The Hobbit and LOTR Oneshots :)

The Shadow Girl

I should warn you that this is dark. Very, very, VERY dark. If you are easily scared, don't read it. Thank you. Stay radical!

The fire was blazing, a stew boiling over it. She watched them take their shares, eating. When was the last time she had done the same? Years and years it must be. Too long.

She waited, waited, waited. At last the wizard stood, going off to scout. He probably thought there was no threat. How could there? Two men, an elf, and a dwarf were in the group, all trained fighters.

She came from the shadows. The elf started before the others, realizing what was happening. He reached for an arrow, but it was too late. She thrust her sword into the fire, the blade soaking up the flames. They were plunged into complete darkness.

There was the sound of scrambling, low grunts. One by one they stopped. The fire appeared again, leaping out of her sword. They were all tied up, gagged. Their weapons dumped in a pile a ways away. They stared up at their captor.

She had coffee skin, her raven hair back in a simple braid, reaching her lower back. Her clothes-shirt, pants, and cloak-were like coal. In her hand was a tarnished sword. It seemed to be taking in the light, leaving shadow.

She watched them as they watched her. She tilted her head, studying them.

"Hcihw eno fo ouy seirrac eht gnir?" she asked. They looked to Aragorn, who knew many languages. Even he was confused. He asked something in Elvish, then Khuzdul.

"I tnod kaeps yna fo esoht segaugnal. hcihw fo ouy seirrac eht gnir? I tnod tnaw ot tropsnart lla fo ouy."

Aragorn shook his head. She whipped her head to her right, eyes narrowing. She took a step back, disappearing, becoming the shadows.

Gandalf burst through the trees, staff raised. Frodo shook is head, trying to make him understand that he shouldn't be here. Something powerful was in the shadows, was the shadows.

No sooner did the wizard step in front of the fire, his shadow falling on the ground, did she appear, right out of his shadow.

"Ouy tndlouhs evah emoc, Fladnag eht Yerg," she practically growled. He thrust his staff at her, blinding light emitting from the top. She met it with her sword. The light faded quickly, jumping into her sword. Gandalf's eyes widened, taking a quick step back.

She pointed her sword at him, the blade glowing when there was a sudden whack. She slumped to the ground, sword dimming. Aragorn stood behind her, handle of a knife up.

She first felt a headache like none she had ever had. She didn't move, but she searched for the shadows. There were none, and she felt, for the first time, a sense of panic.

"I think she's waking up."

She sat up, not even difficult, despite her tightly bound hands and legs.

"Tel em og, ouy citethap sgnieb." She looked around on the ground. The sun was high, which meant short shadows. Even if they came close to her, their shadow wouldn't touch her. The trees were far away, her way of escape far away. She needed them to try to touch her, or come very, very close.

"What are you doing here? Who are you?" the man with the horn at his belt asked. She tilted her head. What language were they speaking? It was different than Elvish, Khuzdul, and the black tongue. Of course, she didn't speak any of those languages, but she could recognize them. What new language was this?

"Tahw? Tahw era ouy gniyas?"

"Gandalf, what language is this?"

"A language I haven't heard in a very, very long time."

The wizard turned to her. He raised his hand and closed his eyes. She felt something rushing through her, causing her head to increase in pain. She closed her eyes tight, looking down. Then, it was gone.

"What did you do to me?" she asked. They could understand it, and she seemed mildly surprised she could speak in that tongue.

"Who are you?" the man asked again.

She laughed, startling them. "I? I am shadows. I serve Him. He sends me on quests, and I bring back His prize. This quest involves the bearer of the ring. He so desperately needs his treasure, his precious."

She tilted her head to the side. They seemed to be standing around one of the hobbits. He unconsciously moved his hand to his neck. He had the ring.

"But you want a name. Names, however, hold power. If you know my name, you control me. I did not trust the wizard who made me like this. I don't even trust Him. Only I know my name. I am my own master."

"But you had a name before, didn't you?" the elf said.

"Yes, I suppose I did. But that name is long gone, faded over the years to a forgotten memory."

"What is it?" the man with the horn asked. She started to say it, stopped, and smiled.

"Trying to trick me? Good, you were so close. You almost had me, like He almost has you. Your city of white, your holy tree, black. Ash covering every inch of white. Shadows creeping into the hearts of men, turning them cold. Bodies strewn over the ground. No one left to give a proper burial, or even dig a hasty grave. Just the dark, cold, unforgiving shadow. Already in your father, turning to you, next your poor, innocent, defenseless brother. I imagine He will give dear little brother a spot at His side, reserved for the most coldhearted."

The man drew his sword, beginning to thrust it at her. The other man grabbed his arm, stopping him. It was too late. The edge of the sword's shadow was at her feet, and all she had to do was lean forward.

She was gone. Her sword was still on the ground, but so were her bonds. There was laughter coming from the shadows of the trees.

"Gondor, Mirkwood, Rivendell, Erebor, the Shire. Imagine ash raining down on your homes. Women screaming, children lying dead in the street. The shadows sucking the light out the pure, turning them as dark as Him. It is easiest to take light. Look at the wizard, Saruman the White. His heart grew dark years ago. He showed me the shadows, showed me Him. I was the savior of my village, making a deal to bring rain for our starving crops.

"I saved my sister, my mother, my father. I saved my neighbors, my people. But that deal showed me a new way of life. Their hearts weren't dark enough. Their smiles were too bright. They wouldn't join me, so I went on my first killing spree."

Her voice echoed around the clearing. They spun, trying to catch her. sometimes she whispered in their ears, sometimes she sounded far into the trees.

"It was so fun to cut down all of those men, who thought the ground they walked on was holy. Who thought that their way was always right. Who were the first to rush to war over an apple. It was beautiful to stab through the women, who gossiped about a speck of dust. Who complained about their husbands sleeping around, when they did the exact same thing. Who were greedy for respect.

"But the most fun, after killing all who had done wrong, was the innocent. All the children, who smiled when they first saw me come to the village. Those precious little children. I can still feel the wonderful warmth of their blood. I can still see the delightful looks of terror. I can still hear the beautiful sounds of their screams. So high, like bells on a clear day. They didn't bother to plead for their lives, like so many adults do. They died screaming for the help of someone, anyone. But all the adults were dead, and no hero swooped in to save the day from the mean, nasty villain."

While she told her tale, Gandalf frantically searched his mind. He new the spell Saruman had used. What was the counter spell?

With a faint hope it would work, the wizard thrust his staff forward. Her laughter stopped abruptly. A body fell out of the trees. It shook a little, as if trying to bring itself to life. Her head raised, a smile still on her face.

"Look at that. Two of you, just two, will have hearts that turn dark. Hearts of shadow. Hearts of Senka."

With that, Senka bowed her head, her shaking stopping. Gandalf hesitantly stepped towards her. She seemed to melt away, leaving a wrinkled body that seemed too old to be in the sun.

The Fellowship left that clearing, the two hearts destined to become cold nervously beating.