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 :D
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Gandalf groaned as pain radiated throughout his entire body. His eyes slowly cracked open, and dismay and defeat settled in his heart as he saw himself suspended in a wrought iron cage dangling high above the ruins of Amon Lanc.
He's returned, he thought to himself over and over again. The Necromancer is indeed none other than Sauron.
He had hoped, nay, prayed that he was wrong. Prayed that the strange symbol on the elven gate was just a coincidence. Prayed that Saruman had been right, and that Sauron could never return without his ring. But seeing the graves in the High Fells of Rhudaur broken open from the inside had sent shudders up and down his spine. Only one had the authority to command the fallen kings of Men. Only one could beckon their wraith-spirits from the darkest, deepest graves of the Dunedain.
The one who had aided in the forging of the nine rings in the first place.
Annatar, he had called himself. Lord of Gifts. He was an emissary of the Valar, sent to teach the elven-smiths of Eregion the wondrous craft of magic rings, rings that would preserve and enrich the kingdoms of Middle-earth, and bring forth the glory of Valinor to the lost shores.
To elves, he promised that they would stop the world from fading. They would bring forth light, they would slow the decay and ravages of time. It would preserve the kingdoms and realms over which their bearers ruled, and restore the beauty of the Elder Days. They would not need Valinor, he said, nor did they need mourn it, for their lands would become as Valinor was. Peaceful, filled with light, and forever alive. The bearers of these rings had the ability to heal the hurts of the earth, the scars of the forests, and the destruction wrought by Morgoth and those evil beings under them, restoring the world to the glory it had been, before the Dark Lord of the Elder Days ruined it.
To Men, he promised them that the magic rings on their fingers would give them the grace, wisdom, and authority to rule over their kingdoms. It would give them the strength and will to govern their subjects, and empower them to fulfill great deeds in their governance and conquests. It would bring about order and peace, not wars, sickness, and strife. For the bearers themselves, perhaps it may even aid in giving them long life. Possibly even immortality, like the elven-kind, as long as they wore them.
To the dwarves, he promised that their rings would make rivers of gold, jewels, and mithril run through their fingers. It would give them the skill to find new veins of treasure effortlessly, and craft these treasures into beautiful jewelry, armor, and weapons, the likes of which Middle-earth had never seen before. It would give them the fortitude, the knowledge, and the skill to hone their crafts, and their craftsmanship would be greater than all the other races of Middle-earth. The bearers of these rings would never lack in riches, for their mines would never run dry.
To each race was promised that which their hearts desired most of all. And the elven-smiths were so struck by the kindness and generosity of this benevolent teacher, and so enamored at the possibility that they could restore that which was lost, and so excited and ambitious to think that they could achieve the greatest craftsmanship to rival that of the great silmarils of Feanor, that they readily accepted his tutelage.
Three rings for the elven kings under the sky. Seven for the dwarf lords in their halls of stone. Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die.
Nineteen rings…and they were, all of them, deceived.
For another ring was made. This Annatar, this Lord of Gifts, was not what he seemed. He crafted, in secret, a master ring, one that would control all the others. Into it, he poured his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life. For this Lord of Gifts was none other than Sauron, Morgoth's second-in-command, and his intentions were not benevolent at all.
The moment he placed his ring upon his finger, all the ringbearers heard the dire words, as clearly as if he'd been standing right next to them.
Three rings for the elven kings under the sky.
Seven for the dwarf lords in their halls of stone.
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die.
One for the Dark Lord on his throne.
In the land of Mordor where the shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all, One ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness, bind them.
In the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie.
Darkness spread over the land. Men were the first to fall, their rings instantly grabbing their hearts, and placing them under the Dark Lord's command. The dwarves found that the desire for gold was greatly increased in their hearts, but by some fortune, they were not swayed to the Dark Lord's evil summons.
But, whether by a strange chance, or some divine fate, the elven rings had never been touched by him. Of all the magic rings that had been created, these were crafted without his aid, and unsullied. Though they were still bound to the fate of the master Ring, he had no power over them, or their bearers. The elven rings were quickly hidden by their bearers, and few knew to whom they belonged. They were not idle, but their bearers were not known.
The wars that followed were brutal, long, and destructive. But, in the end, the Free Peoples had the victory, though it was bought with great pain. Sauron's ring was cut from his finger, his armies defeated, and the One Ring lost shortly thereafter. And Sauron the Deceiver faded from memory, save for those who were alive to witness it. And, of those, they believed him to be gone forever.
Until now.
Gandalf was very careful not to touch, or even look at his left index finger. He was relieved to feel that his ring was still there, though concealed by a very potent magic. Cirdan had given him Narya when he first arrived on the shores of Middle-earth, perceiving in his wisdom that the wizard would have greater need of it in his journeys than himself. It had come in handy many times, not least of which was allowing him to communicate in some measure with the other two elven ringbearers at times from a great distance. But he was very careful not to do so often, and he dare not use it to call for aid now, not when he was so close to Sauron's shadow form.
He silently prayed to Eru that the ring would stay hidden, as would his thoughts on it. If Sauron got his hands on an elven ring, he may be able to discern who the other two bearers were, and that would be ruinous to not only their realms, but all lands that lay to the west of them. For Imladris and LothLorien would be the last defense of the west, should Sauron send forth an army to retrieve them. If they fell, all the passes of the mountains would be open to him, as would a very special young boy in Imladris. That boy was the last of the line of Elendil, and, should Sauron rise again, he would be the only one who could unite the race of Men to defeat him.
He had to protect the child at all costs. Few knew his true lineage, and if Sauron went after them to retrieve the elven rings, there would be no one left to keep him safe.
His thoughts went toward Thorin's company. How were they faring? Were they all right? He now knew that the darkness upon Mirkwood was unnatural, a device of Sauron himself. Even Bilbo had sensed it, which confused the wizard. How would a gentle-hobbit, who had never ventured far beyond the borders of the Shire, know that the forest was strangely sick? That it had a disease upon it? Hobbits were no strangers to forests, and it hardly looked pleasant. But the way Bilbo had said it had given him pause. Now that he knew why the forest was sick, it gave him even more cause for concern.
How would he have known? He thought to himself. He did not say it looked sick. He said it felt sick. How could he have felt it?
He did not know. He felt as though he did not know many things right now. Beorn had suspected something was amiss in the forest, Radagast had brought the wraith-sword to the White Council, but Saruman had assured them that all was well, and that it was a mere relic of an ancient enemy. He needed to send a message to Saruman and the others, informing them of his findings. Informing them…that the enemy had returned.
But how? He dared not use the ring…
Suddenly, a large moth fluttered toward him, and an idea entered his mind. Gwaithir had repaid his debt to them outside of the goblin tunnels, when he'd come with the eagles and rescued them from Azog and the orc-pack. But perhaps this little moth could give him a message? The Lord of Eagles was trustworthy, and would see to it that his message was delivered to Lord Elrond at once. He would not betray his confidence, and Elrond would immediately send out his twin sons to pass the message on to Celeborn and Galadriel, and also to Saruman at Orthanc. The twins were swift riders, and skilled horsemen. The message would be delivered confidentially, and quickly. He caught the moth gently, and fervently whispered the message as quietly as he could, before releasing it.
Whatever happened, he had to keep his elven ring from the clutches of Sauron and his evil servants. Saruman was wise, and skilled, as were Galadriel and Elrond. Together, they may be able to resist the Dark Lord long enough for them to get him, and the ring he bore, safely away from Dol Guldur…and out of Sauron's reach.
He thought again about the company. Cirashala knew who bore the three rings. He still had no idea why Eru would have brought her to Middle-earth, and, with this alarming revelation of the identity of Dol Guldur's current resident, he was now even more worried that she was, at this very moment, in the same forest, albeit hundreds of leagues north, as Sauron himself. He would not be able to protect any of them in his current position.
If Sauron got his hands on her, no matter how valiant she could be, or how loyal she could be, he knew it would only be a matter of time before the knowledge she held was forcibly wrenched from her screaming mouth. No one could withstand torture forever, especially not a frightened young woman who hadn't even been in Middle-earth for a year! The dwarves, valiant as they were, could not defend her against an entire army of orcs, which would surely head north to waylay them, if Sauron had even an inkling of a thought that she existed, and that she knew where the elven rings were. He moaned, and placed his head in his hands.
I am an utter fool! I never should have left them alone.
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Cirashala dropped her load, and unceremoniously plopped onto the ground, completely exhausted, and sore from head to toe. She glanced over where the dwarves were setting Bombur and his cot down on the ground, and couldn't help but notice that they did so none too gently. The rotund dwarf's belly jiggled as he landed hard upon the cobblestone path, but the only reaction they got from him in response was a loud, obnoxious snore.
At least I don't have to carry him, she thought to herself with relief. The young woman glanced at the enormous pile of bedrolls and packs next to her. I just have to carry everything else.
Groans and grumbles sounded throughout the camp as the dwarves who had been carrying him last cracked their necks, rubbed their shoulders, and shot more than a few glares his way.
"How long are we gonna have to keep carrying him?" Nori asked. "He's been asleep for half a fortnight!"
"Aye," Dwalin grumbled, looking very surly himself. "You'd think he'd be getting lighter, since he's not eating anything. But by my beard, I swear he's getting heavier every day!" Ori glanced at her.
"What do you think, Cira?" he asked. "Do you have any idea if he'll wake up soon?" She shrugged…and immediately regretted it as pain shot through her neck.
"How am I supposed to know?" she asked, rubbing her sore neck. She had a really bad headache, and honestly couldn't remember exactly how long he had slept in the book. So it wasn't a lie…she really didn't know the answer to this question.
"Well, you knew he would sleep for days," Bilbo pointed out as he laid out his bedroll. "You seem to know a lot of things, actually." Panic coursed through her as several pair of eyes turned her way, and she dropped her gaze and very deliberately scraped wet leaves off her boot.
"All I said was that the river wouldn't be a very good barrier to intruders if it only caused ten minute naps," she replied, choosing her words very carefully. A thought sparked in her mind, and she looked up at Thorin.
"Are we…intruders?" she asked slowly, worry replacing panic. "Are we actually in, well…someone else's realm?" Thorin and Balin glanced at each other uneasily, and the whole group quieted a bit. She noticed them both drop their hands out of sight, and presumed that they were signing to each other.
"Well," Balin said after a moment, clearly a bit uncomfortable. "Yes…and no." Even Fili and Kili's brows furrowed in confusion.
"What do you mean, yes and no?" Fili asked, his blue eyes glancing warily around their surroundings. Several others were scanning their perimeter as well.
"Well, uh…" Balin began, glancing at Thorin. The dwarf king sighed.
"If his borders are the same as they were before," he explained. "Then…we're neither within them, or outside of them. We're actually…standing on it." Realization dawned in her eyes.
"So, this path is the southern border," she stated. He nodded.
"Now," Balin interjected. "It has been a long, long time since we have journeyed through this forest. It is possible that his borders have shifted since the last time we were here. In which case, well…we could be within them, or outside of them still."
"It doesn't matter if we are or not," Dwalin muttered, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he sat against the trunk of a tall, gray beech. "I'd rather not be seen by their patrols anyway." Thorin nodded.
"Agreed," he stated. "Keep your voices low, your weapons at the ready, and no fire tonight, or any night hereafter, until we're out of this accursed forest. We do not want their scouts to spot us in the dark." Groans sounded through the group.
"You mean, we're gonna have to eat cold beans and cram?" Dori whined. "A hot meal in the evening is the only thing that is still making this Mahal-forsaken forest bearable." Bofur hummed worriedly as he sifted through their food bags.
"Might just be thankful that you have a meal at all," he said, his voice filled with concern. Dori's eyes widened.
"What are you saying?" he asked, his eyes darkening. "We should have plenty of food, especially since your brother isn't eating all of it!" Bofur glared at him.
"What I'm saying is that we're still running low," he snapped. He held up their sack of beans, and it was painfully obvious to the young woman that, despite her attempts at getting the group to ration their food, they were still eating far too much to last the time it was going to take them to find another food source. "This is all the beans that are left. The cram bag is getting mighty empty, too." Nori glared at the sleeping Bombur.
"This is all your brother's fault," he growled. "If he hadn't been so damn clumsy, and hadn't been stuffing his face since we left Beorn's, he wouldn't have slowed us down so much carrying him!" Bofur shot to his feet, as did Nori, and Thorin and Dwalin quickly stepped between them.
"Enough!" Thorin ordered. "This bickering needs to stop. Bofur, since you are preparing the food, you are to halve everyone's rations. From now on, we only eat at dawn, and in the evening, and they will be half-rations each time. Understood?" Protests emanated from the group, and Thorin immediately held up his hand, silencing them.
"Half-rations are better than starving," he added, looking around sternly at the whole company. "I have starved before, and so have several of you. Be thankful we still have food left, and, if we are careful, we might just have enough left to see us through to Laketown. When we get there, we can replenish our supplies, and fill our bellies." Balin nodded in agreement.
"Until then, laddies," he added. His gaze landed on Cira, and he nodded to her. "And lasses. Tighten your belts. We've all known hardship before. We've been hungry many a time, and lived to tell the tale. Some of us more than others." He winked mischievously at the hobbit, who visibly blushed in embarrassment, even as his own stomach growled rather loudly.
"We have survived hunger, and we will again," he continued. "This forest cannot go on forever. We will eventually make it to the other side, and our packs will grow heavier again." A loud snore resounded through the camp.
"And, Mahal willing, he'll awaken soon," the elder dwarf finished, wincing a bit as he rubbed his shoulder. "In the meantime, I suggest you eat slowly, enjoy each bite, and make your supper last. And get some sleep. The faster we walk, the sooner we can get out of this rather…unpleasant forest, and to Laketown." Everyone sighed in resignation, and finished setting out their bedrolls as Bofur dished up supper.
Cira hung back as everyone went to get their supper, and used that opportunity to pick at her nails. They were filthy and dirty and gross, and she did not have any inclination to trim them by biting them off as the others did. Not only did she work very hard as a child to break her biting habit, but she didn't have any extra water to wash her hands properly after visiting the bushes, and the last thing she needed was to make herself ill. She managed to carefully rip the white parts off one hand, when Kili walked over and sat down beside her. He had two bowls half-full of beans, and a single cake of cram, and handed one of them to her.
"Here," he said, smiling slightly. "I thought I'd bring you your supper, before one of the others took it."
"You didn't have to do that," she said, pleasantly surprised. "I could have gotten my own bowl." He quickly glanced around, before slipping some of his ration into her bowl. Eyes wide, she opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off before she could speak.
"Shh," he whispered, glancing around. "Don't tell anyone." She shook her head.
"Kili, I can't," she whispered back. "You need to eat, too!" He shrugged nonchalantly.
"I've gone hungry before," he said, taking a tiny bite of his beans. "The trick, like Balin said, is to eat slowly, and I've found that smaller spoonfuls make it feel like there's more." She shook her head, and tried to dump his rations back into his bowl.
"No," he said firmly, his tone far more serious than before. His gaze met hers, and she saw a fierce protectiveness in the brown orbs that startled her with its intensity. She looked over at Bombur, then back at him.
"You're carrying Bombur," she reminded him. "I'm just carrying provisions. You need—" He cut her off again.
"Cira, I said no," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I will not sit here and watch the woman I…my friend, go hungry." He turned back toward his bowl, leaving the young woman sitting there somewhat speechless.
What was he going to say? She thought to herself, now thoroughly confused. It sounded like he was going to say something else, but changed his mind. She glanced over at him as he ate. He had turned away from her a little, his dark hair concealing his cheeks from her view. But there was a noticeable red tinge to the tips of his ears that hadn't been there before. It couldn't have been sunburn…they'd barely seen the sun since they entered the forest!
A thought entered her mind, and she paused with the spoon halfway to her mouth. Her eyes widened, and the words he had said swam around in her mind like a swarming school of fish.
The woman I…
The woman he…what? Her mind tried to come up with something that made sense, as she tried to solve the riddle. But, though she could usually come up with a hundred different ways to say the same thing, only one ending to that sentence sounded like it actually belonged at the end of it. And yet, it couldn't…
Because the only ending that made sense to her was…the woman I love.
The young woman just about choked on her beans, and began to cough uncontrollably. A hand rapped hard between her shoulder blades, and she managed to recover her bite. Glancing to her left through tears, she saw a blurry, blonde-haired dwarf looking at her with a deep concern in his blue eyes.
"Cira, are you all right?" Fili asked. She blinked in surprise, and looked around. Kili was now speaking with Thorin and Balin, and her brow furrowed in confusion.
What the…when did he get up? Her mind was swirling in confusion, and she could only look at the elder young prince and nod. Judging by the look on his face, he was not convinced.
"Are you certain?" he asked, eyeing her worriedly. His gaze was protective, too, but the intensity was nowhere near what Kili's had been. It was the same protective gaze he had with Kili, the protectiveness of an older brother. She nodded.
"I'm fine," she said, her throat a bit scratchy. "I just swallowed wrong, that's all." He held up his water skin.
"Here," he said, uncorking it. "Drink a little." She was in no position to argue now, and happily accepted it. Taking a long drink, she handed it back to him.
"Thank you," she said gratefully. He nodded, and corked it.
"Of course," he replied. His blue eyes wandered over her face again. "Are you sure you're all right?" She nodded.
"I'm fine," she lied, hoping against hope that he wouldn't see through it. "I just need to catch my breath. That's all." He still didn't look convinced, but he nodded and stood up.
"Finish eating," he ordered, his voice resembling Thorin's in that moment. "If you waste food right now, you will have a fight on your hands!" He winked at her, and smiled, but she knew he was also serious. Now was most definitely not the time to waste food, not with their rations dangerously low.
She looked at the dwindling sack of beans, and shuddered. The closer they got to starving, the closer they got to their encounter with the spiders. She tried desperately to banish the thought of them from her mind, lest she give herself a veritable heart attack in her anxiety. Unfortunately, banishing the spiders from her mind served merely to bring the other issue back to the forefront of it, and she glanced again at Kili in shock.
T-there's no way, she kept thinking to herself. There's no way that Thorin's nephew has feelings for me. I mean…he can be protective, and he's really kind, and sweet, and…b-but…he-he's a dwarf, and I'm not, but…they all think I am…but he said he believed me when I said I wasn't, and…
The rampant thoughts only served to make her massive headache worse. She hadn't even considered the possibility that someone would love her again, not after her husband was killed. He was one-of-a-kind, and he saw her, truly saw her, and accepted her anyway. Loved her anyway. Married her anyway. Despite all her flaws. Despite her looks not exactly being runway model-esque. Despite her nerdiness, her quirks, her eccentricities. Despite her completely geeky love of Middle-earth, which he had actually introduced her to, as her parents would never have allowed it to cross their threshold.
He was the first man who actually gave a damn about her. Who didn't care about her flaws. Who looked beyond the outer mask, and saw the true, loving and passionate heart within. And his own heart was even more beautiful and pure. He had flaws, as did everyone, but the amount of kindness, compassion, empathy, and love he had for others was unparalleled. He had the biggest heart of everyone she had ever met, and he was a precious diamond amongst a sea of coal.
When he died, it was as though a very significant part of her soul died with him. The loss of her husband and her children still grieved her, still hurt…badly. She hadn't had a lot of time to spend actually grieving, having been thrust headlong into Middle-earth right after their funeral, and being forced to fight for survival. She had also felt so strongly that she had to hide it from the company, lest they all view her as weak and fragile, and altogether unsuitable for helping them face a dragon, and reclaim their homeland. She had to help, she had to fight for something…or else she would simply wallow in despair, hide herself away from the world, and her heart would turn to bitterness, cynicism, and resentment at everything and everyone.
That is not what God would want her to do, or to be. Her faith was very, very important to her. She knew that Eru in this world was the same person as God in hers. How else could she have possibly ended up here, if it weren't for a literal Act of God? It would be impossible otherwise! And the God in her world asked her to be kind and loving to others, no matter who they were. Whether they were deserving or not, and she knew that these dwarves, this company, this king, was more than deserving. She never, ever gave blind loyalty to anyone, nor did she dole out respect to all. She would love them, even the least of them, but it did not mean she had to respect them beyond their status as a Child of Eru. It did not mean she had to give her loyalty to anyone, save Eru Himself.
She chose to give her loyalty to Thorin because she knew, had sensed, deep down that he was worthy of it. It did help that she knew who he was from the start, or at least, to some extent, she had known. But now, after traveling with the company for some time, and truly seeing his heart, she knew that, outside of his bout with gold sickness (which she fervently hoped would be averted), he was worthy of her loyalty and friendship.
So she suppressed her grief as best she could, because she could just feel it in her bones that Eru had brought her here to make a difference in this quest somehow. How else would the odds fall that she would find herself in the troll cave right as the company entered it? Why else would He bring her here now, just as the Quest of Erebor was occurring? Was it perhaps to save the lives of Thorin, Fili, and Kili? Was it to ensure that Thorin would take the throne, instead of Dain Ironfoot, who had the gall not to even bother to help with the quest in the first place?
She did not know. But she just felt, right from the start, that she was meant to participate in the quest. So she suppressed her grief, and tried her best to help, in whatever humble way that she could, despite little to no weapons training, a jointly expansive, and limited, knowledge of Middle-earth, and a decidedly noticeable lack of survival skills that were imperative here, like plucking fresh game, or shooting swaying bags of leaves in trees.
But Kili was different. With Kili, she was allowed to grieve. He did not hold it against her. He did not judge her for it, or think her weak for it. He allowed her to grieve, to feel, to mourn the loss of her husband and children. She felt safe to feel with him, just as she had for her husband, and she did not treat such grace lightly. She had come to consider him her best friend in Middle-earth, and for good reason. Because he had a beautiful heart, too, just like her husband had.
But the thought of the young dwarf prince feeling more than friendship toward her knocked her completely off guard, and her brain was running all amok, and causing no small amount of dizziness and nausea at the same time.
I have to be wrong, she thought, rubbing her temples, and taking that moment to discreetly glance toward the young prince, now sprawled out on his bedroll snoring. I have to be. There's no way that Thorin Oakenshield's nephew has a crush on me. There's no way he's in love with me…it's just…it's impossible.
The strangest part of it all is that, while she was trying desperately to convince herself otherwise, a tiny, almost miniscule feeling, buried deeply underneath the anxiety and confusion, was almost…hurt that he did not. That realization hit her like a two ton troll battering ram. Her eyes widened in the dark, and her heartbeat increased as her mouth fell open in shock.
Wait a minute…how is that even possible? She thought to herself. I…m-my husband and children just died…how long has it been? It can't have been more than a few months…I…I can't…do I…no, it's impossible. I'm…I'm just confused, hungry, sore and tired, and my head really hurts.
It was impossible. It had to be. She did not have any feelings for Kili, beyond that of friendship. And he certainly didn't feel anything for her, either. It was impossible…wasn't it?
The young woman barely slept a wink that night…and it was not because of the looming spider threat.
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