A/N: Another update for you readers. I know, it's been awhile, but I just felt like getting this out because a nephew of mine gave me a game of his that he found difficult because he didn't understand much of it. Guess what it is! No clue?

Shadow of Mordor

That's right, I got my hands on this baby without having to go to the store to buy it! Woohoo! But my nephew was kinda right to be wary of the damn thing, the controls are a little difficult (but the story, so far, is pretty good). Anyway, back to my story here, I just wanna tell you that there are TRIGGERS that mention violence, death, and rape. Please don't read this if you have issues with these things, no one would think less of you.

Disclaimer: I own nothing written by J.R.R. Tolkien nor do I take credit to Peter Jackson's movies; I only own my original character(s).

"You want to remember that while you're judging the book, the book is also judging you."

— Stephen King, Night Shift

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It began in the darkness.

No Fire, no Light, no end to the black Void that stretched onward. After traversing into the empty endscape for some time with hope of finding what the Creator held dear, it all crumbled into disappointment waiting at the other side of the long journey. The loneliness and impatience that had festered from time spent on the search for the Sacred Fire bloomed into thoughts that did not run accord with the Creator. Thoughts of curiosity which turned to questions... all of which turned to something foreign that the lonesome traveler began to grow a deep intrigue of.

So when the time came that They would begin to Sing, He Sang alone.

The Music He orchestrated was nothing like the Creator and Others have ever heard of. It was a melody all new to Them, a Song that spoke of loneliness, ambition, and an insatiable lust for power. For a time, as it continued on, the Songs that He and the Others played went against each other like oil to water, clashing and desynchronizing rather than intertwining and syncing.

The Creator ended all Songs.

A world was born. Shaped and born, Their Songs created life.

Though His Song was put to a stop, it reverberated onwards through time; even long after He had been cast out by His Creator and the Others, even as He was shut out into the familiar Void, even as he was locked out beyond a Door, His Song echoed on.

The wordless lyrics gave a wave of want and more formed anew a darkness that only He and His Creator knew of. The symphony that came like a whirlwind drew in followers that were caught in its fierce pulls, the drumming rumble that roared like thunder shaking inside as it followed them and their descendants. Growing steadfast in number, all succumbing and drowning in the endless Song, many began to forget the Light, and in time, their Masters.

His Song drove them to finish His Will to destroy all that did not go accordance to His Music.

They were becoming bound into His darkness.

The faces that were once in the image of their Creator morphed into something more cruel when caught in the sway of the volatile Song. Faces of beauty and minds of wisdom dissolved into ugliness and unbounded rage, fangs and claws replacing their lips and fingers. The unblemished skin deformed like rotting corpses or bulging, hulking, hunched creatures from nightmares. The red blood that flowed turned black as the ash that was used to burn away all that was beautiful and cherished by the Creator.

Years of the hate, the festering wrath, the consuming sorrow, and the unveiled envy that bubbled beneath the skins of His followers were brought forth to create a new army that would bend to His Will and Power. This new image became a part of their person that could not be unfastened from them, and their minds were lost to the Music that only could hear from Him, as He intended to.

They killed, butchered, slaughtered, murdered, pillaged, raped, executed, destroyed, burned, and spread their poison across the world that the Creator and Others made with Their Songs.

It began in darkness, bounded them, and would end so.

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I shot up straight.

Nothing but wide meadows as far as the eye could see, the occasional rolling hill, few trees spotted here and there to serve as shade, and the bright sky looming overhead.

My nose, however, told me it wouldn't stay sunny and bright for long. Another day or two, raining would be coming to soak the land and all inhabiting it. I huffed quietly under my breath, not looking forward to having my clothes sag against my skin, giving more weight than I already had to deal with my heavy pack and bedroll.

I either had to find a very dense tree or try my luck on finding a cave.

"Everythin' alrigh' back there?" came a gruff but hesitant voice.

The owner of the cart, transporting goods, supplies, and small livestock that were light enough to fit in, looked over his shoulder as much as his fat neck could allow him to. Giving a wave as a universal signal that all was well, the coachman let out a grunt and returned his eyes on the bumpy dirt road. My keen hearing caught his murmurs of "bothersome travelers" and "suspicious strangers", but I didn't let his words bother me. I've dealt with much worse, not-so-kind words from numerous people across my years and travels, so his mutterings meant nothing to me.

Turning back to the road, I let my legs dangle in the air while leaning on the side of the cart where I had been taking a nap on moments ago. Well, a poor attempt in a nap. Bumps on the road tend to make someone think that something had crashed into the moving cart without warning.

It had been two days since I came across the coachman who was on his way to the North. Tired to the bone, I offered coins in exchange for a chance to rest while still on the move, and the look of his healthy two horses told me that we would be traveling with little stops to eat and do nature business. Looking at the scenery around me, I wave of nostalgia washed over me as I saw some familiar distant mountains and hills and small patches of forests in the distance. It had been too long since I came here, my business in the South keeping me on my toes and hard at work to deal with issues that had long since bothered me.

There was just some opportunities that I couldn't miss when dealing with the South and all of its conflicts. Both on the battlefield and inside the court.

Shaking those thoughts away, I focused back on the tundra terrain. The sight-seeing helped keep my mind at bay from subjects I didn't wish to delve into, but not by much. Looking over my shoulder to see the rotund coachman, I knew that starting a conversation with him wouldn't get far.

For one, the driver was wary of my haggard appearance, the cloak I bore giving off an air of mystery and intimidation (as was the intention to discourage confrontations of parties I deemed mildly threatening). And another, I wasn't much of a chatterbox myself, in fact, I preferred to listen to banters, conversations, and gossip (as most women would) rather than strike up one. Besides, I liked hearing people talk, it made me picture of a dim pub where people gathered together to ramble on with stories of their own lives with the smoke joining their words.

Feeling something nibbling on the back of my layered cloak, I looked down and nearly snorted when I saw an overly curious piglet sniffing at me. While the pigs, chickens, and sheep were kept on separate section of the large cart, the little ones would slip through, much to the coachman's chargin. Wrapping my leather-wrapped fingers around the belly of the diminutive piglet, I gently pulled it up to my lap so that it wouldn't wander dangerously close to the edge and fall out of the cart. Petting its bulbous head to its hind quarters, I was mesmerized by the spots on its pink coat and small squeaks of delight from my attention.

'So trusting,' I thought as I continued to stare down at the piglet, my hand slowly down to a halt on the creature's head.

It was ignorant of the danger, completely oblivious of the weapons hiding beneath my cloak... or the individual it was currently sitting directly in front of. It would be so easy, I thought as I watched my fingers wrap lightly around the unsuspecting piglet's neck, just a simple squeeze and twist...

I remembered the livestock, from long ago, being the last things to butcher after a slaughter. My mind's eyes catching the vivid detail of a squealing pig, screaming shrilly in the night air as it was torn and eaten alive by ravenous—

A disgruntled squeak broke the spell. A sickness twisted around in my stomach, swallowing the thick saliva, I released the piglet and let it scamper back to its pen and kin. From inside the confines of my bony cage, my heart drummed against it loud that I could almost feel the slamming of the organ that it rattled my bones.

'So much for trying to not think about it!' I thought as a shudder came over me.

It took a moment for me to realize that the cart was no longer moving. Having been momentarily lost in memories, I failed to see the cart being drawn to a halt. I looked back to the driving, my mouth open and ready to ask why we were stopping when the coachman usually gave a heads up of his intentions.

"Please, sirs, we want no trouble..." the coachman pleaded, his gruff voice replaced by something small and pathetic.

Ah, I thought as I took in my surroundings, there was my answer.

Surrounding the cart were five shabby-looking men, all armed with daggers and clubs. The dirt scrubbed against their clothes, along with tall grass tied around heads and arms indicated that they got the drop on the coachman because they had camouflaged themselves to the open plains. I had to admit, they were very clever despite their dull appearance.

Too bad for these misfits that they chose the wrong cart to try and rob from.

"Lookie 'ere boys! We bagged us a jackpot!" one robber said with a crooked grin plastered across his face.

Making sure there was only five (because sometimes there's always hidden back-up), I hopped off the cart. One of the robbers took notice of this, aiming a nasty-looking knife towards me as he approached me quickly with the intention of disarming and removing anything of value on my person.

"How nice of ya to volunteer, chum!" the man said as he came closer.

Close enough that I easily kicked the knife out of his hands and pulled him by the front of his collar so he would meet my knee to his forehead. I watched in silence as he stumbled back before falling on arse, looking momentarily dazed as he no doubt tried to think of what just happened.

The others' reactions were immediate. Giving war cries and spouting curses, they came at me with their poor, dull knives raised. I moved away from the cart ("Never try to fight in tight spaces, girl. Always fight in the open.") and ducked down in time to trip the biggest of the five robbers. He went down and when he tried to come up, his jaw met my steel gauntlet wrapped around my right hand.

Four more to go.

Two of them came at me simultaneously. Using my large cloak, I whipped it in the air and watched them stumble, blinded and caught off guard. I whipped my cloak back before delivering a kick to one at the back of one their knees, making one robber fall to the ground. Using the fallen one by grabbing his shoulders, I kicked the other in the chest and delivered another to the kneeling robber. Hearing the second that I had first kicked, I didn't bother to look behind me and simply elbowed him in the face as he tried to rise back to his feet.

Two left.

Again, one robber charged at me with his dagger. Their plan of using the earth to hide in plain sight was good, but that was all the good they were going to get if they couldn't perform a proper fight against someone who wasn't even using weapons to take them out with such ease. He swung wildly, diagonally, vertically, and horizontally, and didn't matter how he tried to cut me, he couldn't land one. Having enough, I caught his arm just as it swung down, yanked him so I could kick him good in the gut. The dagger fell out of his hands, the man wheezing as he collapsed onto the gravelly road, and he curled up while holding his wounded stomach.

And then there was one.

With all four of his companions and fellow thieves down for the count, he was the literally the last man standing. He looked young, maybe between the ages of seventeen to twenty summers old, his eyes wide and body lanky as only growing boys had when boys became men. His hands were trembling, his conviction to fight me falling apart, and the stench of his fear like an aroma in the air I could almost taste.

Some part of me, an ugly part of me, missed this.

"W-Who are y-you...?!" he demanded with a crack and stutter in his voice. "A R-Ranger?!"

All he could see from his point of view was a heavily cloaked individual, a hood pulled up that it completely obscured and darkened the face of the person he was trying to rob. When he had stood with the others, he had felt confidant enough to take on this haggard-looking stranger, but now... now he just felt like he was the one that was being preyed upon.

The hooded stranger, the young man found, gave an answered that terrified him. Somewhere in the darkness, a light reflected from beneath the hood, and the light gave a shower of coldness into his being.

Bright, bright blue eyes stared back from the darkness, eyes that only he had seen beasts in the darkness of night hold from the embers of the firelight.

I watched as the boy shrink away, slow and hesitant before bolting away, leaving behind his companions until they too found the strength to follow after him, albeit slower. Making sure that they covered enough distance, I turned back to my ride and proceeded to climb back to the cart.

"Why didn't ya kill 'em?!" the fat coachman demanded when he found his voice, his brow covered in nervous sweat and his surly behavior returning. "They would sooner return with an even larger band and have our throats slit!"

I highly doubted that. Seeing the coachman about to give me a lecture of what I should have done, I instead pulled out an object hidden inside my cloak. The appearance of a bone that had been sharpened enough to serve as a knife quickly silenced the coachman. His eyes widen and the fear returning, his mind probably assuming the worst of me than it already had. I flipped the bone knife in the air, holding the sharp tip between fingers and offering the handle to the coachman.

I nodded my head towards the retreating figures in the distance, holding my knife more closer to the coachman's direction.

If he wanted them dead, he could do it himself.

Giving an angry snort, the coachman turned away from me and whipped his horses into motion, dropping the subject faster than he could drop stone. I returned the knife back to my cloak, my eyes returning to the road and taking in the view of the spacious valley laid out before me.

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I was right, I thought with a grimace, the rain came in a downpour.

Fornost was a long way off from where I was, and after having parted ways with the coachman and his cart as they made their way for Bree, I had to walk on my own from here on out. Still, my feet were well rested after a long journey, and with energy returned, I made for the empty, abandoned fortress that would serve as a base for the time being.

Hopefully, if I was lucky, a few of my acquaintances would stop by, if only to take a break themselves and would share news of what has happened so far in the North during my long absence.

But that wasn't going to happen any time soon. Not with this rain, anyway.

Taking cover to the nearest tree (the forest just a few miles ahead looked dense, but I didn't want to get any more wet than I already was), I sat under the thick branches and watched a swollen river. If I had a fishing pole... I chortled at the thought.

I let out a long-drawn yawn and leaned against my pack that was resting against the tree. It's been a long few days of walking since leaving the coachman, and thinking about him made me think about that there had to be something seriously wrong with me if I was feeling inclined to miss the portly man with an attitude as approachable as a sore bear.

A sound in the distance caught my hearing. I perked up a little, gazing past the river and towards the endless grassland that continued to be showered by the heavens above. Listening carefully, I waited for the sound to return ("Never dismiss anything you hear with those sharp ears of yours. You never know when it could be something that could end up saving yours or another's life.").

And there it was again. Splashing.

I shot up straight and looked down the river. Seeing nothing, I looked up and—there were arms waving frantically beneath the waters. Tiny arms.

'It's a child!'

Kicking it to gear, I rushed to the river where there laid on the side were bent and twisted trees that would serve me in getting a hold of the child while not slipping under the damn river. I ignored the rush of cold that meet my skin when I stepped into the river, slipping deeper until I was at least at the waist of the freezing water. Holding out a hand, I waited until the child came closer.

I could pick up other sounds, people screaming as they chased after the little one unlucky enough to fall into the river. Seeing a dark shadow in the water coming close, I struck and took a mighty hold of the little one—and nearly fell inside the rapid river.

'Fuck, this little bastard's a heavy one!' I growled as I pulled and crawled out of the river with the help of the branches.

I kept climbing out, dragging the child behind me onto the muddy riverbank before pulling them back onto firm grass. I panted, the effort of pulling the youth behind me, along with the heaviness of my wet cloak left me in a state of breathlessness. Dropping the child's hand, I took a moment to collect myself. The shouts were closer now, and I glanced to where I was leaning against a tree to see who was coming to collect their little one.

'Those are not parents,' was the first thing that came to mind as I stared blankly ahead of the incoming party.

Short, heavy cloaks and furs, weapons littering almost all over their persons, and hairy faces. They were all riding ponies, and they were fast approaching. The only one that stood out was a tall, old man riding a horse behind the group and a hairless midget that clumsily followed the crowd. I looked back over my shoulder and felt my stomach drop to the bottom of my feet.

Sprawled on the grass, coughing up water, and thumping their chest, was not a child.

'Dwarves...!' my mind supplied unhelpfully.

I was not overly fond of meeting dwarves.

Quick to get far away from the band of short hairy men, I grabbed my pack and hauled ass. Men were one thing I could handle (sort of), Elves actually had the decency to ask first before shooting, but Dwarves... I didn't want to find out. I heard enough stories of their stubbornness and ignorance from both on paper and the mouths of others to know just how bad this would go down should I be foolish enough to stick around.

I could hear them dismounting and tending to the coughing sop that I left behind. Their words of worry, relief, and lecture followed me in the distance, and it gladdened me that nothing worse came to fruition for the poor dwarf who had the unfortunate luck of falling inside the swollen river. After all, dwarves were never the type to find themselves in water, only a handful actually knew how to use their feet and arms when it came to swimming, the rest just sank like anchors.

The chances of me slipping away from the group without being confronted dashed away when I heard someone cry out, "Wait!" from behind me. I pretended not to hear, hurrying my pace so I didn't look like I was trying to make a run for it, but the owner of the voice was not deterred. I could hear them slowly catching up to me, sounding breathless and aggravated, but going after me without giving up (those drunks at the pubs weren't kidding about the tenaciousness of dwarves).

"Excuse me!"

Seeing no other way out of this, I slowed my stride but didn't stop completely. I kept my head low enough that I could still see him, but the dwarf couldn't see me. I thanked lady luck for darkening the skies enough that it made it all the more harder for anyone to see my face.

The dwarf, I observed, looked young. Hair a dark shade of fair, twin braids hanging over his upper lip, and dressed in leather brown furs to keep him warm and the showers away from his skin, he looked like any typical dwarf... but there was something about him that brought a wave a familiarity to me. It was a feeling I grew to trust, a feeling that helped me throughout the years of traveling and meeting people.

A feeling I never again brushed away. But I couldn't keep staring at him for long in fear that he would move close enough to see what I didn't want him to.

"I offer you thanks, sir." the dwarf said, lips wet from the rain drops slipping into his mouth. "I was afraid I lost my brother to the river."

I looked past his head and back to the group, watching as the dark-haired half-drowned dwarf was resting against the tree I had originally occupied with the others huddling all around him. One dwarf, a freakishly tall one, stood beside him close like a guard; a father, I guessed. The old man I saw earlier was looking at mine and the young dwarf's direction that I quickly looked away. Another wave of familiar crawling up and down my mind.

Wanting this to cut this meeting short, I nodded my head, acknowledging his thanks before turning back to the forest ahead. I wanted to reach Fornost as quickly as possible.

"Wait! Sir, I—" I felt my cloak being tugged back, my hood threatening to be pulled back.

A quick spin, I yanked the hood out of the fair-haired dwarf's hold, once again facing him... but my bright eyes that shined in the dark caught the dwarf's.

Instantly, he scrambled backwards with his hands grasping for his arm guards which housed hidden blades. Not wanting to be caught in a fight, especially when I was outnumbered by what looked to be a group of formidable warriors, I kept my eyes on the dwarf until there was a safe enough distance. Thankfully, the dwarf watched me rather than pursued me, letting me go than shouting for his kin to take up arms and give chase.

With that opportunity, I turned away and headed towards the forest for cover and distance. There was a nagging part of me that shouted that the dwarf was someone whom I should know of, but I had to leave this alone.

Dwarves would sooner put an ax to my head before they exchanged pleasantries with the likes of me.

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"What's wrong, laddie?" Balin spoke as the young prince joined the group. "You look as if you had seen a ghost."

And indeed, Fíli looked pale as he came back from his trip to catch the stranger who pulled out Kíli from the treacherous waters that threatened to drown the young dwarf. However, the firstborn prince returned with an air of dread, looking about as spooked as a jumpy horse. Thorin, King and leader of the Company daring to cross the Misty Mountains and into the awaiting lair of the dragon Smaug, turned to his nephew with a furrow on his brow.

"What's the matter?" Kíli asked, trying to make light of the incident that scared most of the Company and his family half to death. "Did that man ran off after seeing your hideous face?"

"That was not a Man." came Fíli's grave reply.

Thrown off from the statement, Bilbo Baggins, a new party member of their Company from the Shire, looked around to the faces of the dwarves that came crashing into his house one night.

"What do you mean it was not a Man?"

"I mean," the fair-haired dwarf began as he looked to the others. "That was an Orc-Man."

Behind the group of dwarves (plus one hobbit), Gandalf the Grey Wizard glanced from the highly alert group to the dark cloaked figure that disappeared into the dense forest ahead of them. Hearing Fíli's account of the creature and looking back to the still rushing river, the old Wizard pondered... Could it be...? Pulling away from the group, Gandalf grabbed the reign of his horse and started an unhurried gait towards the forest where the Orc-Man would take shelter from the downpour. Seeing their Wizard leave them, the whole Company went after him.

"What are you doing? We must leave before that filth calls for more of its pack!" Thorin called after Gandalf's back.

"I don't believe that to be the case." the tall Wizard clipped back, not at all bothered of the possible idea.

"Do you plan to strike it first before it gets the chance?" Dwalin, the ever loyal guard and captain (and closest friend and cousin of Thorin), demanded with a tight grip of one of his axes.

"Not at all."

This left the whole group in a fit of puzzled confusion.

"Gandalf, what are we doing going after it?" Bilbo asked, his voice pitched high with fear of finally meeting a dreaded Orc eye-to-eye. "We should just go before it decides to come after us all!"

"Not to worry, Master Baggins." Gandalf said airily as he continued on. "Besides, I've been wanting to meet this one for some time now."

The whole Company froze.

"What?!" "Have you finally gone mad, Wizard?!" "Is this a joke?!"

Gandalf ignored the rioting happening behind him, still heading for the forest that hid the stranger. Thorin pitched forward, hoping to force sense into the Grey Pilgrim in hopes of stopping his want to meet of the Orc-Man hiding somewhere in the darkness of the now foul-looking forest. He was putting his trust and faith into the Wandering Wizard for their secret quest, so for Gandalf to seek out this creature with the hopes of "meeting and greeting" sent him and his people on edge.

"What are you hoping to gain from this, Wizard?" the would-be King snapped as he blocked Gandalf's path. "Have you been siding with the Enemy all along, then?!"

The old man seemed to have grown a few inches taller as he loomed over Thorin, making the dwarf steady his ground despite his want to back away.

"Thorin Oakenshield, I would not have come all this way along side you and your Company just to betray you!" the Grey Pilgrim bellowed, silencing the roaring dwarves.

When everything was quiet and somewhat calm, the looming giant disappeared and left behind was an old man in grey robes.

"This Half-Orc is someone of importance, they have nothing to do with your quest and business. Besides, if it does turn out to be some scout of the Enemy, you have the honors of telling the entire world you have proven a Wizard wrong."

With that said, Thorin and Company grudgingly followed after the Wizard and into the forest.