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Contains scenes that were not originally shown when the films were released, these are the extensed version
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Half breed they call her . . . the only of her kind. The daughter of the grey wizard and the elf who wields the elven ring, Nenya. The da...
Brushing a thin layer of dust from the pendant, Lyanne frowned. The thin silver chain was wrapped around her wrist and fingers and the pendant lied peacefully in her palm. Lyanne raised her hand and examined the little object, taking in every detail of the stones. She had thought that they would be larger. Nontheless, they glowed . . . bright like starlight.
Gandalf was right, no elf could have forged such gems.
"They stole them." Whispered a voice. "They stole them!" It hissed a in a hoarse and rough voice.
"Makes sense." Muttered Lyanne.
"Those gems, Lyanne, are the three Silmarils. Lyanne, those stones were created from the light of the trees, they belong to you and you alone. Wield them, use them, find a way to tap into their power and help us in the war to come."
"Eleven thousand years and still I do not know how to tap into them." Murmured the Half Breed. "A load of rubbish, if you ask me."
Lyanne leaned her head down and, once again, wore the pendant.
She was angry. Very angry, to say the least. Angry at her father, for one. Her mother, the Aratar . . . no the Valar . . . all the Ainür . . . no . . . herself. Herself for being little more than a complete and utter imbecile. "Eleven thousand years." Whispered the Half Breed. She ought to have felt it long ago. The ammount of energy radiating from the stones was too much for any gem crafted by elves.
"Half Breed." A new voice whispered.
With a sharp gasp, Lyanne jerked her head up, eyes flared wide and searching her surroundings. The Half Breed narrowed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "This is growing old." Growled the Half Breed and pulled a small knife out. The blade was sharp, newly sharpened. She could shave a spider's arse if she wanted to.
Lyanne's pale lips parted and she gasped deeply as the blade sliced the skin of her palm open. Her blood began to drip.
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
"You need me." Said Lyanne. "You need me, and you need me alive." The Half Breed riased her head and stared into thin air, the faintest of smiles on her lips. "Don't you?" It was of no use and she knew it. Lyanne could not trick the ancient being, not with the lie of taking her own life. "Raich."
"Oi!" Said a bandit to a hooded figure down below. "We don't want any of your kind here, run off now." He had noticed the elvish blade the man carried and five of the bandit's men stood in the hooded figure's path, either with their arms crossed or a hand on the handle of their swords. "Are you daft? I said-"
Out of nowhere, a knife was thrown, landing right in front of the bandit leader's feet and sending the man gasping back. The knife was of ancient making and went deep into the mud. Carvings on the handle in a tongue unknown to nearly all in the present day decorated it and the bandits frowned.
"What the . . . who dares-"
"The next one," The Half Breed took out another knife and traced the tip of her nail down the sharp edge. "will land just . . . a tad further up." The Half Breed smirked, tossed the knife into the air and caught it by the sharp blade, pressing down. Blood dripped from her hand and she gritted her teeth . . . it felt good. "Been a while since I made anyone bleed."
The men ran as she threw the second knife.
Lyanne's fingers curled around the edges of the rooftop and she pushed her body off the ledge, her feet touched the ground, water and mud splashed. "You're a long way from home, Ranger." Her cloak fell as the winds died down.
The Dúnadan ran a hand through his long hair, pulling the hood of his cloak off in the process and met the Half Breed's deep grey orbs. "You have not changed a bit." He said with a blank stare.
"It's only been a decade." Milk white teeth bared and Lyanne smiled bright, laughing softly as, the not so young any more, Aragorn smiled. "Good to see you, Aragorn."
*
"So tell me," Isildur's heir was oddly calm. Strange. . . he had been a very hyper active boy in his younger years. "what troubles you?"
Lyanne meet his bright coloured eyes.
"I would have to be blind, deaf and a lackwit to not see that you are terrified."
Tapping her fingers against the pint of ale, Lyanne puckered her lips and inhaled deeply. "Nazgûl." She said casually and gulped down the beverage. Aragorn frowned. "I can feel them." She hissed at the burning sensation of the strong ale in her throat and put the pint down. "They're getting closer."
"And that frightens you?"
Frightens me? The Half Breed's gaze fell. A sickening green colour flashed before her eyes and the cries and screams of pure and utter agony ran in her ears . . . her own screams. "Nothing frightens me any more." She murmured softly and inhaled, her broad shoulders rose. "Not since he retur-" The Half Breed gasped sharply and pressed her palms against her ears, gritting her teeth and wincing in pain.
"Lyanne?" Aragorn stood up, and with three large steps he crossed the table and took a seat next to his old friend. "What's the matter?"
Sweat trickled down the side of her skalp and she wheezed in a breath. "I can feel it . . ." Breathed Lyanne and clutched her chest. "I can feel it!" She whispered and stood, pressibg her palm against the table and leaning forward, head held down.
"Underhill." A soft voice said. "My name is Underhill."
"Hobbits." Lyanne breathed with her jaw clenched, her brows furrowed together and she exhaled heavily. "By the counter, it's- . . . it's Frodo Baggins."
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A/N
This chapter is short, & I am sorry for it. My laptop is . . . fucked up, I suppose would be a good word for it, so this was written on my phone without spell check. I am sorry for any typos &/or gramatical mistakes in the chapter, I checked as thoroughly as I possibly could & hope I got all the mistakes.
