AU- The Fellowship is introduced to some of the most reprehensible beasts in Middle Earth short of Mary Sues: Wargs that even the orcs can't stand. Can't we all just get along? The enemy of my enemy... (Later chapters contain swearing and brief sensuality.)
Author's Notes: And at long last, we are introduced to our main original characters. (Warg: Yay! Any self-respecting purist: Boo!)
The POV rotates between three characters at this point. It's all told from third person omniscient, but it focuses on three groups until the council. You know what I mean. Just so you're not wondering why Frodo is suddenly dreaming of Minas Tirith while hanging out with the Wargs.
And yes, in advance, I know my timeline is screwed up, I'm working on finding a way to fix it. Once again, if you see any stupid spelling mistakes / continuity errors, feel free to flame me. My mini Balrog Bromire (Miss Cam gave him to us; he's ours, precious, even if none of the rest of this story is!) acts as my muse and beta, but he gets very hungry without a few good flames. And then he starts eating my plot bunnies, which makes writing a bit difficult. So please, save a bunny - hit the blue button!
She heard the horns ringing still. Tasana had managed to survive orc and wolf infested woods many times before, but this was the first time she had seen the great Wargs fight those that the human folk had traditionally assumed were their masters. But those loyal to the Dark Lord Sauron were not always loyal to one another.
Best to let the threats exterminate one another. Best to run away from the fray; far, far away, and then hide. Besides, the young woman had neither sword nor shield to defend herself with, only a paltry collection of hunting arrows in her quiver and her healer's knife. Any ranger with half an ounce of sense or self-preservation would have stayed as far away as possible from giant wolves and perverted orcs, given her meager resources. Even surrounded as she was by ground-level battle, a sane individual would have hunkered down in the thick branches and prayed to avoid the orcs' detection.
Considering her meager escape options, the youthful runaway privately admitted that said sane individual would have been better prepared. Certainly she was yet too impulsive to be considered fully sane by most. For a moment, the girl wondered if her great plan to run to the forest that had had offered her and her mother shelter since the younger woman's childhood was such a good one after all. Her father could be a rock-headed, stone-hearted troll at times, but surely he would be more reasonable than a pack of orcs and maddened wolves. Her father, at least, could be susceptible to bribes.
Listening with half an ear to the battle, she observed that the howls were getting stronger and the drums had stopped. Goblins' cries were few and far between. She found herself in a tree above the orcs' flight, aiming one of her preciously few arrows at their backs. She released and heard a sickening yet satisfying thunk as the thin wooden shaft penetrated a goblin's black armor, too high for a wound to the heart, yet it slowed the twisted creature enough for the wolves to make short work of it. The rest of the orcs would not be attacking anytime soon.
Tasana waited until all of the goblins and their pursuers had passed, then climbed out of the tree. Removing her arrow from the ravaged body, then tossing it aside in disgust when she saw it was broken; she noticed one of the huge wolf carcasses was still moving, despite numerous wounds and a curved orc scimitar driven deep into its side.
"Shh… I'm not going to hurt you…. Lie still," she murmured softly, not quite sure why she was pulling out her medicine bag and canteen of boiled water. While she normally avoided obvious dangers like the bestial Wargs, she felt as if under the direction of something outside of time. She felt no fear in this creature's presence, or so she would tell herself later. This was obviously a lord among Wargs, yet this dark, vicious warrior wolf with a king's bearing and a mortal wound reminded her of nothing more than the spring puppies gamboling on a warm summer day. At any rate, the young woman had only one option left, if she was to survive this impetuous encounter. Tasana yanked out the sword, then applied a medicated bandage to the wound, mildly surprised that she had not lost a hand to either wolf nor poisoned orc blade – yet.
When she had finished, the fifteen-year-old healer looked up to find herself and her charge encircled by Wargs, the gigantic wolves that served as the war- mounts of orcs, according to all the old stories she had heard from her father. They were all yellow-eyed and fierce looking, all warily sizing her up with various expressions of hostility, hope, and befuddlement. Out of nowhere a large grizzled old matron of the pack pushed her way through the ring and dropped a fat white hare at Tasana's side. Then, after snapping at a growling youngster, the silvery Warg sat a few paces from the merchant's daughter turned woods-woman and the wolf's wounded mate.
Giving the wise old she wolf a half smile, Tasana cut a large chunk off the coney and offered it to the alpha male. He accepted the token with gusto, and his mate seemed to laugh and smile at the young healer as she fed him. At this unspoken signal, the rest of the wolves dispersed with barely a look back. Tasana fed the wolf lord until he went to sleep, then drank a small amount of water herself and picked off the last of the raw hare meat. She did not dare start a fire with the she-Warg monitoring her every move.
Tasana stood gingerly; keeping a concerned eye on the she-wolf that watched her lazily. Her peculiar feeling of objectiveness towards her surroundings did not extend to this strange silver Warg. The alpha female stretched, loosing a yawn that revealed yellowed canines as wide about the base as Tasana's thumb. The wolf howled and a pair of her underlings; both carrying chunks of venison, approached her; fawning and whining as they greeted their pack mistress. She welcomed them warmly, and through some complex vocalization that Tasana did not fully understand, indicated that the hunters should stay with their wounded leader.
Then she looked straight toward the human healer with an expression of full comprehension and wry indifference. The old pack mistress knew exactly what worried Tasana, and didn't really care about the impact of her power on the young woman. She seemed to dismiss the girl as easily as she had the other Wargs.
"Thank you, Wolf Mother. Care to join me?" Tasana curtsied before the Warg, who knocked the tall, lanky woods-woman off her feet with a disciplinary shove of her furry, well - muscled shoulder. So the nobility of the forest is at least as indecipherable as the nobles of the White City, Tasana thought to herself. She rolled over onto all fours, keeping her head below the alpha's grizzled gray muzzle. Tasana approached her without making eye contact; then made a whining noise and rubbed against the great she wolf's legs like a cat as the younger hunters had done.
The Warg was certainly dangerous, but she had seemed to accept Tasana, even about her wounded mate, until the human started to treat her as she would a lady of the city of her birth. At this wolf-like behavior, the old Warg positively shook with glee. After she thoroughly licked her apprentice wolf's face – a process Tasana didn't totally mind, despite breath that stunk of orc blood – the alpha female dashed toward the tree that held the woman's secret cache of clean water, dried food, and other equipment. Tasana could barely keep up with this seer who had unerringly led the human straight to her normal sleeping place.
She shimmied up the tree and brought down enough supplies to keep her and her patient comfortable for a few days at least: a warm woolen cloak and a heavier pair of worn and patched breeches, similar to the threadbare hand-me-downs she was currently wearing, that would keep her warm on cold nights without a fire. She also took a restocked medicine bag with plenty of the mint she had so dearly bargained for at the last market day the merchant's daughter had been to when she was back at home. There were things more important than peddler's prices on vegetables now, of course. Yet if she couldn't have a fire, Tasana at least knew how to mix a bit of the flavor into the water without one. That would help her stay awake and refreshed. She brought some of the old tatters of what had been her sleeping bag before an incident with a bear her first time alone in the South Woods for fresh bandages; grumbled over leaving her fire materials once more, then climbed down the tree with some of the dried berry cakes and an extra canteen of water in hand. Once again she followed this mysterious she wolf who fought orcs and knew her secrets.
0-0-0
The party had been long in the planning of festivities, tedious in the making of a guest list, and a bit of an annoyance in the constant visits of relatives, but it had all been worth it to see the look on good old Uncle Bilbo's face. It had hardly been a surprise party – it was impossible to hide all those pavilions being set up the Shire Commons – but not Bilbo, Bilbo's nephew, Frodo Baggins, nor Sam Gamgee, Frodo's best friend, had expected such a spectacular turnout for such a wonderful birthday party. The night was cool, but comfortable, fireworks sparkled and banged overhead, and even the presence of Bilbo's insufferable cousins, the Sackville-Bagginses, was ameliorated by that of Gandalf the Gray, the ancient wandering wizard who had gone with Frodo's uncle on his adventures so long ago.
Frodo lazily turned from his table, which was all but creaking under the weight of so much food. Normally, even the greatest feast of human proportions would have disappeared immediately in the presence of so many individuals, double quick considering the great majority of them were hobbits well known for their vast appetites. At least half the population of the Shire was attending the party celebrating Bilbo's one hundred and eleventh birthday. Yet even Frodo's teenage cousins, who were always eating, making trouble, or both, had not yet made a significant dent in the display of Bilbo's birthday party extravagance.
Not that Merridoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took hadn't been trying, Frodo smiled, catching sight of the youngsters up to their elbows in dishwater with Gandalf standing watch dourly over them. Lobellia Sackville-Baggins' raucous carping could be heard from across the party field, although fortunately for Frodo, her exact words were lost in the happier noise of the celebrations. The sour old hen looked as if she couldn't decide whose ears to twist first: Pippin, Merry, or Gandalf, so Lobellia had settled for gesturing wildly at a smoking, broken down tent that Frodo deduced to be the scene of the crime. From the mess of soot in their hair, Frodo assumed the mischievous pair had tried to light a few fireworks of their own. Although the younger Baggins was sure he never wanted to see another piece of food for the rest of his life, even should he live to be as old as Bilbo, he decided he ought to take pity upon the boys and bring them some fruit after Gandalf and Lobellia finished punishing them. Having to listen to Old Lady Stink-Bug, as Frodo and his friends had called her behind her back as children, prattle on like that was more punishment than anyone deserved. Pippin was staring longingly at Bilbo's birthday cake as he scrubbed plates, and better that they were given food than having Merry come up with some harebrained scheme to steal it.
Following Peregrin's gaze, Frodo silently began trying to count the candles once again. One hundred and eleven. It was hard for Frodo to believe his uncle; the only paternal figure he had ever known, was this old. He barely looked sixty, much less a hundred; as he stood atop a table to make the speech the crowd was heckling him for. It was not hard for the adopted hobbit to see his uncle as the adventurer the elder Baggins had been infamous for becoming, even at this fully seasoned age. Bilbo still appeared hale enough to accompany mysterious wizards or lost heirs to secret dwarven kingdoms who might approach him after the party for the aid of Bag End's most celebrated burglar.
"Today is my hundred and eleventh birthday! I hope you all are enjoying yourselves as thoroughly as I am!" he shouted above whistles and joyous cheers. "First of all, I wanted to tell you how immensely fond I am of you all. Eleventy-one years is too short a time to live among such wonderful people. I don't know half of you as well as I should like and I don't like half as you as well as you deserve." Most of the clapping stopped as the party guests ruminated over Bilbo's last statement, trying to decide if this was a complement. "But unfortunately, my friends, I'm afraid my time with you has come to an end. Frodo shall come into his inheritance today. For I am leaving tonight. Immediately. Goodbye." With that, Bilbo slipped on the ring he had been toying with behind his back and disappeared utterly from view.