Hello, dear readers and reviewers!
Thank you, ro781727 (Welcome to the story! By the way, you'll find out very soon who Olwen is. ;) ) and Emrfangirl (I'm thrilled (and very grateful) to hear that you love this. For now, all I can say is this – expect more surprises coming this way...). I'm looking forward to hearing more from you. :)
I also have to mention Belinda Valentine Bite, Sweet Petit, WinterBarnesCaptainRodgers, wolfcorgi, Cassandra-Jayne, Hasse360, Kasca Black, Marianne-C, ro781727, Mitchiaot, Nougat-XP, Rasmany, Witch-named-Anna, brittKarateKid, katiebug17, 4plywhenicry, chichi41, lydo99 and Ryndell – thank you for the favourites and follows! I hope this chapter won't be disappointing.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit. This piece of writing is purely for entertainment.
Chapter Three
Tancred was not supposed to be there.
A mere babe by the size of him, he should have been safe with his family, hidden in one of the countless burrows scattered across Mirkwood. Instead, she found him wrapped in a sticky, greyish cobweb just like she was, and she watched helplessly as the lad bucked in vain, struggling to get away from the spiders. But, once Tauriel came to dispatch the creatures, as well as untangle her, Olwen was reluctant to leave the rabbit behind. Left on his own, he would inevitably become a prey to some other creature lurking around, which made her choice to bring him with her unexpectedly easy. Perhaps, after everything, she considered it a personal debt to take care of him, at least until he grew bigger and got fast enough to evade some of the dangers.
"The Orcs passed through here." Having walked out of the forest, Tauriel stopped near the line where the grass ended and the river began. "The trail looks fresh."
Olwen halted nearby, only to lean forward and rest her hands against her knees as she caught her breath. Having been imprisoned for so long, she did not know how unprepared she was for sprinting through the wilderness until she had to go after Tauriel. She already had a painful cramp in her leg from running, while her heart continued to pound against her ribs like mad.
"Since we're in this pursuit together –" She paused to draw another breath before standing up fully. "You could tell me a bit more about what we're heading into."
"What do you wish to know?", Tauriel asked.
"Let's start with the dwarves. They wouldn't have risked going through Mirkwood without a good reason."
"No. They would not." The elf glanced down at a group of bootprints, frowning as if she had seen a detail she did not like. "I still haven't heard your question for me."
Of course. Doing her best not to say something she would regret later, Olwen stepped closer. "Are the dwarves searching for something?"
"In a way. What they seek is over there." Briefly looking up, Tauriel pointed a finger in the distance, and Olwen followed her gaze until she caught sight of a mountain. "It used to be their home, their kingdom. And they believe the time has come for them to reclaim it."
Meanwhile, Olwen lifted a hand to shade her eyes from the sun, her gaze drifting up. The enormous mountain resembled a part of a fairytale, partially enveloped in mist, while its face was more steep than anything she had seen and seemingly reaching the sky. It took her only a moment to find out what she was looking at.
"Is that –", she turned to Tauriel, who gave a nod.
"You might know it as the Lonely Mountain." The elf adjusted her grip on her bow. "Come. We cannot linger."
She stepped away from the tracks, but not before casting one last glance at them. It was then that she went downhill, rushing down a strip of grass wedged between the river on the left and the forest on the right, and Olwen followed her just a couple of steps behind.
"There was an old storyteller, back in my village", Olwen said soon after, wincing as her leg protested, "Well, he wasn't really from my village. He'd come from a town, somewhere in the west. Tancred was his name."
The elf did not stop when she glanced behind her shoulder. "You named your rabbit after him?"
Olwen gave a shrug. "It's a good name. Strong, too. And the little fella surely needed one." Having noticed her companion's puzzled expression, she cleared her throat and changed the subject. "Anyway, the man said there were no kings left alive to rule the mountain. He said the last one had fallen in battle, along with his heir."
"Your storyteller was not mistaken. Yet, the grandson of that king still lives. He is leading the company we are after, and his own heirs are with him."
"You mean, his sons."
"He has none. His heirs are his two nephews."
Olwen nodded absentmindedly, keeping up her pace until a thought struck her, causing her to forget about her surroundings and trip on a root in front of her. She recalled the deep, angry voice that belonged to one of the dwarves. During his absence from the dungeon, her former cellmate and his brother were genuinely worried about him, and they often mentioned him as their –
Uncle. They called him 'uncle'. Which makes Fíli the elder nephew. A sigh escaped her at the memory of him clinging to the iron bars, waiting for news about his family. She would not have guessed, not even in the furthest depths of her imagination, that he was a prince, let alone the future King Under The Mountain.
"We're getting closer." Tauriel wrenched her out of her thoughts, and Olwen immediately kept moving. Luckily, she did not have to go far and she quickly crossed the distance between them, only to see that Tauriel had furrowed her brow. "Olwen, what is it?"
"How did you know all of that?"
"Being the Captain of the Guard has its advantages." The she-elf halted then, crouching next to a patch of grass that had been upturned in many places, most likely by something heavy. "The Orcs who made this are close. I hope you have not forgotten how to fight."
"I hope I'd have a weapon when the time comes."
"You will. But, not before that."
"So, even after all this time, you still don't trust me?" Olwen shook her head in exasperation. "Are you sure you're not related to one of the dwarves?"
"Try not to tempt me", Tauriel replied, just to get back on her feet and continue their trek. In the meantime, Olwen hurried up a little so that they could walk side by side.
"Speaking of trust, your king probably won't give you a warm welcome when you return." She expected Tauriel to say a word or two about that, yet she only met with silence, and she tilted her head to gaze at the elf more closely. "You were planning to return, weren't you?"
She seemed to be deep in thought. "We should gain on the Orcs soon. That's what matters the most."
"I don't understand. Why are you ready to risk so much for a group of complete strangers? And, please, don't say you're here just to stop the Orcs from killing them." Olwen was sure she had pushed it too far, yet she could not stop now. "Tauriel, I want to help you. But, in order to do that you need to tell me what's going on."
The look on her face was inscrutable, which appeared to be a common trait among the elves, and Olwen briefly regretted that Tauriel was not a dwarf. The dwarves, at least those she had crossed paths with so far, wore expressions that were easy to read. But, then the elf turned to her, stalling until she finally uttered:
"I assume you heard of Morgul poison."
Ah. "I know it's a nasty thing."
Olwen went quiet soon after. Even though Tauriel had turned away, her hand visibly clenched around the bow she was holding, which confirmed Olwen's suspicions. The elf would not have mentioned this someone was not in trouble – that is, someone who was not a stranger.
"Do you think you can help him?", Olwen asked.
"I can try." Tauriel picked up the pace, taking a few steps forward before she abruptly stopped, and Olwen found out that they had reached the end of the forest, as well as the river. Once flowing swift and strong, it was now almost sluggish as it met with a wide lake, so wide that its other end was beyond the line of sight. "Elbereth."
Not giving Olwen a chance for questions, the elf-woman turned to a large stone near her feet. Olwen couldn't help but notice a bloody trail across its surface, along with a handful of bones strewn beside it. The only thought that reassured her was that they belonged to a fish, which meant that the dwarves were safe. At least, for now.
However, something quickly stole her attention, a group of tracks leading away from the lake. Curious to see where they went, Olwen followed them to a cluster of bushes, not so far from the shore. That was when her stomach twisted into a knot, because she was not looking at Orc bootprints any longer. Having settled on one knee, she placed a hand right beside one of the new shapes, red with blood on the rocky ground. This one had the form of a giant paw, more than twice the size of her hand, with deep claw marks – just like a Warg's paw.
This is far from good. The Orcs, with Wargs in tow, could cover more ground than travelling on foot, much more ground when they were in a hurry. For all she knew, they could have got to the other side of the lake.
They could have been in Laketown already.
She turned around to warn Tauriel when – as her heart skipped a beat – she noticed that the elf had company. A tall figure had suddenly appeared in front of her, clad in green and holding a bow of his own, and Olwen dove behind the bushes to remain unseen, closing her eyes in embarrassment. How could she be so naive, to think nobody would follow them from the Elvenking's Halls?
"Tauriel, tell your friend to come out", the figure said, "She is not as good in hiding as she believes."
Cursing under her breath, Olwen pushed herself up until she was standing out of the shrubs, her hands raised in mock surrender. And then she stifled a gasp, having realised that she had seen the Elvenking's son.
"You brought her with you?" The Mirkwood prince glanced at Tauriel, with a look of someone utterly unimpressed.
"She can help", the she-elf said.
Though Legolas did not say a word, his left eyebrow raised slightly at her answer. Olwen was not irked much by it, however. Smeared in dirt and probably flushed with exertion, she probably looked like a far cry from someone who could make a difference in pursuing Orcs.
That was when the prince went still, only to whirl towards the forest behind him as if he had heard something out there. Tauriel did the same, with her bow already drawn, while Olwen's gaze darted from one elf to the other, completely at a loss to what is happening.
"Stragglers, from the Orc pack", Legolas explained to her as he drew his own bow. "They are coming."
A distant, menacing growl came from the forest, and Olwen suppressed a shiver. That must have been what a Warg sounded like. Having made a step away from the trees, she was about to pull Fili's coat tighter around her when, without a warning, her fingers brushed against something hard on the inside of the garment. Bowing her head for a better look, she reached into an inside pocket just to feel a hilt of a knife peeking from its hiding place.
Its owner must have slipped it in there before he left.
Fíli, you sneaky little – She wrapped her fingers around the hilt, ready to defend herself, yet she did not pull it out as Tauriel's gaze unexpectedly landed on her.
"Head for the town", the she-elf said, "Find the dwarves. We will find you when we're done here."
Olwen furrowed her brow. "What if I run into Orcs?"
"Then I suggest you run fast."
.
.
.
After their narrow escape, Fíli should have been relieved that he was in one piece. However, the only thing he could feel was dread while he was sitting by his brother's bedside, unable to bring down his fever no matter what he attempted. Kíli's condition seemed to be getting worse by the hour, while his carefree, infectious grin was gone, replaced by a grimace as he groaned in pain.
"It's all right, Kíli. Look at me. It's all right." Fíli tried to sound comforting. Aulë help him, he tried. But, Kíli did not seem to hear him at all, angling a bit to the side before he weakly reached for the bandage around his leg. He was almost there when Fíli grabbed his hand, making sure he would not ruin his stitches. "Mahal, Kili."
The muffled whimper he got in reply frightened him, yet not as much as Kíli's breaths, laboured and so short that Fíli barely willed away a shudder. Leaning forward in his chair, he held his brother's hand between his own until another, barely audible sound reached his ear. He was not certain if it was a word, but then Kíli said it a bit louder:
"'Sorry."
"For what?"
"You stayed." His answer was barely a whisper, making Fíli shift even closer to hear it. "Fee, I'm sorry. You stayed... stayed behind... because of me."
Kíli's fingers curled around his, just like he used to do when he was little, startled by a nightmare, and Fíli became aware of his chest becoming painfully tight.
"Nadadith." Swallowing thickly, he lowered Kíli's hand near the edge of the bed. "Please, listen to me."
Only then did he notice that Kíli had closed his eyes, having drifted into another restless sleep. With an exhausted sigh, Fíli picked up the piece of cloth he had discarded, going through the steps he had done so many times already. He dipped it into a bowl of cold water, wrung it and wiped Kíli's forehead before letting the cloth rest there, although he knew that would not help much. And then he let his mind wander to another dwarrow he was concerned about, probably halfway up the mountain.
With Oin and Bofur in Laketown with them, Fíli could not help but ponder if Thorin would succeed in defeating the dragon. He had only a part of the company by his side now, after all. However, he was soon pulled out of his reverie by a quiet voice, somewhere from his right.
"Is there something I can do to help?"
He looked up at Sigrid, the eldest daughter of Bard – the bargeman who had given them shelter when everyone else refused. Bard's younger daughter, Tilda, peeked behind her, gazing at Kíli whilst she clasped and unclasped her hands, looking as terrified as Fíli felt.
It wasn't long before Sigrid nodded, for she knew there was nothing left to be done. "I'll go and see where Da is."
She walked away with her sister, leaving him alone to wait – though he was unsure what he was waiting for. He might have been hoping for Kíli's fever to break, or Oin to brew some tea that would ease his brother's pain, or Thorin to finally enter the mountain, or the dragon to awaken and lay waste on everything – or perhaps he was waiting for all of that at the same time.
He sank back in his chair when a hand appeared in the corner of his eye, and he turned to discover that Tilda had come back, offering him a steaming bowl of stew left from their supper. He had no appetite, though, not when his stomach was clenched like a fist. Regardless, he accepted the stew, mustering what should be a smile.
And then Sigrid screamed.
The bowl fell from his grasp, shattering on the floor as he saw her topple over the doorstep. Having collapsed into the room with a thud, Sigrid made a frantic attempt to crawl away – while an Orc stepped into the house after her, his crooked blade glinting in the light of the hearth.
Fíli barely moved towards her when a crack rang out. Straw and pieces of thatch spilt over the kitchen, followed by an Orc who had jumped through the hole in the roof. More Orcs barged through the front door, furniture was shoved aside, and Fíli pulled Tilda behind his back as one of those creatures approached.
He did the first thing he could think of.
A kick to a nearby stool sent it flying into the Orc. He stumbled backwards and Fíli took his chance to lunge at him, tackling him to the floor, while the Orc's weapon clattered not far from them. They started to wrestle for the sword, sending the room into a spin as they both rolled around. The Orc then pinned Fíli against the floorboards, extending his free hand towards the hilt. However, Fíli twisted out of his attacker's grip, grabbing the heavy sword first, and he ploughed it into the Orc with all the strength he could muster.
Keep moving, nephew. Never stop moving. His uncles words, instilled in him during all the times they had sparred, forced him to wrench the sword out. Blood soaked his sleeve, yet he did not dare to think about it while he scrambled to his feet and bolted to help Sigrid.
He then realised he was too late. The Orc was already upon her, but Fíli ran for her anyway. Meanwhile, she had picked up a skillet to defend herself, giving it a last, desperate swing, but the Orc evaded it with ease before he pulled his sword back, ready to run her through.
That was when he stood utterly still, his eyes wide as he let out a low, gurgling sound. While Sigrid gasped and pulled away, Fíli halted in his tracks, staring at a hand that had appeared from behind the Orc, clutching a knife stuck in the creature's neck. For a moment, Fíli was certain that Bard had returned, until the Orc slumped sideways to reveal a woman with dark, windswept hair.
She was also wearing his coat.
Aulë's anvil. He did not manage to say a word, though. As an Orc turned up on her left, she flipped the knife in her hold – the same knife he had left for her – just to hurl herself into a brawl. A second Orc appeared then, and Fíli ducked to avoid his jagged blade. He moved fast after that, leaving a long cut over his opponent's leg, yet the Orc evaded his next attack with a sideways step, grabbed him by the hair, and slammed his head against the table.
The floor flew up to meet him.
A high-pitched ringing in his ears drowned out the screams and breaking pottery. His vision swam and he blinked a couple of times to clear it, when a heavy boot stepped on his neck and pressed him against the floor.
He grabbed the Orc's ankle, struggling to break free. He could not see him, but he did notice a figure on the floor, mere steps away. It was Olwen, curled on herself, clutching her shoulder as if she were in pain. And then her eyes held his, her face becoming set with a grim determination. While he squirmed on the floor in hopes of escaping, she moved her uninjured arm forward, just to settle her hand on an Orc long dead, lying on his side with a blade jutting from his chest.
The fight continued even when the dead Orc rose.
Meanwhile, Fíli went still in shock. The thing was not supposed to move, not after he had seen Oin stab it. However, the Orc was standing on his own now, as if the piece of metal between his ribs was nothing more than a graze. Once he grabbed the sword Fili had dropped, he charged forward, taking the other Orc by surprise, smashing his guard and slicing through his middle.
The unsuspecting Orc crumpled, and Fíli gasped and coughed, finally able to gulp in some air. Yet, he also turned sideways, looking back at Olwen. Having caught sight of her bleak expression, his veins turned into ice as it suddenly dawned on him what she was.
A necromancer.
.
.
.
.
It was easier than she had imagined.
She had been convinced she would falter, that it would not work. Yet, the magic heeded her call in a blink, pulsating in her fingers like it had been waiting there for all this time. It was almost a relief, finally being able to do this, guiding the Orc's movements while he went after his former brothers in arms. Looking away from Fíli, she doubled her efforts, along with the strength of the Orc's swing.
The next Orc, chasing one of the girls, was stabbed in the back, whereas the other Orc shouted something in his language, unaware that what approached him was not his friend anymore. Meanwhile, her heart throbbed, and she knew that keeping the dead Orc upright leeched off her strength. But, she had to hold on, ignoring the pain. There was no giving up before Tauriel and Legolas arrived, and so she hauled herself to her feet, facing Orc number three, who was now running to her with a dagger in hand.
Grabbing a cutting board from the table, she shoved it in front of herself, and the Orc's blade went through it, stopping at the hilt. She twisted the plank then, trying to wrench the dagger from his grasp. He did not fight back, though, because something hit him from a nearby window – and Olwen blinked at the arrow in his head.
That was when more arrows came. The rest of the Orcs began to fall one by one as Tauriel darted into the room, not missing a single mark, while Legolas joined her soon after, having landed through a hole in the ceiling. With the skirmish quickly reaching its end, Olwen focused and severed the bond between her and the former Orc, letting him smack into the floor like a brick.
But, then her vision went greyish at the edges. Exhaustion caught up with her, along with the searing pain in her shoulder, and she stumbled before grabbing the kitchen countertop in the last moment. The magic had drained her enough to make her knees tremble – yet it also took away that feeling of total confidence, leaving a too familiar shame and regret in its wake.
What in Valar's name have I done?
"You –" Someone stammered, and she found the older girl stand up, shaking as she did so. Olwen did not blame her, though. In some other life, if a pack of Orcs had broken into her home, she would have been scared out of her wits, as well. "You – you killed them. All of them."
"There are others", Legolas said simply and stepped away from the mess, keeping his knives unsheathed. "Lock the door behind us. Tauriel, come."
Olwen closed her eyes, having remembered the last time she called upon her magic. She tried pushing those thoughts aside, like she had always done in the corner of her cell, yet this time they were as unstoppable as a flood, and her insides started to churn. She barely managed to duck behind a cabinet when her body gave way, expelling the contents of her stomach over the floor.
She did not know how long she had been there before she slumped against a wall, exhausted and trembling. Yet, during the time she spent there, the air inside the kitchen had gone cold with no warning, as if a sudden draught had entered the house. It was only when a candle flickered a couple of feet away from her that she raised her head. All windows were closed, and there was not a trace of the wind, but the candle still went out before her eyes.
She could feel it, though she could not fathom how.
A new sort of magic had awoken.
"Olwen! Olwen, come quickly!"
Tauriel was calling for her. Olwen turned in that direction, where everyone, including the elf, had gathered around a table. She also heard an agonizing groan from a figure lying on its surface. Hobbling closer, and trying to understand what was happening, she saw that Fíli's brother was the one in trouble. His trouser leg had been pushed up, while the sight of the wound below almost made her ill again. So, that's why we're here.
"Keep your distance, lassie", someone said, and Olwen looked up at a dwarf with a grey beard and a battered ear trumpet in his grip, "I know what you are."
"There's no time for that", Tauriel told him, "Olwen, come. I need you to hold him still."
That was when Kíli jerked on the table, and Olwen gripped his shoulder as the she-elf continued to chant under her breath. Whatever they words meant, they appeared to be working since Kíli was not in pain anymore, staring blearily at Tauriel, instead. And then the elf fell silent, leaving the magic to fade as fast as it had emerged. In the meantime, Kíli's head lolled against a pile of spilt walnuts once sleep overcame him, unaware that Tauriel had moved her hands to examine his wound.
There was no infection, no dark lines branching over his leg. As for the wound itself, it was partially healed, as if a week had passed rather than a day and a half.
"He'll live", she added quietly.
Someone let out a heavy sigh and Olwen flinched, surprised to find out that it was Fíli, who seemed to have almost deflated with relief. While he leaned forward to rest his head on the table, beside his brother's neck, she became conscious of a glare that the other dwarf was giving her – which was why she chose to leave whilst she still could. Her assistance was no longer needed, anyway. Having drawn on the remains of her strength, she turned her back and started walking, holding on to every piece of furniture she passed in case her legs betrayed her.
"You're bleeding."
The voice caused her to stop mid-step. "It's nothing."
"Well, I can see a lot of 'nothing'."
"Don't go there, laddie", the elderly dwarf warned, making his way around the table with a creak of the floorboards, "The dark arts, that's what she does. She's dangerous."
To her complete surprise, Fíli got closer to her as she clung to a nearby windowsill. Since she did not move, he nodded towards the opposite end of the room.
"Let's get you to a chair", he stepped first in that direction, "You can lean on me if you need to. I won't mind."
She blinked, abruptly having no clue what to say. The people who had discovered what she was capable of usually cursed her, bolted in the opposite direction or – every so often – they would not refrain from doing both, and she found it difficult to believe that Fíli had done none of that. He was surely befuddled, judging by the look in his eyes, yet there was no revulsion, nor ill will.
"You're not running", she noticed flatly, too worn out to form the sentence into a question.
"If you wanted me dead, I would've perished already. I think I'll take my chances." He beckoned her to come closer. Although she was reluctant at first, the growing pain in her shoulder and the fact that she was hobbling prompted her to reach for him, letting him support a part of her weight as he guided her to a vacant, and mostly intact, chair. "Where else are you hurt?"
"It's just the shoulder." She sank into the chair, pushing back a groan. Yet, while she was cautiously shrugging out of the coat, she came to know that he had not left the fight unscathed, having wound up with a gash on the side of his forehead. "Fíli, you should get that looked at."
"That can wait a bit longer. But, this can't", he replied, gesturing at the arm she had managed to get free.
He moved to the side to take a piece of cloth, which by some miracle remained clean. And then he briefly stalled, gesturing at the baggy shirt she was wearing. Catching on to what he meant, Olwen felt a corner of her mouth twitch, and she used her free hand to pull down the edge of the garment, just enough to reveal the back of her shoulder.
"How is Kíli?", he asked then, casting a glance behind him.
"He's resting", Tauriel replied, "His fever is gone."
Fíli nodded, temporarily lost in thought, only to move behind the chair to see the extent of the damage, and Olwen clenched her jaw, unable to push back a groan when he pressed the cloth against her wound.
"Just breathe." His other hand rested lightly on her back, and she let out a breath that seemed odd and shaky to her ears. "Mahal's beard, Olwen. The last time I saw you, you were really insistent on staying in that cell."
"I was. But, someone had slightly different plans." She clutched the edge of the chair while she did her best not to imagine what her wound might look like. "So much for 'just Fíli'", she added, giving a small emphasis at the last two words, "You never told me you're the heir to a throne."
"You never told me you could raise the dead", he countered.
"Would you believe me if I had?"
He tilted sideways to look her in the eye. However, he did not manage to utter a word, because something beat him to it – a series of loud knocks on the front door.
Every mutter, every noise in the room abruptly ceased. The knocking was heard once more as Olwen angled her head towards it, yet nobody moved, from Kíli, Tauriel and Oin at the table, a dwarf she had not noticed before in the middle of the room, and the two sisters huddled near the edge of a window. All eyes were fixed on the broken door while whoever was on the other side tried to open it. The person was unsuccessful, though, given that someone had pushed a small cupboard in front to keep it closed.
Olwen hunched on the chair, believing that Legolas must have returned for some reason, until the younger lass peeked through the window just to retreat and whisper:
"The guards are here."
To be continued.
In the meantime, please let me know what you think of this. It would mean a lot to me. :)
Translation:
-Elbereth – Elven name for Varda, the Lady of the Stars
-nadadith – little brother (Khuzdul)