Fic: A Sky For The Seeing
Jan. 21st, 2014 06:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grav_ityMeta and Prologue
FRIENDLY REMINDER that this series is canon compliant, such as it is.
A Blade For The Rending
Her people were well credited in Middle Earth. They could pass over snow. They did not tire. They did not sleep. They were fleet of foot and sure of aim. And yet, here she stood, unable to pass. Weary beyond measure. Too slow. And too late.
There was blood all around her, and screams. She had left the elven-guard behind, guarding the rear against a sortie she knew would not come. Her king was subtle in his punishment, but she no longer cared. Legolas had stayed at his side, safe, with the Halfling. It was Tauriel, as always, who strayed.
And still she was too late. The dwarves had been so hard-pressed as they fought with the Gate pressing into their backs. There was no place for them to go, no retreat. And no one to save them, because she was too far away when she saw the inevitable begin.
Thorin Oakenshield, with neither his bright blade nor his stout shield of legend, had fallen first. There were no trees of merit on this desolate mountainside, and Legolas had taken the blade. The axe that Thorin bore was dwarf-make, and strong, but it was still an axe, and once he had used it to hew the neck of the warg martriarch, it was lost to him. His throwing blades were not enough, and when he the Defiler cut him down, his nephews screamed, and stood to defend his body.
That was when she had seen them, when she had begun to run. She took down all that stood in her way, a sharp end for an orc and a hard push for a Man, dwarf or elf. She heard foul dwarvish curses, screamed when Fili fell, and the impossibly loud roar of a bear. And then Kili, too, was down.
The bear knew her, when he saw her, as a friend. This saved her from his wrath. He pulled the Deflier against his broad chest, claws ravening at the white orc’s back. Azog roared with anger and tried to sink his hooked hand into the bear’s broad back, but it was too late. Tauriel watched as Beorn took hold of Azog’s head in his great paw and began to twist. Azog’s roar raised in pitch, shattering her ears with its desperate whine. Then there was a sickening crack, and the shrieking stopped. Now the bear roared again, and held aloft a white head, horrid mouth stuck forever in the desperate grimace that had preceded his death.
Then the great beast knelt, and, with more gentleness than Tauriel could imagine, even had she not seen the violence from a moment ago, cradled Thorin in the same paws it had used to rip his nemesis in twain. Up it bore him, and away from the slaughter that was now engaged in earnest with the death of the hated Defiler.
Across the valley, Legolas’s bright hair shone and he moved, wreaking death and destruction upon the foes that would have taken the mountain. Tauriel wondered why he fought, now. What motivated him to action when before, he would have thought only of the Woods. She supposed he had determined that those which he killed now, he would not have to track through the forest. That, or he was overcome with the rage of battle, and would not stop until all were slain.
There were orcs aplenty, should she wish to slay as well. Yet Tauriel found she had no heart for it. Before, she had gone so willingly into battle. She protected her home. She protected her King. She protected her Prince. Now, her Prince did not need her.
The dwarves still fought, and the Men, for their homes. This she understood, though she could not bring herself to follow in their example. It was as though the bear had taken all her fire when he ripped Azog in half, and left her standing like a wraith upon the field.
Then, behind her, there was a noise she knew well. Orcs move differently in the woods than they do on the mountainside, but Tauriel had heard the sound of their scratching gait and scrabbling footfalls in her nightmares since she was an elfling come to live in the King’s hall because she had nowhere else to go. She was a child no more, and no longer did she dream of foul things. She did not know if the foul things ever dreamed of her. She did not often leave them alive.
Turning, she saw them. There were ten, maybe twelve, desperate and without mercy as always, and Tauriel was alone. A bitter smile played upon her mouth as she readied her blades. She had discarded quiver and bow some hours ago, when she’d run out of arrows, but she was still deadly. This time, however, she could feel a difference. The fire that had burned hot was now cold, the way that Thranduil turned when he commanded battle only under the eaves of his trees.
She took the first two as they charged, and the others hung back. She laughed at them, and with new rage they came at her again. Her blades were everywhere at once, and she was as merciless as a winter storm. They screamed as they fell, black blood covering black blood upon the ground, and she took them all. At last, they lay dead at her feet, and the only sound she could hear was the cold pounding of her own heart.
Below her, in the valley, the armies of the elves, Men and dwarves were almost done. Many stood about, leaning heavily on long swords and trying to make some count of the living and of the dead. The eagles soared on air currents, lifting orcs off of the ground and dropping them before plummeting down to pick up another. Everywhere she looked, there was darkness.
Tauriel fell to her knees and vomited, graceless. There was no one to see her weakness. The dwarf princes were dead.
+++
To Be Continued...
FRIENDLY REMINDER that this series is canon compliant, such as it is.
A Blade For The Rending
Her people were well credited in Middle Earth. They could pass over snow. They did not tire. They did not sleep. They were fleet of foot and sure of aim. And yet, here she stood, unable to pass. Weary beyond measure. Too slow. And too late.
There was blood all around her, and screams. She had left the elven-guard behind, guarding the rear against a sortie she knew would not come. Her king was subtle in his punishment, but she no longer cared. Legolas had stayed at his side, safe, with the Halfling. It was Tauriel, as always, who strayed.
And still she was too late. The dwarves had been so hard-pressed as they fought with the Gate pressing into their backs. There was no place for them to go, no retreat. And no one to save them, because she was too far away when she saw the inevitable begin.
Thorin Oakenshield, with neither his bright blade nor his stout shield of legend, had fallen first. There were no trees of merit on this desolate mountainside, and Legolas had taken the blade. The axe that Thorin bore was dwarf-make, and strong, but it was still an axe, and once he had used it to hew the neck of the warg martriarch, it was lost to him. His throwing blades were not enough, and when he the Defiler cut him down, his nephews screamed, and stood to defend his body.
That was when she had seen them, when she had begun to run. She took down all that stood in her way, a sharp end for an orc and a hard push for a Man, dwarf or elf. She heard foul dwarvish curses, screamed when Fili fell, and the impossibly loud roar of a bear. And then Kili, too, was down.
The bear knew her, when he saw her, as a friend. This saved her from his wrath. He pulled the Deflier against his broad chest, claws ravening at the white orc’s back. Azog roared with anger and tried to sink his hooked hand into the bear’s broad back, but it was too late. Tauriel watched as Beorn took hold of Azog’s head in his great paw and began to twist. Azog’s roar raised in pitch, shattering her ears with its desperate whine. Then there was a sickening crack, and the shrieking stopped. Now the bear roared again, and held aloft a white head, horrid mouth stuck forever in the desperate grimace that had preceded his death.
Then the great beast knelt, and, with more gentleness than Tauriel could imagine, even had she not seen the violence from a moment ago, cradled Thorin in the same paws it had used to rip his nemesis in twain. Up it bore him, and away from the slaughter that was now engaged in earnest with the death of the hated Defiler.
Across the valley, Legolas’s bright hair shone and he moved, wreaking death and destruction upon the foes that would have taken the mountain. Tauriel wondered why he fought, now. What motivated him to action when before, he would have thought only of the Woods. She supposed he had determined that those which he killed now, he would not have to track through the forest. That, or he was overcome with the rage of battle, and would not stop until all were slain.
There were orcs aplenty, should she wish to slay as well. Yet Tauriel found she had no heart for it. Before, she had gone so willingly into battle. She protected her home. She protected her King. She protected her Prince. Now, her Prince did not need her.
The dwarves still fought, and the Men, for their homes. This she understood, though she could not bring herself to follow in their example. It was as though the bear had taken all her fire when he ripped Azog in half, and left her standing like a wraith upon the field.
Then, behind her, there was a noise she knew well. Orcs move differently in the woods than they do on the mountainside, but Tauriel had heard the sound of their scratching gait and scrabbling footfalls in her nightmares since she was an elfling come to live in the King’s hall because she had nowhere else to go. She was a child no more, and no longer did she dream of foul things. She did not know if the foul things ever dreamed of her. She did not often leave them alive.
Turning, she saw them. There were ten, maybe twelve, desperate and without mercy as always, and Tauriel was alone. A bitter smile played upon her mouth as she readied her blades. She had discarded quiver and bow some hours ago, when she’d run out of arrows, but she was still deadly. This time, however, she could feel a difference. The fire that had burned hot was now cold, the way that Thranduil turned when he commanded battle only under the eaves of his trees.
She took the first two as they charged, and the others hung back. She laughed at them, and with new rage they came at her again. Her blades were everywhere at once, and she was as merciless as a winter storm. They screamed as they fell, black blood covering black blood upon the ground, and she took them all. At last, they lay dead at her feet, and the only sound she could hear was the cold pounding of her own heart.
Below her, in the valley, the armies of the elves, Men and dwarves were almost done. Many stood about, leaning heavily on long swords and trying to make some count of the living and of the dead. The eagles soared on air currents, lifting orcs off of the ground and dropping them before plummeting down to pick up another. Everywhere she looked, there was darkness.
Tauriel fell to her knees and vomited, graceless. There was no one to see her weakness. The dwarf princes were dead.
+++
To Be Continued...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-01-22 02:16 am (UTC)Wonderfully done, even though it makes me sad.
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Date: 2014-01-22 10:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-22 02:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-22 10:59 pm (UTC)(If it makes you feel better, I cried in Starbucks, a little bit, while writing.)
no subject
Date: 2014-01-22 09:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-22 10:59 pm (UTC)And thank you. That is a great thing to hear.
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Date: 2014-01-23 08:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-22 04:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-22 11:05 pm (UTC)