I do not own any of the characters or The Hobbit (Just the AU storyline and my OC). Those are the work of the esteemed and brilliant John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, and without his genius, this and many other fanfics would not be in existence.
As always, please review, favorite, and follow -it is really encouraging ?
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It had been a fortnight and a half since the company entered Mirkwood, but it felt like ages upon ages to Bilbo. The forest was dark, damp, and stuffy, the days filled with buzzing flies, and the nights! They had stopped lighting fires at night, save for a very brief time to cook supper, after what seemed like hundreds of pairs of eyes peered at them from the shadows. What they were, the hobbit dared not guess, but their owners always stayed far enough away from the firelight to avoid being revealed. At least the moths didn't bother them so much, but that was hardly a comforting thought.
Everyone's bedrolls lay huddled closely together, swords within reach as they slept uneasily. The hobbit barely noticed the stench emanating from them all; the reek of the decaying forest itself drowning out their putridity. What he wouldn't give for a warm bath, and a proper bed to sleep in at night! He groaned, and turned over, his back drenched with sweat as his curls stuck to his forehead.
"I hate this confounded forest," he muttered into the darkness. A slight rustle sounded next to him.
"I do, too." Cira agreed, her soft-spoken voice quiet so as to avoid disturbing the others. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'll be so relieved to get out this God-forsaken forest." His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"God-forsaken?" he asked. That was yet another phrase of hers that he had never heard of before. He considered himself a very well-educated hobbit, but her strange speech was really beginning to baffle him. She certainly did not speak like the Men of Bree, that he knew for certain.
Where on earth is she from?
"God is another name for Eru," she explained. "Ilúvatar, or whatever you want to call Him. The Creator."
"I see," he replied slowly. "I know who you mean, now." Curiosity finally got the better of him.
"Cira, where are you from?" he asked. To his surprise, he sensed her stiffen, though she wasn't actually touching him. Her uneasiness was almost palpable to him, and he immediately sought to ease her discomfort.
"Forgive me," he apologized, "It's just…your speech is nothing like the Men of Bree. It's very…strange to me." She grew very quiet, and sighed.
"I've…" she began hesitantly. "…lived in many places. We moved a lot when I was growing up…I must have picked up different sayings from different places." Her tone was unusually guarded, but the hobbit decided not to press the matter. He felt bad about making her uncomfortable.
"Ah," he said, trying to be a little more cheerful, despite feeling absolutely miserable. "That makes more sense then." Silence fell, and he turned over on his back and stared up into a night so dark, he couldn't even see his hand in front of his face.
"What I wouldn't give to see the stars again," Cirashala said quietly. He suspected she was looking up at the thick canopy as well. "No matter how bad things get, or how dark it gets, or how miserable you are…it's nice to be able to look at the stars and realize that there's still hope." She sighed, and he detected a hint of sadness in her voice.
"Now I can't even see them at all," she whispered. "This forest sucks." The hobbit didn't need to be told what that meant to know that she was just as miserable as he was.
"At least it won't be too much longer," he said optimistically, though it was more for her benefit than his own. "The forest won't last forever, and then we'll get to the Mountain and get this confounded quest done and over with." Silence fell, and he sighed wearily.
Perhaps if he said it enough times, he'd actually believe it himself.
XXX
Cirashala groaned as someone shook her shoulder. Cracking an eye open, she looked up at Bofur.
"No," she said firmly, too tired and cranky to be polite. "I didn't sleep at all last night." Bofur didn't look like he was any happier about it.
"Get up," he commanded, the usually friendly dwarf surly himself. "Or you'll be left behind." She groaned again.
"Fine," she muttered, sitting up. "But I don't like it." She stumbled to her feet, once again cursing the stiff tunic and the cloth corset that had given her very itchy heat rash. Trying to scratch her intolerable itches discreetly, she began to pack up her bedroll.
"Hey! Stop stepping on my foot!" Turning, she looked at Kili, who was glaring at his brother. Fili glared right back.
"Well, next time, don't put it where I'm stepping!" he retorted, angrily slinging his pack over his shoulder. Thorin stepped between them.
"Enough!" he growled lowly, staring down both of them. He turned his icy gaze toward the rest of the company.
"The rest of you, silence," he commanded firmly. "We must be getting close to the borders of the Woodland Realm by now, and I do not want to hear any unnecessary conversation out of any of you." Glares didn't stop, but the fighting did, to Cirashala's relief. She already had a headache from her sore shoulders, and didn't want it getting any worse.
Training had proven much harder than she thought it would be. They had taken to using heavy sticks to try and keep the noise down as they got further into the forest, much to her relief. She was far less worried about actually striking Fili now, which allowed her to be more offensive than before. The downside was that the stick was heavier than her sword, and her muscles didn't like it at all. She'd been dealing with a constant headache for the past two weeks because of it.
The plus side was that she was getting stronger, which meant that swinging her actual sword would be easier. Fili and Kili were good teachers, and she had no doubt that Thorin, and perhaps Dwalin and Balin, had taught them personally. She was slowly getting better at her archery too, though after a handful of lost arrows, Thorin had told them to cease archery training until they were in a place where she could actually find the arrows that went awry. Cirashala wasn't happy about it, as she liked archery, but she understood the reasoning behind it.
The company set out, and the only reason she joined them is because it meant getting that much closer to getting out of the hot, stuffy forest. Her feet hurt, her arms and legs hurt, her head hurt, and she was grimy and stinky and gross. It seemed like eons since she'd bathed in that hot spring in the copse, and she desperately wanted the opportunity to take a shower, brush her hair and teeth properly, use deodorant, and eat and drink like a normal person again.
The lightness of her pack was worrying her deeply. She knew the company was going to get lost in the woods, and that they would need every last bit of water and food they had before the end. The last thing she wanted to do was starve, and she'd been attempting to ration her food and water accordingly. However, the rigors of training, and the unbearable heat, had led her to eating and drinking more than she should have, and she was now growing very, very worried about what was to come.
It wasn't just the food and water situation that worried her. The eyes in the light of the fire had scared the crap out of her. She had never liked the dark. Oh, she could sleep in pitch-dark if she wanted to, or be in a pitch-dark room if she wanted to…as long as she knew what was there. The fact that she didn't know exactly what possessed those eyes had made her just as afraid of the dark as a three year old who was scared of monsters under the bed. It was yet another reason why she had barely slept since entering the forest.
No spiders had set upon them yet, and deep-down, she knew that the eyes likely belonged to squirrels and other curious, but skittish, forest fauna. But, since the fauna in question had never gone into the firelight, there was no way of knowing for sure, and that's what freaked her out the most. Cirashala had always had an unnatural phobia of spiders, and the mere thought of encountering one the size of a Volkswagen terrified her. Her loyalty to her friends was the only thing that had made her enter this forest to begin with!
And now, she was really beginning to regret it.
XXX
Tauriel stared into the forest shadows, her senses on full alert. Something wasn't right here. There were no birds singing, no squirrels scampering in the treetops. It was quiet…too quiet. She held up her hand, indicating to her patrol to stop.
"Something's not right," she whispered in Silvan Elvish. Turning toward her patrols, she straightened her shoulders. This was her first foray into the woods as a Captain of the Guard, and she was determined to prove that she belonged in that role, despite her young age.
"Gethil, Nairon," she commanded. "Take the trees to the left, and report back. Galmar, Reinar, take the trees to the right. The rest of you, be on your guard."
They stood in a small glade for several minutes, but there was only silence to be heard. One of the other patrols cleared her throat.
"Yes, Mareth?" she asked. The patrol looked at her dubiously.
"Captain, we have reports of spiders coming from the south," she reminded her. "Shouldn't we have all gone ahead, rather than sending only four?" Tauriel shook her head.
"No," she replied firmly. "We scout ahead first, and see what we are facing, and then go forward." Several of the patrols shook their heads.
"That is not the way Captain Daithon does it," one of them muttered. Tauriel's eyes sparked.
"I am not Captain Daithon," she reminded him, her tone one of authority. "And you will do as your Captain says, understood?" The patrol in question reluctantly nodded.
Suddenly, a scream reached their ears. Every single patrol had an arrow to the string before she could even make the order, herself included. The light thud of running footsteps sounded in the boughs above them, and Reinar dropped down in front of them.
"Spiders!" he cried, gasping for breath. "A whole nest of them up ahead! They got Galmar!"
"Where are Gethil and Nairon?" she asked. He pointed toward the north.
"They're trying to trick the spiders into going north," he replied. Spinning her head around, she looked at the troops behind her.
"Go!" she cried. "Gethil, you and Nairon take four others to rescue Galmar! You four, take the ground! The rest of you, take to the trees, and kill the spiders!" Flying up into the trees with practiced ease, she ran on the boughs with the grace of one long-accustomed to doing so.
As soon as the first spider appeared, she let loose her arrow. The foul creature fell to the ground, and another arrow left her string before it even hit the forest floor. Chaos ensued as the elves descended upon the spawn of Shelob, slaying the hideous beasts with practiced skill gleaned from long years of experience. Spider after spider fell, their long legs curling inward as they crushed the foliage below.
Within minutes, it was over. Twenty-two dead spiders littered their beautiful forest, their black blood smelling so foul that Tauriel had to fight the urge to retch.
"Where are Gethil and Nairon?" she asked, looking at those who were left. "Where is Galmar?"
"Captain?" Tauriel turned, and her heart fell in her chest as Nairon carried Galmar's limp body in his arms.
"Forgive us, Captain," he whispered as tears of grief and shame pricked his eyes. "We were too late." She swallowed thickly as she closed her eyes, then opened them and looked at the others.
"How many?" she asked, not wanting to know the answer. The patrols looked around at each other, and she could see their lips moving as they counted who was left.
"Just one," Mareth finally said. "Galmar." Tauriel nodded, feeling like crying herself. Her first command, and she had already killed one of her patrols.
"Gather up the carcasses, and throw them over the border," she commanded, fighting to remain composed. "Junior Captain Gethil, you are in charge of this patrol until I return." He looked at her in confusion.
"Captain?" he asked. "Where are you going?" She looked at him, shame in her features.
"I am going with Nairon to return Galmar to his kin," she stated firmly. "I will return after." Mareth shook her head.
"That's not how—" she began, but Tauriel interrupted her. The young elf walked over to Mareth and looked her dead in the eye.
"I don't give a damn about Captain Daithon," she said angrily. "I am your Captain now, and you will obey my commands, or I will see to it that you are removed from my patrol at once, and all future patrols as well. Is that understood, Mareth?" She stared her down, and Mareth's gaze fell.
"Yes, Captain," she replied. Tauriel looked at the rest of them in turn.
"Does anyone else see fit to question my actions?" she asked. Silence met her, and she turned back toward Nairon.
"Come, Nairon," she commanded. The young Captain knelt and picked up Galmar's weapons. "We must make haste, if we are to return by dawn."
Tauriel knew she may receive a stern talking to from Erestor for leaving her patrol to take Galmar home. But she was the one who got him killed, and she would never be able to live with herself if she did not apologize to his wife and children for taking their husband and father from them.
If this is what being a patrol Captain was like, she wasn't entirely certain she wanted that responsibility.
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Please review, favorite, and follow. I know this story has been running for a very long time, and I know that our house build, my job, my soap and candle business, etc has been filling up my days and occupying my brain, but I really do appreciate you all sticking with the story through all of it ? It will be finished…eventually LOL. I am even writing ahead, since writer's block has struck many times within the forest itself (how do you give life to a dead forest?), so hopefully, when the story gets to that point, updates will come faster ?
Thank you for being such loyal readers! You are a huge blessing to me! ? Don't forget to check out my historical 19th century America novel, Amazing Grace, on Amazon! Search my name, Amanda Longpre', to find it!
Happy reading!