Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

All I Have	By : ChaoticReverie Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Hobbit, The Views: 7202 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit, but all OCs are mine.

Chapter List
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First knock at a Hobbit fic. Hopefully this goes well…
Ahem, now… this will be a bit dark (as can be expected about 70% of the time in regards to my writing), so be forewarned. There will be violence, character death, non-con, emotional angst, language… things along those lines.
Pronunciation: Lasallin (Laz-ah-lyn), Ioreth (Yor-eth)
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit, though any OC's that appear throughout the story are mine. I am not profiting in any way from this story (aside from my own enjoyment, and hopefully yours as well).

Small, agile feet moved silently over the forest floor, eyes peering through the trees and toward the river, where a figure sat perched upon a wide stone slab.

Alone. Good.
Practiced motions carried slender legs down the slope, slowly closing the distance between hunter and prey.

Lasallin peered along the edge of her sword, setting the leather strap aside as she stood. Sunlight glanced off the metal as she turned it, examining her work. Holding the blade aloft, the young woman felt the weight of it, testing the balance. She smiled, pleased, and slid her fingers around the hilt.

"A fine job," she decided, twirling the weapon with effortless precision. It whispered as it danced in her palm, the faint whistle of steel ringing in the crisp afternoon air. She spun, thrusting outward and pressing the tip of her blade against the throat of her wide-eyed, would-be attacker, forcing them flat against the bank's incline. Lasallin leaned closer to her prostrate assailant, grinning as she whispered, "And now you're dead."
Huffing as the weapon was withdrawn, Ioreth touched a hand to her neck, grumbling when she felt a bead of wetness against her skin. Wiping her fingers on her sleeve, the dark-haired girl whined, "Do you have to get so close?"
Lifting a brow at her cousin, the young woman brushed a hank of pale hair from her face as she responded, "I wouldn't be getting my point across otherwise."
Ioreth sent her a flat look.
Sliding down the last couple feet of the bank and onto the rock, the young girl knelt to dip her hand into the river, washing away the last remnants of blood from her fingertips. She watched for a quiet moment as her mentor sheathed her newly sharpened sword, and gathered her things, reverently placing them back into the designated pockets of her pouch.
Lasallin fastened the strap and pulled the small satchel over her shoulder, glancing expectantly in her direction.
"How did you know?" Ioreth demanded.
"I could hear you breathing," she replied, moving to stand next to her. "If an enemy can hear your breath, it doesn't matter how quietly you step, how quickly you strike, they will kill you. It's important that you learn to control that if you ever want to be a successful swordswoman."
"I'll be a great swordswoman," the girl insisted, a little sore at being lectured.
"Yes, you will," Lasallin agreed. "But not yet; you've still got a lot to learn."
The young brunette turned toward her, pleading, "Take me with you on your next patrol!"
Her mouth turned up in a half-smile. "You know I can't do that. You're still young, Iory. Your mother and father would never allow it."
"I could sneak away," the girl insisted in a hushed voice, pulling her feet beneath her as she splayed her hands flat on the sun-soaked rock. "They don't have to know. Please, Las!"
Sending her cousin a disapproving look, she chastised, "You shouldn't say such things. What would they think if you just disappeared, hm? Would you really want to cause them such distress?"
Deflating as she was denied yet again, Ioreth conceded, chin tucked down as she wrung her hands in her shirt.
Rolling at her eyes at the sudden bout of melancholy, Lasallin told her, "Enough of that, Iory. You train hard, grow strong, and I'll take you on patrol when you're older."
The girl looked ready to leap on her, brown eyes wide with anticipation. "But," she went on, her tone serious again, "you need to learn to control your breathing."
Instantly deflated by the words, Ioreth slouched forward, hair falling in front of her face.
"You can practice right now," the young woman suggested, turning and circling around behind her cousin. With the toe of her boot she nudged the girl's back. "Straighten up."
The brunette corrected her posture, awaiting further instruction.
"Now, close your eyes and focus. Take a deep, slow breath in – feel your lungs expand – and then breathe slowly out again. You are a tree."
"A tree?" Ioreth repeated, trying hard not to laugh.
"A tree," Lasallin confirmed. "And your breath is a gentle breeze that slips through the branches, soundless, steady. When you draw breath, I want you to imagine the sweeping silence of the wind. That is what you need to achieve."
The woman observed her pupil, thinking with a smile that she was learning quickly, much as she had when she was young.
As a child Lasallin had never been like the other girls. She had never been fond of dolls, and she couldn't sing or play an instrument. No, she didn't particularly like most of the things she was expected to like, but why would she? They just seemed so… boring!
Instead she'd taken to following after her father, Herubrand, fostering an avid fascination for the art of swordplay. He'd been head of the town guard since he was a young man, a swordsman of great skill and prestige, protecting their community for many years. Her father had saved lives, brought criminals to justice! Who wanted to be the damsel in distress when they could be the hero?
For years she had begged her parents for a sword. Her mother had been horrified, of course, but her father had felt differently. He'd sired no sons to pass on his legacy to, but with an eager young mind pleading for his tutelage, he'd viewed it as a great opportunity.
She received her first blade on the ninth summer of her birth, a small weapon to match her size. It had been heavy, she recalled, but that hadn't stopped her from picking it up every day and practicing with it. She would shadow the guard, mimic them as they trained. And when he had time, her father would teach her his craft one on one. He never went easy on her, telling her that she needed to be disciplined if she wanted to wield a blade. Many nights she went to bed with sore arms and blistered hands, until she grew accustomed to the weight, and calluses hardened her palms. By the time she was twelve she outmatched almost every boy in town, aside from a few of the older, more experienced lads.
Lasallin frowned as her thoughts drifted to the very last night she'd seen her father. Word of bandits attacking merchants on the East Road had reached them, and her father and his men had ridden out to investigate the rumor. It had been late, and the night had been peaceful. No ominous storm or chilling wind to foreshadow what would come. He'd entered her room dressed to travel, knelt at her bedside and kissed her on the head.
"I'll see you in a couple of days," he'd told her. She remembered smiling, not feeling even a sliver of fear as he departed. He always came back.
Only that time… he didn't. Many of the others had returned three days later, but her father had not been among them. She had been so confused when she could not find him, approaching Bergil – his second in command – with the inquiry of his whereabouts. The look he had given her… no words were needed. She had dismissed his claim, calling him a liar, but then she'd seen his horse, and the large, wrapped bundle slung across its back.
His death had been nearly impossible for her to accept at the time. Her father had always been infallible in her eyes, a paradigm of perfection in battle. How could he have fallen, to a bandit, no less? They told her it was poison from an arrow that brought him down, an arrow he'd taken in defense of one of their younger swordsmen. They told her that he had fought impressively despite his wound, refusing to rest until they had found and killed all of the brigands. It hadn't eased the pain, really, but it was good to know that he had died so valiantly. That was how he would have wanted to go.
His passing had not dampened her desire to train; in fact, it only made her work harder. She promised herself and her father that she would grow strong, and defend their people, as he had.
And now here she was, passing on that same knowledge to another eager mind. She tilted her head as she watched Ioreth try to even out her breathing, a look of stern concentration on her young face. "Better. With time you won't even have to think about it, it will come naturally."
The sound of footsteps had both girls turning, Lasallin's hand instantly sliding to the hilt of her sword. Relaxing when she saw Gram – another guard – approaching, she tilted her head in acknowledgement, but frowned when she saw the expression on his face.
"What's wrong?"
"Trouble up North," he explained. "We've received word from a small settlement on the other side of the Trollshaws that nearby villages have been raided. They fear they may be next."
"Bandits?" she wondered aloud.
"They don't know," Gram told her solemnly.
Lasallin's frown deepened. "What do you mean? Surely someone saw something?"
"No one was left alive. Commander Bergil is preparing to depart."
A grim feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. "I see. I'll be along shortly, then."
Ioreth watched Gram leave, gaze shifting to her cousin. "You have to go?"
She tilted her head in affirmation.
Nodding, the brunette stood, dusting herself off as she offered, "I'll walk back to town with you."
Following the river a ways, the pair walked in silence, the younger of the two stealing glances at her mentor as they went. Her lips were thinned, eyes dark and far away. "Are you afraid?"
Lasallin blinked, brow lifting at her cousin's query. "I'd be a fool not to be concerned; people are dying. Whoever is doing this is clearly dangerous."
Noticing the furrow of Ioreth's brow, the pale-haired swordswoman gave her a little nudge, instructing, "Don't waste your time worrying. Train hard while I'm gone."
She never promised to return, her father's final words to her always freezing the assurance on her tongue. She risked her life every time she left on patrol, every time the guard rode out in response to these rumours. It was what they did, and she would offer her young pupil no delusions. One day death would claim her, as it would them all, and when it happened she wanted Ioreth to be far better prepared for it than she had been.
When they arrived back in town word of their departure had already spread. Lasallin's mother awaited her return, having packed most of her things already. She thanked the woman, making for her room to dress for travel.
Removing her tunic and undershirt, she retrieved a roll of cloth from her nightstand. Holding one end firm against her chest, she wound the material tightly around herself, cutting the strip and tucking the end in once she had finished. She took a moment to assess the binding, ensuring it would stay in place.
Over the years, Lasallin had come to find that – while the men she knew respected her – most others tended to overlook her as soon as they discovered her sex. Considering her level of skill and just how hard she had worked to obtain it, this was not something she took kindly to. It had, in fact, caused quite a few unnecessary spats between herself and various males, criminals and bystanders alike.
Aside from that irksome detail, it was far safer to travel disguised as a man. The deviants they tended to encounter were the lowest of the low, and she had heard too many accounts of women being raped. While she had never been bested by any of said deviants, there was always the possibility of it happening, and the mere notion of such a thing…it was not something she liked to think on.
A light rap at her door shook her from her unpleasant musings, and she slipped her tunic back over her head as she permitted, "Come in."
Ioreth poked her head in the door, stepping inside and closing it again behind her. "I brought you a loaf of bread; mother just made it. I set it on the table for you."
"Thank you."
"Can I braid your hair?"
"Sure."
Lasallin settled on the bed, turning as her cousin plopped down next to her. The young girl gathered the weighty mass of her pale hair in her hands, separating it into portions and then quickly winding it together.
She strapped on her wrist bracers as she waited for Ioreth to finish, smiling to herself when she noticed the young girl was still being mindful of her breathing.
Binding the end with a thin leather strip once she was done, the young brunette shuffled over to the chair in the corner, where the rest of her cousin's attire was laid out. Bringing it to her, she asked curiously, "Las, why don't you wear more armour?"
"I find that full arm bracers and cuisses limit my range of movement," she explained as she tied on her grieves. "I'm a lot faster if I don't have a ton of leather weighing me down."
"What about a breastplate?"
"It shows the curve of my waist," she replied. Ioreth had already learned of her preferences for travel, having seen her breast binding once before.
"Don't you feel vulnerable without something protecting your chest?" the girl pressed. She knew she would.
Lasallin stood, strapping on her sword-belt, and knives before gathering up the last of her garments. "I would feel far more vulnerable if my opponent knew what I was hiding. All I have to do is stab them before they stab me. Usually that isn't a problem."
The younger girl slid from the mattress and followed her cousin out and into the main room, where both of their mothers were waiting.
Accepting her pack as it was handed to her, Lasallin embraced her mother in a tight hug, turning then to her aunt to do the same. "Thank you for the bread."
"You're most welcome. Travel safe, and come back to us," she responded, taking Ioreth by the hand as they moved outside to see the patrol off. While some of the guards would remain to protect the village, many of them were leaving with Bergil. Most of the townsfolk had gathered to bid them farewell.
The young woman playfully tousled her cousin's hair before approaching the horses, wrapping the scarf her mother had made her around her face, concealing everything but her eyes. She slid her cloak on and buckled it, pulling up the hood, and then fastened her pack to her horse's saddle.
Patting the mare's speckled withers when she huffed impatiently, Lasallin pulled herself astride and took up the reigns, nudging the horse into motion as the others began to depart. With one final wave to her family, she turned and steered her mount into line with the others.
She drew her lower lip between her teeth, concern still stirring in the pit of her stomach as she glanced up the road.
Alright, there we are. The orcs make their appearance in the next chapter. Let me know what you think?
CR~
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