Chapter Text
Rowan raced through the woods, ducking and weaving past low-hanging branches. She had no idea where she was or her heading but anywhere was better than being caught by the orcs on her tail. Orcs. Actual orcs. She felt like throwing up.
She tried to dodge the broken remains of a branch but the fabric of her hoodie caught, tearing a hole in the side. She stumbled and hissed, scraping her hand on another tree while righting herself. The hoodie was an old, faded purple and thinning from the years of wear but it was her favourite. She’d managed five years without even a stain - something of a feat for someone as clumsy as her - and this tear was icing on an already shitty cake.
Chancing a look behind revealed four in pursuit and gaining fast. The ground to the right was quickly diminishing as she veered closer to the edge of a cliff; the orcs were slowly cutting off her escape to the left and it looked more and more as if she’d have to jump. A river ran almost parallel to the cliff, though she couldn’t see where it led. Worst comes to worst - she’d do it. Fuck it, why not? A long way down with a potential injury - if not death - was better than being captured by orcs.
One of the creatures released a fowl screech that made her blood run cold. It was right behind her.
Rowan’s boots thudded against the soft earth as gnarled fingers grasped for the fabric of her clothing eliciting a cry of fear between her ragged breaths. She weaved through the underbrush towards another low-hanging branch and ducked beneath it at the last second, laughing when it caught the orc in the throat and sent it crashing to the ground with a squeal.
Her smile fell when another orc took its place and swung a rusty, serrated blade into the branch. The wood shattered, sending splinters flying in her direction though they fell short as she took flight. She swore, her foot barely missing a tree root sticking out of the ground. The orc wasn’t so lucky - its foot caught the root, falling flat on its face and Rowan would have laughed again if it wasn’t so quick to jump back to it’s feet, features twisted into an enraged snarl.
Movement below caught her eye; running in tandem with her along the river was a man on a horse carrying what looked to be a large axe. He was shouting, his words unintelligible to her, and pointing at something ahead - a waterfall. More importantly, a waterfall feeding into a plunge pool. Rowan gasped with relief despite the pain radiating through her legs and pushed what little energy she had left into a frenzied dash towards the overhang.
She could only pray that she made it before the orcs caught up. The man was already waiting for her below, his pony was tied to a nearby tree while he stood waving at her to jump. She took a deep breath, willing herself not to chicken out as she took the final step and launched herself through the air. She’d made it only a few feet before being tackled from behind. All of the air left her lungs as the orc’s rough shoulder plate slammed into her back and the man below roared with anger.
Whoever said time slows down when you’re in a dangerous situation was right; Rowan was acutely aware of everything around her - the deafening rush of the waterfall, the three orcs still on the cliff, the bright blue eyes of the man below as he watched their descent, mouth agape. The hair on her arms raised, her eyes wide in exhileration and fear when they met his. She took another deep breath, revelling in the warm spring air that filled her lungs before they hit the water with a deafening crash that sent a wave of birds fleeing from the nearby tree tops.
Her body froze the moment it hit the water. The icy chill shocked her system, causing her to instictively contract and exhale. By the time she recovered, she was already fighting for breath at the bottom. The orc landed a few metres to her right, distorted in shadows of greys and browns and she wondered if that’s how she would also appear if the orc were to look her way. It thrashed in the water, no doubt struggling against the heavy armour that covered most of its body. Rowan stayed long enough to see it roar with frustration and followed the resulting cluster of bubbles to the top.
She breached the surface with a gasp and wiped the water from her face, barely able to keep herself afloat with what little energy she had left. The last time she’d gone swimming was a few years ago and now, out of both practice and energy, her legs felt like lead. The most she could manage was turning to float on her back, using her arms to gently push herself to shore. Each exhale came with a long, rasping moan in her struggle to catch her breath.
Splashing behind her head caused her to whimper reflexively until she remembered the man. He towered over her, face hidden in shadow from the sun looming overhead, and wrapped a thick, muscular arm around her torso, pulling her to shore with ease.
“C’mon lass, yer safe now. Catch yer breath- that’s it.” His words were gruff - firm but gentle all the same. Rowan couldn’t understand a word he was saying from where she lay curled up on the grass but she *much* preferred the sound of his voice to the orcs.
“Holy shit,” she wheezed, “I actually made it!” And then all of her excitement, the adrenaline, the rush, was gone when he frowned from where he crouched above her, mumbling something incoherent to her. “Thanks, though, I doubt we even speak the same language.” She huffed.
The man seemed to be coming to the same conclusion as he took a quick glance around them, scanning the area for the orcs. He turned back to her, still frowning, and scratched his beard with a thick, calloused hand. After a moment he placed the same hand on his chest. Rowan couldn’t help but admire the medievil knuckledusters and tattoos running up his arm. Somehow, he felt incredibly familiar.
“Dwalin.”
“Rowan,” she mimicked his gesture before pointing back at him, her finger shaking from not just the cold, realisation suddenly dawning on her, “Fundinson?” The dwarf in front of her nodded, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise at being recognised, let alone by a woman of the race of Man. Rowan laughed incredulously. God, she really was going to throw up. It was so obvious - he was a spitting image of the guy, how the hell did she not recognise him? She’d seen the Hobbit films a hundred times and could quote the script word for word-
Another screech rang out from across the river. Rowan flinched. Dwalin was on his feet in less than a second, axes in hand as he towered above her protectively. Her fingers dug into the grass as the remaining three orcs ran at them- weapons glinting maliciously in the sunlight. Dwalin grunted, twirling the axes in his hands, seeming unphased by being outnumbered.
He blocked the blade of the closest orc with one axe and used the other to take off it’s head in a single, powerful strike. The other two didn’t falter at the sight of their comrade’s head rolling across their path - if anything it excited them more. The second orc’s sword clashed with the two axes causing a sharp clang while the third orc through itself forward but was sent flying with a swift kick to the stomach. She watched as the sword flew in a perfect arc, landing with an unceremonious plop in the river just ahead of her. The orc she’d fallen with burst from the water with a roar, it’s armour left somewhere in the depths below.
She swore and scrambled to her feet as it came crashing into the spot she previously occupied. Rowan pulled a knife from her boot - a four inch folding blade mainly used for cutting open compost bags and preparing kindling - as it scrambled towards her. She’d never even used it on meat, let alone a living, breathing creature. The thought of having to take a life - even that of an orc - made her stomache flip. Still, it wasn’t like she had much of a choice here.
It lunged, crooked teeth bared in a vicious snarl. This time, she wasn’t so lucky. It tackled her to the ground- jagged, dirty black nails clawing at her face and slicing through her cheek all the way down to her jaw. It’s other hand tore at her clothes, smearing her hoodie with grime. She screamed - briefly registering her name being yelled from somewhere behind - and raised the knife, driving it into the orc’s side again and again until it began to cough thick, black blood. It stiffened, eyes rolling backwards and released a sickening gurgle with it’s final breath.
The foul liquid trickled down onto Rowan’s face and neck in the moments she was too stunned to move. Then she threw the corpse to the side and jumped to her feet, breathless, eyes darting around wildly until landing on Dwalin. The second orc lay in a crumpled heap on the ground, an axes protruding from it’s chest. The third bore down on him, swinging wildly in a desperate attempt to land a blow. Dwaling deftly side-stepped every swipe of the broken blade, his face twisted in a level of rage Rowan hadn’t even thought possible, until he turned and swung his remaining axe so hard he cleaved the orc in two.
Rowan stood stunned with hardly enough energy to keep herself up. Dwalin turned, his axe still dripping with blood and made to charge until he saw the orc dead on the grass behind her. He stopped in his tracks, the fury in his eyes dwindling when they turned to her. He called her name again and slowly lowered his axe to the ground when she flinched.
“S’alright, lass, ‘m not gonna hurt ye…” He took a step forward, hands held up to show he meant no harm, and then another when she finally met his gaze, knees buckling. She hit the ground with a gasp, her entire body trembling violently. Dwalin slowly crept forward, hands extending towards Rowan as if to calm a wild animal, though she barely registered his approach- more concerned with the stinging in her cheek where her blood ran down her face, freely mixing with that of the orcs.
She looked down at herself and dizziness hit her full force when she saw how much of the black blood covered both the blade and her hand, running almost down to her elbow. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say the orc had lost a good litre of blood with how many times Rowan had driven the blade into it’s flesh, not that she kept count. It made her stomach churn to see the sheer volume of it on her, sticking to her skin and clothes with a rancid smell that made her eyes water.
A pair of large, tattooed hands slowly reached out, gently gripping her wrists when she began to frantically wipe at the blood on her fingers and face, further smearing it across her skin and over her shaved head while the wounds on her cheek screamed at the disturbance. Dwalin hushed her, muttering soft reassurances when she began to sob, fat tears rolling down her stained cheeks. He pried the knife from her fingers and tossed it to the ground behind him.
“Yer alright, yer okay,” he cooed, pulling her into his chest, voice cracking. “Yer safe with me, lass.” Rowan sobbed harder, clinging to his fur cloak until, finally, she stopped.