Hey its me your lovely author who likes to procrastinate and multitask at the same time. i wrote a chapter though it is short, but thats my writing style lol. anyways let me know your thoughts/comments/suggestions in the lovely little review box down below!
Thorin awoke in a small room with a low ceiling and walls that were impossibly straight. There was a small window to his left and a door across from the foot of his bed. Thorin let his eyes explore the room till they were brought back to the foot of his bed, where a woman with long black hair and strangely pale skin was standing. The sudden appearance of this woman nearly gave Thorin a heart attack. If one was to glance at her from a distance, they may mistaken her for a ghost.
"Who are u?" Thorin questioned, his heart still racing.
"You are Thorin, son of Thrain son of Thror, you are a king." The strange woman paused. "I have no use for a king," she continued after a time of silence, "nevertheless Gandalf has asked me to heal you, and that I will do. But know this, if you do not do as I say I will strike you down."
"You would speak to a king like this?"
"You are not my king, and even if you were it would not change the way I speak to you." The woman challenged. Thorin furrowed his brow.
"You distain me, why?"
"It does not matter why."
"It matters to me."
The woman looked at him for a moment, then she smiled. "You're different, I'll give you that. Bold? Yes. Probably will die at my hand? I look forward to it. But you've gained my respect. I suggest you try and keep it." Thorin smiled at her.
"What is your name?" Thorin asked.
"Nimue Nova." The woman responded in a bored tone.
"Is there any way I could get something to eat?" Thorin asked. Nimue then waved her hand. Thorin nearly leapt out of his skin when a tray full of food appeared on his bedside table.
"I will leave you to your breakfast. And once your done, don't get up. Walking around will only delay the healing process." Nimue told him. Then she left. Thorin swore she simply vanished into this air, because she never opened the door to leave.
-•-
Azog the Defiler was proud. Pride was his Achilles heel. He was proud of his kill count. Proud of the warg he chose to ride on. Proud of the army that was his to command. And he was proud he had outsmarted the old fool, Gandalf. It only took the Necromancers magic to get them there, but they got there nonetheless.
Azog breathed in the mist of the dark forest he and his army found themselves in. This was, supposedly, where the dwarves were hiding. Why they were hiding here, Azog had no idea, but he had found them, and because of that he was proud.
We wait till dawn, he told them, his army. Then they all settled down to wait. A ring of smoke spiraled from a chimney not too far away.