Baptized in Blood and Flame

Chapter 2: A Lone Elf

Third Age: 2935

His back ached from the heavy load of supplies he had recently ridded himself of. Kili enjoyed the freedom of being on his own, and these deliveries to remote mines were the best opportunity, but the heavy loads of weapons and tools were beginning to take their toll.

He was pondering whether he could ask Fili to take the next run of supplies in a fortnight when he sensed something was off. The forest had grown too quiet. His hand had just begun to reach for his sword when orcs burst through the underbrush.

Kili brandished the sharpened iron at them, but they didn't balk. He landed a blow on one's arm, but he knew there were too many for him to ever fight. Parrying a strike from a crudely made blade, he stumbled backwards, tripping over his feet and the uneven forest ground. A thought flashed through him, and wondered for an instant if this were his end, when suddenly a figure cloaked in green and leather ran from the trees. Three orcs were struck dead before they could even react. The rest turned and charged at their new opponent, forgetting about the dwarf prince that had sat at the tips of their swords moments ago.

The warrior's sword moved faster than he could see, a blur of deadly silver that easily cut through a dozen orcs in mere moments.

Kili watched in awe as the hooded figure easily cut down the last orc. The figure sheathed their sword, before turning and walking towards where Kili lay. A small part of his mind told him to run, but his body refused to obey; not that it would have made a difference if this swift warrior meant to harm him. They crouched in front of him, extending one hand to help him and bringing the other up to their hood. As Kili took their hand, they pulled their hood down, revealing a startlingly beautiful face framed by voluminous red curls, and eyes that gazed at you as if they already knew everything about you. Her rose lips curled into a smile as she helped him to his feet.

She tilted her head, bemused at his awe-struck look. "Are you alright, penneth?" She asked. "You look as if you've never seen an elf before."

He was taken aback slightly by her comment, but indeed: her ears were long and pointed, and everything about her seemed graceful, and slightly ethereal. Her hair was braided elaborately back around the top of her head, but flowed freely over her shoulders. Her figure was heavily muscled, and there was a pale scar tracing down the side of her face. He blinked, reminding himself that it was disrespectful to stare.

"Who are you?" He asked, releasing her hand.

"My name is Tauriel." She offered no other information. She turned back to the slain orcs, pulling a silver knife out of one of their necks and twirling it in her deft, slender fingers.

"Where are you from?" He asked suddenly, hesitantly, figuring nervously with the leather sheath on his belt.

"Careful," she warned with a smile. "I don't think your kinsmen would encourage you associating with an elf."

"Perhaps not," he shrugged. "But I would like to know the one who saved my life."

"The tales about the stubbornness of dwarves must be true. Very well, Master Dwarf, I come from a woodland far to the east," she jested, glanced down at him. "I presume you are one of Durin's folk?"

He squared his feet and straightened his back. "Prince Kili," he introduced himself, being sure to include his title, hoping that it would make some impression on the beautiful warrior. She nodded, sheathed her knife and turned to walk off. For a moment, Kili panicked; he didn't want her to leave. He barely knew her, but he wanted to; she was easily the most unique person he had ever met.