After seeing the movie (twice) and reading the book, I have decided that Smaug is my favorite Tolkien character. Keep the mountain, that's what I say! Anywho, after reading some amazing stories with Smaug, I thought I might offer my own. So here we go, first chapter of a new story. Hope you all enjoy.
Disclaimer: The almighty Tolkien owns and rules all! Except Circe, she's mine.
In the times of Elves, Hobbits, Dwarves and wizards, man was not deemed in good stead. Rather, man was considered greedy and cruel, ruled by their emotions unlike the fair Elves, clumsy and prideful, nothing like Hobbits, lacking a sense of honour that was felt among Dwarves and in great need of the wisdom and foresight that was established in wizards.
Man was a medley of horrible ideas and strange behaviors, war mongering and self-seeking; it was a wonder that they did not wipe each other out all at once. Though, every now and again, a man would rise up who, through great sacrifice and courage, would best fate and overcome their heritage, flourishing in the world of magic and myst.
Circe was not one of these.
Wind whipped wildly at the cloaks of the people of Lake Town. The waters flogged the docks and citizens ran to the cover of their houses to escape the growing storm. The skies above were black and red, clouds twisting and churning, gathering in clumps of grey. And then the rain began.
One lone boat glided as best it could over the rough waters, its occupant stood unmoving, guiding the wooden vessel towards the pier. Amber eyes peered out from under a dark green hood leading down into a long cloak. A dull red cloth was tied around the strangers face, covering the nose and mouth.
Lightning cracked over head and the stranger's eyes snapped up to the roiling sky. Thick brows furrowed in determination as the stranger continued towards Lake Town. The boat maneuvered through waterways until it came to a small port with a little hut on the dock.
"Papers please," a man announced coming outside of the little hut towards the boat.
"You would demand papers from a consort of the King of the Woodland realm?" the stranger snapped with a raised brow.
It took the man a moment to comprehend what the stranger meant but when he did, his eyes went wide and he sputtered out an apology.
"Think not of it, lake man," the stranger declared with a voice gentler than before, "Though I must be allowed to pass, my king has commanded me."
"Of course, of course my lord," the man waved the stranger on, bowing slightly, "I apologize for the delay."
"You are pardoned." the regal stranger affirmed, continuing on further into the town. The boat creaked through the churning waters and finally, the prow bumped unceremoniously against the dock.
Hopping out of the boat, the stranger proceeded to tie it off to a nearby post. A light chuckle escaped the stranger's lips as the amber eyes shot back towards the hut on the dock.
"Tell me, lake man," the newcomer called, "where might I find lodging on this foul night?"
"Well my lord, there is an inn not far down, The Hissing Tankard it's called, they would put you up, if, of course, you're not too picky about the company."
The stranger laughed heartily and tossed the man a small bag of coins.
"I thank you, lake man."
The rain pounded down as the traveler marched down the docks towards what looked to be the well lit inn called The Hissing Tankard. And so it was. The stranger stopped outside the door, furrowing those thick brows once again and making those amber eyes slits of anger and hatred.
At last, with a rough push, the wanderer threw open the door to the inn and strode grandly inside. All eyes turned towards the stranger, and the strangers eyes turned towards all. Many eyes traveled down, landing on the silver clasp that held the olive cloak. All knew this to be the sigil of the woodland elves and no one questioned it.
Once each person had gone back to their drinking or meals, the stranger's eyes snapped to the innkeeper who bristled slightly at the sight of the piercing eyes.
"Are you the keeper of this establishment?" the stranger queried with a crisp, sharp voice.
"Uh-erm eh ah, yes. Yes, I am the innkeeper. What can I do for you?"
"I require room and board for the night." the stranger drawled, lazily knocking slender fingers against the wood of the counter.
"Right, well we do have one room left tonight, lucky eh?" the innkeeper chuckled awkwardly but stopped at the look on the stranger's face. He coughed.
"Alright, Ilsa will show you the way up. ILSA!"
At that moment, a short young woman came barreling down the old rickety staircase behind the counter. She stopped when she spotted the stranger on the other side.
"Ilsa, please show this man to his room."
Ilsa fixed the stranger with a flirtatious smile and what we suppose was her best set of bedroom eyes. The stranger glared viciously at the girl but that only seemed to spur her on, and with one look at the broach on the olive cloak, she was infatuated.
"Please my lord, follow me."
Striding past the innkeeper, who let out the long breath he had been holding, the stranger followed the woman up the stairs into a badly lit corridor with doors lining it on both sides.
"Right this way." she coaxed, heading down the hall with her hips swaying purposefully.
The stranger sneered beneath the cloth that covered the nose and mouth, but followed her, wanting to be in the quiet and comfort of the room. Finally, they reached an old oak door which Ilsa, rather seductively, slid a key into before letting it creak open.
"Your room, m'lord."
The stranger pushed past the woman and stepped into the room.
"I will have supper brought to me." the crisp voice commanded, facing away from the doors with hands clasped together.
"Of course, m'lord." Ilsa giggled flirtatiously, slowly backing out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar before she was gone.
The stranger whirled swiftly, nearly racing across the room to slam the door shut. Once that was done, the weary wonderer let out a relieved sigh.
"I always knew these river folk were stupid, but I never expected this."
The stranger proceeded to remove the green hood and rip off the red kerchief, revealing not a male elf from the woodland realm, but a young human woman most likely from the North. Leaving the door, she noticed a mirror on the wall near the window which she walked over to.
Looking at her reflection in the mirror, the woman smirked, narrowing her eyes and speaking in her much practiced male voice.
"Oh Circe, you've done it again." she grinned as she retied the red cloth around her face, "Why, I could fool the King of Gondor if I had to."
A knock at the door startled her out of her praise and she flipped on her hood, leaning mysteriously by the window for effect.
"Enter." her voice rang out and Ilsa slowly but boisterously entered the room carrying a tray of food with her.
"You may leave it on the desk." Circe announced. She tried to be as icy as possible so as to deter the promiscuous woman, but it seemed to do the very opposite.
Circe heard the clank of the metal tray on the wooden desk and thought that to be the end of it. However, without looking up, she heard loud, boasting footsteps slowly making their way over to where she stood.
"We don't get much of your kind here, m'lord. I'd always thought elves kept rather to themselves."
"And so I wish to, if you would please."
"Oh, don't send me out m'lord." Ilsa purred, letting one hand stroke the cloak clad arm. Circe's brows shot up then furrowed, unsure of how far this woman was bent on taking it.
"No, you just need to come and relax." Circe felt two arms snaking their way towards her shoulders and she prepared herself for what she had to do, breathing in deeply.
"That's it," Ilsa said, taking Circe's deep breathing for preparation of a different kind. The maid slipped her hand up the back of Circe's neck, gripping the fabric of the cloak, ready to rip away the hood and the storm was unleashed.
"STEP AWAY, PROMISCUOUS WENCH!" Circe exploded, spinning on her heel to loom over the young maid, "KNOW YOUR PLACE WHEN YOU ARE IN THE PRESENCE OF A CONSORT TO THE KING!"
Circe, who was already rather tall, had no problems hovering menacingly over the short girl. The shadow her hood cast gave her an air of malice and the ever cracking lightning outside filled the room with intervals of frightening light.
"I WILL NOT HAVE YOU SEEKING TO DEFILE MY HONOR!"
"I-I wasn't trying-" the woman stepped away, her eyes wide and mouth slightly open in fear.
"YOU WILL DEPART FROM ME THIS MOMENT AND NOT RETURN!" Circe thundered, "Do not let me see you again." she finished with a foreboding hiss.
The maid let out a incomprehensible mutter before lifter up her skirt and fleeing from the room. Circe watched her fly through the door and she walked quickly, slamming the door shut so that it echoed through the entire pub. She then locked the door, removing her hood and running a hand through her long black hair.
That hadn't gone according to plan at all, she thought. She had been trying to avoid attention, but the maid would probably go crying to the innkeeper who would start to cause trouble.
"Ah, what does it matter?" Circe scoffed to herself. She moved off back towards the window, staring out over the small town. "I shan't be here long."
Her eyes roamed the far off mountains, settling on the silhouette of the ruined city of Dale. Finally, her eyes caught her destination. Erebor, the Lonely Mountain. Her stance became rigid and she stood straighter, glaring at the mist covered mountain.
"We'll see how terrible you are Smaug," she sneered, "and if you can protect your hoard from middle earth's finest thief."
I do hope you've all enjoyed this beginning chapter, introducing our master of disguise Circe. The next few chapters will explain more about who she is and what the heck is going on. Any story ideas or feedback is greatly appreciated.
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