beneath the fury of an Eldar's gaze. He then lunges forward, sprinting as fast as he could and slamming his shoulder into the doors. Finally, they gave a mighty groan and slowly inched open. That opening was all the Legolas needed as he shoved through the small crack and came upon a sight that filled him with horror.
His was was seated- no- pinned to his chair with a series of black fletched arrows. On his head was a cloth dripping in something that caused the flames spreading across his robes to shoot up with every droplet. Fire was all around him.
His grand throne looked like a raging bonfire, his robes were burning as flames licked up his sides, and his face was frozen in terror and agony as the fire nearly kissed his brow.
Pausing for only a moment of shock, Legolas lept into action. He raced towards the fire and, ignoring the cries of pain which he new his father would never utter in the presence of any other, he wretched each arrow from his body. Then, he yanked Thranduil down and beat out the flames on his clothes until his own hands were blackened from the fire. He had no time to access the condition of his King for the fires were growing and threatening to choke both of them.
Acting as carefully as he could, Legolas scooped the tall frame of his father into his arms and began running out. He was met halfway through the halls by a group of guards who had returned to find them. The guards took one look at the hand conscious form of King Thranduil in Legolas' arms and turned to escort the pair out with grim expressions on their faces. As soon as they made it past the front doors, they were greeted by a herd of worried elves who were quickly shooed away by the guards surrounding Legolas. He had grown up with and trained with many of the elven soldiers and they knew that now was not the time to crowd their prince. Instead, Borneth, one of the senior captains below Legolas began barking out orders.
The other elves were quick to comply with the demands of the fiery haired elf as she arranged for soldiers to begins setting up and fortifying camps for the elves to reside in, organizing healers into squadrons, and arranging for the movement of elves and surviving goods alike. The called for a large tent to be immediately set up where Legolas took his father and laid him down on one of the precious few cloths they had. Guards stood silently in a circle around the tent with grim set eyes as they waited for a healer. For what felt like an eternity but was truthfully but a few minutes, Legolas sat on the ground beside his father who, at that point, had mercifully fallen into slumber. He tenderly brushed a stray strand of platinum hair, singed at the ends, away from his father's burned face. The wounds were sever and while Legolas knew enough of healing to keep himself alive while on patrols, he was no true healer.
A soft spoken voice begged entry at the door and Legolas called her in. Nestoriel, the senior healer of Mirkwood entered the tent with a large swath of bandages in her arms. Behind her, a small group of soldiers carried forth buckets of clean water, herbs, salves, and other supplies that she would need. They bowed respectfully to Legolas and turned to exit, but one older guard who Legolas knew well paused at the exit, his eyes were fixed on their King who was lying motionless, barely breathing. For a brief moment, Legolas almost snapped at him, a sharp demand for him to find something useful to do was at the tip of his tongue when he stopped.
It was Erthor- he was an older elf of the Second Age. He had battled alongside Thranduil when the King had been a prince. He was there the day the dragons came.
This was his second time seeing Thranduil burned near death.
Legolas found himself lost for words, content to merely nod his head in the direction of the veteran who returned the gesture before exiting the tent. He then turned his attention fully towards his father who still breathed laboriously beneath his burns. Nestoriel began gently ordering Legolas around, having him help her cut away what fabric they could, and bath the remains scraps of cloth with water in an effort to loosen them. She spoke gently but firmly, treating Legolas as if he were any one of her assistants. For that he was grateful.
His father was injured to near death, his home had been burned, a prisoner that he swore to guard was free, and everything was left to his shoulders. He was the only prince, the only heir to the throne. While his father was unable, he was to rule in his place.
Legolas had not the slightest idea how he was to do so.
"He will heal," Nestoriel whispered.
Legolas blinked in surprise, the healer's words having snapped him out of the growing panic swirling in his mind. He gave the Nestoriel the closest thing to a smile that he could manage at the moment. She merely nodded back and continued to apply a soothing balm to Thranduil's wounds. She, like most healers, seemed to have a sixth sense for when someone was in distress. It seemed that her words helped to sooth Legolas as he returned to his task of dripping clean water over his father's wounds.
"How long-"
"It will take time," she spoke slowly, carding her fingers through what remained of Thranduil's hair. "The fire has touched his fea so it will never be truly gone... but he will be strong once more."
"He has to be," Legolas whispered, more to himself than the healer.
"I have known your father since well before your birth," though her tone was somber there was a slight twinkle in her eyes. "I have known no stronger. He will heal."
Legolas nodded, his hands barely trembling as he drizzled more water over scorched skin.
Evelyn and Nightshade were traveling northeast with the intention of skirting the Lonely Mountain and moving to the Northern Waste. It was a barren and desolate landscape, but she was under the impression that there would be enough game for the pair of them to survive. There would be lean times ahead, but until the Free Peoples of Middle Earth overthrow Sauron and the elves leave, there were far too many peoples moving about for her to be comfortable. She and Nightshade simply wanted peace. They had each other for company and needed nothing more.
Their peaceful walk was interrupted by Nightshade's ears suddenly flickering to life. Evelyn froze with one hand on Nightshade's haunches and the other on her blade. The growl that Nightshade released was more annoyed than angry and thus, Evelyn assumed that whoever was approaching was relatively harmless. Not one to take chances still, Evelyn didn't allow her hand to stray from her blade as an obvious voice drew closer.
Soon she could hear said voice rather clearly. It was far too rusted in sound to be that of an elf, but not quite right for a man. The voice was singing a slightly crude but rather jovial tune about a particular night out at the tavern. Before long, a lone figure emerged from behind a bluff. It was a short and broad shouldered little man with a thick beard and a rather large axe. It took Evelyn a few too many moments to realize that the figure approaching was no man, but instead a dwarf.
She froze in indecision. There was no cover nearby and no settlements for miles around. She could easily take to the sky and no man, elf, or dwarf would ever be fast enough to catch Nightshade when she ran, but something forced Evelyn to pause. She remained in place with one hand on her short sword until the dwarf drew close enough to notice them. He did a strange double take upon seeing her and then lifted a hand, waving it cheerfully.
Hesitantly, she returned the gesture in a half hearted wave. The dwarf smiled broadly at this and drew closer until she could get a good look at him.
"Afternoon Lass," he called in a voice with a strange accent. "What brings a maiden out here all on her- Sweet Mahal that's a wolf!" The dwarf jumped back and gripped his axe, eyes wide with concern. "Get back here Lass," he whispered, eyes never straying from Nightshade. "I won't let the beast hurt you."
Evelyn couldn't help herself- she laughed. It was the first true, genuine laugh that he had released in a long while as she watched the way the dwarf gripped at his axe handle. Beside her, Nightshade merely tilted her own head in curiosity at the strange being.
"Don't fret, she's a friend," she explained, gently patting Nightshade's back in an encouragement for her to sit. The wolf comply and tilted her head to allow Evelyn to scratch her ears.
"Well... I suppose if she ain't eating anyone then there's no harm done," he mumbled half to himself, scratching at his beard lightly. "Say," his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You aren't and elf... are you."
Evelyn's mind froze. On one hand, she was still wearing a cloak that covered her wings, so there was no way that he knew that about her. On the other, her hood was up and surly he must only be suspicious of her due to that. Deciding, for some absurd reason, to trust this strange dwarf, she reached up and slowly lowered her hood.
"Ah, a daughter of Man," he hummed.
"The elves hold no love for wolves... they slaughtered her family," she gestured to Nightshade who seemed perfectly at ease with the dwarf who still seemed a bit apprehensive. To Evelyn, Nightshade's trust was good enough of an indicator that this being meant no harm.
"Oh I know a thing or two about the elves. Can't say I'm too fond of them myself. But, where're my manners? Gloin, son of Groin, at yer service." He bowed smartly and looked up at Evelyn with a somewhat expectant gaze.
"I'm called Raven."
"Ah, funny name, Raven." He said, though not unkindly. "Good omens, ravens ye know. They're good friends of my people in Erebor."
Evelyn allowed that to sit, not knowing how or being willing to respond. For a while the dwarf seemed at ease in the silence, patiently waiting. Eventually, he spoke.
"So, what brings a lass out to the wilds with her wolf friend?"
"I had business to attend to."
"Did you succeed?"
"Yes," she smiled at the memory of Mirkwood burning.
"Then how about some good food to celebrate?" As he spoke he was already pulling items out of his bag and kicking aside small stones to sit down.
Evelyn wasn't quite convinced. What makes this dwarf trust me so? Is it some trap?
"Come on then Lass, the misses packed me enough for a whole army of dwarves. One skinny thing like you will hardly dent it."
"I've heard that dwarves are a suspicious people," she spoke cautiously, hand straying towards her blade once more. "We are not friends."
"No," his gaze turned calculating for a brief moment before settling back to his seemingly jovial mood. "But I've been on enough quests to know the look of one who's just completed one. And I also know the look of someone who hasn't broken bread with another in far too long a time. Sit, eat."
With that, Evelyn slowly crept forward and sat near his little makeshift picnic. The dwarf, Gloin, made no move to prod Evelyn for questions. Instead, he merely set about digging into the food, tossing another roll or slice of dried meat in Evelyn's direction whenever she seemed to slow in eating. The silence was comfortable for a while, but then Gloin stared to speak. Much to Evelyn's surprise however, he didn't bother to question her. Instead, he seemed content to ramble on his own.
"Dangerous times these are, specially to be walking around alone. Mind you, I can take care of myself... doesn't stop the misses from worrying though." He paused for a moment to sip mead from his wineskin. "But I've been on Middle Earth long enough to know the signs of trouble. Something dark's brewing and there's a stinking stain coming from Mirkwood." At that point he grumbled something about "arrogant, pansy elf kings" and Evelyn couldn't help but pipe in.
"I can't say I'm fond of the elvenking myself."
"See," he smiled broadly. "Knew you were a clever lass. Anyhow, I've seen trouble and trouble's what I'm sensing. I've got a feeling that you know a fair bit about trouble... probably caused your fair share of it." He held up a hand suddenly as Evelyn opened her mouth. "Now I ain't asking you about what you've been up to. I don't need to know. A dwarf- er lass', business is there own. But my son... oh that boy's gonna be the death of me. Ready to go off on a quest like his old man he is? He's a fine lad, don't get me wrong, but green around the ears."
Suddenly, it hit her. The flaming red hair, the all too familiar axe, and the strangely familiar name. He was Gloin, son of Groin, father of Gimli. His son was supposed to become one of the Fellowship... a body that may or may not prove to exist.
"The lad's a fine warrior yes... but he's hardly traveled from Erebor. He's grown up there so much he doesn't remember much else."
"Your son is strong?" Evelyn didn't know why, but she found herself speaking.
"Oh he's strong and then some... good dwarfish stock he is."
"Is he a fighter?"
"Ain't been bested in three decades."
"Do you think he's sensible?"
"Ach, you know how it it. Hot temper, but he's got a good head on his shoulders."
"Then I suppose all that he is lacking is experience. How is one to get that without chance?"
Gloin titled his head in thought, scratching his beard roughly.
"You make a fair point Lass. I suppose he's gonna need to leave the mountain eventually."
They finished the rest of the meal in silence. Eventually, Evelyn could find no more excuses to tarry in the company of the one amicable being that she had met so far. She stood, brushing crumbs from her lap and thanking the dwarf who insisted that she stop to share his food.
"Best of luck Lass, my Gimli owes his next adventure to you. I hope you succeed in yours."
"I already did."
"My brother's always been the better one at reading... signs," he spoke slowly, eyes scanning over Evelyn and Nightshade. "But I picked up a thing or two. You look the type to be on a quest... on some mission or another. Ain't my business, but I wish you well."
With those words he lifted his heavy laden sack and launched into another song, ambling along his merry way. Evelyn and Nightshade continued their own journey, Evelyn still reeling from the strange encounter. She knew that she had may cold, harsh nights ahead. The Northern Waste got its name for a reason, and orcs, goblins, trolls, and all sorts of creatures roamed the land ahead of her. Still, there was something to that dwarf and their conversation that she couldn't quite put her finger on.
Perhaps... it was because he was the first being in all of Middle Earth who she met... and wanted nothing from her.
He sat her down, fed her, and went on his way. He demanded no answers, made no move to interrogate or restrain. He simply wanted... to share a meal with her.