Disclaimer; Me no own. Okay?
Kiera sighed in relief as she crept through the dimly lit Mirkwood, spotting her home. Yes, the place with all the mutant spiders, pesky, nosy, but rather pretty, wood elves, and other icky beasties. Yep, that was Mirkwood.
Kiera had been born in Gondor…her mother alone had fostered her along with a few other siblings. Her father was a mystery…someone who she had considered long dead and gone.
Having tired of that malodorous place (have you noticed that she has issues with strong smells?) bothering her sensitive nose, she had traveled aimlessly…stealing and eating when she could, often getting caught and punished until her thievery developed. Training herself to fight and defend like the guards she spied on. Yes…she had stolen the pair of twin daggers, a bow, and the very clothes on her back.
And this was all when she was how old? Actually, she didn't know how old she was. One of the many mysteries she wasn't willing to solve any time soon…it would be depressing if she stumbled upon the answer and found out that she was forty and was an aunt.
Of course, she had little doubt that she was still quite young. She also had little doubt that 'Kiera' wasn't her real name. Actually, it was more like no doubt, because she had named herself.
She could not remember anything from her childhood to save her life…that was probably all very well just in case some random baddie came up to her and decided to duel to the death with words about whose past was most interesting.
"…Uncle Gideon shot himself."
"…Well, I'm sure I would have had an interesting past…if I had one. I seem to have forgotten all about it."
"You don't remember anything?"
"Nope! Which means I win because having no past is much more interesting than hearing about the color of cousin George's earwax…"
That was an example of what many of her conversations are like with most human beings she came across. All of them wanted to know where she was going, why, and how. Of course, she never answered them, and made sure to confuse them so much that they couldn't follow her.
She had a way of drawing people into odd conversations and then decapitating them.
Of course, most of the people she met weren't people…they were either orcs or…orcs. And they didn't speak the Common Tongue very well, which made it all the more amusing.
Currently, Kiera was living in a huge oak with massive leaves and branches. She had been there for three years, living in a little tree fort that no one ever noticed because it was so well hidden among the twisted branches and dinner-plate sized leaves. It had taken her a while to build it out of logs from dead trees fallen to the ground…but she had managed.
It was one room, but it was welcoming…cheery in fact, not to mention quite warm during the winter. In the winter, not many elves were about this far out in the wood except border patrol…and since this oak was out of the way, none of them had ever found her little home.
Kiera swiftly grabbed hold of the bottommost branch and swung up on it, then clambered a few more braches upward, narrowing her eyes against the wind and listening intently for any sign that she was being followed. This became a ritual after a close call a few years ago when she forgot that elves had very keen eyes. She was walking home and almost ran straight into a change of patrol. She had hidden of course, but not before some elves saw her and tried to follow. Thankfully, she had a headstart and was climbing the trees while they were on the ground.
Satisfied that she was alone, Kiera scampered up the rest of the branches and swung through a hold in the floor of her fort, sighing once again in relief to be home.
She felt less tense when she was in her tree fort, for she never really relaxed, being a thief and all.
She quickly unstrapped her quiver from her back, and dumped the arrows and bow on her bed in the corner. She then opened a little chest at the foot of her palet and took out a piece of stale bread and a few strips of dry meat.
She had obviously stolen the bread, and the meat she had prepared herself from the scrawny deer she had shot a while back. She had entertained the idea of marching to the Mirkwood castle and demanding that they feed the deer and poultry better, but dismissed the idea as nonsense…which most of her ramblings are.
You're wondering where in Arda she had managed to steal it from. That's the important part.
The bow and arrows she had stolen when the wood elves were out feasting and frolicking. (She found that she actually knew very little of the elves, and didn't like them that much after she found out more, due to the number one issue she had with guards.)
Anyway, some careless elf had left them lying about along with the daggers. His loss.
Before Kiera had obtained the black tunic, leggings, boots, and cloak…she had been wearing a dress like any other maiden. She had let the elves spy her so they took them to Mirkwood palace with them. Since she had been playing lost and alone little girl, she had been able to filch those from the wardrobe.
Most of them suspected her; none of them were ever able to confirm it.
Until now.
You see, she had been walking closer than was safe to Mirkwood residence in search of fowl that was actually well fed.
From there, a guard on duty had spied her, crying out, "Stop!" in elvish. She only knew a bit of the elves tongue from what she could glean from conversations she overheard.
Then she had run faster than she'd ever run before. She sprinted through the trees and brush, knowing that her trail would never be found due to the ease of long practice.
Her heart had almost beaten its way out of her chest by the time she had gotten home.
Kiera washed her hands and face in the basin of water she always kept handy. While she was eating, she stood by a crude window, feeling the breeze run through her now unbraided hair.
Kiera had never paid attention to how she looked. She honestly didn't care because she had so much else to worry about. She had bluish-grey eyes and brown hair with a hint of copper that fell down to her waist in what was now a long tangled mass.
Finishing the last of her bread, Kiera dusted her hands off and trotted over to her bed where she sat, reading one of the many poem books she enjoyed.
Want to know where those came from? These were actually books she had brought from her home in Gondor. She always loved reading and trying to untangle the deep meanings of poems and songs.
She had just settled down to one of her favorites, a thin leather bound book…plain looking. But inside was something of more worth to her than the treasure that she stole.
It was the only thing she had left of her father. It was a book of poems that he had written. When she was little, she used to trace her fathers neat even handwriting with her chubby hands.
Kiera fought back emotions that threatened to rise and overcome her.
The wind picked up speed, and Kiera froze, hearing something…someone…down below.