The Ranger ➵ Kili Durin

PART I : CHAPTER I

Elvira sat at a lonely table in an Inn west of Bree one night, drinking an ale calmly as she looked around the Inn. She took in every person, standing or sitting, deciphering what their intentions are and if they are armed or not. She tried not to look suspicious, but she knew she had already done a poor job of that. Elvira was a Ranger, after all. They were always suspicious, because they knew that if they looked dangerous, people were more likely to become uncomfortable, especially if they had something to hide. For years, Elvira has been parading the wild lands of Middle Earth in search of the pale orc, but had yet to complete her mission. It was as if he disappeared off the face of the earth somehow. She had caught word of him fighting in the battle of Moria, but by the time she showed up, the battle had long been finished. So far, he has not been seen since, and that troubled Elvira. She knew not what his plans were, but she knew that they could not be good.

    It was unfortunate that it was close to being midday, because she would have managed to steal that horse much easier under the cover of nightfall, but no matter. Word was brought to her that an orc pack was not far off, so she took one of the horses that stood tied onto a post in the middle of Bree, and rode to meet the orc pack, her hands itching to hold onto her sword and destroy each and every one of them. To her, every orc was the same. Orcs took her family from her, and she vowed to not rest until orcs were vanquished. So far, she was doing fairly good in keeping up her end of this promise. She spent the last 100 or so years slaughtering orc pack after orc pack all across Middle Earth. The people of Middle Earth knew her by one name, and one name only: Scarlett. This was her middle name, it was the color of her mother's lips, and it was the color of her hands each time she came face to face with an orc.

    She rode quickly, surprised that the horse she had taken rode so swift. She met the orc pack halfway, taking out half of it while still astride the horse using her bow. She jumped from the horse quickly and unsheathed her sword, spinning it in her hand smugly. She fought quickly and expertly, the orcs finding no time to gather their forces before she attacked. While she fought one orc, who was much larger than the rest, it left her open to an attack from behind. She failed to see the arrow that was flying through the air, directed at her head until it was almost too late. However, instead of the impact she was prepared to take, a bright white light shone through the fields, and each orc on the ground below her dropped quickly, not moving even after the light had faded. She got off the horse to be met with someone she thought she would not see again.

    "Gandalf," she greeted. "I must thank you, although I thought I had it pretty well on my own just now."

    "Of course, Lady Elvira, except for the fact that you would have an orc arrow in your forehead had it not been for me," Gandalf the Grey replied. Elvira smiled, and patted Gandalf's shoulder in return.

    "You are not an easy one to track down, young Elvira, and I admire you for that," The old wizard continued.

    "May I ask why you are tracking me at all, dear Gandalf?" Gandalf the Grey grinned. "I am looking for someone to join me in an adventure," he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes, knowing right away that Elvira would be ultimately too intrigued to turn it down, and of course, he was right.

At the same time, a young hobbit sits one calm summer's eve in his hobbit hole in the Shire, setting himself down for a freshly prepared dinner for himself. His good mood and his calm smile diminished quickly however, when the sound of solemn knocking rang through the halls of his otherwise quiet home. Upon opening the door, he was met with an unknown face that all but glared back down at him. The burly man bowed, and said, "Dwalin, at your service."

    His accent was thick, and the hobbit knew now that this man was a dwarf, but his business here was unknown. He choked to find words as he frantically tied his robe together to make himself somewhat more presentable to his guest, and squeaked out, "Bilbo Baggins, at yours."