The Shadow Hunter

Chapter 10: There and Back Again

She could hear the Dwarves and her kin clashing in battle; shields clashing with swords and arrows hitting armours. The battle cries of the Dwarves filled her ear drums and aching them, but she kept running. Years of travelling had caused her feet to be lighter than the wind and she climbed the hill that faced the Dwarves’ battlefield like a deer running from a hunter. She emerged from the hill and panted heavily. The battle unfolding before her was terrifying, but she was about to bring a more terrifying news.

She drew an arrow and fired it at the ground close to Gandalf, just next to his right foot, to catch the wizard’s attention.

“They are coming!” she warned the wizard as she ran down the hill.

“Orcs!” Gandalf shouted to the top of his lungs, catching the quarrelling armies’ attention. They turned towards the hill, watching as Varilerin’s black figure rolled down and dropped right in front of them. “Orcs! They are coming! Brace yourselves!”

At first the Dwarves and the Elves didn’t understand what the wizard was saying, until legions of armoured Orcs emerged from the hill. Their leader rode a dreadful warg in front, his face pale and menacing. Azog the Defiler and his soldiers growled at them, greeting them with their menacing teeth and dangerous weapons.

“By the Valar,” Thranduil muttered in disbelief when he saw the evil creatures. The Dwarves and Men of Esgaroth reacted the same. Their bodies trembled in fear as they watched the enemies closing in. Dain and Bard came forth with their rides, standing beside Thranduil to greet whatever doom was awaiting them. Varilerin skipped lastly before she stood beside Gandalf, panting heavily as a result of her hasty journey.

“I believe they have come to their senses?” Varilerin said to Gandalf. Gandalf merely nodded as he drew his sword, eyes narrowed and flaring in fury. “Good then,” she added, drawing an arrow and notching it on her bowstring. She stood still as she watched Thranduil and the Dwarves preparing their defences against the enemy. She had journeyed for long years among Men and not little did she encounter bloody battles and wars. She would not be cowered by the legions, nor the doom that would be threatening her, for she had seen much worse, much more than anyone could imagine.

“Let us see how you’ve progressed over the years,” Gandalf said to her with a smile that seemingly illogical to be created. Varilerin nodded and raised her bow. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes, letting peace flow through her veins and strength accumulate in her muscles.

When she heard the shields of the Dwarves hitting the enemies, Varilerin finally opened her eyes and released her arrow. The battle had started, horrifying to all yet not to her. She moved quickly, following the flow of the fight, releasing arrows whenever she saw targets and dodging whenever she saw swords charging towards her. The battle seemed silent to her. She saw only moving targets, piercing them with her arrows and eventually twin swords as she moved among other soldiers. However fast the enemy, she always managed to evade, and return its strike with a merciless s***h of her blade.

Blood suddenly trickled from her forehead, dropping to her scarf. She wiped her skin with her bloody hand and observed it. She had only realized that her head was grazed lightly by her enemy’s blade, frowning when she couldn’t feel the pain that should have been stinging her.

“Daefaroth!” she heard Gandalf shouting from a distance, pulling his sword from his opponent. Varilerin snapped back to reality and turned to Gandalf, approaching her with broken steps. “We cannot hold them much longer. They are retreating to the city.” The Orcs had flanked the good army from both sides with their sheer number, almost cornering them to death but leaving a slight space for their escape. The soldiers slipped through the ever-narrowing gap of the legions, escaping but not losing the strength to fight.

“It seems that they realized the evil too late,” Varilerin muttered. “Come, we should be following.” Varilerin and Gandalf jogged towards the city, pushing themselves past the escaping soldiers. The Orcs chased them mercilessly, shooting arrows blindly. Varilerin managed to dodge the incoming arrows until she finally arrived in the city, where the battle continued once more. In the city the enemies seemed to grow wilder and faster, slipping past broken buildings and attacking the men without warning. Varilerin and Gandalf fought side by side, defending each other if their opponents dared to strike them.

“Daefaroth!” she heard Bard shouting. Bard emerged from his small army, holding a sword and covered in blood. “They are breaking through the defences. We cannot hold much longer.”

There was a commotion from the entrance of Dale, a sound of horse galloping fiercely. Legolas and Tauriel arrived hastily at the battlefield, both leaping off their ride once they arrived.

“Legolas Greenleaf!” Gandalf said. Legolas approached Gandalf quickly, his eyes wary and terrified of the battlefield.

“There is a second army. Bold leads a force of Gundabad Orcs. They are almost upon us,” Legolas informed them.

“By the Valar,” Varilerin muttered in disbelief.

“This was their plan all along. Azog engages our forces, then Bolg sweeps from the north,” Gandalf said, too distressed of the situation that he didn’t realize the Hobbit lurking beside him.

“What? The north?” Bilbo Baggins said so suddenly that Gandalf almost hit him with his staff. Bilbo managed to dodge the stick swiftly, glaring angrily at Gandalf when he did so. “Which north exactly?” Bilbo asked again.

“Ravenhill,” Gandalf answered. Bilbo looked surprised.

“Thorin is up there. And Fili and Kili! They’re all up there!” Bilbo exclaimed. “We need to help them!”

“We make way through the legions,” Varilerin said. “Furthermore, this city needs defending. The Men are staking their lives.”

“Then don’t leave this place, Daefaroth,” Gandalf told her, grabbing her shoulder and looking her deep into her eyes. “Protect the women and children. You have done enough. Leave the Dwarves to me, the one that have triggered this quest.”

Varilerin was reluctant to obey Gandalf’s instructions, but nodded nevertheless. Gandalf nodded in return, letting her go. He watched as Varilerin disappeared from his sight with Bard, catching the last glimpse of her black clothing among the soldiers. Gandalf then turned to Bilbo, who was waiting expectantly for his action.

“Come on then,” Gandalf said. “It is time to finish what I’ve started.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

There were sharp screeches of bird coming from the skies. The Eagles flew across the battlefield and dived to strike the enemies, sweeping them with the wind of death. Varilerin glanced up, panting with short breaths as she watched their new allies finishing the battle. Her skin shivered terribly when the Eagles cried once more, for she didn’t only hear the sound of the great beings. She heard a scream, quiet yet clear, silent yet painful. Her head unconsciously moved to the Ravenhill, where she assumed Bilbo and Gandalf had gone. Something had happened there, something terrible enough to give her an auditory vision and aching her heart.

Thorin Oakenshield has fallen, she heard a voice coming from her inner mind. Varilerin frowned and closed her eyes. The battle cries of Orcs started dissipating around her, marking the end of the great battle. She knew however, that sadness would continue to engulf the Company of Thorin for long years, and the loss would not be forgotten for them.

May his soul find his way, she prayed silently. The world became ever quieter, though the people cheered wildly when they saw that the battle had come to an end. The enemies had started to retreat, having overrun by the Great Eagles, and disappeared from the lands slowly. The sun was descending to the horizon, sending silvery blaze to Varilerin’s eyes as she walked towards Ravenhill, to pay respect for an undeniably great leader. Thousands of bodies of her kin and Dwarves scattered on the ground. Sadness she hid from her eyes as she continued her stroll towards the peak of the hill.

The Dwarves were kneeling around Thorin when she came, weeping in silence over his honourable death. Horns were sounded from Dale to honour the great warrior, masking the great grief that was dominating the Dwarves. Varilerin sneaked towards Gandalf and Biilbo, who were sitting, unmoved, as they watched the surviving Dwarves honouring their King.

“You don’t seem surprised?” Gandalf muttered as he smoked his pipe. Gandalf studied her expression carefully and raised his head in understanding. “You’ve received visions once more, haven’t you?”

“Visions? What do you mean visions?” Bilbo asked, breaking his record of silence.

“I would rather call them warnings,” Varilerin answered directly. She found it quite strange to talk openly to a stranger, but decided not to stop her explanation. “They come in many forms, or so I thought. Sometimes I see visions, sometimes I hear voices from the future. Sometimes, it comes only in pain, expressions, and the fastening beat of my heart.”

Varilerin paused and glanced at the mourning company. “Thorin Oakenshiled is a great Dwarf. Little did deaths trigger an effect on me, unless he is a powerful figure…”

“He is, truly,” Bilbo added with a nod. They no longer spoke afterwards, returning to the city of Dale where they met the wounded soldiers being tended. The dead bodies were piled up and burnt when the sun had set, igniting a tremendous bonfire in the middle of the land. The Mirkwood Elves were nowhere to be seen, having returning to their homeland after such tragedy. The Elves had suffered numerous losses, though according to Gandalf, Thranduil had finally gained what he was searching for.

“Because it is all the time, by his side,” Gandalf explained to her when they were walking around the city of Dale. The people had gone asleep, tired of whatever sufferings they had experienced earlier that day. The city had amazingly survived despite the countless corpses of Orcs covering the streets, and still remained a shelter for the townspeople.

“I wonder, Gandalf, why my curse remerges after long years it stays hidden,” Varilerin whispered.

“I thought you are wise enough to answer that, My Friend,” Gandalf retorted. Varilerin scoffed, thinking herself not worthy of such praise. “But I believe it is a sign. A sign that you are to return to the light from the shadows.”

“What need does light have for me? I am but a mere exile, wandering aimlessly across Middle Earth,” she said sadly. “I am not worthy.”

“In this darkening age, all must return to their battlefields, Varilerin,” Gandalf whispered lowly, not wanting to reveal his friend’s true name to curious passers-by. “So is the King of Gondor.”

“The King of Gondor? I thought the line is broken,” Varilerin said. Gandalf shook his head and smiled gently. “It has been restored then?”

“The last descendant of Isildur is now in Rivendell, under the meticulous care of Lord Elrond and his children. He is called Estel, but his name is Aragorn.”

Varilerin smiled faintly when she listened to his news. The wizard and the ranger had been spending long years searching for the remaining descendants of Numenor, asking everywhere and anywhere they went. Varilerin, having found the ability to identify powerful people by merely feeling their presence, had tried to even search to the lands of Harad, but it proved to be pointless. Gandalf smiled when he saw her face slightly brightening with hope.

“Hope has returned to Men,” Varilerin muttered.

“Lord Elrond will ensure that he knows his heritage when he comes of age. I have seen him. He will be a great king,” Gandalf continued. Varilerin nodded, remembering Rivendell once Gandalf had uttered Elrond’s name. Glorfindel’s face flashed before her, so were the mischievous ones of Elladan and Elrohir. She gritted her teeth and brushed the past memories away from her mind, focusing herself to the staring Gandalf.

“And now the king under the mountain is returning to his homeland,” Gandalf continued. “The Elves are moving, and so is the enemy. The turning point of this age is coming, My Dear, and I am afraid you cannot hide much longer.”

“We’ll eventually see,” Varilerin said brokenly. It was, however hard she tried to deny it, unescapable for her to remain in the shadows any longer. Even without a vision, Varilerin knew.

The quiet night passed slowly. The new day had come, a mourning one. People from Dale mourned for their fallen ones, watching them being cremated under the lightening sky. Bard, having just crowned as the new king of Dale, stood beside his son and daughters to pay respect to their fallen warriors. Gandalf and Varilerin didn’t stay long for the funeral, and instead paid a visit to Erebor with Bard. They walked up the mountain, now slightly cleaner from the scattering corpses. Birds, like the great prophecy, was starting to return to Erebor. Gandalf smiled when a bird landed on his shoulder, a dark raven that was transfixed on his shoulder.

“You haven’t sent me a message for a long time, My Friend,” Gandalf told Varilerin. Varilerin turned to Gandalf, who let the bird go after he gave it a piece of bread.

“And besides this scarf, the only message you’ve sent me recently is a dire one,” Varilerin retorted.

“But you like that scarf, don’t you?” Gandalf said. Varilerin didn’t speak further and turned her back away. They continued their hike in silence, until finally they reached Erebor. The company was greeted by Balin, standing awkwardly in front of the doorstep.

“Balin,” Gandalf greeted, pulling off his hat. Balin nodded in acknowledgement, though he didn’t speak in his mourning hours. “Lead us, if you may.”

Balin led the company into the halls of Erebor. The just revived kingdom was still full of darkness. Remnants from the battle between the Dwarves and Smaug were still scattering all over the floor and still paved on the magnificent yet broken pillars. Bard gaped at the sight of the Dwarf kingdom and stared up high.

“It is a pity that this kingdom was lost over mere gold,” Bard remarked. “They do not understand that this kingdom itself is the most valuable treasure… Not the Arkenstone nor the mountains of gold.”

“Each races have different values of treasures, Your Highness,” Varilerin told him. “Elves tend to value knowledge and beauty, Dwarves valuing treasure, and Men often value power…. But sometimes some value other more than gold or treasures….”

“What do you value then?” Bard asked. Varilerin didn’t answer him, as they had arrived at the funeral. Thorin’s surviving company was standing around the coffins of the three fallen warriors. They did not speak with each other nor did they cry. They only stood there like a statue, only moving when the three arrived in the room. In the middle of the hall was Dain, wearing the crown of Erebor as its new king.

“Gandalf,” Dain rasped.

“It is an honour to see a king under the mountain once more,” Gandalf said to Dain. Dain shook his head in disagreement.

“It is Thorin Oakenshield. He is the king under the mountain,” Dain told him surely. Gandalf nodded sadly and approached Thorin’s body. Varilerin and Bard followed quietly behind him. Varilerin could see Thorin’s cold body from afar, lying with his sword Orcrist, Beside his coffin were Kili’s and Fili’s. It was to her surprise to see Kili and she instantly remembered Tauriel, the elleth that had shared a strange bond with the Dwarf. Her heart ached slightly, having known similar pain before.

“May your souls find your way,” Varilerin prayed in her tongue. Gandalf uttered a similar prayer in Dwarvish as a respect for the honourable Dwarves. Once the three had finished paying their respects to the dead, the Dwarves proceeded by closing each coffins with a cold stone. As heave as it was, the stone covered the coffins completely with a loud thump that echoed repeatedly in the hall. Varilerin caught a Hobbit standing lonely in the corner as he watched the ritual and approached him.

“Why do you stand alone?” Varilerin asked him. Bilbo shuddered when he noticed her shadowy arrival.

“Just want some privacy, that’s all,” Bilbo said to Varilerin. He looked down at the floor for a moment and then lifted his head to look at Varilerin directly. “Gandalf has told me about your adventures…. Does it really pain like this?”

Varilerin was startled when she heard the Hobbit’s unclear question, though she knew what he meant clearly. “What do you mean, Master Baggins?” she asked him after a moment. Bilbo seemed hesitant to continue, playing with his fingers in anxiety.

“Does it really pain you to lose someone dear to you?” Bilbo asked again, this time quite sure of his question. Varilerin shuddered and looked at Gandalf, suspicious that the wizard had told the Hobbit too much. Then again, Gandalf had never broken his promise, and he would certainly this time. The wizard had kept her secret safe for thousands of years, and so did she kept Gandalf’s secret in the shadows. He would not betray her over silly purposes, she finally realized. She turned back to Bilbo, who waited nervously for her answer.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard from the wizard, Master Baggins, but I can assure you that I have felt the same as well,” Varilerin answered. She paused for a long moment. “Even after a thousand years the pain cannot pass from my heart. Losing someone dear, it is the greatest fear in my life.”

“But you are strong, Daefaroth. You are capable of protecting your friends more than I,” Bilbo added. Varilerin froze and widened her eyes. Bilbo saw her expression changing drastically and felt his figure being threatened by her long shadow, fearing that he had angered her in some ways.

“Strength does not mean anything, Master Hobbit,” Varilerin muttered slowly. “Even the strongest can fall by the littlest things.” She stopped again and turned her face away from the Hobbit. “Will you return to a journey after such event?”

“I don’t know, Daefaroth,” Bilbo said to end their conversation. The Dwarves finally buried Thorin and his kins, singing a song as the warriors entered their graves. Bilbo stood beside Varilerin as they watched their coffins disappearing into the tomb. The Dwarves finally shut the tomb, ending the journey of the warriors in the living world.

“Thorin is a great Dwarf,” Varilerin told Bilbo, who seemed restless once Thorin was buried. “You are a good Hobbit as well, Bilbo Baggins, and I can assure you that whatever matters you have with Thorin have been settled before his death.”

Bilbo merely nodded as an answer. Gandalf approached the two, finally taking out a pipe weed from his pocket and lighting it with a magical fire. “It seemed that you two have an unlikely friendship,” Gandalf remarked. “More closer than I have been when I am travelling with this Hobbit.”

“Friendship is found in unlikely places indeed,” Varilerin said. She noticed Balin walking towards them with short steps, his face still sad but slightly enlightened after Thorin was buried properly.

“There will be a feast tonight,” Balin told the three. “Will you join us?”

“I am afraid I not,” Bilbo told Balin. Gandalf and Varilerin instantly glared at him, causing him to shudder as if thunder had struck him. “But then again, I think I’ll stay longer.” Gandalf smiled when the Hobbit said so, blowing a ship of smoke to the air in satisfaction. “The battle has ended. We shall enjoy tonight with celebration. It might be your last as well, hmm?” Gandalf said to the Hobbit. Bilbo forced an awkward smile and nodded, following the Dwarves to the dining hall.

The feast was quite enjoyable, at least to Varilerin’s level. She had never attended a feast before, not even a single day in her life. She had always eaten whatever there was in the forest, only visiting Rivendell’s kitchen if food was really scarce. Being her first feast, the dinner held by the Dwarves was incredibly to her eyes. She had never seen so much food and drink before, and songs and dances. It delighted her, though she still couldn’t blend with the celebrating Dwarves and constantly dwelling herself in the corners of the room, along with Bilbo, who seemed to take her habit in stealth. Varilerin spent the whole feast talking with the Hobbit, telling him some of her journeys freely despite having only known him for several days. Bilbo seemed delighted to hear her stories, sipping some ale from time to time. Gandalf joined their conversation not long after the party had started, bringing only a cup of wine with him and a handful of tobacco.

“So, Daefaroth, how’s your relationship with the Hobbit?” Gandalf constantly asked between conversations. Varilerin had always answered with the same answer, that they were merely acquaintances. However, Gandalf had finally forced her to make a permanent friend after her tenth time of answering him in the same way.

“You see, Bilbo, Daefaroth has a quite queer way of sending messages,” Gandalf told Varilerin. Varilerin couldn’t stop the wizard from saying, “Through birds!”

“Really? How do you do that?” Bilbo asked immediately. Varilerin scowled at Gandalf. “Can I try sending a message to you in the future?”

“You want to send a message to me?” Varilerin asked out of surprise.

‘Well, I hope to hear more of your story,” Bilbo trailer off, rubbing his curly hair wildly. “Look, if you are uncomfortable about that you can just say-“

“I accept this friendly proposition, Master Baggins,” Varilerin finally said, smiling small under her scarf. Bilbo’s face brightened with joy and he nodded hastily. “Then you have to have a bird, Master Baggins, preferably a raven, because it has a certain fondness for me.”

“Right, thank you, Daefaroth,” Bilbo stammered in happiness. Varilerin nodded as well, whilst Gandalf smiled for her new friendship with the Hobbit. It was such a strange fate for her, really, to befriend a strange creature such as a Hobbit. She couldn’t understand how Bilbo managed to open her long-closed heart in a short time. She had never felt the warmth she had always had with Gandalf and her old friends with anyone, but this Hobbit managed to make her heart lighter than before.

Perhaps Gandalf’s words were true. Her fate was slowly changing as the dusk of the age was nearing. It seemed that her world would be growing brighter, yet she still feared for the worst. The fear she knew, would constantly haunt her, possibly for the rest of her life.

***

“The sun is rising,” Bilbo said to Varilerin as he inhaled his pipe weed slowly. Varilerin nodded, watching as the golden sun started to wake from its sleep. Bilbo’s face was filled with sadness. The time for his departure had come, and so had Gandalf’s and Varilerin’s. Beside him laid his bag, full of clothes and food for the journey, and a small chest of treasure for his share as the 14th member of Thorin’s company. They were waiting for Gandalf now, who was still bidding farewell from the Dwarves and giving last counsel for the new king under the mountain. The wizard wouldn’t want Dain to repeat the same mistakes his predecessor had done, nor did he want to meddle with their troubles.

Once the Wizard returned to their company, they began their journey back to Hobbiton. Along the way Bilbo asked many questions to dig out Daefaroth’s true identity, but Varilerin managed to skilfully answer each one to prevent her true self from being discovered. Nevertheless, she still told him stories of her journeys whenever he asked—all of them pleasing the Hobbit greatly. Varilerin became closer to the Halfling and by the time she noticed, she had become a good friend with him. Gandalf would sneak into their conversation if he felt bored, enlightening the journey slightly. It made their journey home short and, by the time they realized it, they were already in Shire.

Bilbo’s eyes glimmered in excitement as he leapt from the cartwheel they had been riding, carrying his small chest of share, and some remnants from the journey he had decided to keep. Varilerin and Gandalf walked down the vehicle as they prepared themselves goodbyes for their friend.

“Truly, Master Baggins, I’ve never seen a Hobbit like you,” Varilerin started. “I will make sure we remain in contact.”

“I feel the same as well, for both of you,” Bilbo gratefully said. “You are welcome in my house, and don’t bother knocking.”

“Yes, My Friend… Something bothers me though,” Gandalf said in return “Keep that ring well. Magic rings are not to be taken lightly.”

“Umm…. Don’t worry about the Ring,” Bilbo told them. “I’ve lost it in battle. It is not valuable anyway.”

“Ah, so that’s how it is,” Varilerin muttered. “Farewell then, Bilbo Baggins. I am awaiting greatly for our next meeting.”

Bilbo nodded at the two of them, before walking away towards Bag End. Varilerin sighed as she watch him leave, a slight sadness washing her. “He’s finally home,” she remarked. “It is good for him.”

Gandalf gave her meaningful look before he coughed. “So where are you going now, My Dear? Surely you will not wander aimlessly again?”

Varilerin stayed silent, pondering over the question as she gazed at Shire with enormous attention. She sighed and turned to Gandalf, patting his shoulder lightly. “I do not know, My Friend, though… I think I know where should I return to if I need rest.” Varilerin curved a small smile beneath her scarf, bowing to Gandalf. “Farewell, Gandalf. Until we meet again.”

“Goodbye, Varilerin,” the Wizard replied. She lifted her head before she walked away from him, entering her dark world once more.