Know that I am not Eve_Naeband, the original writer of this wonderful series. However, my real name, Ariane, is shared with the main character of this story (my username is Ariane backwards). And her and I have a lot in common- she is dark-haired, feisty, but absolutely lady-like when she wants to be, a lot like myself. So I believe I can make an appropriate ending.
I have tried to write in Eve’s style, and have tried to include characters that she wished to include. A lot of the timelines are little rough, though, I will do my best, I promise, to get this story as real as Eve’s was. Thanks to my sis for helping me with plenty of ideas for the story.
Note to Eve_Naeband: What can I say? I am sorry that it came to this. Your series was a fine piece of work, and I’m sure everyone would have liked to know how it ended. If you ever decide to write the ending, my ending can always be considered as an alternate ending. Lots of love to you, Eve.
Here it goes…
Ariane’s eyes fluttered as she awoke from yet another trance. In the darkness, she felt weak – and wet. She shifted her body slightly, and could feel the cold clamminess of blood on the back if her stained traveller’s cloak.
A terrorizing sounded in the black corridor and filled her with fear and anxiety. And were those voices? Yes, she thought, although they did not sound like voices that would belong to an orc. They were rough and deep in a different way than that of orcs, and they penetrated the stone hallways. With the voices came the sharp clang of metal upon metal, and the mirror-breaking shrieks of orcs.
Ariane thought. She smiled weakly as she thought of Elladan and especially Elrohir fighting off orcs left and right with their twin blades. And after their rescue would come the healing hands of Figwit with niphredil extract, which would restore her to normal. It seemed ages ago when he and Legolas had left her in the dark corridor. , she thought. She smiled even bigger as she thought of him and his icy blue eyes-eyes that would melt as soon as he looked at her. Ariane wished for the hundredth time that he were here. Suddenly she broke her train of thought.
‘No! Stop pitiying yourself!’ she thought. ‘He’s not here! None of them are! YOU told them to go! You are alone now…so I guess I must help myself.’
Feebly, she stood and leaned on the wall of the corridor. ‘Good!’ she praised herself silently.
As she stretched her foot out in front of her, a wave of dizziness came over her. ‘No, don’t give in,’ she pleaded with herself and planted her foot on the cold, stony ground.
Suddenly, she realized that the wall was no longer supporting her. She was falling! "NO!" she screamed as she fell heavily on the floor, flat on her face. Hot tears welled in her fading lilac eyes as she endured the pain of her stomach wounds that followed. The tears dropped off her face and watered the bare stone floor.
At that point of utter hopelessness, the same soothing voice that she had heard earlier that day told her in Ancient Quenya: ‘Arvariane Estel, you have a higher calling than this. Do not give up. There is still hope.’
Ariane raised her weary head. "There is still hope," she whispered, and began dragging herself along the corridor with her forearms, using all the strength that she had left. Pressing her pink lips together, she stifled every scream as the sharp stones cut into her forearms and scratched her legs. ‘There is still hope’ was the only thought that comforted her while she dragged her weakened body closer to the sounds of battle.
When she made it to the corner, Ariane saw a sight that she had never seen before in her life. In fact, she saw a that she had never seen before in her life.
Dwarves! At least one hundred of them she counted in a larger hall, all swinging double-sided axes like all Udun had broken loose. They were yelling something – "Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai-menu!" in their own tongue. In the torch-lit hall, she saw that although shorter in stature, the dwarves appeared to be the fiercer race in this fight. Orcs were fleeing before them, and the dwarves pursued amidst the fading of the drums underneath them, the sound dissapating in the treacherous deeps of Caradhras the Cruel.
‘Dwarves’ -Ariane thought – ‘would they help me? Elves and dwarves did not get along very well. But there were exceptions, weren’t there? Didn’t some dwarves from Moria or someplace fight in the War of the Last Alliance?’ Ariane could have kicked herself for skimming through that part in The Silmarillion. Ariane promised herself, Ariane sighed wi!@#$lly as she looked upon the fighting dwarves with awe.
At that moment, Ariane heard the sound of heavy boots behind her. As she slowly turned her head, a meaty hand grabbed her by her hood and drew her up to her knees. She found herself staring into the hard black eyes of a dwarf. The dwarf held an axe in his left hand, and he held it much too closely to the back of Ariane’s neck for her liking – it made her hair rise. Ariane’s eyes were perfect circles, and she, for once, was speechless. And to make matters worse, the dwarf appeared to be spinning in front of her.
"So, what do you have to say for yurself, lassie?"
Ariane swayed in his grip. "St..stop spinning…"
"What’cha say?" The dwarf began to loosen his grip on her.
"Stop…." Ariane’s sentence was never finished, because she had fallen flat on her face for the second time that day.
"Lord Balin! You’ve got to come see this!"
Out of the din, Balin, Lord of Moria, came to the opening of a much more narrow hallway. He found his friend standing over a dark, bloody figure, laying on the ground.
"What is it, Oin?"
"It’s an elf. A she-elf."
"An elf?" Balin asked, incredulously.
"What do I do with her, my lord?"
"Take her to the Twenty-First Hall. Treat her wounds. When she’s awake, send her to me. I’ll get Ori to come help you."
She was hardly awake, but she could feel it. A sharp needle pricking her ear, and cord following through. she thought. She rolled on a comfortable bed, and tried to sit up.
The stitching stopped. "So yur awake, now are ya?"
Ariane opened her eyes and recognized the same dwarf that was spinning before her earlier. "What are you doing to me?" she asked as strongly as possible.
"Fixin’ yur wounds."
"Uh- well, thank you. I really do appreciate what you’re doing for me."
"Oh, these are just orders," he replied gruffly.
"Ya, well, as soon as I’m done ‘ere, yur gonna go see the Lord of Moria."
"Who? Ow!" Ariane whimpered as Oin continued to stitch.
"Ba-lin, the Lord of Mor-i-a."
"I thought Moria was a lost realm."
"Well, yur And I’m not surprised. Most elves have their noses stuck too high in the air to worry about the troubles of those dwelling underground."
"Excuse , but from what I’ve heard, its DWARVES who have their heads so far buried in the ground that they don’t have time to care about those it."
"Ya speak falsely, missy," said Oin, as he jabbed the needle into Ariane’s ear.
"Watch it!" warned Ariane. ‘Well, what do you know?’ she thought. ‘I believe I’ve found someone more pompous than Legolas.’ A thin smile appeared on her lips.
"Do ya not know that we were present at the War of the Last Alliance? Most elves leave us out of their stories. Or were ya not educated about that War, judging from the blank look on your face?"
Ariane quickly snapped out of her daydream. "I’m plenty educated," Ariane lied through her teeth, as she thought, ‘I knew it! knew it! They were at that War….and I MUST read The Silmarillion!’
"Or what about the time the Elven-King of Mirkwood imprisoned me and my twelve companions, including Lord Balin, , in his dungeons?" said Oin, clearly agitated. "He had no right to hold us up on our expedtion like we were slaves, or some sort of evil people. Many dwarves are still angry about that to this day!" Oin cut the thread bitterly and moved to begin work on her other ear. As he poked the threaded needle through her torn ear, he mumbled, "If I ever get me hands on that pointy-eared rascal, I’ll…"
"Hey!" Ariane cut in. "You’d better watch what you say. I don’t know that story, or why he kept you, but he is a .
"Sure," Oin said sarcastically. "So ya know ‘im?"
Ariane nodded slowly.
"Well, if ya ever see ‘im again, you let ‘im know that we’re still angry. That we want a formal apology from ‘im and a compensation – payed in mithril – for the waste of time we spent in his filthy dungeons! Got that, missy?"
"What do you mean, ‘if I ever see him again?’ Why won’t I see him?
"That’s for Lord Balin to decide. Now yur done!" he said, as he snipped the cord. "Come on, he is waiting."
Ariane rose from her bed, feeling a bit cornered and a little panicked and a lot of nervousness. she thought sadly. As she stood, she noticed that her wrists and legs were bandaged, and smelled a lot like herbs, although she could not place the scent. Also, there was a bandage about her waist and stomach. "How did you stop the bleeding?"
"We have to deal with orcs very often, and you elves are not the only ones with fancy medicine. Now come on, quit stallin’!"
After some words with Lord Balin, Oin escorted Ariane inside the Chamber of Mazarbul and left her there. Ariane found herself in a fair-sized room, with only one door and a high ceiling, and it was absolutely dark save for a shaft of light flowing in from the morning sky. Ariane wished she were out there with her friends, sparring, or horseback riding in the open fields, or walking through the forest. Anywhere but here. As she looked away from the light and towards the centre of the room, she saw a throne hewn out of white stone, and on the throne sat a long, grey-bearded dwarf.
"So I assume you are the Lord of Moria," said Ariane as politely as she could, ignoring the fact that she and her kin had been insulted just minutes ago. "How do you do?"
"Far from well," replied Balin in his richly-toned voice. "Yesterday evening, we lost some fine dwarves in a fight against the orcs. Do you know why this happened, uh…"
"Arvariane Estel – uh – Ariane."
"Do you know why this happened, Ariane?"
"I might have some idea." answered Ariane coyly.
"Well, what is it? TELL ME. " Balin commanded.
"A party of elves and I were ambushed and kidnapped by some filthy orcs as we were travelling from Lothlorien to Rivendell."
"And that’s what disturbed the orcs?"
"I suppose so," Ariane answered coolly. "Look, I’ll be blunt with you, Lord Balin. I’m sorry that some of your kin were killed yesterday. But it was no fault of mine, I can promise you that. And many of my friends and family in Rivendell are afraid for my life. So if you don’t mind, I’ll be leaving now."
Ariane began to walk towards the door. Suddenly she stopped and turned. "Oh, where are my manners? Thank you, Lord Balin, for saving my life. Thank you for fixing my wounds, though I terribly insulted in the process. For this I am indebted to you. But perhaps I can repay you at a more time. I must go. She continued towards the door.
"Go ahead and try!" Balin called. This made Ariane stop in her tracks and turn towards him. "You’ll never make it out past the Twenty-First Hall. Not without protection. And not until the orcs die down."
"Well, how long will that take?" Ariane asked anxiously.
"A couple of days, perhaps. Maybe longer. And as for protection, I don’t know if I’m willing to send my troops out for an , only to be – massacred."
"Well, no offense, lord, but I don’t think I need your dwarves."
"Oh, but I think you do. Our kin made these hallowed halls many ago. We know our way through the Mines of Moria, unlike you who came here…what was it? Oh yeah, today. "
‘What is he saying?’ Ariane thought. ‘Father always taught me to use my mind…to use dexterity…’ Suddenly Ariane realized the root of Balin’s words.
"You know what? I don’t think this is about orcs, or your dwarves. I think you want to keep me, like King Thranduil kept you and your kin so many years ago. This is about – you want revenge."
Lord Balin smiled. "Well, aren’t you smart? Though, I don’t know if I would call it revenge; still, we shall see in time. Anyways, you are right. You will stay here."
"What are you going to do to me?" Ariane asked, nervous yet inquisitive.
"Oh, I’m sure we can find some use for you," said Lord Balin, smiling mysteriously.
Note: Udun= elvish word for ‘hell’
Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai-menu= A well known Dwarvish battle-cry, meaning ‘Axes of the Dwarves! The Dwarves are upon you!’
So there it is. Any thoughts/ feedback would be nice, but please know that this is the first fanfic that I have ever written in my life, so please be kind!