Hobbit 1. Far From Home

_This story is in some ways a continuation of "What May Turn Ice into Fire" and in other ways a stand-alone story as well. So if you haven't read the other story fear not, you don't have to unless you so desire, you will still be able to follow along with this story. I own nothing but my OC's and the rating is based off of violence, some language, and sexuality. I welcome critiques and praise both, I prefer the former as it allows me to perfect the craft and the story. Hope you enjoy!_

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><p><em>"No one…waited for reparation from his plundering claws…that shadow of death hunted in the darkness…"<em>

The force with which she returned to the land of the living was such that it pained her. The air rushing into her lungs was too fast, the return of her heartbeat was too solid, the sensations of sound and pain and smell reported to her brain by her senses nauseatingly strong. She gripped hard the object in her right hand and reached over with her left to latch onto it as well, as if to anchor herself more fully this side of death.

"Sshh," a deep voice from above sounded in her ears, "be still. You are safe now."

She tried to use her grip on the object, now recognizable as a hand attached to the voice, to sit up but she stopped when another hand gently pressed down on her shoulder to keep her lying on her back. As she continued gasping in air, unsure of how long she'd been without it—or even why she'd been without it—she also tried to regain control her heartbeat and breathing.

She'd been dead, or near enough to it, she felt that keenly in every molecule of her body. Something strange had brought her back from the shadow of death, the quote from some play she couldn't recall the first thing to cross her waking mind, and now she lay cold and wet on a hard surface with no notion of what had transpired prior to her waking or why it was she was waking with a man at her side.

Whilst she continued to meditate on her heartrate in order to slow it down, she blinked the world into focus. The first object to be fully formed in her sight was that of a man: mid to late thirties, shoulder-length black hair, with contrastingly bright blue eyes, age and weather worn wrinkles set about his lips and eyes, and with a firm grip set about her hand. His expression was that of unhurried concern and confusion, as if he felt both in equal amounts, and though his visage brought forth no recollection from her muddled mind she felt immediately a deeper sense of peace when his features came into better focus, gathered directly from his presence by her side.

"Wh-" her throat burned as if she'd last used it to scream and she held her left hand against her neck.

The man reached down with his free hand to smooth some of her hair away from her face—she'd not been aware of it being there until he did so, "Don't try to speak too suddenly." He began to pull away and she immediately tightened her grip on his hand. He must've sensed her panic as he offered her a soft smile and squeezed her hand in response. "I am only going back to my boat to get a flask. I will return."

The soothing quality of his voice combined with the earnest nature of his face gave her the courage to let go. Indeed, he was only gone long enough for her to manage to push herself to a semi-seated position in order that she may look around at her surroundings. She first glanced down to see that she was wearing a grey/green tunic and brown breeches with moccasin like boots laced halfway up her calves. At the sight of them she felt strange, as if she wasn't accustomed to wearing such clothing. As she gingerly drank of the strong drink mixture in his flask once he'd returned and handed it to her, she looked around. She was on a rocky riverbank, a thick forest to her left and right and directly in front of her. Handing the flask back to him once she felt the scratchiness of her throat ease, she fought a newfound panic at the realization that she didn't know where she was.

"I fished you out of the river along with the barrels." He pointed just over her shoulder, in the general direction of where he'd disappeared to moments before, and she carefully turned her head—mindful of the cricks and pains the movement caused—to see his boat and loaded upon it numerous barrels. "Are you injured?"

She closed her eyes briefly, in order to assess all her limbs, and found that aside from soreness, over-extension of some of her joints, and what felt to be a few abrasions or cuts on her back and side, she was unharmed—just bone-deep cold. She shook her head, still unsure if her voice would work properly just yet.

The man nodded, his expression one of relief. But then he glanced down at the river again and his voice held a note of cautious curiosity when he uttered his next question, "How did you come to be in the river?"

She opened her mouth to answer but stopped. She couldn't remember. She realized now that her mind was a befuddled mess of strange faces that were somehow familiar and equally strange places that also struck a familiar cord with her, mixed together with unknown and unfamiliar ones. She could recall that her grandfather had taught her healing techniques and that she could wield a knife expertly, but she couldn't remember where he grandfather was or why it was she knew how to wield a knife. Neither could she recall her name nor how she'd come to be floating in a river with barrels for this man to find.

She felt the warmth of his hand on her back and glanced over at him in response. He was making that shushing sound again and it was only then that she realized she'd begun to pant again, this time out of panic.

"There is no need to fret. You are safe with me and I can help you return to your people. Only we should move quickly as daylight will soon be lost and the voyage back to Laketown is not an easy feat at night."

She felt him shift his body weight in order to stand. She quickly reached up and took hold of his wrist to stay him. He paused in his movements and waited patiently as she swallowed past her panic, and still sore throat restrictions, in order to speak.

"I don't know."

He frowned and repeated her statement, "You don't know?"

"I don't know how I ended up in the river." She paused to swallow again. "I don't know where my people are." She looked back up at his face after her eyes had wandered to the river momentarily. "I don't even know who I am."

She watched as his facial expressions morphed from shock to confusion to one of what she assumed to be firm resolve. He leaned down then and took hold of her shoulders and helped her stand, accepting the majority of her weight on his shoulder when she near toppled over almost immediately. He steered them both towards his boat and she didn't fight his unvoiced decision; she had no other option aside from lying by the riverbank to freeze to death.

Once onboard he reached inside a small box near the bow of the ship and pulled out an old burlap. Quickly he wrapped it around her shoulders and bid her sit near him by the stern. She watched quietly as he finished loading and securing the barrels, all the while recalling other tidbits of information about herself. She came from a loving family with very strong traditions that centered on nature and other worldly realms. She was unmarried and had no children and couldn't recall ever being involved or interested in someone romantically. For some reason she recalled strange machines that flew in the air and raced across the ground on four wheels but couldn't remember their names, and their forms seemed strange in juxtaposition with her current surroundings.

"Do you remember anything now?" The man asked once he'd pushed away from shore and the boat began to drift further into the lake's interior.

She shrugged, "I can recall little details here and there but none of it seems related to each other and none of it seems to be helpful right now either." She rubbed her fingers against her temples, the beginnings of a headache coming on.

"Don't try to remember everything at once." She glanced up at him and saw that he offered yet another soft smile. "Maybe once you've had a warm meal and good night's rest you'll remember more."

"I don't want to be a burden to you." She suddenly realized that he was most likely taking her to his home or something along those lines. She had not been long acquainted with him but there was something about his nature that made her certain that he had now assumed responsibility for her safety. "You have already done so much."

His sharp chuckle had her looking back towards him again. "I merely pulled you from the waters and by tonight's end I will have given you food and shelter. That is not much." He paused long enough to steer the boat around what looked to be the remains of a once great tree still decomposing in the lake. "You will not be a burden. In fact, I'm certain Sigrid and Tilda would love to have more female company, if only temporarily."

"Who are they?" the names were strange as she repeated them in her mind, as if they belonged to a culture not her own.

"My daughters. My son Bain may not be as keen, though, since he finds his sister's company tedious enough." His lips quirked upward in a half smile and she felt her own lips mirror the motion.

"And what of your wife?"

The smile disappeared in the same instance that he jerked the boat around another floating object, the action sudden and near jarred her from her seat. She got the feeling that she should not have asked that particular question, and yet how was she to know not to ask?

"My wife died some time ago. It is just myself and my three children now." His eyes moved from the horizon back down to her and the formally hard lines in his face softened a little. "You will not be a burden for as long as you need to stay."

She broke eye contact first, giving a nod before resting her eyes on the horizon as he'd been doing. The weather grew steadily colder the further from shore they traveled and she wrapped the burlap tighter around her. Her clothes were still damp, though not soaking as they had been before, and combined with the chill in the air it caused her whole body to shake and her teeth to clack together. The gentle rocking of the boat, however, hypnotized her away from the pain in her body and soon enough she was lost once more from the wakeful world.

When she woke again it was to the man's shaking. She could see his lips moving but her mind was so fuzzy that she couldn't understand what it was he was saying. She tried to stand up but fell backwards, her body no longer responding correctly to her bidding. She felt on fire at the same time she felt filled with ice. Behind the man she saw three forms appear on what looked to be a dock. More voices, murmured as if from a distance, and then suddenly she was weightless. Vaguely she was aware of the fact that she couldn't very well be weightless, that it had to be the man who carried her, but her mind refused to focus on one thing long enough for anything to register clearly.

She was taken upwards then inside a room, or a house, and then laid upon something soft yet cold. The man began to move away, it had been the man carrying her after all, but she reached out and with the last of her strength she held onto his arm. He couldn't leave her now. He said he'd help her. He said she wouldn't be a burden. He said-

"Sshh," his hand smoothed across her brow and she felt a sense of peace almost immediately, "be still. You are safe now."

She fell back into the darkness that bid to her, clinging to the hope that by the morn his words would prove true.


	2. A Meal and a Bath

_For reference sake the main OC looks like the actress Stefany Mathias. The words/names I use later are taken from a list of Easterlings names and are pronounced "anna" or "kay-tun." Thank you for the reviews and encouragement. I hope you enjoy the update! Cheers!_

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><p><em>"<em>_So many wonders befell him in the hills, it would be tedious to recount the least part of them."_

Coming awake again was not so sudden as it had been by the riverside, but she was just as disoriented, what with having the strange quote dancing around in her head seeking a source in the recesses of her still jumbled mind, and also having a set of blue eyes staring down at her when she opened her own. She blinked a few times, wondering if the hovering eyes were just a figment of her still slightly feverish imagination, like the ghostly quote, but no they remained, and drew closer in fact.

"Are you an elf?" the hovering eyes drew back to reveal a child's face, perhaps nine or ten years of age, with brown hair and softly rounded features. She could immediately see a resemblance to the man who'd rescued her.

She shook her head but then paused before answering, the world spinning momentarily in response to her slight action. "I don't think I'm an elf." She opened her eyes and saw the girl still perched on the side of her bed staring at her. "Why do you ask?"

The girl smiled, "The clothes that Sigrid and I took off you a few days ago." The girl gestured over to the side of the room and she looked to see her tunic and leggings folded neatly on a chair by the window. "They look like something an elf would wear, at least that's what Da said." The little girl frowned, momentarily leaned closer, and when she sat back again she shook her head. "But your ears aren't like what Bain said an elf's should look like."

"And how should an elf's ears look like if you've never seen one?"

"Pointed of course." She continued to stare at her unblinkingly for a few moments longer. "You're also not fair and tall like what the stories say either. You're too dark and short. Sigrid is almost taller than you in fact."

She was saved from having to reply by the sudden appearance of another girl, of lighter complexion and older age, "Tilda! You shouldn't be bothering her with such nonsense. Can you imagine waking up after being sick and Bain or I were hovering over your bed ready to insult you?"

"I wasn't insulting her." The younger girl, Tilda apparently, looked back to her with a sincere frown. "Did I insult you?"

She shrugged, "To be honest, I don't even remember what I look like so it would be difficult to be insulted when compared to something else I don't know."

Tilda's mouth dropped open, "You don't remember what you look like?" She looked over to the older girl, who had brought in a tray with what looked like soup and a mug of something to drink. "Sigrid, she doesn't remember what she looks like!"

"I heard." Sigrid set the tray down on the small table near the bedside. "Now can you please find something else to do for a little while and give her some time to recover before you pester her again?"

Tilda looked ready to argue but Sigrid crossed her arms over her chest and glared away any argument. Tilda sighed and trudged over to the door, leaving it open, as she moved through and began down the stairs just outside. Tilda's head had just about disappeared down the stairs when suddenly she popped back up again and near shouted her next question.

"What's your name?"

Again she was saved from having to answer when Sigrid threw up her hands and stomped over to the door, muttering as she went. "Tilda! Go find a fish downstairs and bugger him with your questions and leave the woman be!" Sigrid slammed the door and latched it, though she got the feeling that if Tilda wanted to come in again she could still manage to find some way in.

"I'm sorry if my sister was a nuisance to you, and so soon after you finally woke up too." Sigrid was speaking again as she moved back to the bed. "She's been the one to come in and out the most, making sure you weren't," Sigrid blushed suddenly before she finished her sentence, "dead."

"Was I truly that close to death?"

Sigrid nodded as she pulled up a chair to sit next to her bed, pulling the bowl of soup into her lap. "Da said that if we hadn't gotten some of those herbs down you, or rubbed the poultice on your chest when we did, you might've died."

She glanced down and noticed that her chest looked bandaged and figured that the poultice was underneath it, against her skin. Her whole body felt itchy and filthy, most likely from the numerous sweats her body had been through during her fever. She figured that even if she had been tall and fair, as Tilda claimed elves should be, she'd still look rotten at this point.

"Is it true then?" She looked back to Sigrd when she spoke up. "You don't remember who you are or where you've come from?"

She sat up a little straighter, leaning her back against the wall, and accepted the bowl from Sigrid before she answered. "Just as I told your sister, I also don't remember what I look like, or my name for that matter. I can remember shadows of events and piece together faces of people I must know but I can't connect any of it." She lifted the bowl, as if to apologize for cutting off the conversation, before diving into it—her stomach reminding her quick strongly that she'd hadn't eaten in a long time.

Thankfully, Sigrid did not sit quietly while she ate. Instead she took the opportunity to acquaint her with the comings and goings of the household.

"You met Tilda of course. She's the youngest. She's not always so chatty but she is always very curious and imaginative and that can sometimes bring about trouble. I'm afraid she never had the opportunity to be around our mother's guidance like Bain and I did. I've done what I can to try to imitate what Ma would've done with her but sometimes I forget, you know, what she looked like, sounded like, that sort of thing." Sigrid swiped a hand over her hair, as if to tuck in stray strands of the fairly curly tendrils she'd looped up into a bun, before she continued. "Bain is the eldest and the most like Da I suppose. He keeps to himself as much as he can and always wants to accompany Da on his trips but Da says he needs to stay and watch us; he seems to forget that I'm near of age already and Bain only gets in the way around here anyway." She'd finished the soup and Sigrid quickly took the bowl away and handed her the mug. "Then of course you've met Da. He's known around here as 'The Bowman' but the few people he considers friends just call him Bard."

She finished off the spiced cider Sigrid had filled the mug with and also handed it back, "And this is Laketown? I think I remember your father calling this place by that name."

"Aye, this is Laketown. It was built in the years after the destruction of the city of Dale, the results of the dragon Smaug. But it's been many years since then, and I wasn't even alive when that happened. All I've known is Laketown, and this house." Sigrid frowned suddenly. "If you don't know your name what is it that we're to call you while you're here?"

She frowned and rubbed the tips of her fingers over the course blanket as she thought. There were no names that came immediately to mind that seemed to match her; in fact, the only names her mind was registering were the ones that Sigrid had just told her. It was as if all that existed in her mind prior to being rescued from the river had been washed away by the river water, with only remnants left behind in pools here and there scattered around inside her.

"I honestly don't know." She looked back to Sigrid and sighed. "What do you think my name is?"

Sigrid drew back and again ran a hand over her head as she thought. She sat quietly, for there was little else she could do to offer up choices, and waited for Sigrid to speak again.

"Years ago, so long ago I barely remember, there was a group of people who came through here who looked similar to you, but with darker hair and skin. They wore strange clothing, all robes and veils, and when they walked it sounded like bells were attached somewhere to their clothes. They were traders from far away, Da said, and had come not knowing that Dale had been destroyed so many years before." Sigrid shrugged. "I suppose it takes a long time for news like that to travel wherever it was they came from. In any case, I grew curious over what was in their bags and while I was looking in one of them an older woman, one of their people, caught me and I thought for sure I'd be punished, accused of being a thief or something. But, even though I couldn't see her face, I could see her eyes and they were kind. She spoke to me with a very heavy accent, I almost couldn't understand her, but she asked about my family and where they were. When I told her that my mother had died only a few months before she'd whispered a word to me and told me that it was from her language. She said it was both a term and a name, as in their culture people are called by their status and have hidden names." Sigrid closed her eyes, as if by doing so she could access her memory better. "'Ana-katun' I think is what she said. It means mother and woman, though I'm not sure which means which to be honest."

She frowned and tried to see if the words registered in her own mind but they did not. She did feel, however, that between the two words the first was most likely 'mother' and the latter 'woman.' While neither name jogged a memory it was at least better than having nothing to be called.

"I'll go with Katun." Sigrid smiled, her look of relief near comical. "Now that we have my name figured out, how long have I been here?"

"About two days."

Katun frowned, "No one has come looking for me in that time?"

"No," Sigrid shook her head, "no one's come into Laketown other than those who live here and since everyone knows everyone here we know that no one here knows you."

It took Katun a moment to follow Sigrid's logic but she nodded once it became clear. She already felt more lively than she had upon first waking, and being bombarded by Tilda's innocent questions, the soup and cider doing their part to invigorate her. She glanced around the room and noticed that the decorations, though sparse, seemed to be too masculine to be either Tilda or Sigrid's room.

As if reading her thoughts Sigrid spoke up, "This is Da's room. It is the most private and he figured you'd need the silence and privacy if you were going to make a full recovery." She leaned forward to add. "And in this town privacy is a rare commodity. I'm surprised that no one has barged in here demanding to know who you are. Even though Da brought you in after dark I'm sure at least some of our neighbors saw you."

"Where has your father been sleeping?" She felt guilt itching around in her chest, not liking the idea of having kicked a man out of his own bed.

"Oh he's been bunking with Bain in the loft," She pointed towards the door and upwards. "Tilda and I are downstairs nearest the stove. We keep it going in the night and Da wants us to stay warm too so that's our lot."

Katun scratched at her head, "Do you think there's any way I could get a bath? I feel disgusting."

"Of course! It won't be fancy, if that's what you're used to," Sigrid blushed when she realized the connotations of her comment then hurriedly continued, "but Tilda and I can bring the tub up here for you and heat up some water over the fire."

"That's too much trouble!" Katun frowned. "Isn't there some place downstairs I could have a quick wash without being too much of a nuisance?"

Sigrid tipped her head to the side for a silent moment then smiled, "Bain is off at the market and Da is somewhere on his rounds, so only Tilda and I are here for now. Neither Bain nor Da should be back for at least an hour so we should be able to help you get a good wash in before they return."

Katun smiled, already grateful even though the process of getting out of bed and moving down the stairs was difficult and relatively painful. She started shivering while waiting as Tilda hauled the tub out from under some bench and moved it to a small alcove with what looked like a sheet thrown over a wooden rod the only thing making it semi-private, and Sigrid took it upon herself to heat the water. Once this was finished the girls made themselves scarce, Tilda going upstairs to be "lookout" while Sigrid moved to the other side of the first floor to ready the meal for her father and brother's return.

Tilda was right, Sigrid was almost taller than herself, but as Katun undressed behind the thin sheet, she noticed numerous scars marring the skin that moved over well-defined muscles. She may not remember where she came from or who she was before the rescue but wherever she came from she must've had a hard life, if the number of what looked like knife wounds or strange starburst-like scars had anything to do with it. Also, the fact that she could clearly see the definition of her muscles in her thighs, stomach, and arms, led her to believe that perhaps she'd been a warrior of sorts, and most definitely NOT someone used to "fancy" as Sigrid had feared.

It took some strange maneuvering to set herself up in the tub without falling over. It wasn't long enough to stretch out in, only large enough to crouch down in, and when standing up the height of it only reached the bottom of her knees. It was better than nothing though and after the initial rush of sensations, some painful and some not, of getting into the water passed, she picked up the cloth Sigrid had left behind, along with the soap, and set to scrubbing.

By the time her skin was pink from scrubbing, and her scalp tingled as well, she felt like a new woman. She didn't know how long she'd been in the water but she feared if she stayed any longer she'd risk running into either Bard or Bain. Katun stepped out of the tub, careful not to step backwards too far for fear of of coming out from behind the sheet, and struggled to get the nightdress back over her head, a difficult task now that her body was wet—that was one thing Sigrid had forgotten, a towel to dry off with.

She'd just jerked it over her head and shoulders when her feet lost their footing on the now damp floor and she felt herself falling backwards. She reached her arms out to grab hold of the sheet but this helped not and within seconds she was on a fast journey to the ground. Only she never hit the ground. Instead, when she opened her eyes, she felt two arms, enwrapped in the sheet, holding her around her rib cage. She jerked her head to the side and looked up, appalled to see the face of her rescuer staring back down at her in equal surprise.

It seemed to take him a moment to realize exactly what had happened, why it was he was now holding her—he had most likely been passing through the hall when she'd fallen into him—and also her state of indecency. He quickly pushed her upright and away from him. Katun pushed the nightdress the rest of the way down her body, still a difficult task, though now because of the useless sheet entangled around her feet.

"My daughters have been looking out for you?" He spoke over his shoulder, she noticed, when she turned to face him again, as if to give her more privacy. She smiled at the gesture.

"Yes. They've been most attentive." She looked down at the torn sheet and frowned. "I'm sorry."

He glanced backwards then looked down as well. His lips quirked upward in a half smile. "Not to worry, it can be mended." Bard stood up to his full height and faced her. "I trust you feel better?"

She nodded, "I do, thank you. It appears that I don't have all my faculties about me yet." She indicated the sheet and for a moment it looked as if the man blushed as he looked away. "And I still don't remember anything useful. Your eldest daughter, Sigrid, helped give me a name until I can remember my own. Katun." She watched as he mouthed the name, as if testing its qualities, before nodding his assent. "Did you not see her on your way in?"

The girl in question suddenly appeared around the corner, her hands flying up to her face in horror when she spotted the two of them. She looked between Katun and her father, then down at the pathetic sheet on the floor, and she shook her head—her expression now a mixture of horror and amusement.

"I didn't hear you come in Da. I'm so sorry." She came forward and took Katun's hand. "Tilda got her finger stuck in the old weave upstairs and I had to rescue her. I was only gone a moment." She looked down at the sheet then back up at Katun, the horror giving way to full amusement. "I really am sorry."

"You certainly don't look it." Her father chimed in, his face now holding a trace of the girl's amusement as well. "Is supper ready yet?"

"Just about."

"I'll look after it while you help, Katun, back upstairs where she can find something warmer to wear." He gave Katun a slight nod of his head before he pushed past, difficult to avoid touching each other given how narrow the quarters were.

At his suggestion Katun looked down and felt herself blush. The dress, due to the dampness of her skin, had grown near transparent, and it was a wonder that the man had even managed to converse with her intelligently for as long as he had. Sigrid kept silent about that particular fact as she quickly helped her back up the stairs where Katun wished she could crawl back into bed and only come out once Bard's mind had been washed clean of everything that had happened so far that day.


End file.
