A.N: I do not own Skyrim, The Hobbit, or any of the characters.
P.S: I would like to thank all whom have read and reviewed. I do plan on eventually taking this into the Lord of the Rings Series.
Chapter 4,
The night was peaceful at first, the soft snores of dwarves mixing with the ambient hum of late-night insects and the occasional call of a distant bird. Elena had drifted into a light sleep, her instincts as sharp as ever, the steady warmth of the campfire providing a soothing backdrop.
But something stirred, a faint sound of movement amidst the stillness. Her ears caught the faint rustle of cloth, the muted shuffle of careful footsteps. Instinctively, her senses sharpened, and she cracked open her eye, careful not to alert whoever was up.
Across the camp, she spotted the source of the disturbance. A small smile tugged at her lips as she recognized the figure creeping among the sleeping dwarves, moving with the exaggerated caution of someone who didn't want to be caught. Bilbo, she thought, amused at his quiet determination.
The hobbit picked his way carefully through the camp, pausing now and then as if to make sure he hadn't accidentally stepped on anyone. His expression was one of nervous resolve, his sharp eyes darting around to ensure he was unseen. Eventually, he arrived at Myrtle, the sturdy brown pony Thorin had grudgingly loaned him for the journey.
Elena watched as Bilbo reached up to stroke the pony's neck, his touch hesitant but gentle. Myrtle let out a soft snort, and Bilbo whispered something soothing to her, his words too faint to carry across the camp. She continued to watch, her silver eye gleaming faintly in the dim light of the dying campfire. Her initial wariness softened into curiosity as she saw Bilbo quietly reach into his pocket and pull out a small apple, its red skin glinting faintly in the moonlight.
The hobbit whispered softly to Myrtle, his words barely audible even in the stillness of the night. "Here you go, girl," he murmured, holding the apple out on his open palm. "You've earned it after carrying me all day, haven't you?"
Myrtle let out a soft, contented snort and stretched her neck toward the treat. Bilbo smiled, his nervous energy fading as the pony took the apple gently from his hand. She crunched it noisily, her ears flicking in satisfaction as Bilbo patted her neck affectionately.
Elena's lips curled into a faint smile at the sight. So, not running away after all, she thought, amused by her earlier assumption. Instead, the hobbit seemed to be forming a bond with the pony, finding comfort in the smallest act of kindness.
He stood there for a moment longer, murmuring softly to Myrtle as she finished the apple. It was a quiet, unassuming moment, but one that spoke volumes about Bilbo's nature. Despite his fears and misgivings about the journey, there was a gentleness to him—a willingness to care, even in the smallest ways.
Elena was on the verge of drifting back to sleep, her body relaxed and her mind at ease after watching Bilbo's quiet moment with Myrtle. But then, it came—a sudden, piercing screech that shattered the stillness of the night. The sound echoed across the valley below them, sharp and otherworldly, sending a chill racing down her spine.
Her silver eye shot wide open, and in an instant, her hand was on the hilt of one of her dual long-swords resting at her side. Her body tensed, every muscle primed for action as her keen senses scanned the darkness beyond the camp.
Bilbo, clutching the sides of his jacket nervously, made his way toward where Fili and Kili were seated on guard, their swords resting across their laps. His wide eyes darted between the two young dwarves, the tension of the night making him more jittery than usual.
"What was that?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly as he referred to the chilling screech that had echoed through the valley.
Kili looked up, his face serious for a moment before a mischievous grin spread across his features. "Orcs," he said, his tone low and ominous, as though he were recounting a ghost story.
"Orcs?" Bilbo repeated, his voice rising an octave as his face paled.
Thorin, resting nearby with his back against a rock, stirred at the mention, his sharp blue eyes opening slightly as he watched the exchange.
"Throat-cutters," Fili added with a dramatic flair, leaning closer to Bilbo. "There'll be dozens of them out there, hiding in the shadows."
"The lone-lands are crawling with them," Kili chimed in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet. No screams. Just…" He paused, making a slashing motion across his throat. "Lots of blood."
Bilbo's eyes widened in horror, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process their words. The color drained from his face, and he clutched at his scarf nervously.
Fili and Kili exchanged a glance before bursting into laughter, clearly delighted by Bilbo's panicked expression. The hobbit looked between them, realizing too late that they were teasing him.
"You're joking?" Bilbo asked, his voice shaking. "That's not funny!"
The boys' laughter, however, was cut short by Thorin's voice, deep and stern. "You think that's funny?" he asked, sitting up fully and fixing the two brothers with a sharp glare. "You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?"
The weight of Thorin's tone silenced the brothers immediately, their grins fading as they straightened in their seats. Kili looked down at his sword, abashed, while Fili rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
Kili glanced at Thorin, his expression chastened. "We didn't mean anything by it," he said softly, the earlier humor gone from his voice.
Thorin's piercing blue eyes bore into him, his voice sharp and unwavering. "No, you didn't. You know nothing of the world."
The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, the camp falling silent. Kili looked down, fidgeting with the hilt of his sword, while Fili shifted uncomfortably beside him.
Balin, seated near the fire, cleared his throat softly. "Don't mind him, laddie," he said, his tone gentler as he looked at Kili and Fili. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate Orcs."
Bilbo, still pale and nervous, edged closer, listening intently as Balin began to speak. The old dwarf's voice grew somber, carrying the gravity of a history steeped in blood and sorrow.
"After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain," Balin began, "King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient Dwarf kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had gotten there first."
Bilbo furrowed his brow. "Who?"
Balin's eyes darkened, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames. "Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs... led by the most vile of all their race: Azog the Defiler. The giant Gundabad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin."
Elena's silver eye narrowed slightly at the mention of Azog, her grip tightening on the hilt of her sword.
Balin continued, his voice growing heavier. "He began by beheading the king." He paused, his tone filled with sorrow as he added, "King Thror."
Bilbo gasped softly, his hand instinctively going to his mouth.
Balin nodded grimly. "Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing, taken prisoner or killed—we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us."
He paused again, his gaze drifting to Thorin. "That is when I saw him. A young Dwarf prince… facing down the Pale Orc himself. Thorin stood alone against this terrible foe. His armor was rent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield."
The dwarves around the campfire sat silently, their eyes fixed on Balin as he spoke. The older dwarf's voice grew steadier, filled with both pride and sorrow. "Azog the Defiler learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken. Our forces rallied and drove the Orcs back. And our enemy… had been defeated."
Bilbo, wide-eyed, leaned forward slightly. "And the Pale Orc?" he asked hesitantly. "What happened to him?"
Thorin, who had been standing silently nearby, turned to the group. His expression was hard, his voice cold as he answered. "He slunk back into the hole whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago."
The finality of his words left no room for argument, and the camp fell silent once more. Even Kili and Fili, usually so lively, seemed subdued by the weight of the tale.
Elena, who had been listening quietly from the edge of the firelight, glanced over at Gandalf. Their eyes met briefly, and in that silent exchange, an unspoken truth passed between them. Both knew the reality that Thorin so desperately believed to be false.
Azog had not died.
The Pale Orc still lived, his hatred for the line of Durin undiminished. If anything, it had likely grown over the years, festering like an unhealed wound. Elena's grip on the hilt of her sword tightened slightly, her silver eye flicking toward Thorin, who stood resolute in his belief that the Defiler was long dead.
If only it were true, she thought grimly, her gaze lingering on the fire. Azog was no myth or memory to her. She had seen his handiwork firsthand—the villages he had razed, the lives he had ended in his relentless pursuit of vengeance. His presence was a shadow over Middle-earth, one that Thorin and his company would soon be forced to face.
Gandalf's expression remained calm, though the subtle furrow of his brow hinted at the weight of the secret he carried. He puffed on his pipe thoughtfully, the smoke curling upward in faint, spiraling patterns. "The past is a heavy burden," he said softly, his words carrying layers of meaning. "But the truth, however painful, always finds its way to the surface."
Elena's lips pressed into a thin line. She knew Gandalf was right, but that didn't make it any easier. For now, it was clear that the wizard wasn't ready to reveal the truth to Thorin. Perhaps he believed it wasn't the right time, or perhaps he feared what the knowledge might do to the already heavy weight the dwarf prince carried.
She exhaled quietly, her voice low as she murmured, "If Azog is still out there—and we both know he is—it won't be long before he finds us. He's relentless, Gandalf."
The wizard nodded slightly, his eyes narrowing as he gazed into the flames. "I fear you're right, Elena," he said gravely. "But there are battles we must fight when the time comes, not before. Let Thorin have his belief, for now. It may give him strength."
Elena frowned but didn't argue. She understood the logic, even if it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Her gaze drifted back to Thorin, his figure silhouetted against the flickering firelight. For all his strength and determination, he was walking into a storm he couldn't yet see.
Azog's not done with you, Thorin, she thought silently. And when that day comes, you'll need more than an oaken shield to face him again.
The crackle of the fire filled the silence as the camp settled back into uneasy rest. Elena remained awake, her senses attuned to the dark shadows beyond the campfire's glow. Somewhere out there, the Pale Orc lurked—and she would be ready when he came.
Three days later found the company on the road again, riding through a relentless downpour. The rain came down in sheets, drenching everyone and everything in its path. The once-dry packs were now damp to the touch, their waterproof linings holding up only to a point. The horses trudged forward, their coats slick with water, hooves squelching through the muddy path.
Elena rode her black stallion near the middle of the group, her hood pulled low to keep the worst of the rain from her face. Sable, unbothered by the weather, trotted alongside, her white fur streaked with rivulets of water. The rain had soaked through even Elena's thick cloak, the chill biting through to her skin. She adjusted her reins with a sigh, glancing ahead to the rest of the group.
"This is miserable!" Bofur shouted over the rain, his hat drooping heavily under the onslaught. He flicked it with a hand, sending a spray of water flying that narrowly missed Ori.
"Watch it, Bofur!" Ori cried, wiping at his face with his already sodden sleeve.
Fili and Kili rode nearby, their usually cheerful expressions replaced by soggy irritation. "My boots are like buckets," Kili grumbled, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle. "I think I've been carrying half the road with me for miles."
As the company rode through the torrential rain, Dori, clearly fed up with the miserable weather, called out to Gandalf. "Here, Mr. Gandalf? Can't you do something about this deluge?"
Gandalf, riding just ahead, didn't bother turning around. "It is raining, Master Dwarf," he replied with a firm but slightly amused tone. "And it will continue to rain until the rain is done! If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard."
Bilbo, huddled under his cloak, perked up slightly at that. "Are there any?" he asked, his curiosity piqued despite the miserable conditions.
"What?" Gandalf asked, glancing back at him briefly.
"Other wizards?" Bilbo clarified, adjusting his grip on Myrtle's reins.
Gandalf nodded, puffing slightly on his dampened pipe. "There are five of us," he explained, his voice carrying over the sound of the rain. "The greatest of our order is Saruman, The White. Then there are the two blue wizards." He paused, a flicker of thought crossing his face. "Do you know, I've quite forgotten their names."
Bilbo frowned, squinting against the rain. "And who is the fifth?"
"Well," Gandalf said, a faint smile tugging at his lips, "that would be Radagast, The Brown."
Bilbo tilted his head, intrigued. "Is he a great wizard, or is he… more like you?"
Gandalf raised an eyebrow at the question, but there was a glimmer of humor in his eyes. "I think he's a very great wizard, in his own way," he said thoughtfully. "He's a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others. He keeps a watchful eye over the vast forestlands to the East, and a good thing too, for always evil will look to find a foothold in this world."
Gandalf paused mid-thought, his gaze drifting momentarily before turning back to glance at Elena, who was riding quietly near the middle of the group. Rain dripped steadily from the edge of her hood, her silver eye glinting faintly as she watched him with a mix of curiosity and caution.
"Though," Gandalf began, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone, "I do know someone who could change the weather." There was a flicker of something almost mischievous in his eyes as he added, "Elena?"
The dwarves, who had been grumbling and shifting in their saddles, immediately perked up, all turning to look at her in unison. Their hopeful, expectant expressions only added to the sudden weight of Gandalf's words.
Elena's posture stiffened, her silver eye narrowing as she shot Gandalf a look that was nothing short of a glare. Of course, she thought dryly, leave it to him to put me at the center of attention. She could feel the collective stares of the dwarves, each one silently willing her to wave a hand and banish the downpour.
"Gandalf," she said, her voice calm but carrying a razor-sharp edge, "I don't suppose you considered asking before volunteering me for this?"
Gandalf gave her an innocent shrug, his expression betraying no remorse. "Well, you're here, aren't you?" he said, as if that were reason enough. "And surely a little favor for our company wouldn't be too much trouble?"
Elena sighed, her grip tightening slightly on her reins as she took a moment to consider. She wasn't one to flaunt her abilities, particularly not for trivial matters, but the rain was miserable, and their morale had clearly taken a hit. She glanced at the dwarves, who looked at her with a mixture of hope and awe, as though she were about to perform a miracle.
Finally, she relented, shaking her head. "Fine," she muttered, pulling her horse to a stop. "But don't expect me to do this every time the weather turns sour."
Elena glanced at the dwarves, her silver eye scanning the group with calm precision. Most of them were fidgeting in their saddles, their ponies shifting nervously under the weight of the heavy rain and their riders' unease. She raised a hand to steady them, her voice low but commanding as she spoke.
"Hold tight to the reins of your mounts," she warned, her tone carrying the weight of someone who expected to be obeyed. "This will be loud, and it may startle them. They've never heard anything like this before."
The dwarves exchanged uneasy glances, their hands tightening on the reins. Bofur adjusted his hat, muttering something under his breath, while Ori looked pale but curious. Fili and Kili leaned forward slightly, their expressions a mix of intrigue and skepticism.
Only Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, and Gandalf sat steady and calm, their expressions unreadable. They had seen Elena's shout before and knew the power it wielded. Even so, the anticipation of what was to come hung heavy in the air.
Elena dismounted gracefully, stepping away from her black stallion. Sable, sensing her intent, sat beside her, amber eyes watchful and calm. Elena raised her face to the sky, her silver eye glinting as she drew a deep breath. For a moment, the rain seemed to pause, the world holding its breath.
Then, with a voice that seemed to shake the heavens, she shouted.
"LOK, VAH, KOOR!"
The words carried immense power, reverberating through the valley with a force that seemed to ripple the air itself. The Thu'um echoed off the hills, rolling across the landscape like thunder. The ground beneath them trembled faintly, and the ponies snorted and reared slightly, though the dwarves held them steady as best they could.
Above them, the storm clouds swirled violently, breaking apart as if driven by an invisible hand. Shafts of golden sunlight pierced through the darkness, bathing the drenched travelers in warmth. The rain ceased abruptly, the only sound remaining the distant dripping of water from the trees.
Steam rose from the earth as the sun dried the soaked ground, creating a mist that lingered briefly before vanishing. The dwarves sat in stunned silence, their wide-eyed stares fixed on Elena. Even Gandalf, who had expected the display, watched her with quiet admiration.
"What in Durin's name was that?" Bofur finally managed, pushing his hat back to stare at the now-clear sky.
Ori's jaw hung open as he turned to Elena. "Did… did you just shout the storm away?"
Kili's voice, low and disbelieving, broke through the murmurs. "That wasn't just a shout," he said, his eyes narrowing in fascination. "That was power."
"It's called a shout," Elena said, mounting her stallion again with practiced ease. Her voice was steady, her tone almost matter-of-fact, as though this were nothing extraordinary. "It's a gift from dragons—an ancient power tied to their language."
The company erupted in murmurs again, the dwarves speaking over each other as they tried to process what she had just said. Kili, always bold, urged his pony closer to hers, his curious gaze fixed on her.
"But how?" he pressed, his tone both fascinated and insistent. "How can someone like you use a dragon's power? You're not a dragon."
Elena turned her head slightly, her silver eye catching his as the corner of her mouth curved into a faint, knowing smile. "No, I'm not a dragon," she agreed. "But I am something close."
The dwarves fell silent at her words, the weight of what she was about to reveal gripping their attention. Even Gandalf, who had remained mostly quiet up to this point, tilted his head slightly, his sharp eyes watching her with interest.
"The Thu'um is not something that can be learned easily," Elena explained, her voice steady and measured. "For most, it takes years—decades, even—of meditation and study. Only those with unparalleled focus and discipline can even begin to comprehend it."
She paused, her gaze shifting toward the horizon, her expression thoughtful. "But for someone like me… it's different."
"Different how?" Kili asked, his brows furrowed.
Elena looked back at him, her silver eye gleaming faintly. "I'm Dovahkiin," she said simply. "Dragonborn. It's a title, a legacy passed down to those who are born with the soul of a dragon in the body of a mortal. I don't just learn the Thu'um—I inherit it."
The words hung heavy in the air, the dwarves exchanging bewildered glances.
"Dragonborn?" Balin asked, his voice filled with both wonder and confusion. "I've never heard of such a thing."
"You wouldn't have," Elena replied gently. "It's rare—so rare that even in my homeland, it's spoken of more as legend than truth. But the power is real. When I slay a dragon, I don't just kill it. I absorb its soul, its essence. That's how I learned to shout—by slaying a dragon and taking its knowledge into myself."
The dwarves stared at her, their expressions ranging from shock to awe. Ori's mouth hung open as he struggled to put words together. "You… you absorb dragon souls?" he stammered. "That's—"
"Impossible?" Elena interrupted, raising a brow. "Unnatural? You wouldn't be the first to think so."
Kili leaned forward again, his eyes wide with curiosity. "What does it feel like?" he asked. "Absorbing a soul?"
Elena hesitated, her gaze softening as she considered how to answer. "It's… overwhelming," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "A rush of power, knowledge, and memory, all at once. It's like hearing a thousand voices speaking in a language you barely understand. And it changes you—every soul you take leaves its mark."
The group fell silent again, the gravity of her words sinking in. Thorin, who had been listening intently, finally spoke. "And how many souls have you taken?"
Elena turned to meet his gaze, her expression unreadable. "Enough to understand the burden," she said simply. "And enough to know it's not a gift to take lightly."
Shaking her head, Elena flicked the remnants of water from her hood before gracefully remounting her black stallion. The horse shifted slightly under her as she settled into the saddle, its glossy coat catching the sunlight that now bathed the group. She tugged her hood back, letting it fall to her shoulders, and ran a hand through her damp hair, allowing the warm rays of the sun to dry the water clinging to her dark locks.
"But now," she said lightly, a faint smile tugging at her lips, "the rain is gone."
"Indeed," Gandalf replied, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. He adjusted his hat, which had miraculously held its shape despite the earlier downpour, and cast a knowing glance in her direction. "You've done a great service for the company, Elena."
She chuckled softly, shaking her head again as her horse began to move forward. "I'm sure they'll remind me of it the next time they need something," she said dryly, her silver eye glinting as she glanced over her shoulder at the dwarves.
The company, still murmuring amongst themselves, were clearly in higher spirits now that the rain had ceased. Bofur tipped his soggy hat back, grinning at her. "Well, you've certainly earned your place at the fire tonight, lass."
"I'll make sure there's an extra serving for you!" Bombur added cheerfully, clearly already thinking of their next meal.
Kili rode up alongside her, his earlier awe tempered with a playful grin. "You've got a way of surprising people, Elena. I'll give you that."
"Surprising, is it?" she replied with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at him. "I thought I was just being practical."
"Practical isn't usually so… loud," Fili teased, riding up on her other side.
Elena laughed softly, shaking her head. "Maybe not in your world, but where I'm from, a little noise gets things done."
"Remind me never to get on your bad side," Kili said, though the grin on his face made it clear he was only half-joking.
The group continued down the now-drying road, their ponies' hooves no longer squelching through thick mud. The warmth of the sun lifted their spirits as much as the end of the storm, and even Thorin seemed to relax slightly, his sharp blue eyes fixed on the road ahead.
Gandalf leaned slightly in his saddle, puffing on his pipe as he rode beside Elena. "It's always refreshing to see how resourceful you can be," he said, his tone thoughtful. "A gift like yours doesn't come often, and it's a rare thing to see it used with such restraint."
Elena gave him a sidelong glance, her expression softening. "Restraint's important, Gandalf. You know that better than most."
The wizard nodded, a faint smile on his face. "That I do," he said. "And I suspect it's something the company is starting to appreciate."
As the group rode on under the brightening sky, their earlier weariness seemed to lift, the promise of fair weather and clear skies adding a sense of optimism to their journey. Elena adjusted her reins, her gaze fixed ahead, the road stretching endlessly before them. For the first time in days, the path seemed just a little easier to traverse, and for now, that was enough.
A.N: Please review and let me know what you think!
