is this update early

i have no idea

ANYWAY there's another storm in the Philippines. Meaning, suspended classes and possible flooding. Wish us the best of luck.

/All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson. Except for Fheon and Elijah. They're mine. And Fheon doesn't like elves very much.

The orc that had fallen into the chute had been killed with an Elven arrow into the neck. Above, in the field they had been on only minutes ago, a patrol of elves were slaughtering the remaining orcs Fheon, Elijah, Kili and Thorin had failed to slay. And where an elven patrol was roaming, their land was sure to be close by; yet it seemed neither Thorin nor the dwarves knew this, for they ventured deeper into the pathway, seemingly clueless as to where it led. Gandalf followed wordlessly, and Fheon knew that he knew where they were headed. He had been trying to coax Thorin into accepting his suggestion, to garner aid from the elves. Of course he would stay quiet.

While walking through the moldy, narrow tunnel, Elijah quietly counted how many arrows he had left: ten. He handed half of it to Fheon, who accepted them gratefully. "You know where we're headed," she murmured to him. "It is possible we could visit the fletcher here. The journey ahead is still long."

He nodded. "Aye."

The tunnel finally ended, widening at the end and letting both Dwalin and Bofur pass at the same time. Thorin noisily pressed the end of his axe to the ground, scowling, and the Rangers' assumptions were right—for in front of them lay a territory of the elves, with structures built graciously atop the rough landscape of the mountainside, and pure streams flowing through and out the channels of the city, down to the rivers below. Fheon and Elijah had only heard of its beauty from Hiram, who had stated that, once when he was just a trainee, he had been taken to this foreign country, even introduced to the high elves here. Fheon never thought she would be able to see the city with her own eyes, but here they stood, given a clear view of it.

"The Valley of Imladris," said Gandalf, somberly walking out onto the overhang with them. "In the common tongue, it's known by another name."

"Rivendell," Bilbo finished in a quiet voice.

"Here lies the Last Homely House East of the Sea."

Fheon watched as an angry Thorin stepped up to the wizard and said, "This was your plan all along: to seek refuge with our enemy."

"You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield," said Gandalf, looking down at him sternly. "The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself."

"You think the elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us."

"Of course they will. But we have questions that need to be answered." At this, the irritation on Thorin's face seemed to dissipate, and he bowed his head, as if ashamed. Fheon eyed him curiously as Gandalf continued, "If we are to be successful, this will need to be handled with tact, and respect, and no small degree of charm—which is why you will leave the talking to me."

Thorin nodded again, before walking back to his kin and muttering explanations to them. Gandalf turned to Bilbo and the Rangers then, as if just realizing they had been there all along, and clapped Fheon and Elijah on their shoulders. "Very good work with the orcs," he said, before pointing at the older of the two. "But next time, don't worry your sister."

"I'll try," said Elijah, laughing. As soon as the wizard was far enough away, he muttered, "No promises," intentionally letting Fheon hear. She did not smile.

They watched Gandalf take his place at the head of the group and start leading them down the path veering off the overhang. It was a steep and even more tapered pathway; Fheon found herself looking down at her feet as they walked, afraid she would miss a subtle turn and slip off the side. Her brother was incessant with his joking, constantly prodding at her side and making her jump—which frightened her to no extents.

And the elves, it seemed, liked making their pathways narrow and borderless, for even at the entrance did Fheon not find a single wall that could keep her from falling over the edge. She pondered whether anyone had fallen to his death yet, as they stood on a smooth circular platform. Raising her head, she found two elven guards standing watch atop a stone staircase, staring ahead, never blinking, it seemed. Even from afar, she could see how flawless they were—and they were men. Suddenly feeling conscious, she redid her hair into a neater plait and elbowed Elijah, murmuring that he fix his hair.

"You're serious?" he said, smiling.

"It is the first time the elves are to meet us," she replied hastily. "Do you really want them to remember you as the man who had a sweat-drenched face and hair that resembled a bird's nest?"

So he rubbed his face clean and ran a hand across his hair, slicking it back; and not a moment too soon. A male elf appeared from behind the guards, walking down the staircase with unpracticed grace. His hair was dark and long, his face smooth (as elves were known for), he wore purple robes made of a thick kind of material, and he wore an intricate circlet on his head. "Mithrandir," he called softly, and as he came closer to them, Fheon noticed his pointed ears peeking out from his hair.

Gandalf turned around. He said, "Ah, Lindir."

Lindir placed his hand on his chest and gestured to Gandalf, bowing slightly, in what seemed to be an Elven sign of… respect, perhaps? Fheon watched on with mixed feelings as Lindir spoke in what she could only presume to be Elvish, but was thankful when Gandalf replied in the common-tongue. He said, "I must speak with Lord Elrond."

"My Lord Elrond is not here," said Lindir.

"Not here?" Gandalf frowned. "Where is he?"

Just then, the sound of a horn being blown rang across the city. It was the same horn they had heard when they were still in the tunnels, just having escaped the warg pack. Recognition flooded through Fheon as she and the others turned around to find a troop of horses trotting down the same cement path they had been on. Fheon could see that they were armed, but she knew that they were not hostile. Thorin was too prideful to; he yelled for everyone to close ranks. Sighing exasperatedly, Fheon and Elijah stepped back as the dwarves pressed themselves into a tight circle. She found Bilbo in the very middle, and pursed her lips unhappily.

The mounted elves circled the dwarves, looking like centurions—which they most likely were. Meanwhile, the dwarves had started snarling at the elves, no doubt further polluting the bad reputation they already had with the Fair Folk.

"Gandalf!" one of the mounted elves said. He wore a similar circlet to the one Lindir had.

"Lord Elrond," said Gandalf, before doing the gesture Lindir had done to him earlier on. Unsure of what to do, Fheon looked to her brother and found him standing straight, with his hands at his sides and his head bowed. With uncertainty she refused to show, Fheon resumed the same posture and kept her eyes on her feet.

Elrond said one or two lines in Elvish, statements she did not understand, before resuming to speak in common-tongue. "Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders," he said. "Something—or someone has drawn them near."

"Ah, that may have been us," said Gandalf, before subtly gesturing to the dwarves. They met his statement begrudgingly, Thorin most of all. Stepping forward, he glared at Elrond as if they were the worst of enemies. Fheon supposed that that was the case, indeed.

"Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain," said Lord Elrond.

"I do not believe we have met," Thorin replied.

"You have your grandfather's bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled Under the Mountain."

"Indeed?" The contempt was clear in the dwarf's voice, this time. "He made no mention of you."

If Elrond was insulted, he hid it well. The next words that came out of his mouth were in Elvish, and Gloin did not react particularly well to this. "What is he saying? Does he offer us insult?" he demanded, which was met by the dwarves' similar outbursts. Fheon sighed inwardly.

"No, master Gloin, he's offering you food," Gandalf explained impatiently. Beside him, Elrond's lip turned up in an amused smile.

The dwarves all huddled together and murmured to themselves, and Fheon was able to discern that they were deciding whether they were hungry enough to eat Elvish food or not. At the end of it, Gloin said, "Well, in that case, lead on."

Elrond, still smiling, gestured for Lindir to come forward. He muttered something into the young elf's ear, before addressing the Company, "Lindir will lead you to our dining hall. I will follow there shortly."

As the dwarves trailed up the stairs and after Lindir, Fheon glanced at her brother questioningly: should they follow or no? He tilted his head slightly to meet her eyes, and looked at her almost expectantly. Before she could ask further, she saw Lord Elrond walking towards them, and returned her attention to her feet.

"Mae govannen, Rangers," said Lord Elrond. "Gi nathlam hí." At this, even Elijah raised his head slightly, eyebrows arched in question.

Gandalf answered for them, saying, "They are yet to learn the Elvish tongue, Lord Elrond. My apologies." Fheon wondered if they were supposed to learn Elvish.

"Oh, nonsense. No apologies are needed, Gandalf," Elrond softly replied. "Well met, Rangers of the North."

"Well met, Lord Elrond," Elijah said.

The two people in front of them went quiet for a long moment, and Fheon raised her eyes slightly to find the corners of their eyes crinkled in amusement. "Oh, do straighten up, the both of you," Gandalf ordered, the smile clear in his voice. Slowly, Fheon raised her head and let it stay that way, and was met with the face of Lord Elrond.

"Indeed, it is wiser for a man to show respect in his actions than have none in his words," he said. "The brother and his sister—one of the very few female Rangers in history… Tales of you have reached even elven ears, though I had not known of your beauty until now."

Fheon smiled wryly. "Thank you, Lord Elrond."

"What are your names?"

"I am Fheon."

"And I am Elijah."

As they started walking to where she presumed was the dining hall, he asked, "Tell me: why have you accompanied Thorin Oakenshield?"

"We act as their scouts," Elijah said. "We heard that dwarves were not particularly bright, though we knew that they were Free People. And—"

"Rangers protect the Free People," Elrond finished, making Elijah smile.

"Yes. We have protected them during our journey here, hunted for them, eaten with them. Fheon and I have learned much about dwarves during these past ten months than we ever could have reading books about them for seven years. It is enlightening."

"And why, may I ask, has the son of Thrain chosen to journey here?" said Lord Elrond; and up until that moment, Fheon had been impressed with her brother's attempts at avoiding the subject of their quest. "I know for a fact that he has despised elves ever since the event with Erebor and Azanulbizar, and yet he organizes a gathering of his kin, a hobbit, and two Dunedain Rangers to venture for seven months to an Elven house. Forgive me, but none of this makes much sense to me."

Elijah grew silent. From the corner of her eye, Fheon noticed Gandalf's eyes on her. "My sincerest apologies, Lord Elrond," she hurriedly said, "but it is not for me to tell."

"Perhaps," said Elrond, and then was quiet for the rest of the trip to the dining hall.

"Kind of you to invite us," Gandalf said when they arrived. "We are not really dressed for dinner."

"Well, you never are," Elrond replied, to which the wizard chuckled.

The dining hall was not much of a 'hall' as it was another circular cement platform overlooking the city. In the middle, a long table had been placed, where the dwarves sat. Standing tall several feet away from them were musicians; elves playing harps and flutes, surrounding the vicinity with a peaceful air. Fheon loosened up. At the table, the food that had been lain out were all vegetables and plant-based. Though she had expected this, Fheon was hoping for meat. It had been a while since she had eaten a full meal, but there were goblets of wine, so she forced herself to be satisfied with these.

An elf brought her a chair and politely seated her across her brother, who was attended to by a female elf. He flashed his teeth at her, but she only bowed before walking away. He threw a pout over to Fheon, who only rolled her eyes. She kept her silence throughout the meal, somberly munching on the greens on the table and sipping from her wine, for she had been seated beside Thorin; and beside him was Lord Elrond, seated at the head of the table, with Gandalf at his right hand. Beneath the table, Elijah kept rocking his foot up and down, a habit he already had when they were still much younger. Often times, his foot would hit her knee, and she would kick his leg in return. So far, none of the other occupants of the table had noticed.

"I recognize those runes," Elrond suddenly said midway through the meal, his eyes on Thorin's sword. "They are Elvish, are they not?"

"They are," Gandalf replied, and then nodded to Thorin. The Dwarf King handed his sword, along with its sheath, to Elrond.

The elf pulled out two inches of the blade, examining it and its sheath in his hands. "This is Orcrist, the Goblin-cleaver," he said, "A famous blade forged by the High Elves of the West, my kin. May it serve you well."

Thorin half-heartedly bowed his head at Elrond's words, though a glint of interest had appeared in his eyes as he placed his sword on his lap and looked down at it.

Meanwhile, Gandalf had handed his own sword to the elf lord, who repeated the actions he did with Orcrist. "And this is Glamdring, the Foehammer, sword of the King of Gondolin," he said. "These were made for the Goblin Wars of the First Age. How did you come by these?"

Gandalf took his sword back from Elrond—who had offered—and said, "We found them in a troll-hoard on the Great East Road, shortly before we were ambushed by orcs."

"And what were you doing on the Great East Road?" Elrond inquired, sounding more suspicious, now.

Thorin straightened up, his eyes suddenly turning cold as he returned the elf's gaze. It was Gandalf who answered; however, his reply was not much of an answer, it was more of a request. He said, "I think it would be best to speak of this at a different time, Lord Elrond."

"Why?" Elrond retorted, but the wizard only raised a condescending eyebrow. "Fine," said the elf lord, huffing slightly. "I will approach you about this matter tonight. In the meantime, I think some accommodations are in order. We will show you to your rooms shortly."

Fheon did not know they were staying overnight, but she was relieved that they were. A good night's sleep was what she was looking forward to, a hearty meal in the morning, not having to worry about wargs tracking them down or an orc pack coming to kill them. Across the table, the glee was evident on Elijah's face. And though Thorin's grip on his sword tightened, he accepted Elrond's offer, and Fheon was thankful.

The first thing she did was request a warm bath. She had been given a room, with drapes covering her from the people who could see into her balcony, a soft bed with feather pillows, a mirror across the room, and her very own lavatory. There was an elf maid who readied the bath for her, pouring scalding hot water from a bucket and into the tub, checking if it was the perfect temperature. When she was finished, she exited the bathroom and smiled charmingly at Fheon, telling her the bath was ready. But apparently, elves were used to having the maids watch them bathe. Fheon had to tell the helper off, which she would not have had to do in regular inns. It only further proved her statement to Thorin; about elves being "a fancy, condescending race" that was "much too graceful".

In a drowsy state, Fheon placed her bow and quiver on the foot of her bed, along with her belt and sword, and then pulled her dirt-caked boots off. In the bathroom, she shed the rest of her clothes and her cloak and folded them neatly; leaving them on the floor by the door so she would not forget to have them washed. The bloody rag in her pants, however, she rolled up into a tiny ball and threw into the trash. Only in her sweat-stained compress, now, she peeled that off as well before finally sinking herself into the water. When she did, an involuntary sigh escaped her lips.

The water was absolutely pristine, seeming to seep through her skin to warm her to the bone. She slinked deeper into the water until she was neck-deep in it, and then, in her exhaustion, she allowed her eyelids to droop closed. Five minutes, she thought to herself. No one will look for me, anyway…

It was a dreamless sleep. When her eyes snapped open, the light streaming into the room from the balcony was moonshine. How long had she been asleep?

Blinking rapidly, Fheon stood up and looked down at the filthy water in disgust. She let herself drip the excess liquids off her body for a minute before stepping out of the tub, grabbing the towel that the maid had placed on the floor. Because she had not actually cleaned herself yet, only sat in the water, she soaked the towel with fresh, cool water from the faucet and rubbed the dirt off her body. Ultimately, the towel was able to get all the dirt off, but by then was too filthy for her to use again. She folded it and left it on the floor by the tub, deciding that she was dry enough, albeit not completely.

To her surprise, her grimy clothes had been replaced by a clean white tunic, a grey over-shirt, and pants; even her soiled chest wrapping was gone, exchanged by a much purer one. She did not want the old one back, for a few months ago she had noticed that she was starting to outgrow it. Seeing her cloak not amidst the pile, however, she hoped that the rest of her clothing had only been taken to get cleaned, not taken forever. Hurriedly, Fheon started wrapping the compress around her chest, for judging by the light of the moon, it was already well into the evening.

She came across a slight problem with the pants they had left for her, given that it was that time of the month. In the end, she took out a fresh towel from one of the drawers and ripped it into a smaller piece using her blood-stained sword. It was not comfortable, but it had to do; the pants were dark, thankfully. She slipped the white tunic over her head, and was just tying the laces of her new over-shirt together when someone knocked on her door.

She hastily finished with the cords before opening the door, revealing her freshened-up older brother.

"Sister!" he said, opening his arms to her. "You look much better; all the elves will be speaking of your beauty now!"

Rolling her eyes, Fheon replied, "The same goes for you, Elijah. Give it a few months and that elven woman you've been ogling all day might just request for your hand in marriage."

"If only."

Smiling slightly, she asked, "What is it you want, brother?"

"Lord Elrond asked for me to call you to supper," he said.

"It's that late already?" she mumbled, more to herself than to him. Nonetheless, she gave herself a final once-over in the mirror before unstrapping her sword from her belt that lay on the bed and instead tying it to one of the loops on her pants.

"Why are your hands so wrinkled?" Elijah silently asked as they walked down the moonlit halls of Rivendell.

"I fell asleep in the bath," she muttered in reply, to which he chuckled.

"Nothing to be ashamed of," he said, "Same thing happened to me." Fheon glanced at his fingers and found the skin on them creased, just as hers was. She smiled, wondering if he had been asleep as long as she had.

Further on, she noticed that Elijah was not leading her through the same halls it took to the dining hall. Confused, she opened her mouth to ask where they were going when she noticed the faint darkness of the hallway being disrupted by firelight. The sounds of dwarves chattering loudly reached her ears far sooner than the smell of meat did. She and Elijah walked closer until they found the Company huddled around a campfire in one of the isolated sections of the building. A pot had been placed on the fire to cook, and if everything was much more serious, Fheon would have suspected that they had never arrived at Rivendell at all. That she was just dreaming.

But the atmosphere in the chamber was mirthful—and noisy. Bombur, for some reason, was sitting on an ornately-carved table with thin legs. Just as Fheon and Elijah were walking into the chamber, Bofur suddenly threw a sausage at Bombur. The large dwarf caught it, and then looked down at himself in alarm. The table beneath him creaked loudly before giving way to his weight. He landed on his bum and the food on his plate fell onto him. Elijah's hand shot up in the air, and Fheon saw that he had caught the sausage Bombur had let go of. He took a bite out of it, looking down at her haughtily. Smirking, Fheon got plates for both of them and they sat down with the dwarves.

During one of the few lulls in the multiple conversations, Fheon noticed something and softly asked, "Where's Thorin?"

"I was wondering the same thing," said Kili, and then looked to Fili. "Brother, do you know where our dear uncle has been hiding?"

"Afraid not, brother," said Fili, and then the two of them just started laughing uncontrollably.

Fheon came to the conclusion that dwarves did not need to be drinking to be drunk; they were the only people she knew who could get drunk simply on their merrymaking, aside from her brother. As she was standing up to refill her goblet with water, footsteps echoed behind them, which were quickly followed by Thorin's booming voice.

"Bilbo, Balin, Elijah," he said, "Come with me."

"What?" said Bilbo, though he was already slowly getting on his feet. "Why?" Thorin did not reply, only turned around and strode back down the hall.

Elijah handed his unfinished plate of food to Fheon, muttering quickly to her, "The Company goes first," before rushing after the Dwarf King. He was followed by Balin, and then Bilbo. Fheon stared after her brother anxiously, setting their plates down. She was about to trail after them when Dwalin pulled her back down onto her bum—with more force than she knew was necessary.

"Better not, lass," he said. "Thorin doesn't much enjoy spies."

"But we deserve to know—"

"And they'll tell us all about it—when they get back."

Very much not in the mood to argue, Fheon calmed herself down and retreated to her room, where she was dumbfounded to find her quiver once again filled with arrows. And they were not Elven arrows either. They were exactly like the original ones Hiram fletched; even their balance and weight was the same. She noticed a piece of paper pinned beneath the quiver, and picked it up. Written neatly on the paper—and in common-tongue, thankfully—was a note.

The fletchers in Rivendell have been accustomed to making arrows that will fit the bows of the Dunedain. They have agreed and told me personally that no pay is needed. Know that the Rangers of the North are always welcomed here.

Yours truly, Elrond, Lord of Rivendell.

Looking down at her quiver, which they had filled with what must have been forty or so arrows, Fheon sighed and muttered to herself, "Save me from the civility of elves."

yep. she definitely does NOT like elves. xDD

feel free to leave a review! ^^

p.s. I And Love And You - The Avett Brothers / go. listen. now.