Chapter III: Shadows of the Past

The company of Thorin Oakenshield with its escort of Eriathwen, as that was what she was refer as by the dwarf lord for he did not consider her part of his company, just a unwarranted distracted, had traveled far from the comforts of hobbit-lands and have entered far into the Lone-lands.

No people of any race passed them by on their daily travels. There were no inns to rest their heads in the evenings after a hard day's venture. They camped under a blanket of stars in the dark of the night. The roads grew steadily worse as the company moved along, making for slow going, but not all was filled with gloom.

Up to this point in their journey, the company's venture had been quite merry. The dwarves told stories of the glory of Erebor when its halls were filled with the voices of their kin and of legendary battles against goblins and orcs. All sang songs, and the days seemed much shorter with the laugh and mirth exchanged.

Eriathwen was a silent observer throughout the majority of the venture, but she did not mind. It had be countless years since she had been in the company of so many, and she quite enjoyed the stories and songs of the dwarves. She would find herself smiling and laughing along and her heart felt light. Lighter than it had felt since she could remember… until the leader of the company ever caught her eye.

Thorin had not opened his arms in welcome from the start. As the journey continued, his stance towards the half-elf had not changed. He kept a cool and careful eye on her movements. The power of his judging gaze would be more than enough to crumble even the strongest and most fortified of person. Eriathwen did not show any waiver by any outward appearances, but internally she was continually second-guessing and calculating her actions in front of the dwarf.

He did his best to avoid close contact with Eriathwen, and if the two managed to be in the same circle, Thorin had mastered the cold shoulder. He did not speak to her more than he needed, and when he did decide to grace her with his attention, he never called her by her true name. It was always either half-elf or more often than not the name that Eriathwen despised more than ever would let on, Erdolliel. Thorin was silently counting the days until he could part with the nuisance in his company, and they could not get to the foot of the Misty Mountains fast enough.

It seemed that only Bilbo received rougher treatment than Eriathwen. The two had a silent bond knowing that they were the outcasts amongst the dwarves. The duo spent most of the journey near the back of the pack with Gandalf with the tiny hobbit asking Eriathwen a thousand and one questions about the lives of elves. She was happy to answer each and every question for the Bilbo's interest and fascination with the elves was so clear in his eyes, and Eriathwen could not help but tell the stories of her lost kin.

Eriathwen was not a complete outcast amongst the dwarven company. She had won the support and budding friendship with a few of the company, especially the young nephews of one dwarf lord, and made sure to include her in their tales around the campfires at night and travels by day. Kili and Fili had worked their charm and had gotten the half-elf to share some stories of elven heroes of old, not to the approval of Thorin. She had even sung one or two ballads her mother once sung to her as a child. Her airy voice speaking in a language that most of the company did not understand intrigued and captivated all.

Many questions still lingered about the past of the mysterious half-elf in their midst and reasons why she was banished from the real of elves and deemed unworthy by the Valar to choose her fate. When any asked a question too personal for Eriathwen's liking, she would also expertly dodge the question and reroute the topic of conversation.

It was not until one particular evening that the company was privileged with more insight of Eriathwen's past life and found that Erdolliel and the future King Under the Mountain had more commonalities than the dwarf ever considered.

On this evening, the company had made their camp for the night near the edge of a steep cliff. The forests they had venture though lay far below them and stretched as far as the eye could see in the bright light provided by the stars. It was late in the evening, most of the dwarves had fallen asleep propped against rocks, trees, packs and whatever makeshift pillows they could wrangle.

The only other sound that could be heard over the snoring of dwarves was the crackling of the warm fire. Gandalf, Eriathwen, Bilbo, Kili and Fili were the only members that had not fallen under the spell of sleep. They were comfortable spread around the fire in friendly silence. Eriathwen watched as Biblo reached into his pack for a hidden treasure of an apple, checked to see if anyone was watching and shared the treat with the pony. Eriathwen could not hide the smile that graced her lips watching the hobbit. The little creature ever amazed her.

A foul piercing scream shattered the silence. Eriathwen immediately reacted. She knew that horrid sound better than any, and she knew its owner. She jumped to her feet and whipped her sword to the ready in a blink of the eye and before any of the others could react. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Her knuckles were white from the intense grip she kept on her blade.

The frightened Bilbo rushed back to the sanctuary near the fire.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Orcs," Eriathwen spat while another howl was heard.

Thorin, who had been dozing on a nearby rock, jerked awake upon hearing the word. His movement did not faze Eriathwen who still stood like a rock at the ready, save her head darting back and forth waiting for an attack.

"Orcs?" the hobbit questioned. The fear could be heard in his voice.

"Thoat-cutters," Fili answered. "There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them."

"They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep," Kili picked up, making sure to add the appropriate hand gestures for effect. "Quick and quiet; no screams, just lots of blood."

Bilbo took an audible gasp of breath and turned away from the young dwarves in terror. Fili and Kili exchanged looks and began to chuckle at their handy work.

"You think that's funny?" came the heavy voice of their uncle. The two were quickly silenced. "You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?"

"We didn't mean anything by it," Kili offered.

"No, you didn't," Thorin sharply retorted. "You know nothing of the world."

The dwarf lord turned his back on his nephews, strode to the edge of the cliff and gazed over the valley below. Kili lowered his head embarrassed to be scoled by his uncle. Fili look to his side

"Don't mind him, laddie," Balin kindly said as he walked over to the duo. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs."

Balin began his tale of what became of the dwarves after Samug had taken the Lonely Mountain and King Thror's attempt to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria.

As the elder dwarf continued, Eriathwen felt a gentle touch on her tight grip around her sword's hilt. She had not lowered her guard or her stance since the first screamed had sounded. She looked down to see Fili's hand upon hers.

"You alright, milady?" he asked with concern.

Eriathwen gently smiled at the young dwarf, though it did not reach her eyes, and relaxed somewhat. She returned her sword to its sheath and rejoined him by the fire taking up her previous spot.

"I'm fine," she nodded, but Fili knew that was a lie. He could see something in her eyes as the fire flickered within them. Something else was stirring within the half-elf, but before he could question her, Balin's story of the Battle of Azanulbizar began to hit its fever pitch. Eriathwen was enthralled by the story as her ears began to pick up Balin's words and not search for unwanted visitors in the dark. The dwarf was an excellent weaver of stories.

"Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs led by the most vile of all their race…"

"Azog the Defiler," Eriathwen finished with a haunt in her voice that was unfamiliar to the dwarves. She noticed that Thorin tensed at the mention of the orc, and those around Eriathwen noticed the hatred and hurt in her vivid, green orbs and the shaking of her always steady hands.

"The giant Gundabad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin," Balin continued. "He began by beheading the King."

Eriathwen gazed upon the dwarf lord at the edge of the cliff. Her heart swelled with emotions. Ones of empathy and understand. As Balin continued to recall the battle and how Thrain was lost as well as all hope to the now leaderless dwarves until the dwarf prince himself stared down the Pale Orc, Eriathwen could not take her gaze off of Thorin's back. Her eyes open with such clarity as she saw him in a different light, a light not much different than her own.

She began to understand the grief and worries that he carried. She began to understand just what the betrayal of the elves cost the dwarves. She began to understand why he kept himself so guarded. She began to understand why she was so willing to follow him blindly to this point. She saw how much alike she and Thorin Oakenshield truly were though he did not understand it himself.

Balin told of how Thorin stood alone against the orc with save an oaken branch as a shield and how Azog was vanquished in battle. Eriathwen was overcome with another emotion she could not describe as she learned of what Thorin accomplished in battle years ago. She had never felt anything like this, but she knew she was in awe of the dwarf doing something she feared would never happen: bring death to the Defiler. She quickly wiped away a lone tear of what she could only place as one of gratitude away before it was noticed.

"And I thought to myself then, there is one who I could follow," Balin finished. "There is one I could call King."

Thorin turned from the view beyond the cliff slowly and with the grace of royalty that was born into him. The entire company was awake and stared at their leader in the same mesmerizing fashion that Eriathwen worn. He walked between the members of the company back towards the fire to return to his resting place.

"But the pale orc?" Bilbo asked. "What happened to him?"

Thorin stopped in front of the hobbit and looked down at him. "He slunk back into the hole whence he came," he spat. "That filth died of his wounds long ago. I will not waste my breath on the Pale Orc any more."

"If you have any more question, you can directed them to his beloved," Thorin said dark and mockingly as he turned his gaze onto the half-elf. He roughly brushed past her and back to his spot without another word."

"I do not know much of love," Eriathwen spoke with the flare of anger, "but I do not think the slaughtering of one's family constitute a proposal. Do not speak of what you do not know."

Whatever feelings that stirred within her for the dwarf was extinguished with his comment. She stormed away from the fire and took up the position at the edge of the cliff that Thorin previously had held. She positioned herself on the edge so her feet were dangling freely in the drop below her and gaze upon the moon trying to quiet her anger before she did or said something to invoke the wrath of Thorin.

Thorin watched her flee and felt a tinge of guilt touch his heart for upsetting her so, but he did not make a move to go to her side and make amends for his words. He knew of the elven prophecy she was born and thought to fulfill, but he did not know what it had cost her.

He should have known better than to throw around words. He was their leader, and he was not going to apologize and show weakness for the tears of a women. There was no time for feelings on this quest. He slowly rolled over to his side to block out the sight of the upset half-elf.

"That was brilliant," Fili spoke with sarcasm dripping from his words. "You have a way with women, Uncle."

The blonde dwarf left the comfort of the fire to join Eriathwen on the ledge and lend a comfort for his uncle's unwise words. They sat in silence for he did not know what to say, and she was trapped in the thoughts of a time long forgotten.

"What happened to them?" he finally asked. "Your parents?" He knew it was a stupid and possibly callous to ask her, but it was all he knew to do. It seemed she had not spoken of her parents' death in some time, maybe not at all, and he would offer her a listening ear that she hadn't had in centuries.

A long pause fell upon the two, and Fili thought he had crossed the line and was about to retreat and leave her with her thoughts when she spoke.

"I was knocking on the doors of my youth when my father passed," she slowly started. She did not look upon the dwarf and continued to gaze at the brilliant sky. "It was so long ago that my memory fades, and I often have trouble recalling his voice, his face."

"An orc pack had been spotted a few miles outside the borders of Rivendell," Eriathwen continued. "My father was leading a charge of elves to force the orcs' hand early."

A teenaged Eriathwen stood in full armor in her dressing chambers connected to her bedroom. She was expertly tying back her raven mane while silently studying her form in the battle regalia.

"Where do you think you are going my warrior princess?" a voice from behind her called.

She turned her head to look over her shoulder. Her father, dressed in his Gondorian armor, was leaning against the doorframe. His light brown hair shown in the sunlight, and his matching eyes held a knowing gleam looking at the girl. A smile spread across the young girl's face, and she turn back to the mirror to finish braiding her hair.

"They come for me, do they not?" she questioned. Her face set with determination for the impeding battle.

"They do, my child," he sadly spoke as he came behind his daughter and place a loving hand on her shoulder.

"Let them come," she challenged. She expertly pulled her long sword from its sheath. "Father, I have trained day in and day out for this moment. I am ready."

Eriathwen had trained. She spent hours on end working with her father, her uncle Lord Elrond and the surest members of the guard. She had practice with every weapon imaginable. She knew the enemy would knock on her door some day soon, and she would be ready, but she was young, overconfident and reckless.

She had something to prove. She had spent every year of her short life not proving she was as good as the boys, but she wanted to prove she could do anything an elf could do and do it better. She did not know then that she would be spending centuries trying to prove her worth.

"Not today, my love," he commanded.

"Father, this is my war," she argued. "I will not cower in my room while others spill their blood and give their lives for my safety. It is not their sacrifice to make. If they are to fight, they should see that I am just as willing to die for this cause. It is my fate we are fighting, and I should play a part in how it unfolds!"

A kind smile broke upon the man's face as he looked upon his daughter dressed for war with so much pride in his eyes. It was no mistake that she was his.

"Today, it is not your battle," he smiled. He led her to her bedroom. He took a set on her bed and patted the spot next to him. She reluctantly joined knowing that her dreams of following her father would soon be crushed.

"There are still those willing to raise the banners and go to war for you when you call," he continued as he wrapped a fatherly arm around her shoulders. "One day, my child, no one will come when you sound the alarm, and that is when this battle is yours."

She look dejectedly at her lap and mentally cursed herself for being so young and not mature enough for battle. She did not know how much she would miss these times in years to come.

"I pray I do not live to see the day my daughter marches to war," he continued, "but it would be an honor to fight by your side."

She looked up at with only the adoration a daughter holds for her father. He ruffled her hair in a tender moment.

"You are missing something…"

He removed the leather wrist cuffs that boasted the sigil of Gondor in silver emboss. They had seen many a battle with their owner. He gently attached them to his daughter's wrists and tied them secure.

"Now you are truly a warrior," he boasted.

"But father…" she protested. She was taken aback. She knew the history of these cuffs; she could not accept such a token.

"Keep them till I return," he said with a wink.

He began to stride to the door.

"You will come back?" she asked with a waiver in her voice. It was the first time she had shown the young girl underneath the metal.

"Keep an out on the horizon," he spoke gesturing to the window near her bed that showed a marvelous view of Rivendell. "Come sunset tomorrow, you will see me ride home to you."

"I waited every sunset for a century at that window," Eriathwen spoke as she looked down at her hands on her lap. The wrist cuffs firmly attached. "He never came home. The orcs were defeated that day, but he was missing. No one saw him fall. No body was ever found. It was believed that he was injured in battle and carried away to the orcs' stronghold. If it is true, then I do not want to imagine the terrors he faced on behalf."

Fili placed a comforting hand on her shoulder for he had no words of comfort to offer. An apology for her lost seemed futile. He knew the pain of not knowing the fate of someone. Thorin was not the only one to feel the pain of the lost of Thrain. Fili and Kili never knew what happened to their grandfather that day in battle.

"I lost my mother a century and half ago," Eriathwen continued. "After father, she and I would spend the summer months in Mirkwood. We were traveling back to Rivendell when Azog came."

Lady Idrial and Eriathwen, flanked by elven guard, had been traveling for days from Mirkwood back to their home in Rivendell.

"Milday!" a shout was heard ahead. The company came to halt as the scout road back with troubling news.

"Orc pack is heading this way," he warned. "He is with them."

A fleeting look of panic struck Lady Idrial before determination took over.

"Manwa an ohta,"," she ordered.

She turned to her daughter and placed a hand on her cheek. She gazed upon her face for what she knew would be the last time.

"Leyla," she commanded.

"No, I will fight," Eriathwen argued.

"You will returned to the Mirkwood," Lady Idrial corrected. "You will run, and you will not look back. Promise me."

"Mother!"

"Vanda nye, melda," she spoke more firmly.

Eriathwen turn her horse in the direction of the Mirkwood with a scowl on her face.

"Eriathwen," her mother called. She turned her horse to face her. "Enyalnyë mana quentë."

Eriathwen nodded firmly recalling the conversation they had on their last night in the Mirkwood. The conversation she would recall when a old friend would request a favor years from now. Eriathwen kick her heels and raced her horse forward as her mother commanded. Angry tears spilled down her face for listening. She knew she should have stay and fought. They were outnumbered, whether she was counted amongst them. Her mother was making the ultimate sacrifice for it was the only thing she could do to save her daughter one last time.

She did not dare stop until she reached the hill that overlooked the valley. In the clearing, she saw her mother being held by her throat in the massive grip of Azog.

"Go, my child," she heard her mother whisper as if she was by her side.

She did not turn away fast enough to miss the image of the Pale Orc ripping the throat of her mother with his hands alone.

"MOTHER!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. It carried over the orcs below. She kicked her horse away as hot tears streamed down her face. She kept her mother's last promise. She returned to the Mirkwood. She did not stop her horse until she was in the safety of the woods. She never remembered how she managed to get there for tears blinded her vision. She always felt her mother had guided her horse, but she had made it to her second home.

She did not know it then, but it would be the last time she was ever welcomed there.

"The Pale Orc has been vanquished," Fili offered weakly as a consolation, his hand never leaving her shoulder. "Never can he harm another."

"I have no doubts your uncle issued a devastating blow to the monster," she said, looking at Fili for the first time. "Even if Azog is dead, there is always another. Another just a powerful and malicious will rise."

"That is why from the day of my banishment," Eriathwen continued with heat from the years of anger and pan boiling within her, "I have sworn to cut down each and every last orc."

Her voice carried over the company and their heart froze for they could hear the hatred in her stready, slow voice.

"If you hunt them all and watch them burn," she finished, "there is no prophecy to fulfill."

Elvish Translations:

"Prepare for war."

"Go."

"Promise me, beloved."

"Remember what I said."

Hope you all have enjoyed the latest chapter of Out of the Shadows. I do apologize if my elvish is not on point or as accurate as in should be. This is the first time I have used a dictionary of sorts to translation English to Quenya, so it may be a bit rough to those that are experts. If anyone has any great resources I could use for future chapters, let me know!

Thank you again for all the reviews, favorites and support this story has gotten so far! I am so happy to hear from you all! Big shout out to my reviewers of the previous chapter: Temeraier, PJO-Blue-cookies, BlackBaccaraRose, MignightTales357, Snowball A.K.A. WinterWolf and my lone guest reviewer. Check out MigNightTales357's A Truly Unexpected Journey for more Middle Earth Adventures! Keep sending in your thoughts, feedback, reviews, favorites and more! I love hearing from you all! Until next time!