An Unexpected Fanfiction: The Hobbit & LOTR One Shots

Wait

Requested by the ever-wonderful theambernightingale!! Thank you so very much!! 

Type: one-shot

Pairing: Female (elf!) Reader x Aragorn

Translations: 'Ae thelfirdeith, Ennorath dannathelan lothren.' = 'If he dies, Middle Earth will fall to ruin.'
'Rhosc' = 'russet'
'An man dôr boe im toge?' = 'To what place must I bring him?'

Warning: Suuuuuuper long- I'd recommend grabbing a mug of tea and a blanket (preferably very fuzzy) for this one

Hope you like!

I could see a flicker of light that evening- my first indication that something was amiss. A fire from the ruins, not too far from my campsite, in the moors just outside the borders of Bree. Not many travelers came this way at this time of year- and to find any so close to myself was an odd thing. My sword glinted in the firelight and I leaped up- something was certainly amiss. The fire was suddenly put out and I could hear distant, distraught shouts. Just as I grabbed the hilt of my blade and rose from my seat, I heard the chilling screech of a Wringwraith- and then that of many more. They must be pursuing whomever made that fire, and I knew for a fact that this person was in the gravest of dangers. As fast as my elven feet could carry me, I raced as silently as I could across the plains, my pale golden hair flicking out behind me. I leaped as high as I could when I reached the base of the ruins and landed right at the shadowy edge of the hopeless battle. A scream from my left alerted me to a hobbit, seeming to appear out of nowhere, with a Nazgûl ripping it's blade out of his chest as he collapsed backward in pain. A shout of anger came from my right and I swiveled my head to see a man leap into the fray, his sword swinging wild and feverish at the Black Riders as he wielded a torch in the other hand.

He was a fool to be so aggressive, yet I could see he cared somewhat for the injured hobbit and wished to protect him and his three other hobbit companions as best he could. That, I could admire somewhat, and so I made my decision to help out as best I could. Three swift swings of my silvery blade and back went a Nazgûl, then another with four more swipes. The man who was attempting to protect the hobbits seemed to be rather cornered by then, for he had dropped his torch and it lay, smoldering, on the old stone as he desperately swung his sword at two looming foes. I stooped and snatched up the torch, waving it in a snapping motion in the air as it reignited a little, and used the flames to deter the Ringwraiths to their retreat. They fled into the night, injured and weakened, and I turned the group of whom I had just aided. I gave a single nod and moved to go, wiping my sword on a rogue sheath of grass, but then a voice came from behind me: "Wait."

Somedays, now, I wonder why I looked back right away. Normally, I would have continued on my way without another word- but for some reason that night, that single word stopped me in my tracks. Wait. Little did I know that word would be used by the same person many times in the next few months to lead me to where I am today. I turned and it was the man, kneeling over his injured hobbit comrade. He bade me to help them more, but I hesitated. "And why should I aide you any longer? I owe you nothing," I replied stiffly. I was distrusting of all men (and I still am) due to the abuse men of any race had caused me in the past, so I was unwilling to assist any longer than I felt decently necessary; my time helping them was up. One of the other hobbits lurched forward as I again moved to leave them and grabbed my cloak. I whirled around, angered at his boldness, and he tumbled to the floor. "Please, ma'am," he said, his eyes wide and worried. "He's injured, can't you see? He'll die if you don't do something, please."

"I have aided you past what I see as simple decency." With that, I snapped my head back around and took steps away for the third time. "Wait." The command came again. I stopped. "You are right, my lady." I resisted the urge to turn. His voice had a power in it I had never heard before, a power that called to me, that caused my heart to falter. "Ae thelfirdeith, Ennorath dannathelan lothren." He spoke my language, and fluently, it seemed- something very few mortals knew how to do. Perhaps that's what made me turn then. "The end of the world, you say?" The man nodded gravely. It was obvious to me he was entirely serious, as his companions nodded in agreement with him, all with equally fearful expressions. The apocalypse, caused by the death of one small hobbit? It was outlandish- and just enough to potentially be true. With only a moment's hesitation, I scooped up the wounded, whimpering hobbit in my arms and whistled for my steed, Rhosc. "An man dôr boe im toge?" The man did not hesitate and replied immediately, "Imladris." I nodded and scrambled down the hillside of the ruins, his last words to me then echoing in my head: "Ride fast."