12 | Love Over Blood

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Illyria Strange | The Eternal

Location: School of Engineering, Oxford, UK, Earth

Time: August 2027

The honest statement she could probably say towards a magical elven cryptid was exactly the moment they landed upon a metal grillage in the middle of an Oxford college laboratory.

"Now that was...so much better than the Silmaril alone," Illyria groaned, stumbling forwards to grab the handle.

Despite her head spinning and whatever was inside her wanting to un-inside in the next five minutes – she didn't feel like she was going to throw up her entire organs in the next ten seconds. It would seem the other three that travelled with her seem to agree.

Unfortunately: Aegnor Arafinwion looked greener than his sun-kissed skin since it was his first-time experiencing Silmaril vertigo. But still, he could stand up without wanting to curl up in a ball, all because of his elven stature and all.

Honestly, Eru decided to make two races and somehow made one more 'derpier' than the other.

(Note: never will she call humans 'derpy'. Only for the sake of comparing her and the perfectly blonde himbo alongside the scary redheaded wolf and beach Shaggy with no Scooby.)

Once she was able to stand up, Illyria picked up the satchel she dropped onto the staircase and took a ragged breath. Maedhros was already down, putting away the photoresistor suit and headed towards one of the countertops. Meanwhile, Maglor was looking about, his eyes panning around before he spoke in a slightly worried tone to them.

"We should be quick. The Silmarils together are already a risk," He noted.

Right. Well, that wasn't something she considered. Technically...three Silmarils if it included herself.

Her thoughts were then paused when she spotted a figure walking around the console. Once the familiar face looked back at her, Illyria held her hand up as a gesture and greeted: "Finneas."

Fëanor was dressed in his usual lecturing clothes, with the nicely primmed tweed jacket and the fancy oxford shoes. If he wore a bowtie and a fez he might even join Darcy's list of characters she would definitely hook up with if she weren't engaged to her dad. Thankfully Illyria didn't see enough of the Eleventh Doctor in the reincarnated elf enough to remark it. She didn't have to have another scowling match with Maedhros for constantly finding some appeal to Fëanor.

What was wrong with that? It wasn't her fault that his dad dressed pretty damn good.

Unfortunately downgraded by looks would have to be his attitude. And the moment his mouth opened; you could probably tell why. Fëanor eyed them before he glanced back at her and said, "You brought new people." He made a soured expression before he added cautiously, "Please tell me it isn't your sons."

Firstly, that was rude. Her sons were perfect gentlemen when they arrived. Well, gentle-Ellyn to be specific.

Apart from the nagging and joining up with Harley to basically terrorize him with more gen z personas in one place, Illyria thought they were well-behaved. At least they didn't set anything on fire when they were here.

Or at least set anything on fire that was important.

(She made sure to replace Uncle Wong's kitchenware before they left, considering the mess they made in the Sanctum's kitchen.)

With a tired grin, she nudged her free hand as she headed down the steps and turned her head around. She told him, "Nope, but yours."

She watched his face morph into confusion, eyeing Maedhros first before he then finally came up to the navy-robed sorcerer atop the platform. With only a few feet between them, she was seeing a father and son reunite. The only son Fëanor had not hoped to see ever since all those stories and news about Maglor.

If only he knew who the heck his son turned out to be...

Maglor remained calm, almost showing a smile on his lips as he headed down and finally faced him. With a slightly raspy voice, he spoke.

"Atto."

Illyria studied Fëanor's reaction, sensing his fëa slightly warming but not without disbelief. He must have never thought he would confront him. Not with what has happened.

With the same croaky voice, Fëanor responded. "Kano..."

As the awkward silence occurred, she was able to spot eerily how they were similar. In a way: Maglor did look like Fëanor. Well apart from the glowing eyes and maybe his nose, they were pretty much the same height and appearance. Maglor's hair was slightly lighter in shade, though still dark enough to count as black. Of course, Fëanor's hair was short and cut in a modern hairdo as well as the clothes so it was pretty obvious it would be difficult to compare them.

But no doubt they were related. Maybe it was something she could sense in their souls, but in a way, there was some sort of connection between them.

Maglor cleared his throat, finally sobering up as he cut the silence. "You look...well."

On one part of the lab, Illyria could mentally hear Maedhros swearing to himself and she had to refrain from glaring back up at the elf. At least Maglor didn't try and kill Fëanor.

If he tried, she doubted if she could even fight back against him.

"You're the sorcerer Strange has been looking for," Finneas commented, earning a short nod from his younger son.

It was then Illyria decided to intervene (she was not going to watch this weird reunion episode and die from awkwardness) as she nudged her chin and gestured, "Also brought your nephew." She pointed at the now less-green, blonde-haired elf and spoke, "Aegnor, you met Finneas...um: Fëanor."

That was when Fëanor furrowed his eyebrows and gave her a look.

Illyria simply returned the same, assuring him that there was a perfectly acceptable reason as to why she extended the invitation to Aegnor. She hadn't met the son of Finarfin for long, but he seemed quite alright. Albeit a little quiet and somewhat very brooding, he was quite friendly and carefree in contrast to what others talk about.

Aegnor finally introduced himself, a little hesitant but polite to his uncle. Fëanor simply looked at him, confused as well.

Maedhros grunted as he was rummaging through his pack, taking out several items he must have gotten from Forlond. "Don't ask, I don't understand as well," he told him whilst Maglor remained quiet.

Oh, she bet he knew whatever she was planning.

After their introductions, Illyria headed to her work desk and began sorting out her stuff. Since leaving Mithlond before heading back to Earth, she was able to get some things from several friends. In particular, some notes and things which Celebrían and Celebrimbor wanted her to get through. She knew exactly what it was and hoped whatever the youngest Fëanorian's solution was successful.

There were also some things that she returned, such as the sketches which Mereneth wanted her to go through when it came to more efficient arrows. Illyria was able to also bump into Voronwë as well, practically begging her to bring back something 'Earthly' for him to test out. Unfortunately, she can't exactly take a Tesla back to Middle Earth – let alone a car.

Honestly, by the end of this, she was going to compile of list of people she knew that should never ever meet...unless she wants the world to implode by a massive prank.

As she decided to head over to the console and check the operations of the machine and Silmaril, Fëanor strode over to her, eyeing her and everybody else. "So what is this visit?" He asked them, "I thought you would be preparing to get our armies to Rohan, Lothlorien and Dale."

Illyria leaned against the console, heaving out a breath. "Well they need some time to sort of...sort themselves out." She told him, thinning her lips before she continued, "Elladan, Elrohir and the Dunedain are heading there now so Elrond and Glorfindel have about...two months to kind of try band the entirety of the Noldor to help them."

Fëanor rotated his head to where his redheaded son stood. He asked, "This was also your idea?"

"Yes," Maedhros nodded, "I expected to be there...but Makalaurë says that I must visit his friend for some training."

Fëanor eyed his son and questioned, "What kind of training?"

"Just to equal up to Glorfindel's power," It was Maglor who answered, deciding to move around the room and eyeing every angle of the machine they had made.

Illyria quickly looked back at the sorcerer before she turned to Fëanor and inputted, "And my brother is half-Ainu." She shrugged, giving her titled brother a teasing wink, "I'm not saying anything bad... but good luck, Mae."

She was expecting him to either glare back at her or mentally throw a threat back. But as she was studying the screen, Illyria furrowed her eyebrows at the silence.

If only she looked up she might as well answer her own question.

"What in Arda is he doing here?" Maedhros' voice snapped her back, turning her to where another figure somehow appeared from their periphery.

Had the guy been here all this time?

And speaking of him...Illyria gasped once she realised who it was.

Plastering on a sarcastic smile, she waved her hand towards the rather tall man. "Hey, Snape. Or maybe Sirius Black? You look like a fancast of Sirius Black more than Snape, to be honest." Illyria began to walk over to him as she continued, "Also that was quick. Hope you didn't set the Raft on fire." [1]

She heard Fëanor scoff back, "I'm much better than that, Strange."

Once she got to him where he was standing idly by the doors, a feeling of recognition sparked in Illyria's mind. His soul was definitely the infamous warrior from Tolkien's stories...well without the rugged looks and sword on his hip his reincarnation was quite ironic.

The super-soldier no doubt was handsome on the human side. With raven-cut hair and a beard to match, he wore a black bomber jacket alongside black jeans and shoes. Around his neck he wore a silver tag, matching the steely greyish eyes.

He peered down at her "You're that girl on the train." Reaching out his hand, he introduced himself. "Theo Madoc."

She simply replied, "I know." The moment she took his hand, Illyria should have taken a double-take. Damn...super soldiers were sturdy as fuck. She placed a fake grin as she continued, "Pleasure to meet you...but then again you tried to choke me to death. Not cool, by the way."

At that second Madoc's lips twitched slightly, though it wasn't long before he let go and peered over her shoulder. He narrowed his eyes back at Maedhros, probably remembering him after basically knocking him out back in Siberia. And the latter wasn't pleased either, mentally warning Illyria to behave and stay back from the enhanced human.

Bitch please, if someone was going to hurt someone they both knew it was going to be her. With what happened the past week or so, Illyria still couldn't control entirely every part of her powers.

Honestly, she had to thank everyone for the past few days. Even Maglor and Glorfindel no matter how much she didn't trust either of them now. But as she promised her brother, she was going to think positively and try and be open with them. If Elrond could forgive and confront his foster father, she could do this.

Even thinking about Elrond already made her miss him. Him and her children.

Luckily Maglor snapped her back as he told them, "We won't be too long." Illyria spotted him facing Fëanor, who stood at the back of the console facing him. Maglor coolly hinted, "I assume you have the book, Atar."

"No, I returned it back to you, Strange."His voice confused, bordering on concern echoed into her ears.

Illyria made a popping sound with her lips when she walked back to them.

She mentally whistled as she slowly spoke – her voice getting slightly pitchy every second: "Yeah about that...I had them photocopied and sent to a friend."

All three of the Fëanorians' eyes bulged out.

Well, there goes the record of the 'most shook' Fëanorians in one room.

In a way, she should be proud of herself and if Elrond was here he would be so proud of her (even if it would make him facepalm and shake his head in disappointment).

Maedhros was the first to stammer out, looking unsure if he wanted to be angry or wanted to exasperate.

"Oh my--Why?"

With her voice still pitched high, Illyria defended herself, "I haven't had fucking time to do it myself!"

She then heard Maglor almost on the verge of either wanting to laugh or hit a wall.

Illyria gestured her hand out as she pointed, "And Finneas here's been too busy with making Silima and finding a way to concentrate the Silmaril."

The two older Fëanorians made a noise of bluster whereas Maglor twitched his lips. Did he know what she was gonna do?

Plus if he did, she still wouldn't trust the sorcerer. But at least he wasn't making her regret her choice. It wasn't that she was careless. Pfft of course not. And the person who knew the whereabouts of the journal was perfectly the best candidate and trustworthy enough to have it.

Maybe.

Okay, she might be a teeny bit worried but she wasn't going to show it now.

With a scoff, she waved her hand and reassured them, "Don't worry I have it hidden somewhere in our house."

Fëanor was still regretting whatever he just did as if he committed a crime (bro, he committed more atrocities that could get him six feet under faster than Thanos' snap,) whereas Maedhros decided to pack up his pack and equipped his sling ring on his finger.

As he went up to her, Maedhros opened his mouth: "Illyria...forget it." He sighed once more before he turned his head over his shoulder and said, "Brother, just send me the address or contact and I'll go."

Illyria huffed and folded her arms. Honestly, it's not that bad when she didn't think too hard about it.

Except for the risk of it falling into enemy hands that is but hardly Saruman would have the balls to actually try and get it now after the stunt she performed.

As Maedhros was about to exit the room, Illyria realised then that there were still two other figures that they had to sort out. "What about Aegnor?" She inquired, nudging her chin to where Aegnor was awkwardly at the side, who was also unsure why he was here in the first place.

"He can stay with me." Fëanor eyed his nephew for a second before he breathed in and hummed, "I'm sure your therapist will be arriving soon. He can keep Mister Madoc entertained whilst I try and check his blood samples."

Aegnor creased his eyebrows in confusion where Maglor's eyes widened but remained silent. That made Illyria raise an eyebrow at the reaction. Right, again. She shouldn't assume any more about the sorcerer and just take it slow and cautiously.

So as Maedhros left to probably get change back at their house – probably have an internal screaming match in his workshop – Illyria stayed behind to help Fëanor sort more of the machine and data. She had a bunch of things to get ready before she would venture down south. Though with a Super Soldier, an elven sorcerer and a blonde Finarfinian in the room: it was quite tense.

Especially whenever Fëanor was constantly eyeing his son back and forth, unsure whether to speak with him or not.

A feeling of sympathy washed over her as her eyes lingered on her computer over the desk. She could tell that Maglor wanted to speak to his father. How long had it been since he last saw him, anyway? And if she believed that he had travelled across the multiverse, how many times had Maglor seen a variant of Fëanor? Once, twice, many times?

Maybe even none.

Because from what she remembered, their parting was not exactly easy for any of them. And from Illyria's memory, she knew that whilst Maedhros had been imprisoned by Morgoth in Angband for three decades: Maglor had been forced to take the mantle of King of the Noldor from that point on.

A son that didn't realise he would become king.

That was why Illyria stayed quiet, sometimes asking Aegnor some questions and vice versa before she was ready to head off with Maglor. All whilst she could sense the two fëar across the large room the longing of reconcilement between father and son.

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Just as Maglor suggested, they left Oxford as soon as she was done with her work. After practically repacking some stuff for a more reasonable climate (to which Maglor did suggest for both her, Maedhros and Bilbo), they were heading through a golden portal from their house.

The moment they stepped through; Illyria was met by a waft of heat straight onto her face. There was no doubt that this was the middle of Iraq, the place which Maglor told her and Maedhros where the Eternals would apparently find them. She wondered why the middle of a desert would be the place. How old were the Eternals for them to know human history?

Considering she heard the lines of 'Babylon' coming out of Maglor's mouth, she might as well think that they had been the ones who started human civilization.

They were just on the outskirts of what seemed to be some archaeological dig site. They weren't noticed just yet, though she wondered if they were entirely real considering she could sense something different with their auras. By the time they had walked around, unbeknownst by their presence – Illyria had assumed they were illusions or simply more focused on digging up pottery and bones than them.

Which wasn't wrong. She respected people having the patience of finding out history under the forty-degree weather.

(And as much as she missed the sun, she did not miss the heat at all for it.)

The two brothers finally stopped at what seemed to be a shallow valley entrance, the landscape merely being an endless arid desert and blue skies before. Maedhros peered at his brother before he adjusted his pack, nodding back to his brother as they shared some words with each other. Afterwards, he then glanced back at her, his eyes softening slightly.

Illyria's chest slightly tightened as she walked up to them.

She didn't realise that this would be the first time they would be apart for so long. Ever since Maedhros landed on Earth almost three years ago, there wasn't a moment in that time that they had left each other for no longer than two weeks. When they were away because of work or visiting friends, they did have the technology to contact each other between those periods of time.

However, this time would be different. They would never know how long they would be away. A week? A month? Illyria didn't know, and it was clear from Maedhros' face that even he didn't know exactly when they'll see each other again.

As she cleared her throat, Illyria asked: "Mae?"

Maedhros looked at her with concern, "What is it, nethig?"

"Can't I hug my favourite Fëanorian before I go on a long and dangerous quest?" She smiled wryly, opening her arms out wide.

With a sigh, his lips twitched slightly before he gave in. She heard him huff as she engulfed him into a hug, careful not to touch his fëa too much as she felt him wince slightly.

Yeah, she'll have to get used to control that.

He brought his arms over her, letting her head lean into his chest before he murmured to her, "You lied to Elrond didn't you?"

Illyria hummed, undeniably unfazed by his clear assumption. "Yup. I know where Arwen is and he's going to whoop my ass." She pulled away, trying to assure him (and maybe mostly herself), "She'll be fine though. She has some odd friends. Kind of made me question how much we've changed things."

Smiling slightly, he answered, "It doesn't seem odd." With his vibranium hand, he tucked a strand back behind her ear. Maedhros quirked his lips as he commented, "You remind me of him as well."

Behind her, Illyria grinned as she heard Maglor say, "Háno."

But unfortunately, the red-haired Fëanorian revealed with a smirk, "He used to cling to me like this as well."

That made her turn slightly, spotting Maglor trying to hide his amusement and slight embarrassment. She could imagine a very young Maglor, an elven child practically climbing his brother like a tree.

But in truth, Illyria thought it was nice considering how long they had seen one another. Knowing that one had not seen the other for ages whilst the other was only a few years ago.

In the end, time would always be the winner against life.

So with a genuine smile, Illyria scrunched her nose with a beam as she spoke, "Aw, that's cute." After stepping back, she eyed Maedhros and mentioned in return, "Now, keep tabs on Elros. I asked him to meet with Finneas to help him find more people."

There was a knowing look and a nod from him before he slyly eyed down at her.

"What?" Illyria said, confused.

With a slight smile, he took something out of his pocket as he spoke, "You thought I would forget, did you?" She then noticed the small box as Maedhros continued, "Alassëa nosta, nethig." [2]

Her heart swelled. She couldn't believe that this mother-fudging elf had the actual mental capacity and time to remember. Elrond and Glorfindel had remembered but she told the two that she didn't want anything for her birthday considering the circumstances they were in.

But Maedhros.

Illyria thanked him before she took the box, taking off the ribbon before revealing what was inside.

It was a pen.

She frowned as she studied it. It looked just like any other pen, a little fancy for her taste and something that her dad or Fëanor would use, but nevertheless something which just seemed ordinary.

Though as she glanced back up to ask him, Maedhros simply nudged his chin as a gesture – hinting for her to open it. So with a breath, she twisted the lid of the pen. It was there she pulled her arm away as the entire object retracted into something she was not expecting.

In her hand was a dagger, her mouth parting in awe as she noticed that the design engraved upon the grave was not just patterns.

They were Tengwar letters.

Varya ar Enyal

To Protect and Remember.

Illyria had no words to describe it. How long had Maedhros taken to make this? By the sense of the vibranium's energy, she could only guess that he had some help from a certain Wakandan princess in making this come true.

And of course, it would have to be Shuri who would gladly help her favourite elf to make Percy Jackson's weapon even if it was on a smaller scale. [3]

As she closed the cap back, the blades and handle turned back to a simple pen. She grinned back up to him as an idea struck up. "I think I have a fitting name for it." Illyria watched as Maedhros smiled in return before a few seconds later he groaned, making her let out a heartful laugh.

"You are worse than Tyelko naming every animal he came home with."

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Obara | Princess of Erebor

Location: East Esgaroth, Middle Earth, Arda

Time: March 2981 T.A

"Stick together!" Someone yelled from the front of the group, "The faster we get through this mission, the faster we don't have to freeze ourselves to death in this weather."

Obara heaved with a breath, continuing to walk through the brambles and branches around her. It had been three or so days since they left the encampment outside Esgaroth, heading east with little breaks or rest between. Those who came with her comprised a mix of the multiple kingdoms, with some from Dale, her, Dwalin and her topmost efficient rangers as well as Feren and his rangers as well.

It wasn't something which she had agreed with, but the unexpected meeting to try and gain information on the advancements of the Easterlings had been more agreeable by all parties. Everyone was getting more aware and concerned over the alarming rate that the Easterlings have now gone through. With now most of the dwarrow from the Iron Hills fully moved, anything beyond the east of Erebor and Esgaroth was now an area of uncertainty.

They had multiple rangers try and scout as much of the land as possible, keeping posts and sending messages between them through raven as often as possible, but the long wait for communication didn't help. Soon the weeks passed and Obara was sensing dread as the numbers of ravens returning were dwindling. She hoped that if they at least defended the shoreline of the lake it would help, but Dwalin told her that it was futile for them to keep the land between them theirs or else they would become surrounded.

Maybe she was just a little out of practice with the guerilla tactics. In fairness, she had been gone from the army camp for quite some time and hadn't been able to catch up with the news and information being sent between all the contingencies.

At first, Dwalin refused for her to come with them, and that had made her annoyed simply because of the situation she was now in. It made no difference from now and before whether she went into a damn battlefield or not. Obara will always be the heir of Erebor whether with or without the circumstance she had come back from her home.

And that was why she was very trying to stay away from her uncle throughout the entire time unless she wanted to have a shouting match with him and accidentally tell the entire group why she had been gone for the past few weeks.

Her mother had downright wanted her to stay back in Erebor, forget whatever heroic streak she was in and run the kingdom with her father. But her grandmother – Dis – was a strict and compelling dwarrowdam, and nobody would dare object to her if she said Obara should fight beside her people.

Obara thanked her grandmother for the support, but not without her reminding that she still had to consider who she was to their people and that she couldn't run away from her duties.

And with that: she was struck again in this limbo. The feeling of her stomach churning every second of the night despite her appearance staying the same. Obara hated it. She hated having to hide all of this and think that everything was going to be alright...

"Are you alright, Lady Obara?"

She halted at a sudden space, her eyes widening slightly when she glanced up to meet his. Of course, it had to be him who asked if she was fine.

...Because in truth: she wasn't.

She blinked several times before she registered what he asked. After a few moments, she then responded too quickly, "Huh? Y-yes, I'm fine. Why?"

Feren's lips downturned, his concern written all over his face. He spoke quietly, "Your mind seems elsewhere."

If only he knew how accurate he was. But the only thing now that was at the front of her mind was now him. And the way Feren looked at her with pure concern. Not for the sake of courtesy – between a princess and the captain of the guard – but as a friend. And that statement in her mind had been reeling constantly, forcing herself to remember that only one thing can come true.

That Feren will always be her friend, and nothing more.

However: Obara's heart and body were beyond that sentence.

With her heart skipping a beat and her stomach doing flips once more, Obara answered him as composed as she could. "Nothing of importance." She gulped, continuing to walk with him now beside her. She tried to assure him with a sentence of nonchalance: "A lot has happened since. Returning into the open air has helped the issue but it's alright."

Feren glanced back at her momentarily, and she did all she could to hide the warmth rising in her cheeks. She looked away and focused on trekking over the rough terrain of the woodland, hearing the crunch of the frosted ground and the layer of melting snow.

His voice didn't seem convinced as he replied, "Alright then." Feren then added: "I would also like to mention something."

She creased her eyebrows. "About?"

"I must congratulate you on your engagement." He said, a smile upon his lips as he asked: "Lord Thorin Stonehelm, yes?"

Obara's heart had plummeted.

How had he known?

It was there she had paused, her eyes only gazing at the tree line in front of her before she rotated her head to meet his. Feren's smile had made her heart grow colder than before.

And all she could do was fake a smile as she responded, "Y-yes. Yes." Obara nodded, trying to make an excuse as she elaborated, "Due to the short time it was decided a betrothal would be held whilst we court and get to know one another."

That had been the reason why her father insisted for her to return to Erebor. Just after the council between the three kingdoms, her father told her that she had been away from home for too long and that she should visit for at most a month...

...Not knowing the moment she arrived at the gates of Erebor that her father and the council had finally had an offer of a future husband for her.

That being him. Thorin Stonehelm: Lord of the Iron Hills.

Obara had been furious. Admittedly she had raged at her parents and those close to her for deciding without her consent, and only then did both her mother and father justified it because of the damn war they were in and that they had no idea whether Uncle Kili and Tauriel were even alive. The dwarrow of the Iron Hills were ambitious, they wanted Thorin Stonehelm to gain the throne of Erebor, knowing that its successor was thankfully a lady and not the other.

Of course, her grandmother and mother were beyond angered; they would always side with her, especially with all the issues they had faced when ruling Erebor. But unlike her, they understood the means of marriage and alliances.

When she finally calmed down (with the aid of Uncle Nori who always seemed to make things a little bit better with his stories and quips), Obara thought of it again and understood the circumstances. She might never accept it but it was what she could do. The future was uncertain. They were at war with the East and Sauron and an alliance was better than nothing.

Even if it meant destroying the path of her heart.

Feren questioned her quietly, "And is my lady pleased with the news?" There was a pause before he then spoke what was on her mind, "You do not seem so."

No, she wasn't but she had to live with it.

And Thorin Stonehelm, despite the awkwardness of having to marry someone with the same name as her grandfather, was courteous and good. He was a good leader, smart and genuine and would make a good king and partner for their people.

"I...no, I am happy." Obara mentally cringed at her 'enthusiastic' tone. She then shrugged before she inhaled, "I mean I am doing it for Erebor and the throne. As heir, it is my duty to marry and continue the line as it sees fit."

Feren's smile disappeared with now an expression of genuine concern. He said, "I asked if you were happy." His voice echoed into her ears. "Not a reason for the engagement."

She opened her mouth but closed it a second later. Her ears were ringing, cold due to the weather and the rain that was now coming down before them. But inside she was burning like a furnace, her heart racing as she tried to produce anything back to say.

"Obara, please." His pleading voice sent her entire body wanting to cry out. Feren asked, "What is wrong, mellon?"

His hand reached out to grab her shoulder, catching her off guard as she jumped from her spot.

"Nothing!" She exclaimed, but her rising voice said otherwise. Feren must have realised her temper had gotten out of hand, remaining silent before Obara cooled off. With a deep breath, she quietly explained with a slight glare: "I...you know how it goes. Surely you understand knowing King Thranduil and perhaps his stories of courting his late wife."

As she decided to continue following the group, no doubt that they probably still hear them from the back of the line, Obara then heard something she hadn't expected.

"Their marriage was not contracted." Feren clarified, making her look back at him. "In fact, they first refused one another until they somehow clicked and finally fell in love."

She breathed into her shock. "I...I never knew that." Obara swallowed her breath, not even thinking about it all. From history, most of the marriages in royalty were contracted from the right young age – according to her dwarven heritage. Even her mother's ancient line from Dale was contracted as well. It was only up until her grandfather had decided to marry Bilbo Baggins and her Uncle Kili to Aunt Tauriel that were the very few ones that were a bond because of love.

But stories and tales from Aunt Tauriel barely touched of the knowledge of Thranduil's wife, only to know that she was far from the queens she expected of elves and was rather a good fighter and markswoman. Ori once said that she had fought in the ancient war against Sauron and was as old as Lord Elrond and Lady Illyria of Rivendell.

Now that she thought about it, she could understand why it would have been quite difficult for two different people to be contracted and fall in love. Especially when Thranduil himself seemed to love his wife so much that he would go to war against the Gems of Lasgalen for her.

Feren exhaled, walking back up to her as they returned to following the group. His steps were silent, gaining up close to her as he began, "It's not often said outside the realm. Perhaps the friends and kin of the late queen but not even King Thranduil speaks of her, no less of the gems he commemorated her by." He continued, "I only heard of it through my older kin. They respected the late queen for her valiance and openness to Silvan culture."

There was some admiration in her when thinking of it. Obara couldn't help but hum and admit back, "She must have made a huge mark then."

To her surprise, Feren smiled wryly, looking down at her with his greyish eyes. "I would have thought that is how your reign will become as well." His voice lulled her back to him, "Queen Mereneth of Eryn Galen would appreciate someone like you."

Obara stared up at him, realizing then how close they were now standing on each other's side. Could he sense her erratic breathing with his sense of hearing? Or perhaps the beating of her heart?

Every second then, Obara knew why it was getting harder to look away from Feren's gaze.

'Just like Uncle Kili and Aunt Tauriel,' A part of her wanted to scold her and tell her off. 'Falling for an immortal whilst you'll grow older and eventually die.'

The other side of her snapped back, 'But aren't I allowed to be happy?'

Was she allowed to be happy?

Better yet: did he share even the same feelings for her?

Obara hadn't noticed her hand slowly reaching to take his hand but had suddenly stopped as she heard a screech further ahead of the trees.

Both their heads turned towards the sound, immediately arming themselves with their weapons as they followed the voices of their group. Obara then spotted them, shadows underneath the starlight until they heard what seemed to be a horn. As she skidded down to her knees, she hid behind a tree whilst Feren crossed to the other, shouting something back in elvish to his soldiers.

She found several of the rangers from Dale along with Dwalin and theirs, all waiting and hiding behind the tree line. Her breath hitched, trying to compose herself no less making a sound until she heard a crunch.

It was a foot.

From across the other side and behind a tree, the older dwarf jumped out and took out the figure that passed by – taking his legs easily before knocking the figure down with a punch.

As Dwalin plunged his sword through their stomach, he growled at the figure. Obara finally recognized the armour that the person wore.

He barked back, "Easterling!" Dwalin ordered them whilst they ran for a good vantage point. "Get in positions!"

She didn't need to be told twice where to go, barking back in Khuzdul to the dwarrow rangers and Westron to the men to head to the upper levels of the woodland. Thankfully the figures coming at them were forced to go upwards, though with her confusion – now were equipped with odd weapons in their hands.

Obara conserved her energy and took her bow instead, slipping slightly by the rain as she tried to turn back. The sounds of cries and screams were growing now, and she noticed then how much they were far outnumbered.

How had they advanced so much in a few weeks? Were there even any survivors from the rangers they sent months back?

A figure was finally chasing her, a curved sword in their hand as they let out a cry. Obara drew her bow and aimed the arrow, quickly shooting them at their neck. The Easterling fell in one, gurgling out blood before they thumped against the muddy and mossy ground. She then noticed another, ready to take one of the men down. Obara took another arrow and carefully timed herself.

The arrow flew across the air, right into the enemy's hand. They screamed in agony and dropped their sword, easily allowing the man to take his head and killing him with ease. Another Easterling followed close behind and Obara raced to place her bow behind her back and picked up the curved sword, lobbing it at them.

As the Easterling deflected her with his weapon, only seeing the slit of their eyes behind the dark mask before he lunged towards her.

Obara ducked and swept her leg across his legs, grunting at the impact as she fell and rolled into the ground. She could now taste the iron mixed with dirt in her mouth, pulling her head back with a grunt before she unsheathed her sword and glared at them.

They said something to which she couldn't understand, but that didn't matter to her. She growled before leaping – clashing both their swords under the rain. She kicked them across the stomach, using again her leverage to take them down as she then went for their knees.

Yelping in pain, they used their free hand to throw a punch. Obara heaved in, ignoring the pain that was now crawling up her cheek as she continued to parry and slice her sword across them. She moved back, unbeknownst to her that she had hit the tree with her back. The Easterling who cornered her had grabbed her wrists, their hands forcing pressure as she tried to bite back the pain.

And in the spur of desperation, Obara lifted her knee and aimed it right between their legs. The Easterling howled before the air within their lungs was stopped as she swung her sword up to their neck. Blood splattered across her face, as she watched them stumble back and fall with a thud.

She took heavy breaths before she realised where she was. She could still see them, but as soon as she looked down to the lower levels of the hilly forest, her heart soon dropped when she saw them.

There were more of them. Slowly coming back up with now those odd weapons.

Hearing a shout and cry, Obara flicked her head and ran across, only to stop as she heard a loud blast.

Down by the cliffside was Dwalin and three Easterlings. He was fighting the other two, both holding swords whilst the other aimed what seemed to be a metal tube.

As her uncle threw the first one down, he spun the next one and used him as some sort of shield. Obara wondered why until she noticed the figure who aimed the odd weapon. Her breath suddenly hitched at the sound of a blast. Smoke and light arose from the tubes, leaving her chest heaving at the sight.

Her first reaction was to race up to them but thankfully halted as Dwalin remained up as the next Easterling fell before him.

As she was about to continue, she looked to her left and noticed the arrows pointed at her. She immediately hid behind the trees, thankful that the elves had clambered up them and began shooting them down despite the size. She took her sword and raced towards her uncle.

Dwalin fought ferociously, but to her horror she then saw the Easterling take the weapon once more and aimed it at him at the same time.

Before she knew it: both fell the cliff face at each one took the other blow.

"Dwalin no!" She cried out, running up to where she had just lost him.

She couldn't lose him. Not now. Not with everything he had done for her.

But as she was about to go up to them, her instincts ran over herself as an arrow swooped past her and another sound of a blast rung in her ears. A hand grabbed her and she was quickly thrown back behind a tree. "Obara!"

Obara's heart pumped as she was met by Feren face. And never had she seen him so angry at her. Perhaps because of her stupidity and recklessness, she would have almost gotten herself killed.

But Dwalin...

"Feren, I must save him! He's my uncle!" Obara cried back at him.

She would not abandon him. The older dwarf had been everything to her. Her teacher, companion and the only family she had these months and years. He had taught her how to survive, understanding the hardship.

Without him, she wouldn't stand here despite their differences.

The elven man stared down at her. She didn't know what he was thinking now, his face stoic and now concentrated on one thing.

But with a sigh, Feren ungripped his hand that was on the lapel of her cloak before he said to her, "Then get to the others, now." In a swift motion, he disappeared before her, only finding the lithe figure descending the cliff and disappearing.

Obara couldn't comprehend what just happened. But thank her awareness now of the Easterlings that she finally moved, racing to catch up with the rangers up the hill.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

She hated waiting. Especially when it meant waiting to know if they were dead or alive.

It had been hours since Dwalin had fallen off the cliff just beside the highlands of the woods and Feren had disappeared. None of the elven rangers knew the whereabouts of their captain, only telling her that they would follow the trail and see if they were still where they had been.

However, the Easterlings had managed to get an upper hand. They could only hide and go around them, deciding then to try and find some shelter whilst waiting for the rain to be over.

Meanwhile, Obara had been angry at herself. Angry at emotions at that time. She shouldn't have paused. That wasn't her. And she shouldn't have clouded herself with Feren had been there. Damn her heart and damn everything that has happened to her. Not only she had gotten Dwalin killed but maybe Feren as well.

And all she could do was wait. The others were thankfully unharmed, albeit muddy, wet and bruised but fine. She instructed them to try and get some rest now, understanding that the dwarrow and men were exhausted by the lack of sleep compared to the elves.

And as much as the elves who advised her to rest as well, she couldn't.

Not until she sees those two alive.

And thankfully it wasn't too long.

Believing at first to be the Easterly, Obara drew her bow: ready to shoot the incoming enemy until she heard her uncle's voice. Quickly she pulled her weapon down and raced up to him, finding a wounded Dwalin being supported by Feren at his side.

Sighing in relief, Obara grasped him by the side and helped them, "Uncle!" Her eyes stung as she looked up to him, "Feren! Thank Mahal you are alright!"

They settled him down on the ground, watching her uncle scrunch his face in pain before he heaved out a breath. It would seem the cliff was higher than she thought and she was shocked how Dwalin survived such a fall.

"Ai, only but a graze," Dwalin muttered, causing her to scoff. In her mind, she was screaming in disbelief. Even when he's practically going to fall apart he still was stubborn to admit help.

One of the dwarrow began tending him from across her side, opening the wound that was now on his arm. It appeared to be a small opening, like a puncture. And despite its size, the blood remained a deep and rich colour through the broken fabric wrapped tightly around it.

Whatever weapon that was...it was beyond their knowledge of such things.

Feren was standing several feet before them as she stood up and walked over to him. He looked worse for wear and surprisingly a little dirtier than the others. There were several cuts on his face alongside his entire armour in blood and dirt.

"Yes, but it is a foreign weapon." Feren frowned as he explained, pointing at the open wound. He told Dwalin, "We'll have to bring you somewhere in case there was any poison laced into it."

Somewhere meant the last ranging post.

Obara gulped and nodded. As much as this had deflated her, it was understandable to head back. She looked back up to Feren, his eyes remaining at the older dwarf before she mentally asked herself what was going on. Had something happened between the two?

With an inhale, she smiled slightly to Dwalin and spoke, "Let's get you back, uncle." Dwalin sent another silent look that confused her even more. But instead of questioning it even further, she cleared her throat and looked up to the elf who stood beside her, softly saying in return: "Thank you again, Captain Feren."

Feren didn't reply, nodding instead before he left her and walked over to the elven rangers – making her heart drop then at his silence. Whilst the rest of them continued whatever they insisted before they would travel back, Obara was left dumbfounded and her heart cracking at it all.

Perhaps her mother was right. Maybe it had been better to stay in Erebor than to be here.

Because all her effort to try and let her heart win seemed to all go back from her.

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[1] - Fancast Ben Barnes
[2] - Alassëa nosta: Happy Birthday in Quenya
[3] - Percy Jackson's sword pen: Riptide

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A/N: And so Maedhros and Illyria finally part ways, sadly for perhaps quite some time. But I decided that their last scene together needed to be something which would tie them, and just a cheeky easter egg from Rules of the Multiverse. ;)

As for Obara, I know her scenes are quite short and rare but again: her perspective of the war is just another side in which I wanted to explore the idea of immortality and mortality, but all the responsibility and duty of the heir of Erebor. 

Poor Dwalin though, he's gone through so much, lost his brother (in this timeline) and had almost died. Dude really needs to finally rest. But still, he continues to protect those he loves, and he has a very soft spot on Fili's daughter. <3

I just returned back home for the holidays. I'm gonna try and get a lot of writing and sort of reviewing of the current story before I can continue. Thank you again for your support. Much love. :)

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Edited: 17/12/2022