A.N
P.S: I know that the timeline might be a bit wonky but I am using one that I found. So please don't judge me for that.
Chapter 3,
As the room settled from the whirlwind of decisions and discussions, Gandalf rose from his chair, his tall frame moving gracefully despite the weight of the unconscious hobbit in his arms. "I'll take him to the sitting room," he said matter-of-factly, cradling Bilbo with surprising care as he left the dining room.
Elena chuckled softly, shaking her head at the sight. The poor hobbit was clearly in over his head, but there was something endearing about his honest reactions to the madness swirling around him. Still smiling, she pushed away from the wall and made her way to the front door.
This is sure to be an adventure, she thought, the wry humor in her mind softening into a quieter resolve. Shaking her head lightly, she stepped out into the cool night air. The quiet enveloped her immediately, a stark contrast to the lively din inside Bag End.
Hobbit homes were extraordinarily sturdy, their low, round shapes blending seamlessly into the hills around them. Elena ran her hand lightly along the edge of the front door frame, feeling the solid craftsmanship beneath her fingers. With practiced ease, she found footholds in the uneven earth and climbed up onto the grassy roof, her movements silent and deliberate. She settled herself on the soft turf, leaning back against the gentle curve of the chimney as she tilted her head to the sky.
The crescent moon hung above her, silver and serene, its pale light casting a gentle glow over the rolling hills of Hobbiton. Her silver eye glimmered faintly in the moonlight as she gazed upward, her thoughts drifting like the clouds that lazily crossed the sky.
'I can't believe so much has happened since I arrived in Middle-earth so long ago,' Elena thought, her silver eye tracing the path of the crescent moon above. The cool night breeze ruffled her hair as she leaned back against the chimney, the soft grass beneath her cushioning the weight of her memories.
The curse—or blessing—of her dragon soul and wolven blood was immortality of a kind. She was not invincible; injuries and mortal wounds could still claim her, but time itself had little hold over her. She had stopped aging long ago, her body frozen in its prime by the ancient power coursing through her veins.
At first, the realization of her longevity had been a wonder, a gift. But as the years stretched into centuries, that wonder faded, replaced by a bittersweet understanding of what it meant to endure while others withered and passed. She had stopped counting after the first few centuries, but by her best estimation, she had been in this land since around TA 1200.
Elena sighed softly, her gaze still fixed on the crescent moon as memories of her past washed over her. The quiet hills of Hobbiton seemed worlds away from the chaos and bloodshed of the life she had left behind. She hadn't come to Middle-earth by choice—her arrival here had been the result of an ambush, a desperate act of vengeance orchestrated by her enemies.
The Thalmor.
The name still sent a shiver of anger down her spine. The High Elf supremacists had loathed her very existence, viewing her as an affront to their twisted ideals of purity. She had disrupted their plans and exposed their manipulations, unmasking their role in Skyrim's turmoil. Her actions had united Ulfric Stormcloak and Elisif the Fair, two leaders whose rivalry the Thalmor had carefully stoked to keep the region divided.
By proving that the Thalmor had orchestrated the death of High King Torygg and revealing that Ulfric's actions had been born of duty rather than ambition, she had shattered their control. The war had ended, and for a time, there had been peace—a fragile, tenuous peace, but peace nonetheless.
She had allowed herself to hope that her work was done, that she could finally return home to a life of quiet. But as she made her way back, the Thalmor had struck. Their ambush had been ruthless, swift, and meticulously planned. She still remembered the sting of the dagger slipping between her ribs, the sudden weakness that flooded her body as the paralysis poison took hold. Unable to move, she had watched helplessly as they chanted, their voices rising in a dark, unholy ritual.
They had used an Elder Scroll of Time—a powerful artifact capable of bending the very fabric of reality. The cost of wielding such a thing was great, and the Thalmor had willingly sacrificed their own lives to power the spell. She had felt the surge of raw energy envelop her, tearing her from her world and hurling her into the unknown.
When she awoke, she had found herself here, in Middle-earth, with no way back.
Elena sighed again, rubbing her temple as the memories faded. The wound from that dagger had long since healed, but the scars it left on her soul lingered. The loss of everything she had known—her home, her friends, her purpose—had been overwhelming. Yet, over the centuries, she had rebuilt her life in this strange and beautiful land. Middle-earth had become her refuge, its people and stories weaving themselves into the fabric of her existence.
Now, sitting atop this sturdy hobbit home, surrounded by the rolling hills of the Shire, she couldn't help but feel a quiet sense of gratitude. Life had a way of surprising her, even after all she had endured. Perhaps this adventure with Thorin and his company will bring purpose once more, she thought. Perhaps this, too, is where I am meant to be.
Her silver eye lingered on the moon, its pale light a reminder that even in darkness, there was beauty to be found.
Elena sighed softly, letting the cool night breeze caress her face as her thoughts drifted. She knew there was no point in hoping to return to her old world. That chapter of her life had closed the moment she was flung into this one. And truthfully, after all this time, she didn't want to go back. She had found love here, a home, and a sense of belonging in Middle-earth that had eluded her even before the Thalmor had torn her old life apart. Besides, if she did return, there was no telling what state her world would be in after so many centuries.
Just as she was about to close her eyes and let herself drift into the peaceful stillness of the night, there was a soft thud beside her. She glanced over, her silver eye catching the faint glint of moonlight on dark armor. Thorin sat down next to her, his movements deliberate yet uncharacteristically quiet. His blue eyes, sharp and intense, met hers as he studied her carefully.
"I figured you'd be out here," he said, his deep voice low and calm, carrying a hint of familiarity. "You always did love the stars."
A small smile tugged at Elena's lips, a mix of amusement and warmth. "And you always knew where to find me," she replied, her voice equally soft. "Some things never change, do they?"
Thorin didn't answer immediately, his gaze drifting upward to the crescent moon and the countless stars scattered across the velvet sky. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, his expression both contemplative and wistful. "No," he said at last, his voice quieter now. "Some things don't."
Elena shifted slightly, turning so she could watch him more closely. The firelight from the hobbit home below cast faint, flickering shadows across his face, softening the sharp lines and revealing the weariness in his features. This was not the proud, untouchable Thorin Oakenshield she remembered from their days in Erebor—this was a leader bearing the weight of countless losses, a man fighting to reclaim not just his homeland but a sense of purpose for his people.
"You should rest," Elena said gently, tilting her head toward him. "Tomorrow will come quickly, and you'll need your strength."
Thorin's lips twitched into a faint smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Rest is a luxury I can ill afford," he replied, shaking his head slightly. "Not with so much at stake."
"And yet," she countered, her tone firm but kind, "even the strongest of kings must sleep, Thorin. You won't serve your people well if you run yourself into the ground."
He glanced at her, his blue eyes narrowing slightly, though there was no anger in his gaze. If anything, her words seemed to amuse him. "You've always had a way of speaking truth, even when it's the last thing I want to hear," he said with a faint chuckle.
"I consider it a gift," she replied, smirking.
They fell into a companionable silence, the sounds of the night filling the air around them. After a moment, Thorin spoke again, his voice thoughtful. "It's strange," he said. "Sitting here now, under the stars… it feels like the old days, before everything fell apart."
Elena nodded, her expression softening. "It does," she agreed. "But those days are gone, Thorin. We can't bring them back. All we can do is fight for what lies ahead."
Thorin turned to her, his gaze steady. "And will you fight with us, Elena? Truly?"
She met his eyes, her silver one gleaming in the moonlight. "Always," she said simply. "You've never had to doubt that."
Thorin held her gaze for a moment longer, then nodded, a small but genuine smile breaking through the weariness on his face. "Thank you," he said quietly.
Elena smiled back, leaning her head against the chimney as her gaze returned to the stars. For now, in this moment of quiet camaraderie, the weight of the world seemed just a little lighter.
At some point, Thorin had risen and bid her goodnight, his deep voice carrying a note of gratitude before he disappeared back inside Bag End to get some rest. Elena watched him go, a faint smile lingering on her lips as the door clicked shut behind him. Once again, she was alone with the stars.
The quiet wrapped around her like a familiar cloak, the cool night air refreshing against her skin. She shifted slightly on the grassy roof, her silver eye drifting back to the crescent moon hanging above. This was where she felt most at peace—beneath the endless expanse of the night sky. She preferred it to any ceiling when she wasn't at home in Valenwood, nestled in the arms of the forest she shared with Thranduil.
Her thoughts turned to him, and her smile softened. Thranduil—her husband, her partner, her anchor. The centuries they had spent together had not dulled her love for him, though their time under one roof had become increasingly rare. Ruling the Woodland Realm came with demands that pulled him away, and Elena's own path often kept her far from home.
And then there was Ayla.
Elena's heart warmed at the thought of their daughter. Ayla had grown into a skilled warrior, fierce and independent, with a curiosity for the world that often took her far from Valenwood's borders. She had Thranduil's sharp mind and Elena's restless spirit—a combination that made her a force to be reckoned with. Ayla was always seeking adventure, eager to prove herself in ways that reminded Elena so much of her own younger years.
But no matter how proud she was of Ayla's strength and courage, Elena couldn't help but miss the rare nights when they were all together. Those quiet evenings, when she, Thranduil, Legolas, and Ayla would sit by the fire, talking and laughing as a family, were treasures she held close to her heart. Legolas and Ayla, though not siblings by blood, shared a bond as strong as any. They often sparred, their friendly rivalry filling the halls with laughter and the clash of steel.
Those nights felt like a dream now, a memory she clung to in the solitude of her journeys. The demands of their lives had scattered them, but the love they shared remained unshaken. Still, she missed the way Ayla would curl up beside her, asking for stories of her mother's adventures, or how Thranduil would sit silently at her side, his mere presence a comfort. Even Legolas, with his quiet grace, had a way of making the halls feel full and alive.
Elena sighed, tilting her head back to gaze at the stars. She had chosen this life, chosen to walk a path that often pulled her away from home. And though she never regretted her choices, the ache of longing was something she carried with her always.
The stars above twinkled as if offering her solace, their light eternal and steady. Perhaps, she thought, it is enough to know that they are all out there, each following their own path beneath this same sky.
For now, she would rest under these stars, as she always did when the comforts of home were far away. It wasn't Valenwood, but it was enough.
The night passed quickly, the cool air and soft sounds of the Shire lulling Elena into a peaceful rest under the stars. But her sharp senses stirred her awake as the faint creak of the door below her broke the stillness of the early morning. Her silver eye flicked open, her body instantly alert.
With practiced ease, she slid down the grassy roof, landing lightly on the soft earth just beside Gandalf, who stood at the doorway, his staff in hand. The faint light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, casting a golden hue across the hills.
"Are we leaving?" she asked, her voice quiet but steady.
Gandalf turned to her, his expression calm yet thoughtful as he nodded. "It's time."
Elena glanced at him, her silver eye narrowing slightly. "Is Bilbo coming?"
The wizard shrugged, his tone laced with a hint of mischief as he replied, "That remains to be seen."
She tilted her head, studying him for a moment before shaking her own. "You all made a wager, didn't you?" she said, her voice tinged with amused disbelief.
Gandalf's lips curled into a faint smile, his eyes twinkling as he let out a low chuckle. "It would seem some of our companions are not entirely convinced of Mr. Baggins' resolve."
Elena sighed, crossing her arms. "You're meddling again," she accused lightly, though her tone carried no malice. "You're setting him up to prove them wrong."
Gandalf gave a slight shrug, his smile widening. "Perhaps," he admitted, his voice carrying that familiar note of enigmatic certainty. "But the best lessons are often learned through action, don't you think?"
Elena shook her head again, though she couldn't help the faint smile tugging at her lips. "You're incorrigible, Gandalf."
The wizard chuckled softly, tapping his staff lightly on the ground. "Come, Elena. Let us see how this morning unfolds. I have a feeling it will be… enlightening."
She nodded, falling into step beside him as they moved toward where the company was beginning to gather near the road. The first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon, casting a warm glow on the waiting group. The dwarves, still yawning and stretching, began readying themselves for the journey ahead.
As the group stepped into the clearing, the first rays of sunlight filtered through the trees, casting a golden glow over the scene. The dwarves' ponies were tethered near the edge, some grazing lazily while others shifted restlessly. Gandalf's horse, a majestic brown steed with a thick mane, stood calmly beside a strikingly different pair of mounts.
Elena's horse, a pure black stallion with a sleek coat that gleamed in the soft light, stood tall and proud, its intelligent eyes scanning the group with quiet vigilance. Beside it stood an entirely different creature: a massive white warg, its fur shimmering like freshly fallen snow. The stark contrast between the two beasts was striking, and it was immediately clear that neither belonged to any ordinary stable.
The dwarves stopped in their tracks, their chatter dying instantly as their eyes locked onto the warg. Its amber gaze turned toward them, sharp and unblinking, and several of the dwarves instinctively reached for their weapons. Even the ponies seemed uneasy, stamping their hooves and tugging at their reins as the warg took a single step forward.
But the tension broke in an instant when the warg suddenly perked up, its ears twitching as it spotted Elena. With a low, rumbling sound of joy, the creature bounded toward her, its massive paws silent on the forest floor despite its size.
"Elena, look out!" Fili called, stepping forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
But Elena raised a hand to stop him, her expression calm. "It's fine," she said softly, a small smile playing at her lips.
The white warg reached her in moments, skidding to a halt just before her and lowering its massive head. Elena chuckled as the creature nuzzled against her shoulder, its warm breath ruffling her hair. When it began licking her face affectionately, she laughed outright, stroking the warg's head and scratching behind its ears.
"Hello, Sable," she said warmly, her tone filled with fondness. "Miss me?"
Sable let out a deep, contented rumble in response, her tail wagging gently as she leaned into Elena's touch. The scene was so unexpectedly tender that the dwarves could do nothing but stare.
"By Durin's beard," Balin muttered, his eyes wide. "That's a warg. A pure white warg."
"I thought they were bloodthirsty monsters," Ori said, clutching his pack as though it might shield him. "Not… pets."
"Companion," Elena corrected without looking up, her tone gentle but firm. "Sable's not a monster, and she's not a pet. She's family."
Dwalin frowned, his hand still resting on the haft of his axe. "Family or not, lass, that thing could take your head off in one bite."
Elena turned to him, her silver eye gleaming. "She wouldn't," she said simply. "She knows the difference between friend and foe."
As if to prove her point, Sable turned her attention toward the group of dwarves, her amber eyes scanning them with calm curiosity. Though she didn't move toward them, the power and intelligence in her gaze were unmistakable. She let out a low rumble—not a growl, but a sound that carried a strange warmth, almost as if she were greeting them.
"She's magnificent," Kili said, stepping forward cautiously, his earlier wariness replaced by awe. "You tamed her?"
Elena smiled faintly. "Not tamed," she corrected. "I rescued her. She was injured and abandoned, left for dead by her former captors. It took time, but we built trust. Now she chooses to stay by my side."
"Why white?" Fili asked, his curiosity piqued. "I thought all wargs were black or brown."
"Not all," Gandalf interjected, his voice thoughtful as he approached. "White wargs are exceedingly rare, a sign of great strength and intelligence. It's no wonder Sable caught Azog's attention."
At the mention of Azog, Thorin's expression darkened. "Azog?" he growled. "She belonged to him?"
Elena nodded. "Once. But not anymore."
Gandalf's horse neighed softly, drawing attention away from the exchange. The brown steed stood near Elena's black stallion, which pawed the ground impatiently, its dark coat gleaming. Sable trotted back to them, brushing against the black horse with a familiarity that spoke of a long-standing bond.
"Quite the trio," Gandalf remarked, his tone light as he glanced at Elena. "We are fortunate to have such companions."
Elena smiled, mounting her horse with practiced ease. Sable stood at her side, her head held high and her amber eyes gleaming. "We're ready," Elena said, her voice steady as she looked at the group. "Let's not keep the road waiting."
The dwarves hesitated briefly, casting one last glance at the white warg before mounting their ponies. As they began to move, Sable walked beside Elena's horse, her powerful frame cutting an imposing figure. For all their earlier doubts, none of the dwarves could deny the comfort of having such a fearsome creature on their side.
Bilbo hurriedly ran up to the group, holding the parchment contract out in front of him as if it were a lifeline. "I've signed it!" he said breathlessly, his cheeks flushed from his sprint. "Here, take it."
He approached Balin, who was perched on his pony near the middle of the group. The older dwarf looked down at the hobbit, his bushy eyebrows raised in surprise. Bilbo extended the contract, his hand trembling slightly as he struggled to catch his breath.
Balin leaned forward, accepting the parchment with a small, approving smile. "Welcome to the company, Master Baggins," he said warmly, his voice carrying a note of genuine respect. He rolled the contract carefully and tucked it away before glancing at Thorin.
The dwarf leader, who had been observing the exchange from atop his own mount, gave a slight nod. "Give him a pony," Thorin ordered curtly, his tone leaving no room for debate.
Fili and Kili, ever eager to assist, exchanged grins before riding up beside Bilbo. Kili leaned over, extending a hand toward the hobbit. "Come on, Master Baggins," he said, his voice teasing but friendly. "Time to get you properly outfitted for the road."
"What? Wait!" Bilbo protested, backing up slightly. "I—I'm perfectly fine walking—"
"Nonsense!" Fili interjected, sliding smoothly off his pony and grabbing Bilbo by the arm. "You'll never keep up on foot."
Before Bilbo could argue further, the brothers had him firmly in their grasp. With coordinated ease, they guided him to a sturdy brown pony tethered nearby. Kili grinned as he took the reins while Fili helped hoist the flustered hobbit up into the saddle.
"There you go," Fili said, patting Bilbo on the back as the hobbit wobbled unsteadily. "Nice and cozy."
"I—I don't think this is a good idea," Bilbo stammered, gripping the saddle horn tightly.
"You'll be fine," Kili said, laughing as he climbed back onto his own pony. "You're a natural already."
The rest of the company chuckled or murmured their approval as they watched the scene unfold. Even Gandalf, riding ahead on his brown horse, turned slightly in his saddle to give Bilbo an encouraging nod.
Thorin's gaze lingered on the hobbit for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Keep up," he said simply before urging his pony forward, signaling the company to move.
As the group began to ride again, Elena glanced back at Bilbo, who was still clutching the reins with white-knuckled determination. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she turned her attention back to the path ahead. This is going to be interesting, she thought, shaking her head slightly.
Sable, padding beside her black stallion, let out a low rumble of contentment as the journey truly began. The company rode on, the road stretching out before them, with the Shire fading into the distance behind.
The company continued their journey, the rolling green hills of the Shire slowly giving way to rugged terrain as the day wore on. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine as they ascended a rocky path winding along the side of a hill. The ponies' hooves clattered against the uneven ground, their riders chatting idly to pass the time.
"So, how many dragons do you think Smaug really is?" Bofur asked with a grin, his voice carrying over the sound of their march.
"What sort of question is that?" Dwalin grumbled, glancing at him with a raised brow. "Smaug's one dragon, you daft fool."
Bofur shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. "Well, he's so big he might as well count for three or four, eh?"
Ori, who had been writing furiously in his journal, looked up, his expression thoughtful. "Do you think he breathes fire constantly, or only when he's angry?"
"Does it matter?" Fili cut in, laughing. "Either way, you're ash before you know it."
"Aye, furnace with wings," Kili added, nudging his brother. "Not much to debate there."
Bilbo, riding somewhat awkwardly near the middle of the group, frowned at the exchange, his knuckles still white as he clutched the reins of his brown pony. "Could we not talk about fire-breathing dragons, please?" he muttered, his voice wavering. "It's… unsettling."
"Oh, come now, Master Baggins," Bofur said, twisting in his saddle to grin at him. "Best to prepare yourself now, don't you think?"
"Prepare myself for what? Being incinerated?" Bilbo shot back, his voice climbing an octave. "I'd rather not think about it, if it's all the same to you!"
The group laughed, their spirits buoyed by the hobbit's flustered response. Gandalf, riding near the front, glanced back with a faint smile. "Relax, Bilbo. You'll have plenty of time to worry when we get closer to the mountain."
"Very reassuring," Bilbo muttered under his breath, eliciting another round of chuckles.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, the landscape took on a golden hue, the shadows growing longer along the rocky path. The air grew cooler, and Thorin, who had been leading in silence, raised a hand to signal a halt.
"We'll make camp here," he announced, his deep voice carrying authority. "The sun's setting, and the terrain ahead isn't safe to cross in the dark."
The dwarves dismounted, stretching and groaning after a long day of riding. Gandalf tethered his horse to a nearby tree, while Elena slid gracefully off her black stallion, her movements fluid and practiced. Sable padded beside her, sitting alertly at her side as the company began setting up camp.
"Balin, Dwalin," Thorin called, gesturing toward a rocky outcrop that provided some shelter from the wind. "Help me assess the area."
The two nodded, following him to inspect their surroundings. Meanwhile, Fili and Kili began gathering kindling for a fire, their voices carrying as they bantered back and forth. Bofur, Bombur, and Ori worked on unpacking supplies, while Dori set about arranging the sleeping spaces.
Elena tied her horse near Gandalf's, giving Sable an affectionate pat on the head before walking toward the group. She spotted Bilbo struggling to untie his saddlebag and stepped over to help, her silver eye glinting in the fading light.
"Here," she said, her tone kind as she loosened the knot with ease. "You'll get the hang of it soon enough."
"Thank you," Bilbo said, his cheeks coloring slightly. "I'm not… very good at this sort of thing."
"You're learning," she replied with a small smile. "That's all that matters."
The smell of Bombur's cooking filled the air as the campfire crackled warmly, casting flickering shadows across the rocky outcrop. The stout dwarf stirred the pot of stew with practiced ease, occasionally humming to himself as the others sat nearby, the chatter and laughter winding down as the promise of a warm meal took precedence.
When the stew was ready, Bombur dished it out into wooden bowls, accompanied by little chunks of crusty bread pulled from their provisions. The company eagerly gathered around, their earlier fatigue forgotten as they accepted the simple but hearty fare.
"Eat up," Bombur said cheerfully, handing a bowl to Fili with a grin. "Plenty to go around."
Elena waited her turn, stepping forward to accept her bowl with a quiet nod of thanks. She took only the stew, politely declining the bread with a shake of her head.
"Not hungry for bread?" Bombur asked, tilting his head slightly.
"Not tonight," Elena replied with a small smile. "You can have mine."
Bombur's face lit up, and he happily added the extra bread to his own portion. "Don't mind if I do!" he said, chuckling as he returned to the pot to serve the next in line.
Bowl in hand, Elena moved away from the bustling group, her gaze scanning for a quiet spot. She settled near the edge of the company, close to where Gandalf sat perched on a smooth rock, his own bowl of stew balanced carefully in one hand as he puffed on his pipe with the other.
She lowered herself to the ground gracefully, the warmth of the fire still within reach but the quiet of the edge more to her liking. The stars above were beginning to shimmer more brightly now, their light unobstructed by the treetops.
Gandalf glanced at her as she sat, his sharp eyes twinkling with their usual mixture of wisdom and curiosity. "Avoiding the crowd, Elena?" he asked lightly, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.
She shrugged, her silver eye catching the firelight as she spooned some of the stew. "I enjoy the quiet," she said simply, her voice calm. "And I think Bilbo needs all the attention he can get right now."
Gandalf chuckled softly, nodding toward the hobbit, who was seated between Fili and Bofur. The two dwarves were teasing him good-naturedly, though Bilbo seemed too focused on eating to pay them much mind. "He'll adapt," Gandalf said, his tone both confident and reassuring. "In time."
Elena hummed in agreement, her gaze drifting back to the horizon. The stew was warm and filling, its savory flavors a welcome comfort after the long day of travel. Sable lay nearby, her white fur gleaming faintly in the firelight as she rested her head on her paws, watching the company with lazy amber eyes.
For a while, neither Elena nor Gandalf spoke, the silence between them companionable. The soft sounds of the company's laughter and chatter carried on the breeze, mingling with the occasional crackle of the fire and the distant call of a night bird. Despite the hardships yet to come, this moment of peace was a reminder of why they all carried on.