hiltofthesword

[hiltofthesword]

Silent Strike: PART TWO

Summary: Valacirca receives some well-deserved clarity on the purpose of her presence in Hobbiton, as well as getting to know some of the more interesting members of her new party.

Words: 1.4K (should I be making these longer? idk)

Content Warnings: Bilbo being a fckin ditz and that's it!

A/N: Inspiration to write hasn't died yet like I suspected it might LETS GOOOOO - updates might be a bit slow over next week cause I got some shit to do but TRUST I GOT SOME IN THE BANK STILL

Series Masterlist | PART THREE

Valacirca registers some discussion between her father and the dwarf standing in front of her, though does not make the effort of absorbing their meaning, finding herself in a sort of shock. 

Quickly gazing up at the crowd of dwarves in front of her, her eyes catch those of a dwarf standing submerged in the middle of the crowd. While everyone else remains fixated on the conversation between Thorin and Bilbo, this one keeps his gaze trained on her. His eyes are a calm blue, his skin fair and even, his hair a sandy blonde color with several small braids sewn within, and he is smirking straight at her. Though after several seconds of eye contact, Valacirca is the first to crumble and divert her gaze away, yet, she finds herself breathing more steadily and evenly than she had a mere few seconds ago. 

As everyone begins to make their way into the next room, Valacirca watches her father turn his head panickedly between the dwarves making their way into the next room, and his daughter, who’s feet remain planted in the foyer. Her father’s franticness makes her chuckle internally, and Valacirca finds herself nodding to him, “I’ll be with you shortly” she smiles.

“But-”

“I promise. I won’t leave.”

She watches Bilbo stare at her for a second, as he snaps his mouth closed, gives a curt nod and drawn smile, before heading to the kitchen for the dwarves.

As soon as she is certain he has left the room, Valacirca spins around to where Gandalf stands behind her.

“How did you know?” she spits, letting the anger catch up to her. Gandalf says nothing.

“I can only assume you did know. Do you really need me here? To be your- what is it you said- linguist? For Eru Ilúvatar, I simply mentioned having a fondness for language and now you bring me here”

“A simple fondness for language did not bring you here Miss Baggins and I believe you know that”

“Wha-”

“How many hobbits do you know are able to read runes and find their exact location within 12 hours?”

“That is beside the point-”

“That is exactly the point, these dwarves need direction, I have brought you. Now, do not ask for answers and then refuse to be in the room in which they are being discussed. Come.” His tone leaves little room for argument, and neither does his pace, as Gandalf stalks past Valacirca, and enters the kitchen along with everyone else.

Valacirca remains still for a few seconds, letting the air grow stale around her, before deciding that lamenting in her own confusion is not how she wishes to spend her evening any longer, and she makes her way into the kitchen.

Taking in the scene in front of her, she observes Thorin at the head of the table, with Bilbo and Gandalf to his left. Deciding sitting next to Bilbo mightn’t be the wisest of choices, Valacirca scans the table for other potential places to keep herself. 

Her eye once again catches the dwarf from before, who appears to notice her at the same time. Both of his forearms are resting on the table in front of him, though they quickly disappear as he delivers a swift whack to the dwarf sitting to his left. They each move away from each other to make a spot for her, smiling and encouraging her to fill the space.

With blush dusted cheeks Valacirca moves to the seat, making herself comfortable in the small spot provided.

In hushed whispers, the dwarf to her right introduces himself, “Fili”, as the brunette on her left follows “And Kili”, as they each turn to look at her before simultaneously announcing with a small bow, “at your service”. Each of the dwarves stare with saccharin grins, as if they’d practiced this before. Valacirca finds herself smiling back, before responding in an equally softened and playful tone, “Valacirca. A pleasure to meet you. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that little introduction was rehearsed. Are you in service to many?”.

The two dwarves’ smiles brighten, before Kili speaks “Oh no, of course not. We serve only the greatest legacies Middle Earth has to offer; our great and noble King, Thorin Oakanshield, and the wonderful Boggins’.”

Valacirca lets out a soft chuckle, though, before being given the opportunity to retort, a voice sounds from the end of the table, “What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?” spoke the more elderly of all the dwarves. 

As the dwarves spoke and discussed, Valacirca found herself focused on Bilbo, who was busying himself with providing the room with greater candlelight, more nervous than she had ever seen him. A pang of guilt hit her suddenly, yet she pushed it back, deciding now was not the time to deal with such emotion. 

A nudge from her left reeled her back in, turning her head slightly to Kili, he gave her a light smile before nodding back in the direction where Thorin and Gandalf had since laid out a map.

“The lonely mountain” Bilbo read aloud.

The words are like a trigger within Valacirca’s mind, and immediately she shuffles through the catalog of her own brain; through the various books and articles she had read in the past, searching for any potential reference of this mountain, until she remembered a book she had read in a dusted library a few months prior; ‘The Forge of Fate: Chronicles of Dwarven Prophecy’.

“Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, as it was foretold”.

Valacirca finds herself reciting the book before she can stop herself. “When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end”.

Heads immediately turn, and Valacirca hears Bilbo’s recognisable sigh, before he asks “Uh, what beast?”.

While one of the dwarves, Bofur, if she recalled correctly, recited the story of Smaug the Terrible to a quickly-paleing Bilbo, Valacirca felt another poke to her thigh, this time from her right. 

“How do you know such a passage? I didn’t think it was of the concern of Hobbits”

Valacirca didn’t know how to respond. How she knew the passage was simple; she’d found a book, and wished to read it, even if it had been written in Khuzdul. Though Valacirca suspected Fili was more interested in why she had wished to read it. And so she replied simply; “perhaps you aren’t as educated on the concerns of Hobbits as you might like.”

—-----------------

The conversation continued, and Valacirca absorbed as much information as she could will herself to. She understood her role well enough. She was to aid the company in their attempt to travel to Erebor, acting essentially as their personal compass and translator, before she was to assist her father in the collection of the Arkenstone from the depth of the mines. 

Balin, the elderly dwarf who had spoken before, handed a large contract her way, which she took but did not read, eyes trained instead on her father, who appeared to be spiraling. Bilbo was pacing, reading the tall contract which rolled out onto the floor in front of him, as Bofur teased him some more. 

Yet, only when Valacirca finally thought he might be well, did her father announce “Air. I need air”, followed by an immediate “nope!” as he crumpled and passed out onto the carpet below him.

“Bilbo!” Valacirca gasped, rising from her seat and rushing over to where the Hobbit lay still in the hall.

“Oh, very helpful Bofur!” cried Gandalf.

“Sorry lass, didn’t mean to scare him asleep” sounded Bofur as Valacirca began lightly tapping her fathers cheeks in attempts to rouse him awake.

Realizing he would come good in his own time, Valacirca rose from her crouched position on the floor and announced, “set him in the armchair and give me that contract”.

Gandalf stayed silent, knowing as he always did, that she had more to speak. 

“If I sign this, will you promise not to ask him again?”

Gandalf huffed, before saying “I’m afraid I will do what I must to complete this party”.

Valacirca mulled this answer over, before shaking her head and speaking, “give me the damn contract”.

[hiltofthesword]

Silent Strike: PART ONE

Summary: Valacirca receives a message from the great wizard Gandalf that she must decode. Though when she does, she finds it leads her to someone she'd rather've gone without.

Words: 1.4K

Content Warnings: Bit of violence towards the end but that's about it.

A/N: OOOOOOOOOOOH LETS FUCKIN GO - FIRST PART BBY!!! I have like parts 2-4 ready to go, and I will say, this is very much a slow-burn! Hope this isn't A S S :D

Series Masterlist | PART TWO

Valacirca willed herself not to think of her day’s earlier interaction. Of her meeting of the strange wizard Gandalf and his obscure demands of her. 

Instead, she busied herself with returning the proof of her latest assignment’s completion to her paying customers. Taking the stolen goods from the body of her victim, as well as a little part of him to prove his passing (namely; his head), Valacirca returned to the town of Misthaven, where she was served a filling meal and provided adequate payment. 

Yet nothing felt heavier in her pockets than the paper left to her by Gandalf. 

As she sat by herself in the corner of a lowly tavern, Valacirca took out the small paper, and began to study the rune drawn in greater detail. Staring and staring, Valacirca realized this rune to be a challenge unlike any she had ever read before.

Filtering through symbols she’d seen in the past within her own mind, Valacirca recognised the shape not as a simple rune, but as a sentence. She’d seen the collection of lines and shapes drawn once, in a book; "Ciphercraft: Arcane Glyphs for Rogues, Riddlers, and Renegades", and recognised the sentence to read along the lines of “Burglar wants a good job, plenty of excitement, and reasonable reward. Come find it in The Shire”. 

The Shire was of course the homeland of the Hobbits, it was where her father lived and wanted Valacirca to stay once her mother had passed. Though Valacirca knew Hobbiton was no place for a merchant like herself, and so she kept her distance. To her knowledge, the town was peaceful and passive. No place for burglars or thieves either. 

Valacirca gave it no more thought. Gandalf’s message was clear; she was to eliminate this supposed burglar before the end of the day, just as he had said. 

He had given her the gift of a challenge with this rune, a challenge of language Valacirca had not felt in a long time. So, she would return the favor and rid the world of Gandalf the Gray’s nuisance burglar immediately.

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The journey was shorter than she had expected, and in a mere few hours Valacirca found herself walking through a small town of rolling hills, with small, rounded doors painted in bright colors protruding every fifty meters or so. The atmosphere was peaceful, Valacrica felt herself breathing-in with greater depth; the air felt cleaner, fresher, crisper. 

This certainly was no place for a burglar. 

Valacirca walked through the various streets of Hobbiton, expecting to be met with crude stares and harsh glares, yet the townspeople paid her no mind. Assuming her to be a normal hobbit going about her day, paying no attention to her abnormalities. Finally, she stopped at a large oak tree, which was itself at the edge of a large clearing, next to a poster labeled ‘party tree’. 

Valacirca took a moment to collect herself. She unsheathed her blade, which was previously kept in a pouch which ran down the length of her leg. The blade itself, for which she had given no name, was lightweight, though did not appear as such; the double edged blade was long and straight, with small serrations toward the base. The metal from which it was made was of elvish quality, the guard was ornate and decorative, adorned with intricate patterns that flared out in the shape of small axes. And she was prepared to spill blood with it.

Moving her gaze from her sword, which she held defensively across her chest, Valacirca began to scan the rolling hills and the various hobbit holes protruding from them.

She spotted the offending home nearly immediately. 

Sitting at the very top of the hillside, was a rounded green door, left slightly ajar. The two windows beside the door flickered with light as extremely muffled shouting sounded from within the hill. Most obvious yet however, was the rune left on the door; an exact copy to the one scribbled on the paper in her pocket. 

She had found her burglar, or rather, burglars.

Valacirca moved with agility and swiftness up the side of the hill. She was unseen, there was no doubt in her mind, as she moved silently around the side of the home, until she was nestled comfortably and secretly within the vegetation and bush lining the side of the hobbit hole. 

What caught her off guard however, was the sounding of song within the hill.

The song was cheerful and was played with flutes and pipes, accompanied by the roaring of several masculine voices. 

“DUMP THE CROCKS IN BOILING BOWLS

POUND THEM UP WITH A THUMPING POLE”

The voices confused Valacirca; sounding far too joyful to be from hardened ne'er do wells. 

“WHEN YOU’RE FINISHED IF THEY ARE WHOLE

SEND THEM DOWN THE HALL TO ROLE”

Definitely not criminals. Then why had Gandalf-

“THAT’S WHAT BILBO BAGGINS HATES” 

No. Valacirca felt the blood drain from her face as her breathing became shallow and short. Her hands began to perspirate immediately, slicking with sweat, causing her sword to fall from her grip and clatter to the ground. 

Yet, before she could comprehend, Valacirca felt a searing pull at her scalp, as she was yanked from her crouched position beside the door, before being slammed back down to her knees on the concrete in front of the hobbit door. With her back to her offender, Valacirca’s hands flew up to those still tangled deeply in her hair in an attempt to relieve the pressure growing from such a tight grip. She saw, as a great and heavy sword appeared in front of her face, before the hand gripping the metal, rotated it, and beat the pummel against the door in three, short knocks.

The cheering sounding inside meer moments ago died immediately, and Valacirca willed her mind to keep from spiraling. 

Was this a trap? Was this some kind of fucked reunition? How could she have been so stupid to put her trust, so quickly and without question, into the vague words of a crazed, eccentric, gray wizard named-

“Gandalf. I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way twice and now find myself inconvenienced by an armed hobbit hiding in a bush”

The voice from behind Valacirca was smooth yet graveled, so deep yet not aged. In different circumstances, hearing such a voice might have made her swoon.

He continued, “I wouldn’t have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door”.

A lighter, anxiety-filled voice followed, “Mark? There’s no mark on that door. It was paint a week ago-”

Cutting himself short, there he was, in all his great awkwardness; Bilbo Baggins, staring down at his estranged daughter. And for the first time in perhaps the last hour, he was rendered speechless. 

“There is a mark. I put it there myself. Now please put my linguist down.” Sounded Gandalf, completely indifferent to both Valacirca and Bilbo's shared distraught.

“She is one of your hires?”

“Yes, and I typically prefer them with all the same hairs they had on their head before I met them”

After a moment of hesitation, the stranger released Valacirca’s hair and let her fall to the floor once more. Where she immediately tucked her chin down, keeping her eyes from her father’s at all costs. 

Though it was to no avail, as she felt her father rush immediately to her side, wrapping one hand around her forearm to hoist her to her feet, while keeping the other on her shoulder to steady her. He spoke to her in a soft voice so the crowd around them could not hear “Are you alright Circa?”.

Valacirca looked to his face and saw the concern in his eyes. In the years of her absence her father had aged, to be expected of course, though she couldn’t help but think some of it had come from his near-constant state of stress and worry without her.

She ignored the question and looked to the crowd gathered within the house. The man, who had her by the hair a mere second ago stood out in front of them all, glaring. He was, to her surprise, not a man, but rather, a dwarf. He stood tall, with a strong, muscular build and long, flowing black hair. 

“Bilbo Baggins, Valacirca… Baggins. Allow me to introduce you to the leader of our company: Thorin Oakenshield.”

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A/N; I should say as well - lmk if y'all got any suggestions for the direction of this story, I'd like to spice it up a lil

[hiltofthesword]

Silent Strike

Series Masterlist

Summary: Valacirca is a linguist and a merchant. When she is asked by the great wizard Gandalf to aid Thorin Oakenshield and his company in their quest to reclaim Erebor, her feelings become conflicted quicker than she can comprehend.

Content: canon divergence (duh????), violence, death, smut (maybe ????? idk)

A/N: this is my first time writing anything ever. I'd like to thank the absolutely desert that is The Hobbit ao3 page (specifically those writing on it cause finding a good fic on that page feels finding an oasis in a desert)!

Prologue: Gandalf recruits a last minute extra (you don't need to read this but part one will probably make more sense - sorry!)

Part One: Valacirca has a slightly rushed introduction to the party. As well as a reunion!

Part Two: Valacirca learns the purpose for her presence amongst the party

[hiltofthesword]

Silent Strike: Prologue

Summary: Gandalf recruits a last minute extra (you don't need to read this but part one will probably make more sense - sorry!)

Content Warnings: Death (it's not that explicit), description of blood and swearing.

Words: 1K

A/N: FUUUUUUUUUUUCK THIS IS MY FIRST POST I'M SCARED. This isn't being posted for anyone's enjoyment other than my own, or in other words - I'm not expecting anyone to really read this, but if you are, I hope it isn't absolute S H I T and enjoy! :)

Series Masterlist | PART ONE

She hears the crack of his skull before the spattering of blood reaches her.

She gasps and sputters while the man previously lunged over her crumbles into a bloody heap, trying to avoid the hot trickle of his blood from getting into her own mouth. 

She’d had it under control a mere matter of seconds ago. Aelar, an enemy of some greedy lord for which she cared not, was not the ‘simple-minded fool’ by which he had been apparently described.

The job was simple. Decode the brazen message the thief Aelar had left after stealing from the vault of some Mannish town. Find him and leave him for dead, before returning for a hearty meal and payment to make her pockets heavier.

But the little fucker had been quicker than she thought. Attempting to throw one of her various knives, she meant to kill him quickly, with ease, without fuss. You could imagine her surprise when Aelar caught the wretched blade mid-air, and flung it back at her supposedly discreet hiding spot above the various trees of the evergreen forest.

The fight which ensued was nothing short of embarrassing. Hobbit-Man half breed women don’t have a particularly widely known skillset in hand-to-hand combat, and with a quick attack from the offending thief, she began losing their petty fist fight, and quickly. 

Aelar pinned her hands above her hand. Face far too close to her own, snarling, sweating and dribbling all over her, excited to kill her. He drew a breath, unsheathing a dull blade; a blade which was so unattractive, she was almost embarrassed to have to die by such an ugly metal scrap. Though before he could advance his attack further, a forceful, dull, striking sound rang through the air, followed by a half-drawn breath from Aelar, before he crumpled to the position which he was currently in. 

Frantic and panicked, she pushed the deceased man off of her. Spitting and coughing out across the dirt, wiping her face and rising to her feet, desperate to rid herself of the taste and feeling of his hot and sticky blood crusting on her skin. 

“I do hope he deserved that. More often than not I like to avoid taking the lives of innocent men.” Sounded a deep voice from across the clearing. 

Swiftly she turned, looking for her rescuer, before immediately redirecting her gaze upward. 

In front of her stood an elderly man with a long, flowing beard, draped nearly entirely in a gray cloak. He had a tall, imposing stature, his face lined with age, wisdom and a sort-of kindness. It took her aback, considering their situation.

“I should think so too. I was to be paid for his death; I would hate to think it was for something unimportant, or my time would be wasted” she replied, chin up, determined to show a mask of cool confidence, despite the cadaver lying next to her (whom she’d nearly become instead).

“Well what is it that you consider to be so important it costs a life?” He retorts. The tone is near sarcastic, though lacks judgment; confusing her further.

Her eyes flash between this tall stranger and the body at her feet, momentarily doubting herself, wondering if perhaps she had missed something.

“He stole.”

“Many steal; their lives are not forfeit as a result. It seems like much risk for little reward”.

“Don’t feel bad, I’m usually about to die”.

The two sat in silence for several seconds. She debated in her own mind telling this stranger her real motives behind her acceptance of the job. 

“He left a message in black speech”

The stranger remained silent, urging her to continue.

“This mere man, gifted with the ability to speak a language beyond his own, used his skill to torment and deceive… though perhaps it was most insulting he thought his message, ‘Uglûk narkûl thrakânashû, nazgûl gûm-ishi, shâ, lugratsh’ would be difficult to understand.”

The stranger’s silence continued to draw out, yet she sensed no judgment. 

“You hold great appreciation for language” he said, finally.

“How could I not?”

“Most certainly. I learn them where I can”

“And who is it that you are?”

The stranger seemed pleased with her inquiry; that it had not been her immediate question, though she remained wary. 

“I am Gandalf. Gandalf The Gray.”

She stared at him blankly. Was she supposed to know this man?

“I am Valacirca. Valacirca the… Hobbit-Man”

“Hobbit-Man? Can’t say I’ve heard of those before. ”

Valacirca was slightly alarmed she had so brazenly mentioned this detail to this stranger… this… Gandalf. People often assumed she was a hobbit and not a halfbreed, never taking the time to study her closer and see the slight variations to her appearance. Valacirca had larger feet, though not large enough that she could forgo shoes; her ears were pointed, though not as largely rounded as that of a typical hobbit; and her height was slightly taller than that of your standard hobbit.

“Can’t say I’ve heard of many Gray’s before”.

Gandalf let out a short chuckle before huffing out “yes, you will fit in quite well I believe”

This comment made Valacirca’s face screw up in confusion. Though before she could open her mouth to question him, Gandalf interrupted “I will leave you with your prisoner here, but I ask that you hold onto this.” Handing her a folded sheet of paper, he continued; “I ask that you make up your mind by the end of this current day, we will discuss formalities later.”

Valacirca stayed silent, confused and quizzical of the man in front of her, though she sensed no threat. Reluctantly, she opened the folded paper, and saw simply a rune, a series of angular lines and curves. Valacirca had no inkling as to what it might mean at a first glance, however, once she looked up, Gandalf had appeared to have left, leaving her to her business once again.