Okay, J.R.R Tolkien, and Peter Jackson have all the rights.

So, school has ended. I'll be able to update a bit more now, sorry for the long wait everybody. Here's an action chapter. This chapter has been edited by my lovely beta MissMiaTherese.

This Was Ours

by: iamCAMBRIA

Chapter 4: Whistle of the Elves

The trees danced around, the wind whispering through the leaves and branches. Birds twittered and fluttered in and out of the lush foliage. Two figures stood among the tree—and watched the world around them with interest. Such was the way of elves.

They stood proudly, with statuesque stillness. The two elves were almost identical in appearance save that one had long auburn hair and brilliantly keen violet eyes. The other elf had long, curling waves of blonde locks, and jovial sea-blue eyes. They both held their matching bows, and twin blades hung from their hips. Their clothes were identical—blue green tunics, leggings, and cloaks.

The blonde one cocked her head. "This is a campsite." She said her observations in Sindarin.

The auburn haired one nodded and broke her stillness. With cat-like movements, she crouched down. Her slender fingers brushed up against the ground. She frowned.

"Serafina, this is not a camp of men," she murmured.

Serafina joined her companion and pressed her fingers to the dirt, before lifting them. With graceful movements, she brought her hand to her nose. She gave a sniff.

"This bears the scent of both Dwarf and hobbit, Kiera," she responded in a hushed tone.

"These were not the tracks I expected to find on our hunt, sister," Kiera said as she shifted her quiver of arrows.

"Neither did I," Serafina agreed, standing up to her full height.

"What would a Dwarf and a hobbit be doing traveling together?" the auburn-one wondered. Her voice lilted with curiosity.

"Perhaps it is another occurrence like that of two years ago." Serafina suggested.

Kiera looked at her sister and cocked one of her slender brows. "You refer to the expedition of Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain?"

"The very same."

"Erebor has already been reclaimed; why would more Dwarves and hobbits come through if the battle has been won?"

"A curious question. I hope it has an even more mysterious answer."

Both elves searched the ground for more evidence of the passersby. They worked diligently and swiftly. They were about to stop with little clues when Kiera drew back from the ground with a disgusted grimace.

Serafina's head shot up in alarm. "What? What is it?"

"We need to start tracking the Dwarf and the hobbit," Kiera growled lowly.

"But what of our hunt?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Why do you speak thus?"

Kiera's violet eyes darkened until they were almost black. "We are not the only ones to stumble across their camp."

It was then that Serafina saw what her sister had discovered. She recoiled at the sight, standing up immediately. She fingered the elven blade that rested on her hip eagerly.

"We must leave immediately. We cannot be too far behind the travelers."

Kiera nodded. "We must cut across the northern border of the forest. If the tracks are correct, they are moving towards the East."

"Then let us hope your hunting skills have not deteriorated, dear sister."Serafina said quietly, readying herself.

Kiera grinned smugly. "They never do."

The flaxen haired elf gave a brief chuckle before breaking into a run. They leaped through the trees with the elegance of a pair of deer. They stayed steady paced as the followed the tracks they had found.

Warg tracks.

† † †

"I spy, with my tired eyes, something…green."

Balin groaned with displeasure. "We've been playing this game every day three weeks, lassie! Do you not tire of it?"

Bellissima snorted indignantly. "Since it's the only thing keeping me from falling off this pony from an overdose of boredom—no."

"How does playing this 'spying' game keep you entertained, Miss Bell?" Balin grunted, keeping his eyes straight ahead on their path.

The hobbit chuckled. "I'm surprised you Dwarves have never heard of this game before. Every child, hobbit and human, know of it; it's a simple, fun way of passing the time."

"We Dwarves would have no use of it. Most of us focus on the task at hand." Balin pointed out.

"Oh, dull." Bellissima quipped, turning her head to look forward.

They were quiet. The only sound was that of the ponies plodding along pleasantly and the breeze gently bustling around the two.

Bellissima looked up to her companion, her brow furrowed.

"What is it, lassie?" Balin asked.

The hobbit sighed. "I just realized that—when I last saw the Lonely Mountain—it was in shambles. The city within the mount was ruined and the gold of the king reeked of dragon. Has the mountain changed in these two long years?"

Balin nodded. "Aye. Though much of the mountain has its ruins, Thorin has begun to rebuild it well. Dwarves are hardy, quick workers. Also, even though he is now King under the Mountain, Thorin works among the others if he can. When he's not being a diplomat with Bard and Thrandûil, he's working among the other blacksmiths—building things and tools for the mountain and her people.

"And what effect do we have? Most of the halls shine with slick gray stone, washed of the char left by Smaug. Jewels line the walls and crevices, small candles brighten the halls in glittering light. The gold decorates the ceilings and her nooks, making it seem as though the sun always shines. It is becoming quite the sight to behold."

"Sounds as though…wait." She paused and then cocked her head to the side. "Did you say that Thorin delegates with Bard and Thrandûil?"

Balin chuckled. "Yes, Miss Bell. As an apology, Thorin gave the elven king the star stones he desired and Bard…well…"

"What did he give the bowman?"

Balin looked a bit guilty. "He gave our most beloved stoneback."

"He gave Bard…Thorin gave the Arkenstone back to Bard?" she sputtered, shocked that the Dwarf king would do such a thing.

Balin nodded. "Thorin did not want to succumb to avarice as he and his father once had. The Arkenstone was the worst tempter. The lad figured that the humans needed it more than the Dwarves. Not long after the Arkenstone has given, New Lake Town became a growing port and trading ground. It might not be as rich as Dale once was, but is becoming richer than the old Lake Town. Bard is a good leader."

"I can't believe that Thorin would just give him the Arkenstone." she whispered shivering.

The proud Dwarf looked at her with anger and hate.

"I trusted you! Loved you!" he bellowed furiously. "I gave you my heart and you betrayed me!"

She looked at him pleadingly, her eyes leaking tears. But Thorin offered her no comfort, no sign that he would forgive her actions. He only stood menacingly in front of her, his blue eyes storming with fury and greed.

"You are not yourself Thorin!" she shouted. "The curse of the stone has gone to your head!"

"I am fine," he sneered. "You, ghivashel, are the sick one."

Her lips trembled. "Thorin, I gave Bard the Arkenstone to protect you from the treasure's sickness!"

His large hands closed around her cheeks cupping her face. For a moment, a pained and regretful expression flicked across his facial features. However, it disappeared as quickly as it had come. His voice was low and quiet, but his grip tightened in a painful way.

"You've thrown your lot in with them," he growled. "You are no longer a part of this company."

And his hand slowly crept its way up to the beads in her hair. She shook, trying to back away from the hand. She knew what he would do.

"You are no longer mine."

Bellissima looked weakly at Balin. "He really gave it to the bowman?"

"Aye, lassie." Balin nodded, realizing that the news might've struck a nerve.

The hobbit's jaw clenched, and she stared forward. Her hands gripped the reins tightly—the knuckles turning white. Bellissima was relieved that the King under the Mountain had learned to see past his greed to what was best for everyone; especially with the descendant of Lord Girion. But…the thrice blasted stone had caused her so much pain. Because of it, she and Thorin had almost parted on ill-terms with each other.

Almost.

They had gotten lucky during the battle of the five armies—lucky that Thorin had been killed (almost); lucky that she had needed to say good-bye to him on his deathbed; lucky that the gold sickness had died with the battle; lucky that he had apologized, professed his love, and begged for her to forgive him, which she, of course, did.

Bellissima supposed that they were both blessed with the fact that she had been born a hobbit. Had she been any other race of Middle Earth, she probably would not have accepted Thorin's apology. Hobbits were quick to forgive, even if they had been wronged most grievously, but only if the offender could prove themselves true.

Much like Dwarves, hobbits (for the most part) love only once. They wait their whole life for their perfect mate. She knew Thorin was hers; and he knew that she was his. So seeing the Dwarf prince, on a cot bleeding, bruised, and dying, she had to say yes to his heartfelt apology. She knew he would die, and she wanted him to know that she would love him no matter what; love is unconditional. Who would've known that Thorin's last wish was for her to know that he would always love her—even all the way from the halls of Mahal.

But now that he was alive, and forgetful, was that promise still valid?

Bellissima vaguely heard Balin calling her name. She tilted her head to the side so she could see him and blinked at him owlishly.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

The old Dwarf huffed with a bit of impatience. "I've been callin' you, lassie, for quite some time. If you don' mind me askin', where do you go, Miss Baggins?"

Bellissima gave him a very Tookish smile, knowing full well that she would not tell him her thoughts.

"Just here and there," she answered with a dismissive wave of her hand. "With everything that I've seen, it's enough to keep any hobbit entertained for a lifetime."

Balin frowned. That was not the answer he wanted.

The hobbit's grin widened at the Dwarf's reaction. He was clearly unsatisfied with her reply, but that was all he was going to get out of her on the subject. Bellissima marveled sometimes, now included, at how here Took side would surface at the strangest of times. Silly Took side.

"Come, tell me more of the coming glories of Erebor. I'm curious to know what I will see," she piped up, but kept her eyes on the road.

"And if I don' tell you?" Balin asked innocently.

Bellissima snorted. "Oh yes, very mature Master Dwarf."

"A pleasure, Miss Baggins." He bowed with all the false gravitas of a jester. His pony nickered a bit as he moved.

The hobbit shifted her weight in her seat. Her pony whinnied too at the sudden movements. Bellissima gave Balin and questioning look.

"Do you think they're tired?"

"Or they felt us moving. You still haven't ridden much, have you?"

"You can walk everywhere in the Shire."

"Fair point."

"So," Bellissima prodded, "are you going to tell me or not?"

"Alright, fine, lass," Balin sighed throwing his hands up in defeat. "So, where did I leave off, then?"

"It is quite a sight to behold with all its jewels in the walls and the like," she said with a poor imitation of his voice.

He chuckled, before regaining his 'storyteller's' voice. "Not only is Erebor becoming rich with its looks, but in the people as well. Dwarves from all over have come to live in the mountain. Dain has brought his Dwarves from the Iron Hills, and Dís has brought the Dwarves from the Blue Mountains."

"Who is Dís?" Bellissima asked. "I know Dain is Thorin's cousin, but this Dís person is quite unknown to me?"

Balin couldn't stop the loud bark of a laugh from rising in his throat. "Lady Dís, my dear hobbit, would be your future sister-in-law."

Bellissima's face turned as red as a beet. "A sister? Thorin has a sister?"

"Yes he does. Fíli and Kíli were his nephews after all." Balin pointed out.

"But I presumed that they were a brother's sons!"

"Aye, he had a brother too, but…he died in battle a long time ago."

The hobbit's face fell, and a small part of her wondered how many things about Thorin she had not known.

"What was his name?"

"Frerin."

Bellissima purposely avoided the older Dwarf's gaze. "I never knew."

"It is something Thorin doesn't like to talk about, lassie," Balin said sorrowfully. "If you were not there that day, you wouldn't know. He died with Víli: Fíli's and Kíli's father."

"The battle of Moria," the hobbit whispered.

Balin nodded.

Thorin had told her a little of that battle when he had first spoken of Anzanulbizar. The great Dwarf prince had spoken of the sorrow he had suffered that day. Seeing so many of his kin who he cared for slaughtered mercilessly by the hands of orcs. "Damn blasted orcs." Thorin had cursed them many a time in Khuzdul while he unfolded his tale. Bellissima hadn't minded, though.

"I wish I would've know," she said to Balin quietly. "Maybe I could've helped Thorin with…his sorrow."

"I doubt you would understand his loss," Balin admitted to her. "He probably would've been frustrated with your sympathy."

"I would understand," she whispered.

"Lass—"

"When I was twenty-one years," Bellissima interrupted him, her eyes strictly looking at the road. "There was a horrible, horrible winter. We hobbits, we tend to love the spring, summer, even fall; but the winter season has always been a terrible thing. It is hard to grow, for hardly anything grows in the fields. The most dangerous, though, we called the Fell Winter. That winter we lost all of our crops. Many of us died of starvation, and many froze—and those of us who hadn't suffered those fates were forced to hunker down until it ended.

"Or worse. There were some whose fate was far worse." She shivered. "The Brandywine River had flooded over and then frozen, forming a very sturdy bridge from the forest into Hobbiton. Many things crossed over, including, unfortunately, wolves.

"They poured into our homes like a river unfrozen. They tore apart everything—living and not. Hobbits who had poorly made smials were killed, for the awful, blood-thirsty creatures could easily break in and eat them. Hobbits who dared to venture outside of their homes to search for food were eaten immediately.

"My mother, Belladonna Took, realized that others on Bagshot Row would not survive long without food. She gathered up as much food as she could and raced outside to visit the others. She never came back. My father, Bungo Baggins, was foolish enough to try and go after her. I never saw my parents again after that."

Bellissima sucked in her breath, her heart aching in so many ways. "So, even though my situation might not have been as drastic as war, the loss is the same. I know what it's like to lose the people you love and look up to."

Only then did she dare look at Balin. His eyes were soft and he wore a frown. He reached a gloved hand out to pat her on the shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, lass," he said. "I offer you my condolences."

Bellissima sniffled. "It was a long time ago."

"You and I both know that those scars never go away," Balin replied seriously.

"No, but they do fade. I try not to reopen them."

Balin blinked and looked at her with a bit of admiration. In Bellissima's eyes, Dwarves were stubborn. They seemed to hold grudges longer than most races—but then of course, that had probably been because she once spent most of her time with the one Dwarf that hated everybody.

Not everybody! chirped a little voice in her head.

Oh bugger off, in the end he did. She snapped back.

Not entirely. He did love you in the end.

Bellissima chose to ignore that last statement. She turned to Balin and opened her mouth to speak. But as she did, a horrible, horrible sound came from the Trollshaw Forest behind them.

Howling. Howling that did not come from ordinary wolves.

Her thoughts from before were lost in terror. It was the same terror she had when she was a young girl, a stale, primary fear of being ripped to shreds. The same horror she had felt during the Fell Winter and when she had first seen an orc pack.

"Wargs."

Balin didn't need another prompting. He slapped her pony, sending it hurtling forward along the path. He followed behind her, their horses running as fast as they could. The howls got louder.

Bellissima wanted to shout that they couldn't out run them. There was no chance—wargs always won a long distance race. She couldn't speak, however, much less shout. Her heart was pounding too fast. Her breath was hitched, coming out in small, strangled breaths. Her hands were clammy and sweaty; and she could feel herself shivering. She, Bellissima Baggins, was terrified.

Wargs are not anything you haven't faced, she scolded herself.

The reprimand didn't help to quell her fear. It just surfaced the memories of the creatures. Their huge size and their huge teeth and claws. She remembered the ugly orcs that were the blasted creatures' riders.

Suddenly, the howling stopped. And before she could turn to question Balin, she was violently ripped from her pony. The poor creature crumpled to the ground and Bellissima found her shoulder in the mouth of a warg. She screamed as they hit the ground, the creature shaking her back and forth like a ragdoll. Her hands tried to find Sting but she was shaking, and there was blood. Her blood.

And for some ridiculous, idiotic reason, her mind called out to the one person who probably didn't care.

Thorin! Thorin please—

There was a yell, and suddenly the warg was forced off of her; its teeth dragging through her shoulder. The violent removal of the beast was worse than the bite of the warg.

Balin had driven the creature off with his star tipped mace, slashing at it with precise blows. The hobbit got up slowly and drew Sting, the blade just barely glowing blue. With a shout that was a mix between terror, pain, and anger, she lunged at the creature. Her blade sunk right through the damned beast's skull until it was sword-hilt deep in flesh. The creature fell to the ground with a thud.

There was no orc rider.

"A scout," she gasped, trying to yank the sword free of the creature.

"It is only one, hopefully that means there aren't too many behind it," Balin said, pulling the sword out for her.

She gave him a grateful nod. Her left arm hung limply to the side, dangling uselessly. The Dwarf reached out to touch the injured shoulder. She pulled away.

"I'll be fine for now," she snapped. "What I want to know is what orcs are doing this close to Bree."

"Now is not the time. We have to get somewhere safe, lass," he said.

"Not sure that's possible Balin." Bellissima groaned, looking at her pony. The creature was lying on the ground, as dead as the warg. Claw marks scarred the creatures hind quarters and neck. "We've got one pony, the closest safe haven is Rivendell, and that is still a day's travel away."

"We can't fight an orc pack!" the Dwarf protested.

At that moment, ten wargs crested over the hill. The orc riders atop looked at the two travelers with predatory hunger. Balin tightened his grip on his bladed mace, and Belissima hefted Sting into a defensive position.

Thank you Anthereon, she thought, for insisting that I learn one-handed sword combat.

The older Dwarf pressed his back up against hers so that they could cover each other.

The wargs poured down the hill growling, snapping, and yowling. The orcs were just as rowdy and loud as they raised their bulky weapons and they charged.

Bellissima exhaled as the first orc and warg came to her. The rider brought its huge weapon down upon her head. With a quick flick of her arm, she blocked the blow—but it sent her arm vibrating. Next, she slashed at the warg's nose, upsetting the creature. The orc yelled and brought its mace upon her again. This time, she slashed at it, not exactly pushing the weapon out of the way, but deflecting the blow all the same. She then sent in her own strike at the warg's eyes. The monster howled and bucked, sending the unsuspecting orc flying. The wolf-like beast lunged at her, its eyes bleeding. She thrust at its nose and jaw again. It reared up angrily, that was when she slammed the point of her sword into its chest before quickly drawing it out again.

She had no time to recover, because an orc charged at her. She dodged its first blow before she stuck her blade up its middle, the point protruding from the back. The creature made an odd gurgling sound with a mouth full of blood before it fell to the ground.

The next warg was upon her before she could properly grasp Sting. She fell back as it rammed her. She scuffled about in the dirt, but soon found that the orc rider had jumped from its mount and onto her. They grappled about, her wriggling underneath the creature like a slippery fish. The monster yanked out a jagged knife, and grinned at her.

Her eyes glowed angrily for a second before she reached into her waistcoat pocket and drew out the Ring. The orc howled and fell back in surprise as she disappeared. Bellissima grabbed her opportunity and dived for Sting. She held the weapon in her useful hand and then spun around—swiftly decapitating the orc.

"Here I am," she sneered as she shoved her Ring back into her pocket.

With a scream and a thrill of adrenaline, she lunged at the next warg. It was not the smartest idea, but to give the little hobbit credit, it was a fierce one.

"Lass, look out!" Balin called out.

Before she could prepare herself, an orc can out from behind her and smashed its mace into her backside. She was flung across the ground and landed with a thud. She gasped, her breath refusing to come in or out. Bellissima finally got a hold of it, but by then it was too late. The orc that had hammered her picked her up by her hair and brought her face to face with it. It grinned maliciously before licking its lips. The hobbit quivered.

Suddenly a whistle echoed through the trees. A whistle of a sparrow perhaps…

And then the orc looked surprised before it dropped her and fell to the ground. Bellissima saw that an arrow protruded from the back of its head. Before she could even yelp, a slender set of hands helped her up.

She was brought face to face with a blonde elf with sapphire eyes.

"Peace, little one, we shall help," the female whispered, before nimbly jumping away to shoot at the next warg and orc.

There was another she-elf with her, an auburn haired one. They both danced about the remaining wargs and orcs, shooting them easily. In no time, between the two elves, all the creatures were felled.

Bellissima pursed her lips, biting down a scream of pain. Balin looked plain tired.

The auburn haired elf turned towards them.

"Naug, periannath, you are both far from your homes."

Balin spoke. "That is true, but we are traveling home."

"The periannath lives in the Shire," the blonde elf said. "What business do you have, Dwarf, with a Halfling?"

"I am not half of anything," Bellissima snapped, her body now weakening without the adrenaline.

The blonde gave her a humoured look. "My apologies."

"As much as we should talk about this, the lass is severely hurt." Balin said pointing to Bellissima's shoulder.

The auburn haired elf looked at Bellissima before striding over. She crouched down and gently touch her should where it had been torn.

"It is a deep wound," she said, "but nothing I am not capable of fixing."

She stood up.

"Come," the blonde elf called. "We shall camp further away from this place. There we can heal the periannath."

They began to walk away without a glance back.

Bellissima tiredly walked up to her dead pony and salvaged her travel pack. She looked at Balin, who had grabbed the reins of his pony. Together they followed their two mysterious saviors.

So, that's over. Thank you to BorysBorys, overtherisingstar, Marina Oakenshield, Gingah18, markstn41, This is me, ACreativeHobbit, Moonpie, sauara, Madeline, Beloved Daughter, janet1982, K, and Anime Princess for all reviewing. Ya'll are great! Thanks for being so patient for this chapter. Oh and you probably figured but naug is Dwarf and periannath is hobbit.