The Revenge of a Huntress

the one with the prologue

The moment the Ranger walked into the pub, the air changed. The drunken regulars looked to the figure cloaked in dark green and black and quickly averted their eyes. They had enough dealings with the Northern Rangers to know that they never amounted to too much good.

The Ranger stalked forward, their boots hitting the floor at a quickened pace. A long double-edged broadsword hung from its scabbard along their waist, along with two similar-looking daggers that were in their own sheaths along both their thighs. Those weapons, along with the darkened hood, created a menacing aura around the Ranger that few dared come close to.

"Huntress! How nice it is to see you, my friend!" A voice called from a booth hidden away in the corner. The old man that inhabited the booth had a long, grey beard and was wearing a cloak that shrouded his form. A large walking stick was by his side, one that the man kept a firm grip on.

"The pleasure is mine, Mithrandir," a feminine voice responded. She slid into the booth across from the man with a practiced ease, as the lighting above the table cast a glow along the lower part of her face, showing her thin smirking lips.

"It's been a great many years, Huntress. How do you fare?"

The Ranger chuckled. "Same as always, I suppose. Orcs are on the move, but their purpose, Strider and I are searching for."

The old wizard looked at the Dunedain woman with a slight frown. "That is an important question, indeed. How is our dear Strider faring? I suppose he is looking more and more like his father every day that passes."

A thin smile drew upon her lips. "Yes, the resemblance is uncanny. Many times, I catch myself looking twice before I remember who I am indeed with."

"And how is the Prophetess? I hope she is indeed doing well."

"She is a wonder, much as her mother once was if you can remember."

The wizard laughed, shaking his head slightly. "Much like you as well, my dear Huntress."

"You are as much of a flirt as ever, Mithrandir," Huntress jested. "You must never change."

"I shall certainly try not to."

The old friends traded a look, before settling themselves into their positions. "However, I suppose this small talk is not why you asked for me to meet you here, Mithrandir. What troubles you?"

The old man's eyes gleamed. "What makes you think something is troubling me? You believe to know me so well?"

The woman rolled her grey eyes. "You know as well as I do you never ask to meet me among good circumstances. You always seem to have something grievous to say whenever you ask to make my acquaintance, so I just believe it is better to assume the worst when it comes to you, my friend."

He laughed. "I do suppose you are right, Huntress. I do need your help dealing with some sensitive matters pertaining to a particular white Gundabad orc that I know you to be hunting."

Her breath caught in her throat. "The white orc? You are sure?"

A look of severe gravity settled onto the wizard's face. "Most positive, my lady."

The Ranger's hand came to her mouth as she pondered over her next words. "What kinds of matters are you referring to? What news do you have of the Defiler?"

The wizard pulled out a piece of parchment from his robes and slid it across the table to the female ranger. "I happen to know who the orc is targeting next, along with where the fiend may be. I also know that you, my lady, have some unfinished business with this orc, and I believe that we will mutually benefit from your acceptance to assist on a quest I will be leading with a certain dwarf."

The Ranger quickly looked over the parchment riddled with black speech, the language of the orcs. "Azog wants Oakenshield's head. Of course, this makes sense, but what quest are you speaking of? I know nothing of a quest."

"Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, former King Under the Mountain is going on a quest to take back their home from Smaug, and I believe they will need your help if they hope to succeed, my lady."

She ran a hand across her face. "You know as well as I do that the stubbornness of the dwarves will not allow them to accept me to join them on this quest. Even more so, the stubbornness of the line of Durin, Mithrandir. If I accept, Oakenshield will surely have words to say of it."

The wizard smiled in mischief. "When you accept to join us in this quest, Thorin will have to deal with it. My dear Huntress, you would indeed be a most valuable asset to the dwarves in taking back their home. You of all know what it means to lose a home, and these dwarves have the ability to take it back with your help."

"And you are saying that my payment would be placing the head of the white orc on a pike once and for all?"

The wizard's eyes glowed slightly. "Yes, my dear. You will finally be able to obtain your revenge on the white orc. The dwarves will obtain Erebor once more, and in the next coming years, that is a stronghold that Middle Earth will surely need on our side."

The Ranger nodded along. "You are hard to disagree with, Mithrandir. I will help you with this quest, however, I do ask you one thing."

The old man sat up straighter, a wide smile spreading across his face. "Whatever you desire, dear Huntress."

A thin smirk settled on her lips. "You do not reveal my true identity to the dwarves. I have enough problems along with a white orc to kill, I don't need to deal with worrying over that as well."

The wizard choked on a laugh. "You have my word, my lady. Or, shall I say, my dear, dear Huntress."

"Perfect."

"We will meet in the Shire at Bag End in one month's time. I look forward to our next meeting, Huntress."

"I as well, Mithrandir."

Without another glance at the old wizard, the Ranger silently made her way out of the tavern. No one noticed her exit besides Gandalf the Grey, who clapped his hands together merrily. Things were certainly coming together as planned.