The Sisters [A Hobbit Fanfiction]

Chapter 26

Thranduil was sitting on his throne, his mind still on the dwarf and human who’d been right before him not half an hour ago. He smirked unhumorously to himself,

“The Sisterhood? As if. They are missing a key figure to be the Sisterhood.” Yet still, something bothered him. Perhaps it was the words the girl had said… Just because a person isn’t seen doesn’t mean they not present…

No. Impossible. The Sisterhood was legendary, and judging by the guards descriptions, these pitiful prisoners were not the Sisterhood. He thought back to the stories that had come, even to his kingdom, of the group of female mercenaries.

There was the ranger: the leader. She was strong as a mountain and fierce as a bear. A sword master of Middle Earth in her own right. She had slaughtered orcs in droves, swinging her sword tirelessly…

Then there was the elf: the archer. She was swift as the wind, agile as a bird in flight. Her arrows never missed.

Then there was the wizard: fearsome to behold and powerful. The only apprentice of Gandalf the Grey. She had destroyed the Fortress of Shadow in Fangorn, leaving nothing but a pile of ashes.

Then there was the warrior, masked and cloaked in black. Her enemies fell before her. She killed without remorse.

And then there was the fifth… he had never yet heard of her wearing a mask or anything of the sort, yet of all five, she was the most mysterious. No one knew what race she was of or where she came from… All that was known of her were her dees. He’d heard it said she’d once fought her way through a horde of wargs with only two double dueling swords. There had been one survivor: her. He’d heard she shot down a swarm of Crebain and none had escaped...

No. These were certainly not the people he had in his dungeon right now. They had to be imposters… yet why would they claim to be someone they were so obviously not?

Suddenly, his head jerked up as laughter filled the throne room. Spinning around, he saw no one. The doors were still closed and bolted from the inside. He was alone.

But the last echoes of mocking laughter told him otherwise.

“Who’s there?” he asked, smoothly drawing the sword he kept hidden behind his throne.

“I am known by many names King of Mirkwood…” This confirmation of a stranger’s presence made Thranduil tense, but didn’t stop his retort,

“It’s Greenwood.”

“No,” laughed the unseen intruder, “it was Greenwood. Now it is Mirkwood, Forest of Shadow.”

“Who are you?” Thranduil demanded again.

“The orcs called me the Killer of All, the goblins called me Murderess. Dragluin spoke of me as the Bringer of Fire and the Crebain called me the Shadow Archer. But please,” suddenly the voice come from behind him and he whirled, “take your pick of the lot.”

Standing before his bolted doors was a slight figure, draped in a tattered cloak, covered in some sort of disgusting, oozing fluid.

“You haven’t answered me,” Thranduil replied, slowly coming down the steps to his throne.

“Yes I have. You know very well who I am. You’ve heard of me.”

“I have?” a suspicion was growing in his mind. “You’re the fifth… the mysterious Sister…”

“You have heard of me.”

“Yes, but I don’t believe you.”

“Oh?”