A/N: Added another chapter to Amarylla's book (Chapter Fourteen: Blaze). Extended A/N with responses to comments at the end of the page.
The Adventures of Amarylla Took
Chapter One: Spark
(T.A. 2004 - 2025)
I like to think that madness came when I was a mere five years old.
It began on the two-thousand and fourth year of the Third Age, or the four-hundred and third year by Shire-reckoning, for my Hobbit readers. I was a child still, learning to speak and learning to run, able to walk but only in short distances. My mother and father were Adamanta Patch and Rabert Took respectively; both were fairly ordinary, but nonetheless wonderful parents.
Any sense of normalcy in their lives were thoroughly destroyed when a Big Person became a neighbor, though.
It was one woman. Almost six feet tall, she had blonde hair and blue eyes like gemstones. She was utterly beautiful, frighteningly intelligent, yet undeservingly kind. I had no clue why a Big Person decided to move into the Shire; it was rare enough that they even came to trade with Hobbits, and rarer still to actually live with us - she might be the very first, in fact. Yet, it was her, wearing a sky-blue sundress and carrying utterly nothing else.
She had appeared, alongside her house, one morning with no warning whatsoever, in the neighborhood of Bywater, just south of Hobbiton. It was because of this that as a child, I thought all Men were sprites that popped up seemingly randomly from the earth. My parents were deeply suspicious - well, my mother was, anyway, my father was more curious than anything. My mother finally allowed me to visit the Big Person after the latter had impressed my mother with tea.
Her name was Fleur. She never gave a surname, and despite how long I knew her, I had never inquired. My sister - Elanor, older than myself by three years - and I visited the next morning. She invited us into her home and we were both thoroughly impressed.
Bookshelves reached from the floor to the ceiling, with thick tomes and piled scrolls placed higher than even Fleur could reach. The tables were twice as tall as we were. It was surreal seeing everything we knew, but simply in double size, placed around the home like it was perfectly normal. I enjoyed sitting on the chairs, where the seats could fit four of me. Elanor didn't like heights.
Elanor suspected that Fleur was a scholar. It made sense, considering the library that spilled into other rooms due to the sheer volume of books. Furthermore, Fleur told a lot of delightful stories, stories that we'd never heard before, and none that our parents or neighbors had ever heard either. A story about a girl who tumbled through a rabbit hole into a new world. A story about a frog and toad who were friends. A story about a cat that wore a hat.
They were new, they were exciting, and it made us long for adventure. For this reason, mother was thoroughly disappointed, in both us and in Fleur, and made the latter promise not to tell us stories that would 'plant funny ideas in [our] heads.' Of course, Fleur agreed easily and then did it anyway, telling us not to tell our mother. Elanor and I were enthused about keeping a secret, and we agreed.
We thought Fleur was the only Big Person in the Shire, but we were proven wrong six months since Fleur first arrived. As it turned out, Fleur was married, and her husband had been taking his sweet time on an honest-to-Valar adventure. I could practically feel the annoyance and dislike radiating off of mother whenever she saw him.
His name was Harry. Again, no surname. He had raven-black hair and intense green eyes that I don't think I will - or can - ever forget. He, unlike his wife, was grumpy, snarky, and occasionally mean, but goodness, could he tell a tale.
I can hardly recall them now, but certain things I remember. A boy named Tom Sawyer. A white whale and a man's relentless pursuit. A hero named Achilles. A man who built a machine to travel far forward in time. A girl who could control insects in a world where men were gods. A boy who went to a castle to learn magic. The well of stories never went dry, and I think it was because of this that my craving for adventure wormed itself into my heart.
As much as my mother didn't enjoy Elanor or I interacting with our new neighbors, she couldn't stop us. Or father, for that matter; father got on rather well with Harry. Harry used to fix any broken chairs or tables with enough skill for him to qualify as a carpenter, in addition to a whole lot of other things he undoubtedly was.
A master swordsman - well, I was no judge of swordsmanship at the age of five or six, but even I could tell that his movements, as he sparred with his wife, well-trained, practiced, honed to perfection. Every movement was a perfect combination of offense and defense, protecting oneself while simultaneously attacking, with no movement wasted in what seemed more like a dance than a fight. It was brutal, yes. But even then, it was beautiful.
He was a scholar, too, just like his wife. It was Fleur who taught us languages, while it was Harry who taught us numbers. Before I was even ten years old, I knew enough to be conversational in Sindarin and Khuzdul, and Harry had begun to teach me division, multiplication, and what he called 'algebra'. Something that any Hobbit I asked, and Men too, seemed rather baffled by.
As we grew older, Elanor and I learned more and more from the Big Folk. Fleur taught the more restrained Elanor many different ways to braid her hair, how to draw and paint. I learned more from Harry, since I was more excitable and he seemed more excitable than Fleur, too. He taught me how to climb trees, make rope out of plant fiber, and finally, he taught me how to fight.
I feel like the last class were somewhat wasted on me, considering I was a quarter of his height at the time and I wouldn't be able to grapple the average Hobbit, much less the average Man. Still, I tried to keep it in mind. Once he determined I was good enough, he began to teach me archery. Not to be outdone, my father began to participate in our lessons too, bringing his old hunting bow out with him.
They weren't just teachers, though. They were also friends. I fondly remember all the times I fell asleep with my head on Fleur's lap, or the times when Harry baked 'pizza' for us (which has become our family recipe, by the way). The time when we built a treehouse together, complete with a rope-ladder trailing down towards the ground and made all the other Hobbit children jealous.
Furthermore, they had rather interesting friends.
When I was eleven years old, Harry and Fleur was visited by a tall, most gorgeous elf. He was even taller than Harry was, though not by much, and he had golden hair the color of wheat, and friendly blue eyes that crinkled when he smiled. I will admit that I did indeed have a childhood crush (though not necessarily 'childhood' if it had yet to disappear) on Lord Glorfindel of Rivendell.
Not that I knew that at the time - all we introverted Hobbits knew was that an elf warrior had come to the Shire to visit the funny Big Folk living in Bywater. And that he was insanely handsome, too. My mother was, predictably, wary of the newcomer, but thankfully she never stopped me from visiting Fleur, Harry, and now Glorfindel, simply because she blushed and stammered whenever the elf's name was mentioned in conversation and she couldn't react fast enough to keep me from going.
Lord Glorfindel (though I knew him at the time as Glorfy, a nickname that Harry used liberally and Glorfindel seemed to hate him for) helped me with archery - and he was better than both my father and Harry combined - and left two weeks later, returning to Rivendell and extending a blushing Elanor and blushing Amarylla an invitation to visit him in the elf-dwelling.
When I was twelve, Harry and Fleur were visited by a tall, old man cloaked in grey, wearing a pointy hat with broad brims, with a most impressive beard that reached down to his belt. I learned his name was 'Gandalf', a rather uncommon name but uncommon was expected in Harry and Fleur's company. He introduced himself as a scholar and a fan of fireworks, so much so that he made his own when he had the time. He demonstrated exactly that one evening, sending beautiful flowers of flame into the sky that not even the most grumpy of Hobbits in Bywater could complain about.
When I was fifteen, Harry and Fleur were visited by their daughter. Or at least, I assumed that was why the young woman was calling them 'Father' and 'Mother'. Strangely, she didn't look much like Harry, although a little like Fleur - she had hair and skin the color of snow, and weirdly, her skin felt as cold as snow, too. Gabrielle, or 'Gaby', took a liking to me, and took care of me during her stay. She told me she was a 'Snowfolk', a race of Men borne from snow in the Grey Mountains, and like 'Glorfy', invited me to come visit her if I were ever able.
Finally, when I was nineteen, my studies with Harry and Fleur were interrupted by a breathtakingly beautiful elf-maiden with long, golden hair and an enigmatic smile. Apparently the two Big Folks hadn't realized her coming, either, because they were as surprised as I was. That was how I met the Ariel, the fortune-telling elf-maiden out of the woods of Lothlorien. Mysterious, beautiful, and wise, she reminded me of Fleur, though they looked nothing alike. Elanor elected to paint a portrait of Ariel, and it seemed that Ariel liked it, because she bought it off of my sister. Elanor fainted when three golden coins were pressed into her palm as compensation.
On an unrelated note, that was the day I took up painting as well.
I loved Fleur, and I loved Harry. I respected them both greatly and the two of them gave us fantastical knowledge in return. That was why I was so shocked and frightened when one day, the two of them simply disappeared, when I was twenty-two.
Mother and father didn't believe they were gone. At least, not until a whole month later, when it became impossible to deny that the two of them were gone. Because mother had huffed and went to the Big House to knock on their door, planning to reprimand them for letting the weeds in their garden grow out, only for the door to creak open from the force of the knocking and reveal a completely empty fireplace.
Gone. All the tables, chairs, and numberless bookshelves, had disappeared. And when the news spread, I found out why. Elanor and I witnessed the Townsends, filthy leeches of Hobbits that they were, poke their heads in the doorway and congratulate my father for driving away the 'problematic folk.'
Surprisingly, it wasn't me that broke first. It was Elanor. She burst into tears even as she angrily demanded an explanation of what happened. Father looked distinctly uncomfortable, so mother (perhaps a touch too relieved, in my opinion) explained how the neighborhood Hobbits were distraught by the visitations of so many strangers that they pressured father into talking to the Big Folk. Apparently, Fleur and Harry had had complaints like that before, and this time, they'd 'had enough shit,' as they might say it. They'd packed up and left in a single night, just like they'd arrived in a single night, without anyone knowing.
The neighbors were smug. My mother was perhaps also smug, but she stopped being smug when the family began to fall apart around her. Father became distant, to the point I'd possibly say depressed; he didn't have many friends, after all, and he probably felt the guilt of being the Bywater Hobbits' reluctant mouthpiece. Elanor stopped painting, as it seemed to remind her of Fleur and all the pain she associated with her leaving. I tried to take care of them both, but it hurt to see them that way and I couldn't help but feel like I was being affected negatively by them, rather than me affecting them positively.
When I was twenty-six years old, almost an adult but not quite, I assembled several things. Two sacks, one of them full of clothes and the other full of food and the small amount of money I'd saved up, as well as a blank book in which to write this very story. A forest-green traveling cloak, made of wool. A dagger that I had received from Fleur a long time ago, and a hunting bow that my father had carved for me on my birthday several years back. I was going to escape, and I was going to find Harry and Fleur again, perhaps convince them to return - even if I had to go through a deadly adventure to do exactly that.
Of course, as I crept towards the entrance, I thought my plan foiled already due to the single Hobbit-sized shadow in front of the fireplace.
I often wonder these days if I'd ever have led the life I led if my mother had been sitting in front of the fireplace rather than my father. Certainly, my mother would have been adamant that I stay, and throw away any foolish notions of adventure. My father, though, he seemed to have immediately guessed my intentions yet remained quietly contemplative.
My father, Rabert Took, had fought in the Battle of Fornost. This was… fifty years ago. He and some of his mates had stolen their fathers' hunting bows and marched north to fight alongside elves and Men against orcs and other Men. He wasn't a storyteller like Fleur or Harry were, but sometimes when he reminisced, he'd tell me and Elanor some things he saw on the battlefield, the things he felt and thought. The thunder of hooves as the elfin cavalry charged ranks of orcs. Flaming arrows streaking through the smoke-choked sky like shooting stars. He'd even told us about a man who wore flames like armor and wrestled a troll - and won. I wasn't certain about the last part, but I never had the heart to tell him that. Besides, the things I'd see in the coming years would change my mind.
He told me to go, to follow my heart. So I did that. I left my home of twenty-six years, without saying goodbye to my mother or sister except for a letter I left on my pillow, and I made for the town of Bree.
Chapter Two: Flare
(T.A. 2025 - 2027)
When I found Bree, I realized I had no idea what I was supposed to do.
I purchased a map from a cartographer (and it cost me half of all I'd saved up) in hopes that perhaps staring at a map would help me find out a route I wanted to take with a list of places I wished to visit. It did. I decided for now I'd just keep going east, visit Rivendell to take up Glorfy on his offer, and turn north once I crossed the Misty Mountains to visit Gaby and take her up on her offer. After that? I might visit the Kingdom of Erebor, then head south to see Mirkwood.
...but first. I needed supplies, and I had no idea what to get.
Fleur had given me, a long time ago, some strange device called a compass that used some manner of sorcery to make a needle always point north. But it wasn't enough. Harry's rope-making lessons and the like wouldn't be enough. I was a good shot with the bow, but not so much to think I could find game every day, consistently enough to keep me fed. I had no knowledge of edible and inedible plants or plant parts.
It was a blessing, then, that I got drunk at an inn and met a Ranger.
Not many people know who Rangers are, in this day and age. I certainly didn't when I drunkenly tried to seduce a man in dusty, probably dark-green cloak and clothing (probably green, under all that dust) simply because I thought he had a rather attractive beard. The Man in question was made rather uncomfortable at my failing advances, but he was kind enough to take me to bed when I fell asleep mid-sentence in his arms.
The next morning, I woke up with the worst hangover of my life and a beautiful hunk of a man at my side, quietly watching me like some sort of pervert. I told him as much. He smirked.
"I recall that I was not the one pickling my brain in alcohol and trying to grope between a man's legs the previous night."
"Fuck you," I replied eloquently. "Besides. I'm not interested in you anymore, because your stink overwhelms my drunkenness at this point."
"You stink as much, just of something else."
"Well, every adult dreams of diving into a pool of booze, but I doubt anyone dreams of diving into a pile of shit, so I'd rather be me than you."
"You're so petty. Especially for someone who should be grateful for being helped the previous night."
"You haven't seen anything yet, buddy."
And that was how I made my first friend on the road, Thelion the Ranger.
He was nice, when he wasn't being a complete prick to me. And he did that quite often. I liked him anyway. I also forgave a little of what he did because I suspected someone who stunk as much as he did didn't get the opportunity for social interaction that often. I also had to literally beg him for him to even consider taking me along on his ranging, and then he declined anyway, so I clung to his leg and refused to let go until he decided the demerits of taking me along was less than refusing me.
I smiled fondly when I remember how much of a disappointment I was back then.
I recall the first time he tried to make me skin a rabbit, I threw up on his shoes. I had witnessed death before, naturally, but I hadn't really… killed anything before. Perhaps it was my much kinder elder sister's influence, but even when I practiced archery, I didn't shoot live targets. I was too sympathetic for them. Even when my mother was plucking a bird for dinner, I refused to watch. So, when Thelion pushed it towards me and told me to try, I was overwhelmed with guilt.
He wasn't very happy with me, and I could see him regretting his choice.
But, I improved. I tried to improve, so I did. Thelion became less and less annoyed with me over the next several months. He occasionally admonished me for making mistakes, but everyone made mistakes; I am proud to say he never had to admonish me for being lazy. I learned to track animals, identify plants, and prepare food and learned basic cooking as well. Thelion agreed with my request to learn some hand-to-hand combat, the first I'd learned since Harry left.
I overestimated my own skill, clearly.
Thelion easily threw me to the ground, and I groaned as my back landed on a fist-sized stone. That would cause some bruising. I returned to my feet and pouted at the insufferable Ranger, who was laughing.
"What the hell was that?" He chuckled. "You call that a punch?"
"I haven't practiced in years," I grumbled. "And when I was learning, I was too young to actually understand what I was meant to be doing."
"Or maybe you had a shit teacher."
I snarled at him. "Shut up. Harry and Fleur were the best teachers."
"Then why don't you prove it? Hit me again, midget. I'll even give you a free shot."
I growled and I punched at his gut. It felt like punching a tree. I hoped that I hid my wince well enough for Thelion not to see.
"So you gonna throw that punch or what?" Thelion quipped.
"Asshole," I breathed.
"If that teacher of yours was as good as you say, then you've literally forgotten everything they taught you. We're gonna have to start from the very beginning, I reckon. Now copy my movements, exactly. As a midget, you'll have to work extra hard to fight Men, elves, dwarves, or even orcs to feel anything."
Wake up, eat, train, eat, track, eat, sleep. We repeated this routine for so long that I eventually forgot the date and even the year. I didn't think we were out in the wilderness for more than a year, but honestly, I couldn't be certain. Thelion became my only friend, even as I began to forget features of our family Hobbit-hole and the faces of my family. My dreams of lying on Fleur's lap faded away into nightmares of Thelion chasing me with a skinning knife.
Still, though, I learned a lot.
For example, I was a much quieter stalker than he was, something that annoyed him a lot (which meant I brought it up as often as possible). Due to my Hobbit-feet, it was easier for me to track animals and get close enough to shoot them with my bow. Combined with Thelion's stealth training, I was a ghost in the night. Eventually, many, many days since we first began stealth training, I was able to sneak up on Thelion even while he was awake, even when he knew I was coming, and catch him in a sneak attack.
He told me he was impressed. I preened.
He taught me the basics of how to use a sword, as well. I asked, since I was a midget, if it would be better for me to use an axe, something with more weight behind each strike. He told me that if I wanted to learn how to use an axe, I should just grow a beard and become a dwarf. I didn't talk to him for the next two days after that.
Thelion also taught me the basics of first aid, the basics of elvish healing. He was also surprisingly good at playing the flute, so I learned not only how to play, but also how to carve a flute (because he told me in no uncertain terms that I wouldn't be using his to practice).
In return, I told him stories.
The very first story I told him was the one about the frog and the toad, because that was all I could recall at the moment. He jeered. I was hurt slightly, but I agreed the story was probably a bit childish for Thelion, who had undoubtedly seen violence and hardship wherever he'd been. I tried to remember the stories that Harry had told me, rather than Fleur, the ones that had a bit more violence and innuendo in them.
I told him the story about the Godfather.
I don't think I could have done justice to that particular story, or the way in which Harry wove it. The story itself was beautiful, and so was the way Harry told it, like a spider weaving a net, every piece falling into place using just the right words and cutting out those he didn't need. I suspected I struggled much more with that, especially as I took breaths to remember what had happened. Still, though, Thelion was an attentive audience.
He said he'd liked it.
So I told him tales, most of those just stories I regurgitated from my childhood. Thelion liked 'Shawshank Redemption' enough to try and memorize it, so he could tell others. Thelion didn't tell stories, on the other hand. Said he wasn't that good at it and always felt awkward being the center of attention, his Ranger side telling him to hide again. I supposed that was fair enough.
A whole year after traveling with Thelion, we finally ran into a band of orcs.
It would have happened eventually, but I was terrified. Thelion and I were hidden in the bushes, watching them make camp as night fell. Thelion had an ugly expression on his face, like an animal baring its teeth, and I didn't want to tell him that it was frightening me because I thought he might get upset. I instead focused on the orcs.
Don't let anyone tell you that orcs are terrible. They are, yes, but they have no strength. They are pathetic, cowardly creatures at their heart that, I suspect, would rather be dead than alive. They bickered over sleeping spots and lay down, and I could hear them whimpering as they saw nightmares. They are broken things, tortured and warped by darkness and fear of their masters.
"Ready your bow," Thelion spoke to me. His voice was so cold.
We shot down the sentries. In a group of twelve, they had bothered with only two. Only ten left. Thelion drew twin daggers and snuck up to the orcs. I drew my own and tentatively followed. I felt mounting terror in my heart that I would trip up, cause a great disturbance, and wake the orcs. So distracted was I by this fear in my heart that I tripped up and did exactly that.
The sound of my foot slipping into a hole and me trying to stifle my cry of pain was apparently enough to jerk the orcs awake. Two of them, anyway. Thelion was in reach to draw his daggers over one orc's bare throat and the other raised the alarm. Eight more orcs awoke and engaged us in combat. I limped my way towards Thelion as the orcs drew brutal-looking cleavers and rushed him.
"Fool," I could hear Thelion hiss as he slaughtered two orcs. I didn't think he was talking to the enemy.
I had the second terror of that night when one orc noticed me and charged me. The beast was twice as large as I was, and carrying a dagger that was already twice the length of my own. He roared and charged at me, no real skill or practice behind his movements, only raw, primal rage and the desire to kill. I pushed myself under his body with my one good leg and stabbed into his stomach. He squealed. I felt sick, and I still did it again. And again. Until the orc slumped to the ground and I barely managed to dodge out from underneath.
Thelion returned, nursing his arm. I chewed my lip as I addressed him. "Are you hurt?"
"Just a bruise," he grunted. "I am wearing chainmail underneath."
"So you're not hurt?"
"No thanks to you."
I withered under his cold gaze and we worked in silence, dragging the corpses into one large pile, then burning them. The stink of burning flesh nauseated me, and we retreated back to our camp. Thelion refused to speak to me. I was too afraid to speak out. Fear the man, and pity the monster. I was fairly certain that was not what was supposed to happen.
Thelion was much nicer the next morning.
"I apologize for being angry at you," he said awkwardly. "I was foolish, selfish, and ungrateful in the heat of battle. I daresay that should you not have been there, I would have been detected from the very first moment, when we shot down the sentries. You made a mistake, which is understandable, and I should not have been so harsh on you."
"I accept your apology," I replied, just as awkwardly.
A silence. "Are you hurt?" He asked.
"No."
"...four days ago, you said you would return to Bree in about a week. That is in three days."
"I suppose it is."
"Would you like me to escort you back? It would not bother me to do so."
"Whichever you prefer."
Thelion shifted uncomfortably. He was silent for a minute. "I wish to do as you wish," he said finally.
"You don't have to feel guilty, you know. I already accepted your apology, and I've moved on."
Thelion clenched his fist and released it again. "You haven't," he breathed.
"Excuse me?"
"You haven't moved on. It's clear to me," Thelion sighed. "You're still upset, I can tell. You're subdued, your responses are short, I may not have had much social interaction over my life but I have learned about you. I have spent every moment of the past year and a half with you and I can tell what you are feeling, now." He looked into my eyes. "Please. You haven't moved on yet. So let me atone for what I did."
"It's not like that," I lied, even as I was forced to admit he was right.
"I'm not blaming you for being upset. What I did was foolish and hurtful," Thelion said weakly. "Amarylla. Look at me."
I did. He didn't use my name that often.
"I want to know how I can make you feel better again," he said softly. "I want to atone for what I did. But I just don't want to make it worse. Please, please help me."
"...would you take me to Amon Sul?" I asked softly.
The Ranger finally cracked a smile. "You are heading to Rivendell, then?"
"I thought I told you as much. Are you sure you'll be able to remember 'Shawshank'?"
And just like that, our friendship was back, and perhaps stronger than ever.
As we trekked to the old, abandoned fortress, it was for the first time in our travels together that Thelion was the one to tell me a story. He was right, he wasn't cut out for the job. But whatever he couldn't convey with experience or talent, he managed to convey with emotion.
"We Dunedain are a broken people now," he told me. "Our last king was killed as our kingdoms were burned. And to think we were a people with a proud history. What do you know of the Numenoreans?"
"Not much," I admitted.
"The Kingdom of Numenor was located on an island west of Middle-Earth. As a people bound to the seas, Numenorean culture became tied to it also, and the people became great mariners, warriors, and scholars. Eventually the Numenoreans sailed west, finding Middle-Earth, and taught its people what they had learned. Their might was so great that they struck against the Dark Lord Sauron and the Dark Lord found his own armies running, leaving himself to be captured by the Numenoreans, not a single battle fought. Yet all great men fall, I suppose, for the prisoner Sauron had become one of the King's closest advisors and a subject of worship."
Thelion sighed. "Sauron's whispers caused darkness to cover the once-proud kingdom. The king made an impossible bid for immortality, and the Valar punished him for it. Numenor drowned, its watchtowers crumbling, its ships torn to shreds. We, the Dunedain, are the descendants of the remnants of Numenor. And for a while, we were reinvigorated. The Kingdoms or Arnor stood tall - and then, of course, the last of them died fifty years ago."
"Did you fight in that war?" I asked softly.
"I did. As did all my brothers of the Dunedain," he said. "I was stationed with the archers, protecting them from melee threats. I think I shall remember that sight for the rest of my life - it was a grand sight, terrible but grand, something I imagine is the closest I'd ever come ot seeing the Numenoreans striking at Sauron, when their culture and people were still good and proud."
"My father told me about 'a man who wore flames like armor'..."
"It's true," Thelion said with an amused smile. "I don't think anyone on the hills, or on the front lines, could have missed that giant of a man cleaving through orcs like they were paper. I also witnessed him snap a mountain troll's neck with his bare hands."
"I thought father was lying!"
"I would think so too, if I had not seen it with my own eyes," Thelion laughed. "Would you believe me if I said my brothers and I shared a drink with him after our victory? Big man. Red whiskers. He drank more than all the others in the tavern combined."
"Now I know you're lying."
"Perhaps. But he was definitely a drinker as much as he was a fighter," Thelion mused. Then his smile fell. "I fear for my people, sometimes. We - even after Arnor fell - decided we'd spend our existence fighting the darkness, until the last Dunedain fell. In the possibly vain hopes that the Valar would adopt us again. But I feel like this will never happen."
"Why not?"
"The world is falling into decay, Amarylla. The elves' power is waning, the darkness creeps along the world, and Kingdoms of Men far lesser than what Numenor once was, is being corrupted by the darkness as we speak. By its temptations. Such that some of my former countrymen - the Numenoreans who were stationed in Harad, for example, when Numenor fell - are serving the darkness as well. I don't think I can atone for my ancestors, my countrymen, and myself, all at once."
I remained quiet.
"I'm afraid, Amarylla."
"I understand," I said softly, but then I looked up to him. "But I don't think you have anything to atone for. Your ancestors were idiots, your countrymen are idiots. But you are not. You need not suffer for them, and I think the Valar are wise enough to recognize you for who you are, not who your blood is."
Thelion gave a small smile. "Thank you. You're too kind."
We reached Weathertop, or Amon Sul, an old fortress that was burned down over six hundred years ago. It was now nothing more than a ring of stone covered in moss. I stared at Thelion in silence. This would be it for us. We might meet again, but it may be a very, very long time. It reminded me of a song that Fleur was humming under her breath once. I asked her what it was, and she had replied it was stuck in her head and not going away. I, being the child I was, had encouraged her to sing it aloud to let it go, and hopefully stop bothering her.
"It's been a long day, without you, my friend," I whispered. "And I'll tell you all about it when I meet you again."
Thelion chuckled softly as heard the words. I continued to sing to him. He didn't interrupt me, and after a few verses, he began mouthing the words to himself. I didn't realize it had meant so much to him, not until I heard it again in Gondor so many years later, known as 'Thelion's Song'. I think of him whenever I hear those words.
I spent one last night with him. In the morning, we parted ways. I couldn't say anything to him, as constricted as my throat was. He gave me a hug. I returned it furiously. He disappeared into the still-dark sky, as Rangers are wont to do. I began to take my first steps towards Rivendell, the happy thought of meeting Glorfy just barely managing to keep my misery and pain of leaving Thelion in check.
I would never see him again, not that I knew that back then. I eventually met one of his brothers. He said Thelion was killed saving a village from orcs. He'd died as he'd lived.
As my hero.
Chapter Seven: Bonfire
(T.A. 2033 - 2038)
I wondered what my mother would think, if she knew I had been in a relationship with a dwarf.
I arrived at the Kingdom of Erebor in February of T.A. 2033. At first they mistook me for a female dwarf. It made sense; I was only a little shorter than they were, I was well-built from my days on the road, and I spoke Khuzdul, although somewhat accented. When I corrected Mister Dumlin (at your service), he was shocked and surprised.
"A Hobbit?" He cried. "What is a Hobbit?"
"...the other race of midgets on Middle-Earth?"
"There's another race of midgets on Middle-Earth?"
"Well, obviously. The Valar needed a counterbalance for all the foolishness of the dwarves with the intellect and wisdom of the Hobbits."
"By Aule. I have met a dwarf who is not a dwarf. I must tell the king!"
Perhaps we Hobbits weren't as intelligent as we thought, because I had thought that to be a joke and thought nothing more of it. The next morning, I was waken by Dumlin, who happened to be a cousin to King Thrain I of Erebor, and I was dragged to breakfast with the royal bloody family.
I cursed Dumlin in my mind.
"A Hobbit, you say? I do believe we have heard of your people, but Hobbits stepping into the wider world is unheard of!"
"You're not wrong," I laughed. "We Hobbits prefer to security and comfort of my home. I suspect I'm a cautionary tale back home."
Thrain laughed. He was impressive to look at, even if his hair was starting to see whites and grays. "Ah, so you're like a dwarf with no love of gold. Although, in your case, much more interesting. So, a Hobbit traveler. Where have you been?"
"Well, I started off in the Shire," I recounted. "I left for Bree, then I realized I had no idea what the fuck I was doing, then I got drunk and tried to serenade a Ranger of the North. Said Ranger, called Thelion, I spent a couple years learning skills under him, like tracking and hunting. Then we parted way at Amon Sul, I went to Rivendell to meet an old friend, then I crossed the Misty Mountains and headed north to the Grey Mountains to meet another one of my friends…"
"Quite the journey you've made," Thrain smiled. "And Erebor is the next stop of this journey? Or would you prefer this to be the final stop?"
I smiled at him. "As wonderful as your mountain is, I'd like for my final stop to be home."
He nodded. "Wise words from a wise woman. There is no place in our hearts like home, after all." He finished his meal and stood up. "Thank you for your tale, Miss Amarylla. I have business to attend to, if you will forgive me."
I inclined my head. "Naturally. It was a pleasure to meet you, King Thrain."
Thrain grinned toothily as he was bustled away by his advisors. My attention was caught by Prince Thorin I, who coughed politely into his fist. I looked at him curiously.
"Yes, Prince Thorin?"
"I was wondering if you'd like to take a tour of our home," he said with a smile. A pretty one, too…
"That would be wonderful," I replied with a smile of my own. "But what have I done to warrant your royal attention?"
Aw, look at him, he's blushing. Shit, I am too. "Well, a person of your importance would surely require respect in kind," he blustered. He was completely and utterly bullshitting. Still, I appreciated the effort, so I agreed, and I took a tour of the Lonely Mountain and the Kingdom Below.
It was far more impressive than I was expecting.
Thin bridges were pulled taut between the two cliffs of great dug-out caverns. Steps embedded into the stone, barely wide enough for one person. The ceiling was so far up that its features could barely be seen, and the bottom of this cavern was nothing more than a terrifying, gaping darkness. I was terrified. I might have played it up a little bit considering that it made Thorin hold me tighter to him.
"While you and I both live underground as our nature," I shivered, "I think a cliff as tall as this is not something I can get used to."
"Shall we… stop the tour? We need not do this if you're uncomfortable," Thorin said awkwardly. Understatement of the fucking century.
"No, I'm fine," I lied. "Let's keep going."
So we kept going. Thorin, as a member of authority, had the authority to enter the treasure room. I think he was trying to impress me. It worked. It worked a lot. The room was fairly large, about a square of a hundred paces a side, and it was filled to the brim with gold. A single pair of torches managed to light up the entire room, the sea of gold reflecting the flickering lights to cast churning waves on the ceiling. Thorin kept trying to sneak me gold jewelry, and I had to tell him to stop.
"Why not?" He asked, genuinely confused.
"I can't abuse your hospitality like this," I told him firmly. "The things you are trying to gift me are worth more than my father's Hobbit-hole and everything within it, I suspect. They may be individually worth little to you, but to me, they are an amount of wealth I couldn't spend all of if I tried." I sighed. "You don't need to win me affection like this. I value your company, not the things you own."
Thorin nodded before continuing with the tour. I was most impressed by the forges - giant pools of stone and coal, sparks from glowing coals drifting into the air and the ringing of hammers like tolling bells. But I think, the part that remains the most clear in my memories, is what he dubbed the 'Grand Hall.'
A great chamber, so wide that the walls on the sides are geological landmarks rather than dimensions of an actual room. We walked, and the hall was so empty that our footsteps disappeared before they could echo against the walls or ceiling. Stone pillars held up the ceiling, far above, with detailed carvings etched into each one.
"This is beautiful," I whispered.
Thorin chuckled. "You haven't seen the main attraction yet."
It took five full minutes of walking before we reached it. Of course it was huge enough that I could see from three minutes away, but it was no substitute for seeing up close. A great statue of a single Man, standing in his lonesome against a beast that was taller than most mountains and had teeth as long as I was tall.
"'The greatest tinker of Men, Iron Man, stands against the beast Leviathan'," I murmured. I narrowed my eyes at it. "What language is it written in, and why can I read it?"
Thorin shrugged. "We have no clue. All we can agree on is that it is some sort of ancient magic lost to us. Something that Iron Man, or his people, knew and forgot."
"His armor," I said, and Thorin's eyes snapped to it. "His name is Iron Man, yet his armor is clearly not iron." Some sort of pale gold-colored metal.
"It isn't," Thorin agreed. "It is a titanium-gold alloy. Gold, we dwarves know enough about. Titanium, not so much. We have inquired with wizards, but they did not know. We spoke with the Queen of the Snow, and she suggested we speak to the mysterious warlocks."
"Warlocks?" I wondered.
"Yes. There are four of them, supposedly, each of them wielders of powerful magic, wiser than all and holding knowledge that the people have yet to discover. While we know they exist for certain, their movements around Middle-Earth are erratic and we are never able to pinpoint them."
"Why not summon them to Erebor?" I asked.
"And they will not answer. Like the Wizards, they are more akin to forces of nature than they are mortals like us. They may even take offense at our summons - and we do not want that."
"I see," I hummed. "What can they do?"
Thorin leaned in to speak conspiratorially, despite the fact that the whole room was empty. "They say that they tamed a black dragonlord, so large that it could crush mountain peaks in its wicked claws and set the seas aflame!" He grinned. I laughed. "The Snowfolk say that eventually, the dragon's hunger will grow so large that it will eat the world."
I stopped laughing. "You mean Alduin?"
"Alduin?" Thorin's eyes widened in horror. "You know it?"
"Er, yes," I replied. "I told you I spent some time in the Grey Mountains. The dragon in question was about as long as my forearm." I held out the limb to gesture. His expression of shock was too funny. I laughed at him.
"I… I see," Thorin said, flustered. "It wasn't larger than Leviathan, then?" He gestured to the statue.
"No," I replied, amused. "She was not a very big lizard. Also very playful. She was like a cat."
"I had heard terrible tales about it," Thorin muttered. "About how each swipe of is gargantuan claws could tear five orcs in half."
"I don't think she's that big," I chuckled. "I suppose she would be quite frightening if she were that large."
Thorin and I got along, needless to say. He was interested in my travels, and I was interested in his biceps. I told him about all the sights I'd seen and the tales I'd been told by the people I'd met. Fleur, Harry, Thelion, Raend the Bear-Man, Katie the Mysterious Sorceress, Legolas the Rebellious Princeling, and Guzbak the Orcish Merchant. In turn, Thorin told me some stories about his own people. As much as I'd love to recite it to you, dear reader, I'm afraid at the time I spent more attention gazing dreamily into the dwarf prince's eyes and his voice rather than the contents of his voice itself.
Thorin was my first lover. I think I did quite well for myself. It still amuses me to this day when I told my sister Elanor that my first such lover was a dwarf, then a moment later that he was no ordinary dwarf, but a dwarfen prince whose rings on his fingers were probably worth more in monetary value than our entire home and, if you included the rest of his jewelry, was probably worth more than the entirety of Bywater. We never did get much closer than casually making love; as much as Thrain I liked me, I doubted he wished for his son to marry some no-name Hobbit who didn't have any plans on staying in Erebor anyway. Still, Thorin and I became close, and I enjoyed every moment of it.
We would occasionally go hunting together, and once he even received permission from his father to visit the Grey Mountains with me, and visit Gaby and Alduin. Gaby was starting to get wrinkles around her eyes and cheeks, but she was still beautiful, and it was amusing watching Thorin try not to get me jealous by blushing and stuttering in front of the Queen.
I think Thorin truly liked me. It suited me fine, because I truly liked him also. If I were to ever settle down, I think I would have liked to settle down with him. Not only was he only a little taller than I am, unlike all other companions I'd had on my travels, but Thorin was kind, soft, and he wasn't infuriatingly enigmatic like the others were. It was refreshing to meet someone who wore their emotions on their sleeve, and I was comfortable being honest in return.
I hear he's married now, and gave his new wife a necklace with a beautiful gemstone in it; the Arkenstone, they're calling it. The stone looks suspiciously similar to a stone embedded in a tiara I remember Fleur wearing, but if memory serves correctly, Fleur's was somehow even more beautiful than the Arkenstone. I always did wonder how Fleur managed to get her hands on the most collectible trophies.
I smile when I think of that dwarf. I hope his wife is good to him, because I know he will be good to his wife.
Chapter Fourteen: Blaze
(T.A. 2065 - 2066)
I had met Gandalf before, and I did have suspicions that Fleur and Harry were indeed sorcerers like some claimed, but I never thought I would come face-to-face with actual magic.
I hissed in pain as the bandage was removed from the stump of my arm. Thank Valar that I had a sorcerer on my side, or I might not have survived the day. Perhaps I should enlighten you on what happened in the past few days before I complain about my missing arm for the next seventeen pages.
A week ago, I had stumbled upon a group of refugees from the far east, it looked like. I was not able to converse with them too well, since I didn't speak Hithli or Beneali or whatever other languages the folk of the east spoke, but it was clear just by looking at them that they were on the run from somebody, didn't have much time to pack, and they were struggling to keep going.
"Hail!" I called out in Westron and hoped they understood, raising a hand. "Are you alright?"
The lead woman, whose stern visage reminded me a little of Fleur at her angriest moments, looked at me. Her lips thinned, and she carefully considered me before responding in an undoubtedly eastern accent. "We are travelers from the east. Let us pass and forget we were here."
"Of course," I responded, and continued on my way. I had always wanted to see the Sea of Rhun, the greatest body of inland water on Middle-Earth. I wondered if there were bigger lakes in other continents. Fleur claimed she had friends who had visited the Dark Lands, and I must say I was immensely jealous of them. Who knew what sort of adventure might be had in an entirely different realm? What kind of differences would I see? Would plants have purple leaves? Did they have massive insects and tiny horses? Did the moon look blue from over there?
It was such thoughts that dwelled as I continued eastward. I thought I could just see the River Carnen! I was on a tall hill with a good look at the horizon, and I thought I barely saw a speck of water in the distance. Maybe it was a mirage, but I somehow didn't think so. I liked to think I was making progress on approaching my destination. But first?
I, like any other good Hobbit, settled down for second breakfast.
The only problem was, I didn't have any more meat. I frowned. I wouldn't say that I'm exclusively carnivorous, but I have become used to energy-dense foods due to my long hours spent hiking. Tugging the bow over my head and into my hands, I began to look for game. Since I was hungry, I didn't need anything huge. Something to last me until lunchtime, then I could look for something large enough to last a few days.
If there is one advantage to being a Hobbit tracker, it is that you can see the clues on the ground better. Were I one of the race of Men, I wouldn't have spotted the droplets of blood on the spiky grass. I grinned. It wasn't that old, and they couldn't have gone that far.
I followed the trail, my bow at the ready. It took me about two hours to catch up to whatever had left the trail, and I was surprised to see a group of people. Easterlings, most likely. They weren't looking too good, either - probably refugees, victims of raids by foreign settlements or possibly victims of violence by local despots. The east was never said to be particularly stable, and Fleur had agreed. Even approaching the Sea of Rhun was not exactly conducive to healthy behavior.
I wondered if the refugees spoke Westron. I didn't know Hithli or Beneali or whatever other languages were spoken in the eastern regions. I tossed my bow over my head, and stood up straight, raising my arm in the air in a friendly gesture. "Hail!" I called. "Are you alright? Do you need assistance?"
By the Valar, they were dirty. And apparently, quite hurt. A severe-looking woman frowned at my approach, even as younger girls shied away from my presence. I frowned, wondering what I had done wrong.
"You again?" The woman grumbled.
I blinked. "Have we met?"
"We have, although you're about to forget about that in a second."
"Wait, what do you mean I'll forget about it?"
A jet of light streamed my way, and I instinctively dodged. I rolled, snarling at the woman. The woman ground her teeth together hard enough that I could hear it from here. I drew my bow and nocked an arrow into the string, and the woman eyes it warily. I glared back. If that was how she wanted to play it? Fine.
"Put that away," the woman snapped in a tone that made me want to obey. "You might hurt the children."
As authoritative as she sounded, I had dealt with others - King Thranduil, for example, and I had disobeyed them all in favor of being a cackling menace. And right now, I wasn't in the mood. "This is self-defense," I retorted coldly. "I don't know what spell you're attempting to put me under, but you've all but confirmed that you've bewitched me before. Why don't you give me a reason not to shoot you in the gut?"
A red jet of light flew at me even as shimmering golden half-dome appeared in front of them. Instinctively, I released my arrow even as I dived, but the arrow skittered off the translucent barrier. I nocked another arrow and shot it rapidly at the woman, only for it to be rebuffed. I huffed, tossing my bow away and drawing my blade, just in time to block an oncoming stream of red light. I let out a long-held breath.
"Why the fuck are you attacking me?"
"We can't afford to take any chances," the woman said.
I snorted. "With your piss-poor aim? You seem to be taking a hell of a lot of chances."
"Kiss my wrinkled ass, shorty. My eyesight's failing; congratulations, you might have a chance to beat an old woman."
"You are easily the most violent grandma I have ever met."
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that? I can't hear you from all the way down there."
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that? I can't hear you with that atrocious accent of yours."
"The Rhunish in this region speak Hithli, not Westron. Be grateful I even deign to speak to you in your pathetic language."
"I could recreate Hithli with armpit noises."
"Oh, real mature. I see your mind is about as developed as your body."
Someone cleared their throat. The woman's gaze snapped onto another older woman, perhaps about forty years old - not necessarily old, like the first woman, but with graying hair. I glanced at them from the corner of my eye. Like hell I was going to take my eyes off of the intense grandmother.
"Headmistress Khana, I'm thinking we should try and part amicably."
Khana glared at the woman who spoke up so hard that she seemed to wither under the gaze. "Did you forget what happened to our school three weeks ago, Professor Langin? Did those people try to part amicably with us?"
"What happened to your school?" I asked, and they both stiffened. "I'm guessing something not very good. Let me help you. If I can, anyway."
"She speaks Westron and no doubt speaks no Rhunic languages," Langin murmured quietly. "I don't think she's a spy."
"Very well," Khana conceded grudgingly, then turned to me. "The tale we tell will not be repeated to anyone, understood? If so, follow us. We must continue to move, or the enemy will catch up to us."
"Alright, but who's the enemy? In case I see them."
"Black robes with red markings on them. Under their hood, similar red tattoos line their body. If you hear ominous chanting that actually has no meaning to it, then warn us immediately." Khana glanced at me. "I am Khana, the Headmistress of a school that once existed in the city of Dorm. It was school burned down by a school of heretics that call themselves sorcerers."
I blinked and looked up, meeting her eyes. It had been a gesture of surprise, but as I met her cold, brown eyes, I suddenly felt dizzy. Confused. Like up was down and right was up. I could vaguely hear a sharp intake of breath as I tore my eyes from Khana and threw up onto the grass. Khana actually paused by my side, waiting for me to recover.
"What the fuck was that?"
"That," Khana paused, "was me trying to enter your mind to see if there was any darkness we should have been aware of."
I glared at her. "And do I pass, o Holy Sorceress?"
"I don't know," she admitted, and I stared at her. "You have a barrier on your mind, one that keeps enemies from guessing your thoughts and intentions. A barrier remarkably similar to the one I, and my students, have learned."
I continued to stare. "I'm no sorceress. The closest I've come to magic is meeting Mithrandir."
"The Grey Wizard?" Khana's eyes rose.
"You know of him? As far as I can tell, he's never gone eastwards," I said.
"I know that," she murmured. Her face became pensive. "I have a hypothesis."
"Care to share with the rest of the class?"
Khana glared. "That's my line, and you know it." Her face softened again. "Who taught you to meditate?"
"How did you know I meditate?"
"Answer the question," Khana snapped irritably.
"A woman called Fleur. She said I was too hyperactive."
Khana's eyes widened. "Lady Fleur," she murmured. "I know her. She is Mistress' closest friend. I met her once, long ago, even if it was only a passing glimpse. Pale-blonde hair, and blue eyes?"
"Yes," I said. My heart warmed. "You've seen her? How is she doing?"
"Like I said, only a passing glance," Khana said as we began moving again. "But she seemed well, from what I could overhear. Of course, this was almost forty years ago, so I have no clue how she is doing currently. What was your relationship with Lady Fleur?"
"Next-door neighbors? She took care of me when I was young."
"I see," Khana murmured. Then she looked me in the eyes, no mental influencing this time. "I apologize for my behavior towards you. I did not know if you could be trusted, and we have been running from betrayers and assassins for weeks now. I know now that you can be trusted."
"You're going to have to explain your situation a little more," I said.
"Of course," Khana answered. "We are a part of a school of magic that my mentor, Mistress Katherine, founded. While there are several other institutes that claim to teach magic, I believe Mistress Katherine was one of the few who actually practiced it. I was among her first generation of students. I learned at this school, and became a professor to teach the younger ones, even as Mistress Katherine and her husband left the east on some sort of journey. I eventually took over the position of Headmistress from one of my older friends as she contracted an illness we couldn't cure. I was Headmistress for about three years."
"I'm guessing the rival schools had something to do with you folk."
"Naturally. You might not expect it, but schools of magic wield tremendous, and not to mention terrible, influence in the east. After all, things like immortality, infinite wealth, and the power to destroy armies, are desired by all, and especially by the powerful. Toxic politics exist between the various schools and also the Black King's circle of elites. Our school has always had bad blood with most other schools, since we are the only one to denounce the crackpot necromancers for what they are. Of course, while I am certain Mistress Katherine understood, I did not have the wisdom to recognize that brute magical strength sometimes compensated for skill."
"What happened?"
"Mass resurrections. A few years prior, the region was hit with a plague that slaughtered men, women and children. These were most trying times, even for the schools of magic, for nobody stands above death. We all suffered in our own way. Some schools attempted to appease various death gods, and we did what we could - we attempted to heal everyone we could get our hands on. One particular school of magic, however, saw opportunity in death. They created legions of undead soldiers and assaulted their rivals, seeking power and prosperity for themselves. It escalated into a civil war of magic, where the particularly dark necromancers assaulted their magical neighbors. Quite a few other schools, including ours, formed an alliance out of necessity, but it was a losing battle. Schools burned, students beheaded, and we have been on the run after losing two-thirds of our number."
My eyes widened as I looked at the group of refugees. Most of the girls were talking among themselves, likely not understanding Westron. There were about thirty... so sixty more used to be with them, but had died. Sixty children.
"We adopted a few students from rival schools, the last survivors of a now-extinct culture, and we ran. Even as we ran, dark shadows whittled our numbers down until they became what we are now. Shadowbinders bring curses upon us that follow us at night like packs of wolves on a hunt." Khana looked at me. "We seek the protection of the elves. Their life-magic could potentially halt the shadows that follow. But I am uncertain if we will survive until then."
"I'll help," I said, staring at the starving, hurting girls. "I can't abandon you like this."
Khana smiled a painful smile. "I don't know if it will make a difference, but thank you."
We continued to march until nightfall, at which point Khana, Professor Langin and Professor Talia - the last of what was originally seven - stopped the group and dug in. I watched in awe as fortifications rose from the ground, with walls and bastions and armored gates, the walls spiked on the top. Translucent bubbles, somewhat like the shield employed to protect from my arrows earlier, rose over the camp. Professor Talia created great clay golems that patrolled the perimeter. I was thoroughly impressed.
"It's not enough," Khana said grimly. "It is never enough."
The sky was as dark as ink, now. Stars burned, but they looked cold. Winds picked up. I shivered in my clothing as I kept one hand on the hilt of my sword due to a weird sense of uneasiness. Whatever remained of my sensible Hobbit mind screamed at me to hide under a bed and not come out until sunrise. I muttered to myself even as I finally gave into the temptation of drawing my sword. I swung it a couple of times experimentally, patrolling alongside one of the security golems because I didn't want to be on my own.
"Shitty night, huh?" I asked the golem. It didn't respond to my query. I sighed.
The distant howling of wolves startled me. I replaced my sword with the bow, nocking an arrow onto the string but not quite drawing it yet, as my eyes scanned the dark horizon. My eyes had gotten better used to the darkness now, but my vision was still strained. More howling. My hairs stood on end as my most primal urges told me to flee. It sounded like death.
Khana approached me, and I was startled by her appearance to the point I was shoving my arrow at her face. She flinched back. "Apologies."
"No, I apologize," I said quickly. I was more unnerved than I thought.
"They're close," Khana sighed, her grip white-knuckled on her staff. "I can sense their hunger from here. I would wish to face legions of undead over a single pack of hellhounds any day of the week."
"What are hellhounds?" I asked. I probably should've done that earlier.
"Beasts made of shadow and corrupted bones," Khana said grimly. "Twisted caricatures of life. Any wound made by them will be cursed, like venom running through your veins. The effects of the curse will be minimal from small cuts or scratches, but it can be lethal if you let it accumulate."
"Weaknesses?"
"Fire, almost certainly. And life-magic, which we cannot provide; that is why we wish to take sanctuary with the wood-elves." She sighed. "Destroy the bones, and they will be rendered immobile like any other creature, although unfortunately not dead. Burn them to truly kill them, although this method takes quite a while so it might be prudent to avoid burning a still-moving hellhound in case they run into our children in a panic. They also cause great terror. Do not look into their Eye."
"Their eye?"
"They come," Khana suddenly hissed, and raised her staff. A brilliant sphere of light erupted from the tip and began hovering upward, illuminating the region around their wards. My eyes widened as I saw shapes of shadow and the single, red burning eye in the center of their forehead - I looked away quickly, my heart beating madly, faster than I could ever remember it being. I shot an arrow into one of them; it passed straight through, until it struck one of the bones and clattered uselessly to the ground. Bows ineffective, then. I drew my sword.
"How many?" I asked.
"About twenty," Khana murmured. "Enough to kill us all."
"Shit."
"An apt summary."
The beasts charged. Khana raised her staff and a blazing trail of fire rushed at them, but the dark wolves were as nimble as they were fearsome; they expertly dodged the tongues of flames, with one hound even digging underneath a ribbon of fire, quick enough not to be caught. I realized one thing; I was well and truly fucked.
The golems, while powerful, were simply not fast enough to deal with the hounds. It was also while watching a golem being grappled by two hounds that I realized just how massive these hellhounds were. Almost as tall as an elf's shoulder, it was big enough to be ridden on if it had proper flesh instead of shadow. One leaped over the walls, and I rushed to intercept it - but it thankfully bounced off the wards that had been erected earlier.
Khana continued attacking with whips of flame; I could see the two other Professors utilizing similar strategies on the other side of camp. I watched Khana fight, and then my mind screamed at me to duck; I dived to the ground just as one black wolf charged over me, having missed clamping its jaws onto my head. I slashed quickly with my sword, but the force of it from a lying-down position wasn't enough to break its leg; I might have caused a hairline fracture with that strike. I rolled back onto my feet and braced myself for my next target, bouncing at me.
I timed it just right so that I sidestepped the hound's charge while swinging my sword straight into the hound's neck. It yelped, surprisingly realistically, as my blade crunched into its spine. The hound lost control of its body, spasming as it plowed into the ground, its head not fully decapitated and hanging from its shoulders by a thin tendril of smoke.
"Good work," Khana grunted at me. "I've managed to get three."
"I wish I had magic," I muttered grumpily as I covered her back.
The same hound that had tried attacking me before wheeled around and charged again. Like an utter fool, my gaze wandered to its' forehead - and I was instantly paralyzed. Even though Khana shouted at me in warning, I made no move to dodge. I only managed to move my arm at the very large moment, simply because the hound blinked, and it gave me enough time to raise my armored arm in front of my face before my head was split like a melon.
I screamed.
Sharp, jagged teeth pierced through the boiled leather I was wearing in between the gaps of the occasional steel plate. My left arm burned as if one fire, from the inside out. I barely recognized the sensation of my back hitting the raised clay walls at speed. I couldn't do anything, slumped against the wall, except stare at that burning eye in terror. The enemy hadn't gotten my sword arm damaged, but it didn't matter, because I was paralyzed with fear. Dark, black jaws stinking of rotting flesh lolled open, it's jaw more unhinged than it should be and it's tongue longer and sharper than it should be.
The spell was broken when one clay golem took this as an opportunity it smash its massive hands down on the hellhound's back. It's spine and forelimbs utterly shattered, the golem tossed the damaged hellhound away from me and went to find another target. I scrambled up to my feet despite the pain and glanced at Khana, who had undoubtedly orchestrated the miracle. I gripped my sword, lips tightening in pain as my left arm hung limp and useless at my side. I stumbled back into the fray.
I de-limbed another hellhound through sheer luck while Khana managed to get another one. We had managed eight in total - four by Khana, two by me, and two more by the golems. Still, there were three more left. All the golems were destroyed, Khana was out of energy, and I was crippled as well as poisoned; I could see my eyesight becoming more and more blurry, my hearing inaudible, my mind fuzzy. Our chances of survival were low.
I just wished I'd been able to see my sister one more time.
I wasn't entirely certain what I was seeing at the time, but I thought I saw a great white raven swooping down from the sky. The hellhounds shrieked in pain and panic, dodging back into the distance as they sought the shelter of shadows. The great raven must have been as large as dragons; when it landed, though, it did not shake the earth as dragons would, merely caused a soft breeze that washed over me and immediately made me more alert. And happy, too. Like I was sitting on Fleur's lap, a child again, listening to her tell tales in the warm summer afternoons.
Khana had tears in her eyes as her mouth formed syllables without sound. I smiled dopily and closed my eyes. Somehow, I knew that everything was going to be alright, despite my injury and poisoning.
Perhaps it was a hallucination caused by the venom, but I thought I heard the raven speak in a familiar male voice, telling me that I did well. I don't know if the raven said anything else, though, because I fell asleep.
Chapter Twenty: Ember
(T.A. 2088 - 2110)
I think this is the last leg of my journey. I spent my entire life on the road, and occasionally drifting off even the most faded paths into the true wilderness. As much as I feel the urge, to explore and discover, as much as my spirit of adventure remains a roaring star, I think my body feels more like an ember. Leftover warmth from the days I burned bright and hot.
The time I write this, it is T.A. 2110 and I am eleventy-one years old. I am officially an old woman. I have returned to the Shire now, and my final journey to the Shire took me twenty-two years, as I did my best to visit all the friends I made on my travels. It took me so much longer than the three previous times that I returned to the Shire, for my sister's wedding, and my mother's and father's respective last days.
I visited Salim from Harad, the carpet merchant whose enthusiasm is infectious. A little further north into Gondor, where I met Elion II, the old, grizzled captain of the guard. Further north to Lothlorien, where I met the eternally beautiful Lady Galadriel - or Ariel, as I knew her in my youth. How time flies, does it not? I couldn't help but feel bitter at how young she remained, while I felt like my bones were actively working against me. Further north, and I entered the Kingdom of Mirkwood - I met King Thranduil, again, alongside the now-calmed-down prince, Legolas. Continuing further up to Erebor, I met Thorin and his wife, Dee, and all his little children (and let me tell you, dwarves without beards are adorable - should you be fortunate enough to see, always treasure the sight).
I visited the Grey Mountains again. Gaby's daughter, Olivie, was welcoming, and I was glad to see that Alduin had remembered my scent and approached me like a scaly little puppy. I gave my respects to the first non-empty tomb in Niflheim's royal catacombs. I continued west to Mount Gundabad, where I met Khana the Sorceress. Her students were in shock - shock, I tell you! - to see the cold, harsh woman being positively friendly with a stranger. I had ended up losing an arm when I helped Khana and her students escape the wrath of rival schools of magic, but I never regretted it. Not when I made a friend as wonderful as her.
I traveled south along the River Anduin. At the edge of the forest, I met Raend, the bear-shifter. He was his usual grumpy self, although now his whiskers were entirely white and I could tell he was approaching the end of his life, just like I am. I gave me a parting gift. A simple cord necklace, adorned with a single bear's claw. I paid my respects to the simple stone gravestone that sat under a willow tree by the river, in honor of Guzbak.
I passed the Misty Mountains with a group of caravans from Dale. As much as I had experience in fighting, I wasn't taking a chance against the goblins with these weary bones. We crossed the pass without incident and I paid the caravans with a single gold coin that was part of Thorin's parting gift to me. I visited Imladris, saw Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel once more. It was here that I met someone - or two someones, in fact - that I had never been expecting, even though I had given my entire life to search for them.
As I was leaving breakfast one day, I saw two tall figures in one of the courtyards. At first glance - especially so with my old eyes - they appeared to be elves. Of course, the wind blew at just the right moment and I inhaled an old, familiar scent, a perfume made of what I suspected were jasmines. My breath hitched, and the two figures slowly turned to look at me. Tears came unbidden to my eyes.
"Fleur? Harry?"
There they were, their faces untarnished by time and looking as if they had simply stepped out of the world from ninety-nine years ago, when they first disappeared. Although I couldn't be certain. I had forgotten their faces in the ninety-five years (at that point) since they had disappeared.
I felt like a child again as I ran into Fleur's open arms. She held me, murmured into my hair, rubbing my back as she used to do when I cried as a child. Harry, the smug shit, sat there and remained his assholish self. I still missed the bastard. It took me some time to calm down.
"You've lived a good life," Fleur said with a smile. "I have been watching you."
"Why did you leave?" I asked her. "Why did you leave me like that?"
She cocked her head slightly. "Would you have left if we didn't?"
I despise her wisdom and foresight, sometimes. Lady Galadriel did say that Fleur had apprenticed under her, so I shouldn't be surprised that Fleur was tugging strings from the shadows, even if it led to me living a life that I would never be able to regret.
"What were you doing all this time?" I tried instead.
"We've been spending time with coke and hookers," Harry claimed. I rolled my eyes. I still didn't know what 'coke' was despite the numerous references, but considering Harry was the reason I was and still am so crude, I doubt it is anything good.
"We've been traveling, just like you have," Fleur corrected them. "I want to ask you one question, Amarylla. One question that even I do not have the answer to."
I blinked. "What is it?"
"Did you enjoy yourself?"
My lips twitched upwards on all its own volition. I think Fleur did something to me, to help me remember, because I think at that particular moment in time, less than the time for a breath taken, less than a moment, less than an instant - I remembered every detail of my life. From the moment Fleur entered my life, to the moment she left, and the moment I left home in search of adventure. And with all that in mind, I had my answer.
"Yes."
"I'm glad." Fleur dragged me into her arms again, holding me. "That's all I ever wanted for you."
"Thank you."
"You should know, though, that this was all you." Fleur gestured with one arm at… everything. "I was watching you. I may have told a few friends of mine about a certain adventurous Hobbit. But in the end? You forged your own journey. Your own legend. I never manipulated anything or anyone in your life. In the end, this adventure was all yours - and thus, you have no need to thank me."
I might have cried again.
A month spent with the elves, I set off again to return to the Shire. I did have a few friends in the far west, such the Snowmen on the coast of the Ice Bay of Forochel, but I don't think I had neither the time nor energy to go there and back. My final destination before returning to the Shire was Weathertop. My first real destination in my adventure. That was where the Rangers had placed Thelion's gravestone.
The first mentor, the first friend, I had made on the journey of life.
I think I might have started rambling in front of his gravestone. Were he watching me, hearing me, he would probably have grimaced and told me to shut up. I didn't. Thelion was mean, but he was also nice enough not to follow through with the threats he made to make me shut up. He would have listened.
My voice was hoarse from age, but I sang a song there. One that he'd undoubtedly recognize.
I returned to Bywater over the course of the next month. Elanor, my dearest sister, was waiting for me in our ancestral Tookish Hobbit-hole. My nieces and nephews welcomed me home. Elanor's grandchildren begged me to tell stories, at least after they got over the initial shyness. My mind must be dustier than I thought, because I couldn't remember the names of my grand-nephews and grand-nieces and constantly kept mixing them up.
Elanor gave me a room for me to sleep in and write in. This little room, so very small compared to the wide world, is where I finish writing this book. Nowadays, it is difficult enough to travel from one end of the room to the other - I oftentimes wonder how I managed to walk tens of thousands of miles when I was younger, all the way east to the Sea of Rhun, all the way south to Far Harad, all the way north to the Grey Mountains and all the way west to the Grey Havens. My fingers are cramped and it becomes difficult to write. I am just happy that my remaining hand will last long enough for me to complete this tale for your pleasure, dear readers.
I await my death in this little room of mine. As wide as the windows are, I fear that it will never be the same as the sun beating violently down on my skin. I sit on the rocking chair outside the door, but the wind will never taste the same as the howling gales in the Grey Mountains. My staying here in the Shire, a cozy but undeniably small place, truly makes me understand just how small we all are, in the end.
But that's okay. I like to think that the world is huge, rather than myself being small. Huge enough that I wouldn't be able to explore it all with all my life, as I have just proved. But that's okay. It leaves more to be explored by others and, hopefully, more to be written down and shared with us all. Everything is okay.
Everything is just fine.
Here, folks, have an interlude.
It started off as a simple interlude about a Hobbit because I wanted to put some stuff in between the inevitable timeskips, but I daresay I got a little carried away. Hope you liked it.
Edit: I didn't expect this to be so popular. In the back of my mind, I knew this interlude was probably had a better story-telling quality than the standard chapters, but still. I agreed with Dansel that Amarylla could probably have used a few thousand more words, so here's an additional 'chapter', I guess. Also fixed a few typos that I and the comments spotted.
dojomojo I don't know whether to be happy or disappointed. You do kinda raise a good point though, I did enjoy writing the interlude quite a lot too.
osterreicher you're right about the relative peacefulness of Middle-Earth, although it's not much. Snowfolk are a relatively stabilizing force nearby what used to be Angmar, and Radagast's more proactive personality has likely led to stability in Mirkwood as well as a more aggressive stance against the darkness of Dol Guldur.