Hermione had become accustomed to the forests surrounding Rivendell in the days since her arrival. The cool shade of the trees, the rustling of leaves in the breeze, and the quiet hum of wildlife had been a strange comfort after the emotional turmoil she had experienced. Each morning, she set out into the woods with determination, searching for ingredients to replicate potion components she knew would be needed for the various healing brews that Elrond had promised to teach her. Her days of isolation and recovery were slowly beginning to shift into a new rhythm, but that didn't mean the shadows of grief weren't still heavy in her heart.
The day after she was finally released from the infirmary, despite Elrond and Arwen's concerns, Hermione had begun working on finding ingredients. The soothing task of searching for natural components grounded her, even if it brought back memories of her days as a student in Hogwarts' greenhouses. Yet, this wasn't the same. Here, in the woods of Rivendell, the plants were far more diverse, their magic richer and wilder.
As Hermione made her way through the underbrush, she glanced down at her arm, where the scar from her earlier injury marred her otherwise fair skin. Elrond had taken great care to heal it properly, working his elvish magic to ensure that the wound would not only close but also fade in time. Although still tender and raw, the scar was no longer at risk of reopening, a small mercy after everything she had endured.
Her focus shifted back to the task at hand as she continued her foraging. She had grown so accustomed to the rhythm of her search that she barely noticed how much the forest around her had changed. The sun, which had been shining brightly when she first set out, seemed to fade as she ventured deeper into the woods. The trees thickened, their trunks growing wider and their branches higher, casting long shadows across the ground. The air grew cooler, and an almost unnatural stillness took over the atmosphere. She couldn't hear the usual birds singing or the faint rustle of small creatures moving in the underbrush. It was as though the forest itself held its breath.
Hermione's sharp eyes, ever alert, picked up the movement of something she recognized in the darkening corner of her vision. She knelt carefully by the roots of a large, ancient tree, a deep feeling of recognition flowing through her as she spotted what appeared to be a variant of arrowroot, though this one had a different, slightly darker hue to its leaves. Her fingers brushed through the foliage, cutting away carefully as she placed the plant in the basket she had borrowed from the kitchens.
Her thoughts were entirely consumed by the task. She worked quickly, the action almost meditative, but something was off. She didn't hear the usual flutter of wings, nor did the air feel as peaceful as it had moments ago. A sense of unease crept into her bones, but before she could react, everything happened in the blink of an eye.
A strong arm shot around her waist, pinning both of her arms to her sides, yanking her up against a large, damp chest. The scent that hit her immediately made her stomach turn—musty, stale, and heavy with something unnatural. She tensed, trying to scream, but the words were choked off by the sharp, cold press of a knife at her throat.
"Such a pretty maid wandering alone in my part of the forest," the wheezing voice rasped into her ear, making Hermione's skin crawl. It was a voice that wasn't human. It was wrong, twisted, and laced with a cruel hunger.
She turned her head just enough to catch a glimpse of her attacker, her heart hammering in her chest. The creature that had her trapped was no elf, no human. It was a sickly greenish color, with a long, hooked nose and bat-like ears that gave it a grotesque appearance. The eyes were the worst part—small, mean, and gleaming with malice beneath heavy lids.
Fear surged through Hermione as she tried to kick out, her legs dangling a few inches off the ground. "Let me go!" she cried, her voice panicked, a futile attempt to break free. She could feel the weight of the knife at her throat, the sharp edge pressing harder against her skin with every second.
"Quiet, little maid," the creature sneered. A gnarled hand ran the blade lightly down the valley between her breasts, the cold metal sending shivers down her spine. The sound of his wheezing breath filled her ears, and then, as though to reinforce his twisted hold over her, his other hand moved, rough and uninvited, palming her chest in a disgusting, forceful grab.
Hermione's heart pounded wildly, a fresh wave of panic washing over her as she shrieked in protest. Her limbs shook with the effort to break free, but the creature's grip was iron-like, his arm around her waist tightening as he began to drag her backward, toward what she could just barely make out as a dark, jagged entrance in the mountain face. A cave.
No. No, no, no. Not like this. Not again. Think, Hermione. Think!Her mind raced, searching for any way to escape, any advantage she could use.
She could feel her wand just out of reach, lying in the basket she had left on the ground. It was too far. She couldn't reach it. But then, her breath caught as she realized something—her left arm was free. She had to act quickly.
With a desperation fueled by survival, she shot her arm up into the air, fingers trembling with fear and focus. She didn't need to say the words aloud. The incantation she needed was ingrained in her memory, thanks to years of training, even in the worst of times. She cast the charm with all the force she could muster, though her heart was racing too fast to keep steady.
Red sparks shot from her fingertips, streaking into the air like a beacon, the same fiery signal Harry had once used in the Triwizard Tournament. The magic burned bright in the forest's darkened air, a clear sign of distress.
Aragorn and Legolas had decided to take the day to hunt in the surrounding forests of Rivendell while they waited for the rest of the Fellowship to arrive. The pair had made a habit of enjoying these moments of camaraderie and peace, even in the midst of the ongoing war. Their bond, forged through countless battles, was something that even the most trying of times couldn't sever.
As they tracked through the thick trees, Aragorn couldn't resist teasing Legolas about his long, unfulfilled betrothal.
"Still holding onto that century-long promise, Legolas?" Aragorn grinned, his voice full of jest.
Legolas shot him an amused, but slightly exasperated look, shaking his head with a soft chuckle. "One hundred years is but a blink in the lifespan of an elf, Aragorn. But it is a long time to wait."
Before Aragorn could respond, a high, piercing scream suddenly echoed through the trees, shattering the calm of the woods. Both men froze, their eyes darting upward toward the sky, where they saw a trail of red sparks shooting up, lighting up the treeline like a beacon.
Legolas's eyes narrowed, and the realization hit him first, his voice low and urgent, "Lady Hermione." His words were laced with fear.
Without another word, the two of them began running, their boots pounding against the forest floor, moving faster than they ever had before. Aragorn cursed under his breath when he realized they had already crossed the border of Rivendell's protected lands. Damn it, we're too far.
But there was no turning back now. The urgency in the air was palpable, and the need to reach Hermione was overwhelming.
Legolas, moving with his usual swiftness, suddenly stopped, reaching down to scoop up a small basket that had been discarded. He pulled Hermione's wand from it, his expression grim as he handed it over.
"She's defenceless," Aragorn muttered, his voice tinged with frustration and fear.
Before Legolas could respond, a sharp, angry voice rang out through the trees, its words filled with venom, "Let me go, you brute!"
Both men exchanged a quick, alarmed glance, their pace quickening as they followed the direction of the sound. The noise of struggle and grunts from a creature grew louder as they neared a cave entrance at the base of the mountainside.
Aragorn's eyes darkened. "Goblins," he snarled, drawing his sword with practised ease. He could feel the weight of battle descending upon them.
They found her in an instant.
Hermione was pinned to the wall of the cave, her shirt torn open, her body pressed against the rough stone as a goblin, twice her size, loomed over her, slobbering with malevolent intent. The sight was enough to make Aragorn's blood boil with rage.
Without hesitation, Legolas nocked an arrow, the string of his bow pulling tight as he aimed with deadly precision. The arrow flew through the air, striking the goblin in the neck with a sickening thud. The creature slumped forward, its weight crashing onto Hermione's small frame. She frantically pushed at the beast, struggling to get free.
Aragorn was there in a heartbeat, leaping forward to yank the goblin's lifeless body off her, throwing it aside like a ragdoll. He reached out to Hermione, his voice soft and soothing despite the turmoil around them. "Are you well?" His eyes scanned her body quickly, searching for any obvious injuries.
Hermione gasped for breath, her hands shaking as she tried to cover herself, but her eyes were wild with fear. Her shirt, already torn, hung loosely around her, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.
Legolas stepped up beside Aragorn, his face a mask of stoic concern. "Gwanûr (brother), we must leave this place now. Or we may have to fight our way out."
Aragorn's gaze lingered on Hermione for a moment, concern evident in his furrowed brow. He leaned closer, speaking gently, "Lady Hermione?" His voice was barely above a whisper, but his question was clear—was she hurt?
She closed her eyes for a moment, trembling from head to toe. "I'm fine," she choked out, her voice raw with emotion as she wrapped her arms tightly around her chest, pulling herself inward.
Aragorn exhaled a long breath, knowing full well she was not fine. But he said nothing as he wrapped his cloak around her shoulders. It was far too large for her, the fabric trailing behind her like a veil, but it offered some protection, some comfort in that moment. Hermione let out a shuddering breath, wrapping the cloak around herself even tighter as if it could shield her from the horrors of what she had just endured.
Legolas, ever the tactician, interrupted their fragile moment with a soft murmur. "Gwanûr, I fear we may have to fight our way out anyway."
The ground trembled as the sound of rushing footsteps grew nearer. Aragorn's grip tightened around his sword, and he quickly grabbed Hermione's hand, pulling her toward the cave entrance. An arrow shot past their heads, and Hermione gasped, panic in her eyes.
"My wand!" she gasped, her voice strained with urgency.
Legolas, moving on her other side, pressed the wand into her hand without a word. She glanced at him with a quick, grateful look, though it was clear that the trauma of the situation had not yet left her.
But she hesitated. Her hand slipped free of Aragorn's, and he called out in a voice full of both frustration and worry, "Hermione, we must go!"
She ignored him, her eyes locked on the approaching goblins. With a fierce determination, she raised her wand, her stance rigid and resolute.
"Hermione—" Aragorn started again, but she cut him off with a shout.
"Bombarda!" The first few goblins were sent flying backwards by the force of the explosion, crashing into the ones behind them.
"Reducto!" Two goblins were torn apart in the blink of an eye.
"Incendio!" Another goblin was consumed in flames, shrieking as it writhed in agony.
Aragorn was momentarily stunned by the force of her magic, watching as her wild hair flew about her face, her eyes fierce with the intensity of her spellcasting. She was beautiful in her wrath.
He moved to her side, sword in hand, ready to defend her against whatever came next. Legolas, ever the expert, fired arrows into the oncoming horde of goblins, his aim unerring.
"Hermione!" Aragorn shouted over the chaos, his voice hoarse with both urgency and concern. "Leave it, let us go!"
She nodded stiffly, though her eyes remained locked on the battle. With a final, resolute movement, she raised her wand one last time, pointing it at the cave ceiling.
"Bombarda Maxima!"
The cave groaned ominously as the ceiling began to crack and collapse. With her hand still in his, Hermione pulled him along, urging him to move faster.
As the cave ceiling crumbled behind them with a deafening crash, dust and debris filled the air. Aragorn turned around to see the entrance completely blocked off, rubble filling the gap and sealing them in.
"Legolas? Gwanûr?" Aragorn called out, his heart pounding in his chest.
From the surrounding trees, Legolas emerged, his normally pristine blond hair now darkened with dust. He gave them a calm nod. "Im barn gwanûr (I am safe, brother)."
Aragorn sighed in relief, though it was short-lived. "Come, we should make our way back," Legolas advised. "It is not safe to linger here."
Aragorn nodded, then turned back to Hermione. She was small in his cloak, her face pale and her hands trembling. He placed a gentle hand on her elbow, careful not to make her feel more uncomfortable than she already did.
"Come, pen tithen (little one)," he murmured softly. "We should be back before nightfall."
She didn't speak, but her body swayed slightly, and Aragorn instinctively supported her, guiding her forward. They walked in silence, the tension still thick in the air, but with each step, Hermione seemed to regain a small fraction of her strength.
After a few minutes, Aragorn broke the silence, his voice soft. "First kills are always the hardest, pen tithen. Are you alright?"
Hermione stopped, pulling her arm free from his grasp. She turned to face him, her eyes burning with a quiet, almost bitter fire. "That was not my first kill," she snapped.
Aragorn stared at her, surprised by the sharpness of her response. She ran her fingers through her hair, which had come loose from its clips during the struggle with the goblin.
"Forgive me, pen tithen," Aragorn said quietly, his voice filled with remorse. "You looked so shaken, I just assumed—"
"Well, you shouldn't," she interrupted, her voice tinged with frustration. She ran her hands through her hair again, and Aragorn found himself wishing, rather foolishly, that he could run his own hands through it. But he pushed the thought aside.
Hermione sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I'm embarrassed," she confessed, her voice wavering as she spoke. "I haven't been caught off guard like that in years. And certainly never defenceless. It brings back memories I do not want to relive."
Legolas, who had moved up beside her, gave her a look full of quiet understanding. "We all have things that we do not wish to recall, Mistress Istari. What I have learned after many years of pride is that we must utilise those around us for support."
"I'm not weak," Hermione muttered, her voice sharp.
"No, you are not," Legolas replied, his tone steady and assuring.
Aragorn nodded in agreement and hesitantly layed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "None of us are weak. But even the strongest among us can use a helping hand from time to time."
As they continued their journey back to Rivendell, the forest seemed eerily quiet in the aftermath of their battle. The only sounds were the crunch of leaves beneath their boots and Hermione's slightly unsteady breathing. Aragorn kept a careful eye on her, his concern growing with every faltering step she took. She was clearly exhausted, both physically and emotionally, though she did her best to hide it.
Legolas walked slightly ahead, his sharp eyes scanning their surroundings for any further threats. Though the danger had passed, neither he nor Aragorn were willing to let their guard down just yet.
Hermione was gripping the edges of Aragorn's cloak tightly around her shoulders, her knuckles white against the dark fabric. The weight of the day's events seemed to be pressing down on her, and Aragorn resisted the urge to ask her, once again, if she was alright. He knew the answer already—she wasn't.
It was Legolas who broke the silence first. "We are not far now." His voice was soft, but firm, meant to reassure. "We should reach the borders of Rivendell within the hour."
Hermione gave a small nod, though she said nothing.
Aragorn sighed, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. He could see the battle still raging inside her. She wasn't just shaken—she was angry. At herself, at the situation, perhaps even at them for having to come to her rescue. He understood that feeling all too well.
They walked in silence for a while longer, the sun beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows between the trees. The golden light flickered through the leaves, painting their path in warm hues, but the atmosphere between them remained tense.
Then, a sudden rustle from the trees ahead made all three of them stop in their tracks.
Aragorn's hand went immediately to his sword, Legolas had already drawn an arrow, and Hermione, despite her exhaustion, had raised her wand.
A moment later, two figures emerged from the foliage, moving with the same lithe grace that Legolas did.
Aragorn exhaled a breath, his posture relaxing slightly.
The newcomers were identical—tall and lean, with dark hair pulled back into elegant warrior's braids. Their elven features were sharp and striking, their piercing grey eyes filled with mirth and curiosity.
"Elrohir. Elladan." Aragorn greeted them with a weary nod, though his voice held warmth.
The twin sons of Elrond grinned in response. Elladan stepped forward first, his sharp gaze sweeping over the group, lingering on Hermione's disheveled appearance and the way she clutched Aragorn's cloak around her. His expression darkened.
"You look worse than usual, Estel," Elladan teased lightly, though his concern was evident. His eyes flickered to Hermione, then to Legolas. "And I do not believe I have ever seen Legolas looking quite so," he paused raising his brows, "dust-covered."
Elrohir, however, was not distracted by their appearance alone. He had already taken a step closer, his gaze locked onto Hermione, noting the slight tremor in her hands and the bruises forming along her wrists where she had struggled against her captor.
"What happened?" Elrohir asked, his usually smooth voice tight with worry.
Hermione stiffened, pulling the cloak tighter around her. She didn't want to talk about it. Not now. Maybe not ever.
Aragorn exchanged a glance with Legolas before answering. "Goblins," he said simply. "They had crossed into Rivendell's borders. We found Hermione just in time."
Elladan swore under his breath in Elvish, his usual easy-going demeanor vanishing in an instant.
Elrohir's expression was unreadable, but when he spoke, his voice was softer, more careful. "Were you hurt, my lady?"
Hermione hesitated, then shook her head. "No. I was… lucky."
The twins exchanged a look but did not press her. Instead, Elladan turned back to Aragorn. "Ada (Father) will not be pleased to hear that goblins have trespassed so close to Rivendell." His voice carried a dangerous edge. "We were patrolling the borders and saw signs of movement but had not yet found the source."
"Well, we found them for you," Legolas said dryly, gesturing back toward the cave. "Or rather, Hermione buried them beneath the mountain."
Elladan's brows lifted slightly in surprise, and his gaze flickered back to Hermione with newfound respect. "Impressive."
Hermione merely offered a small, tired shrug. She didn't feel particularly impressive at the moment.
Elrohir must have sensed this because he stepped forward, offering her a reassuring smile. "Come, let us return home. You look as though you could use a hot meal and some rest."
Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She nodded, allowing herself to relax just slightly.
Aragorn fell into step beside her once more, offering her a quiet sense of support without needing to say anything.
As they walked, the presence of the twins brought some ease to the tense air. Elladan and Elrohir exchanged quips with Legolas, their usual teasing banter returning now that they knew the immediate danger had passed.
And though Hermione remained mostly silent, she found comfort in the sound of their voices.
For the first time since the attack, she allowed herself to believe that she was safe.