Middle-earth, and all who dwell within it, belongs to Tolkien. I am grateful to him for growing this beautiful garden in which our imaginations can play. Please review!
The night was cold and clear. She carried her bow in her hand with an arrow ready on the string. Betta felt at home, alone in the woods. It was not the same home that she had known as a child, the white mountains and flowering fields by the sea; but wild lands and wooded valleys had become her home, and she loved them more than the sweating blacksmith's forges where every surface was painted with black soot and where she had been forced to spend too many afternoons being laughed at by men and dwarves alike.
As she wandered, she had met many woods like this one hidden in the hills of Enedwaith, near the abandoned haven of Lond Daer between Gwathlo and Angren. It seemed a strange thing that nature would put a fair, wooded valley here in the Hills of Evendim and not fill it full of more than squirrels. She smiled to think how proud the dwarves would be when she returned to the camp dragging a deer behind her. It would prove to Kili that her arrows were made well and did not deserve his scorn. Even a rabbit or other small game would be welcome, and then Fili would have to admit that she was not merely an extra burden being dragged behind his pony.
They had only been travelling together for a week, but the dwarves reminded her so much of her own brothers, their stubbornness and their pride, their playfulness and their laughter. Fili and Kili were close and shared a bond of family that reminded her of how much she had lost.
Distracted by her thoughts, Betta was far up the ravine before she noticed the quiet. Certainly the insects and night birds had fallen silent as she approached, but until that moment she had always heard them start up their chatter again after she passed. Now, there was no sound at all. The wind was gone and the trees seemed to be holding their breath.
Betta held her breath as well. She stood still, listening. Above the hills, a thick cloud rolled across the moon and under the trees it became so dark that she could hardly see her hand before her face. The darkness was nothing new to her, but when she heard the soft hiss and felt cold breath against the back of her neck she knew that she had never tasted true fear before.
It landed on her back, knocking her forward and her bow from her hand. That would prove lucky in the end, but in that moment, all she knew was the heavy weight on her back and pain as cold as piercing metal stabbed down into her arm. She did not recognize the harsh, black language that was growled in her ear, but she did not need to understand its speech to know the name of the terror that was upon her in the dark.
She did not scream. In the wild lands, when you travelled alone, a scream could bring more trouble than aid. Instead, she twisted her limbs, snaking her body to one side the way she used to when her brothers would sneak up and tackle her from behind. Like her brothers, the orc was not prepared for it. Its hold on her was broken, and it let go of the knife still stuck in her arm. She flung the creature away.
Betta had her knife in her hand before she knew that she had reached for it. Blind in the dark, she swung her arm until she felt metal cutting flesh, and then she slashed and stabbed, holding off the foul creature as it came at her again and again with cursing squeals of anger. Its face was nearly all in shadow, but the moonlight fell upon its twisted lips and yellow teeth as they snapped above her, seeking a hold on her throat.
She stabbed and felt a stab of pain from the knife in her arm each time until the orc finally retreated. It was small and not used to its prey fighting back with steel. It hissed. She pressed her hands to the ground, planning to push herself to her feet and run, although she had little hope that she could run faster than the long legs of the orc.
As she touched the ground, her hand felt the smooth wood of her father's bow lying in the grass. Her quiver of arrows was still belted around her shoulder, though the belt had twisted and the arrows now hung across her chest. Without thinking, she drew an arrow and prayed that it was not broken. The orc blade in her arm had been cutting her as she moved, widening the wound until its own weight pulled it loose. It fell to the ground as she bent her bow, and she heard it land on a mound of soft earth and leaves with a muffled thud. She felt the blood dripping down her arm too fast and in the sudden silence all that she could hear was her own heart pounding in her chest and the pitter-patter of her blood dripping onto leave like rain. Pain brought tears to her eyes, but she did not need them. Her hand was steady.
The orc screamed, and she aimed for the sound. As she released the arrow, she knew that she had no strength left to shoot again if she missed.
There was a squeal and the crash of branches, the tumbling of stone and then silence. To her right, Betta heard another hiss and the rustling of leaves. She raised her knife but whether it was orc or animal, it had less courage than she did, and it fled into the trees.
Betta stood still, listening to the sound of her blood dripping. It was slower now, and the orcs had gone, but she did not trust that they would not return. She heard shouts from the west, from the camp that she had left unguarded, but there was nothing that she could do for the dwarves that they could not do better themselves. If she ran to them and found them under attack, they would only be forced to defend her as well. She could not help them in a fight. She could not help them at all. She was not used to being responsible for more than her own life.
Feeling sick and light-headed, Betta felt her way in the dark to the northern wall, she found a thicket of brush and pushed through it and felt along the cliff-face until she found a wide, hollow crack in the cold stone. She curled up inside, her body sweating and shaking with pain. She did not know how many orcs there were. If they succeeded in overwhelming the two dwarves, then they would return and sniff her out of her hole.
She closed her eyes and felt the tears slide down her cheeks. The dwarves had been wrong to trust her; she had killed them all.