Toby7400: Thanks! Do ya' think I should maybe extend the ending of that chapter with having the orcs chase Snow through the village?
Either way, Snow's on an adventure! This time, she meets up with the dwarves, misses her handkerchief, decides she does NOT like Kili, and learns some things about dwarves and wizards.
Not necessarily in that order.
You can almost basically think of this chapter as a series of drabbles based on some of the earlier events of the film, leading up to the troll hoard.
So, enjoy!
Chapter 6: Tales of the Dwarves
Outside of the Shireland village, far along the Great East Road and halfway through the East Farthing Woods travelled the company of thirteen dwarves and a wizard. They'd been travelling on pony-back, and horseback in Gandalf's case, since six in the morning, when they'd left the castle with seven hours' sleep, and now they were nearing the edge of the kingdom. They kept their steeds at a walk as they rode out, beginning their journey at last.
Though some of them felt as if they were missing someone important…
"WAIT! WAIT!"
Thorin held up a hand to stop the company at the sound of the girl's cries. The dwarves and the wizard turned their heads to see Snow White running as fast as she could with the traveling pack on her back, and still carrying the broom-pole, racing to catch up with the troop. She finally stopped near side of Balin's horse, panting profusely, and pulled out of one of her belt-pockets the rolled-up contract.
"I signed it!" she exclaimed cheerfully as she handed it to the old dwarf.
The old dwarf smiled down to her as he took the scroll, then pulled out a finger-held monocle to inspect the signature. Snow looked around at the other dwarves excitedly and slightly nervous. Most of them watched with intrigue or joy, while a few scowled in annoyance. The handsome one, Kili she thought, turned away and breathed out and she noticed Thorin appeared to be bored and sighed as he waited for Balin to make his decision.
And after a moment, Balin spoke one more with pride and glee.
"Everything appears to be in order!"
Snow smiled brightly as the old dwarf stowed away his monocle and furled the scroll up, even as he turned to look back at her.
"Welcome, Miss Snow White," He announced. ", to the company of Thorin Oakenshield!"
Snow beamed with happiness, and joyous cheers erupted from eleven of the thirteen dwarves, even those who had, moments ago, been pouting. Balin merely winked down at her, and Gandalf smiled fondly at the girl.
Thorin, meanwhile, only seemed more irritable.
"Give her a pony." He ordered grumpily, eager for them to be on their way.
Snow's smile faded and she turned to look up at him even as the company began to move again.
"No, no that won't be necessary." She assured. "I've spent most of my life walking, I'm sure I can keep UP-"
Without warning, she felt herself being lifted up by the shoulders on either side, and was held there until a pony was moved underneath her and she was dropped onto its saddle. She winced as she felt her legs stretched to either side by the pony's flanks, but, having had to deal with her own injuries for most of her life, she could adjust.
What did stump her was where to put her hands.
"Uhh…"
There she sat on the back of a pony with not a clue of what to do. She knew there were reigns, though she wasn't entirely sure what to do with them, her feet just lay at the sides of the animal, and she felt as if she could just fall backwards and off the pony at any moment. Her puzzlement, and lack of encouragement, caused the pony to lag behind and stop.
Kili, nearby, urged his own pony to turn around when he realised she wasn't following.
"Have you never ridden a pony before?" He asked amusedly as he halted his pony in front of her.
"N-Never." Snow managed to respond though her stupor.
She frowned up at the dwarf… prince? He should be a prince. If he was Thorin's nephew, and Thorin was the heir to Erebor, then Fili and Kili were technically also princes, weren't they?
Anyway, Snow looked up and frowned at the dwarf prince as Kili chuckled at her with mirth. He clearly found her lack of knowledge funny. Calming his amusement, he looked back at her and spoke.
"First, place your feet in the stirrups." He instructed.
"The what?"
Kili laughed again. Snow's face contorted in a scowl again.
"What's the hold-up!?" Thorin called back to them.
Snow looked past the laughing Kili to see the company had halted again, with Thorin glaring annoyedly back at them. Kili turned back and tried to offer an explanation, but only started laughing again.
"I'm a scullery maid, not a stable-hand!" Snow protested, "I was never trained to ride a horse, much less a pony!"
Thorin sighed in annoyance.
"Kili, get over your merriment and help her!" he ordered his nephew. "Or else we'll never get to the mountain!"
Kili calmed himself down and turned back to her, though he still had trouble not snickering at Snow's trouble.
Luckily for the princess/maid/adventurer-in-training, Snow was a fast learner, and within a few minutes, Snow had mastered the skill of riding her pony, at a trot at least, semi-confidently holding the reins. She settled on the pony, the broomstick held firmly to the saddle, and the company moved forward, on their way again at last. Snow was sure to urge her pony to walk near the front of the group with Gandalf, Balin and Thorin, far away from the rude and insensitive dwarf known as Kili.
Needless to say, by this point she had decided she did NOT like Kili.
Gandalf, however, was very friendly, sparking up a conversation with the girl about what she thought of the company so far. Balin joined in on occasion, giving Snow the impression that he was a nice dwarf to sit and chat with.
A light clinking sound drew her attention to the back of the company, even as Gloin shouted "Come on, Nori! Pay up!"
Looking back, she saw eight of the remaining eleven dwarves throwing small sacks across to the others, the three of the rest, Bofur, Gloin and Ori chuckling with glee as they pocketed their newly gained coins.
"What are they doing?" Snow asked Gandalf, still looking back.
"They made wages on whether or not you'd turn up." The wizard answered. "Most of them bet that you wouldn't."
"Did all of you bet on this?"
"Thorin and I stayed out of it." Balin answered for Gandalf. "I'm too old for their child-like energy. And Thorin doesn't like distractions."
Indeed, Thorin had remained stoically focused on the road ahead, ignoring the sounds of the playing dwarves behind him. Snow had noticed so far that he was very much gruff and irritable, and was determined on keeping the company on track as they travelled.
But Snow returned her attention to the current conversation, and turned to Gandalf.
"And what did YOU think?" she asked the wizard.
"Oh, well…"
The wizard reached behind him and caught a bag of coins, and began chuckling to the girl.
"My dear girl," he said merrily as he pocketed his winnings, ", I never doubted you for a second!"
A little along the road, Snow sneezed.
She'd been feeling it ever since she'd first been dragged onto the pony, which she'd been told was called Myrtle. Dust had quickly settled in her nostrils, and she felt it tingling in her nose. And eventually she couldn't take it anymore, and she sneezed.
Gandalf looked down at her quizzically from his position on his horse next to her. She noticed and slowly managed to respond.
"All this horse hair!" she complained nasally.
She reached into her belt pockets and rummaged around, trying to find a handkerchief. She found very few things, most left over from the previous owner, such as some beans, a few coins, dirt, mould, rats' teeth (she had no idea why the previous owner had those), but no handkerchief.
"No, no!" she muttered.
"What in Middle Earth is the matter?" Gandalf chimed in.
Snow stopped rummaging and sighed.
"Forgot a handkerchief." She answered. "Elanor and I packed everything else I'd need that we could find in her room, but not a handkerchief."
Behind them, Bofur had heard this and ripped a scrap of cloth off of his tunic.
"Use this!" he called forward.
Snow and Gandalf looked around as he tossed the rag to Snow.
"Perfect!" Snow proclaimed as she caught it graciously and brought it up to wipe her nose.
As she tucked the garment away in one of her belt pockets she noticed Gandalf frowning down at her, with a surprising slight disapproval. Snow understood why. Even as a maid, she should have been entitled to the use of ordinary utensils, such as handkerchiefs. But alas, the Queen had sequestered and disempowered her so much that she wasn't even allowed to use that.
It wasn't HER the wizard was frowning at. It was at the upbringing that brought on the gracious use of something most other people would hold at the end of a stick.
"It will have to do." Gandalf breathed. "You will have to do without pocket handkerchiefs, and a great many other things until we reach our journey's end."
Snow nodded in understanding.
It was then that she noticed the company was climbing a hill, and a brighter stream of light flittered onto the path ahead.
Her mouth opened slightly in anticipation. The more light meant they were near the edge of the forest, and the East Farthing Woods was at the very edge of the kingdom.
As if hearing her thoughts, Gandalf spoke again:
"The rolling hills and little rivers of Shireland are behind you."
And at last, they reached to top of the hill, and Snow's jaw dropped at the land before her.
The forest broke open, and the gravel road ahead was surrounded by clear grassy plains, bordered by mountains at the north, and stretching unceasingly to the south. In the distance sat a town, Bree, its brown wooden walls standing out in the green landscape, and beyond that, much further away, was the largest mountain range in Middle Earth. The Misty Mountains.
Before her and the rest of the company was the land beyond Shireland. She was at the very edge of home.
"The world is ahead." Gandalf finished.
They passed through the town of Bree that afternoon, and Snow got to experience a non-sovereign town for the first time. She was slightly nervous as they approached, for she'd always thought such places as dirty, muddy places, filled with tavern and inns, drunkards, vagabonds and other such unsavoury people.
She was not disappointed.
But, despite that, she did end up enjoying their ride through the town, seeing the outside world properly for the first time. Gandalf pointed out The Prancing Pony, which he claimed to be his favourite inn in Middle Earth. Men, women and children in cloaks walked the street, some looking dodgy, but others seemed quite pleasant as they watched the odd company pass by. Snow was happy to pass a few coins she had on to a young beggar boy who walked up to them.
They quickly passed through the small town, moving out, as Thorin put it, over the edge of the wild.
And wild was what it looked like. While behind them lay Bree, ahead lay nothing but grassy hills and the Misty Mountains. The gravel road stretched on and on into the distance, and as they rode their trotting horses along it, Snow looked back behind her.
As they climbed a hill, Snow could see over the ever more distant Bree to her stepmother's kingdom behind them, only to find that the forest took up most of the view, only the tip of the towers of the castle rising over it.
And it was only then that Snow realised with great dread that she was somewhere she'd never been. She didn't know where she was. She didn't know how to cope. She was travelling along an unknown road with a company of thirteen dwarves and a wizard, in unexpected and complicated circumstances, with no sight of the end.
And she thought to herself then:
'I am not at home.'
The company camped that night on the ridge at the top of the hill they'd climbed, sheltered by a sheer rock wall on one side and a long drop at the other. They set up a fire and they all settled down, Gandalf sitting at watch from a tree. The ground she lay on was uncomfortable, but less so than her wooden bed with the blanket Elanor had packed under her. All in all, it was very easy to just lie back and fall asleep.
Or at least it would be if not for Bombur's constant snoring.
The moths flying around the massive dwarf's mouth were constantly being sucked in and breathed out as her slept, amplifying the infuriating noise that he made, and all in all it was impossible for Snow to even lie there.
Groaning in annoyance as he breathed the moths in again, Snow stood up and decided to try to settle herself with a short stroll. She couldn't go far, of course, as they all needed to stay near the camp, but the cliff edge where the ponies were situated wasn't far.
She moved to the cliff-top, careful not to put herself precariously on the edge, and looked out over the wilds of Middle Earth. Grass, trees, hills, mountains, the forested cliff in the distance standing imposingly across from them, and the cold, clean night air hanging lightly around her. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out, enjoying the tranquillity. Despite her realisation that everything now was different, it was hard for her Dúnedain side not to enjoy it.
Then something had to screech from the opposing cliff.
Snow opened her eyes and stepped back in fright as she recognised the orc-cry. The insidious creatures yelled across the lands around, striking fear into her heart.
There were more orcs out there, but were they one of the travelling packs the contract mentioned, or could they be the same ones that tried to kill her?
Snow quickly ran over to where Thorin lay against a rock, noticing the dwarf prince looking out at the distant cliff warily.
"Thorin," she urged, "I think we're being followed!"
The dwarf turned to look up at her sternly.
"What makes you say that?"
Snow suddenly found herself hesitant to tell him the truth about her leave for the castle. Something was stopping her, as if it would make the dwarf re-think her place in the company.
"I don't know." She answered. "It's just a hunch."
Thorin huffed, and turned back to staring across the wilderness with a hidden fury. Snow sighed, exasperated, and moved back to her blanket near the rockface. She moved to sit back down, cautiously looking out again.
"Orcs."
She turned, startled at the voice, to see Fili and Kili, who'd spoken, sitting next to the wall near the fire, both with solemn expressions on their faces.
"There'll be dozens of them out there." Fili said. "The lowlands will be crawling with them."
"They strike in the wee small hours when everyone's asleep." Kili added with a darkened expression. "Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood."
Snow turned to look back across the gap between the two cliffs. She knew full well what orcs were capable of, and she'd seen their deadly tactic for herself. Still, the way the brothers spoke about it gave her chills. What if they attacked them tonight?
Then a chuckling behind her drew her attention, and she turned and scowled at the princes who'd just joked at her expense. If they'd known what she had gone through that morning, they never would've dared make such a joke.
Then again, this was Kili after all. She did NOT like Kili.
She opened her mouth to scold them.
"You think that's funny?"
The dwarves' smiles where wiped off of their faces as Snow was interrupted by the gruff voice of their uncle. Thorin had stood up, and now walked past them as he moved away.
"You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?" Thorin demanded.
"We meant nothing by it." Kili apologised.
But Thorin wouldn't let them off that easily.
"No you didn't!" he spat. "You know nothing of the world!"
Snow and the brothers watched as Thorin stomped off to stand at the edge of the cliff, watching across the lowlands with a frown. Snow stared at the heir to the dwarves, taken aback by his sudden harshness. Thorin so far had seemed dark and broody, but so far he'd never lashed out like that.
Snow turned back again as Balin stepped up to lean against the rock wall next to Fili.
"Don't mind him, lassie." He said solemnly as he looked over to Snow. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs."
The brothers looked back at their uncle, already knowing the tale, while Snow sat down on her blanket to listen to the old dwarf.
"After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain," Balin began ", King Thror tried to reclaim to lost dwarven city of Dwarrowdelf. Moria."
Sixty Years Earlier
But our enemy had got there first.
The world was chaos. The sky was on fire, the rock drenched in blood, and Prince Thorin II of Erebor struggled to hold his own against the forces that his people were up against.
With the mountain taken, Thror lead his people west to the misty mountains, only to find the old kingdom overruled by orcs.
Within seconds the vile creatures had bore down upon them, cutting through their ranks. They slashed and stabbed at them, and Thorin, Balin and Dwalin found themselves caught up in a fierce and bloody battle.
Orcs fell around them, but far more dwarves did, cut down by the hideous warriors. Their blood splattered across the ground, their sightless eyes staring creepily upward at the remaining fighters. Not that anyone bothered to look down as they fought to stay alive, clobbering and slicing the orcs in an effort to win. But even that was for naught.
Moria had been taken by legions of orcs, led by the most vile of all their race.
For in the middle of the battlefield, a warrior of immense size smashed dwarves with a swing of his mace. He was six feet tall, covered with scars, with many tattoo shapes carved into his pale white skin. No dwarf stood a chance against him, as he cast them aside like bugs, a mere annoyance, though he treated them like far worse.
The pale orc stood up in the battlefield as the crowd of his enemies thinned out, and he looked across the fighting armies to see, by chance, King Thror himself.
The King looked back defiantly, locking eyes with the evil beast as he prepared for the terrible battle that would follow.
Azog, the Defiler.
Thror yelled and raised his shield as the pale orc beared down upon him, and was immediately almost crushed by a single blow of the orc's mace. The orc kept coming, knocking away his shield, and the King realised at that moment that there would be no escape for him.
"The giant Gundabad orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin." Balin told Snow, never once looking way from her.
Then Balin looked down to the ground.
"He began…"
Balin paused, looking solemnly at the ground, and Snow didn't need him to finish to realise what happened next.
"… By beheading the King."
Azog the Defiler roared triumphantly across the battlefield, and Thorin looked up at him and staggered.
For in the pale orc's grasp were the hairs from which hung the disembodied head of his grandfather, king Thror.
Thorin stared in horror as the orc turned and stared at the prince, and then threw his grandfather's head carelessly across the rock ground to his feet.
And Thorin looked back up and screamed.
"NOOOOO!"
Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing, taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless.
With the king gone, the orcs trampled over the dwarf army. The dwarves ran, pushed back by the pursuing orcs, who tossed them and their bodies off the cliffs as projectiles. With no one to lead then, the dwarves crumpled and fell, and more and more of them were slain by Azog's hoard.
Defeat and death were upon us.
Snow's heart, darkened by the old dwarf's sad story, warmed as, unexpectedly, Balin smiled once more.
"That is when I saw him." Balin told her, looking back up to her.
The old dwarf looked over to where the dwarf prince stood, pride in his eyes as he continued his tale.
"A young dwarf prince facing down the pale orc."
Thorin steadied himself as the orc swung around, adding power to his mace, and he held up his sward to counterattack. But then Azog struck, and Thorin found his hexagonal dwarf shield flying off of his arm and down the rocky slope.
He stood alone against this terrible foe!
Then the orc swung again, tossing the sword from his grasp, and Thorin fell over and off onto the rocks below. He rolled to a stop and looked up to see the orc jump off after him, holding the mace high above his head. Thorin looked around him to find somewhere to roll away to, when he noticed something.
Laying on the ground to his left, an oak branch, torn from the broken trees around him, lay on the rocks, a thick twig sticking out almost like a handle. With his normal shield gone, and nothing else to defend himself with, he made a split-second decision and grabbed the branch before rolling out of the way of the orc's attack.
Quickly, he rolled himself to a stand, and held the branch up as the orc swung at him again.
His armour rent,
The iron mace smashed into the oaken wood, and Thorin found himself forced backward again. To his utter surprise, the branch did not break, didn't even splinter. Apart from the burns in his hand he was getting from the makeshift handle, it was a surprisingly good shield.
He held it up again as Azog pressed forward once more.
Wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield.
Again and again the orc struck, but the trusty oaken shield refused to break. Thorin held his own, at least keeping himself from following his grandfather, but without a weapon, all he could do was try to stay alive in the face of this danger.
Then Azog swung twice more in quick succession, and with brute force he slammed down onto the shield. Still it held, but Thorin was thrown to the ground once more. Thorin stumbled, avoiding his next strike barely, and toppled over onto his back. His arms flared out, the shield one way, and his sword-hand the other.
Then, luck struck him. Thorin's right hand fell onto the handle of his dwarf sword, tossed away earlier on. With a regained fury, he grabbed on to it and, as the orc made to smash him into the ground with the mace in his left hand, swung the sword upward, and it sliced clean through the arm of the pale orc.
Azog screamed and stumbled back, clutching the bloody stump in pain. Thorin stood up triumphantly as the orc fell on his knee, screaming bloody murder.
Azog the Defiler learned that day, that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken.
Thorin had no chance to finish the pale orc off, for the orc commanders, seeing their leader injured, dragged Azog back into Moria, and he was never to be seen nor heard from again.
But Thorin, meanwhile, stood on the rocks and called down to the dwarves, shouting the battle cry:
"Du bekâr!"
It was Khuzdul for "to arms", and was a call the all dwarves to take up arms and fight for their lives and their kingdom, and Prince Thorin II Oakenshield lead the charge, Balin and Dwalin behind him, to force back against the encroaching orc army.
Our forces rallied and drove the orcs back!
The dwarves fought back, using their newfound hope to strike back in vengeance for their fallen king, a new fire lit in the hearts of them all. Thorin braced with his oaken shield and struck with his dwarven blade, Balin smashed at orcs with his hammer, and Dwalin did not relent with his twin axes as they smashed back at the crumbling orc armada.
Our enemy had been defeated.
But Balin stared grimly at the ground as he remembered that day.
"But there was no feast, nor song that night," he continued. "For our dead lay beyond the count of grief. We few had survived."
A grief-stricken Balin watched as his brother moved away to help search for survivors. A difficult task, as the rocky ground was invisible behind the sheer number of bodies, dwarf and orc alike.
In his distraught state, Balin turned to look around at the death-stenched former battlefield, only to stop and stare at an inspiring sight.
Standing upon a ridge, looking on, enraged, at the graveyard of his people, a dwarven sword in one hand, an oaken branch in the other, was Thorin.
"And I thought to myself then, 'there is one I could follow.'"
Balin turned and looked proudly at his prince.
"'There is one,'" he said, finishing, "'I could call 'King''."
And only then did Prince Thorin II Oakenshield, heir to the throne of Erebor, turn from his post at the edge of the cliff. Not too much to his surprise, he saw the entire company standing, watching him, inspired by Balin's tale. He smiled a small smile and nodded at his friends as he walked back amongst them, and they parted respectfully to let him through.
Even Snow was amazed at the tale, of the young dwarf prince defeating the pale orc and rallying his people. Even her old books didn't have that tale. And by the way it had ended, she knew full well why. Not one would have the heart, courage or disrespect to tell that awful tale in a tavern or a bar. Only in reference to the triumphant Prince Thorin could the tale be told, and by none better than Balin.
She looked over to the rock where Thorin's saddle-pack lay, and, sure enough, at its side lay the oak branch, now hollowed out and upgraded with dwarven plates, a strap and a proper handle. The trusty shield that saved him, and he still used it to this day. Or night rather.
But something nagged at the back of Snow's mind, as if something was not yet complete, something left off. Something dark.
"And the pale orc?" she turned back to ask the old dwarf. "What happened to him?"
But it wasn't Balin who replied, but Thorin.
"He slunk back into the hole whence he came." He answered her with disgust. "That filth died of his wounds long ago."
And with that he walked off, slightly calmer than he was before, to the rock where he had previously lain with his saddle-pack, to rest and relax his mind as much as he could.
But Snow noticed the look Balin shared with Gandalf. They knew something Thorin didn't. This wasn't over between Thorin and the orc.
Something was coming.
And on the ridge across the lowlands from them, an ugly head reared out of the forest, on the back of a beast from some people's worst nightmares. Riding up beside was another one, just as ugly and fearsome as the last, waiting for orders.
The first orc sneered as he turned to his second-in-command.
"Send word to the master." He spoke in their vile orc tongue. "We've found the girl and the dwarf scum!"
The next day was terrible. It was bright, slightly sunny, but was pouring with rain.
The ponies trotted through the mud as they pushed through the trees and the wet mass in the air. The disgruntled dwarves groaned and complained at it all, Oin and Bofur emptying out their hearing aid and pipe respectively.
The rain didn't bother Snow much, for she was used to being sent out into the rain to do her chores, and didn't really care about her travelling pack and dress getting wet.
In actuality she loved the rain, the cold droplets landing on her and running off her skin. She'd come inside, drenched and soaked with her hair sticking to her neck, getting laughed and teased at by Lobelia, getting the apologetic smile from Elanor and the disgusted frown from her stepmother. It was one of the feelings she enjoyed, err, HAD enjoyed, most of all during her chores.
The dwarves, however, were a little less tolerant.
"Mr Gandalf!" Dori called out from under his drenched hood. "Can you do something about this deluge?"
"It is raining, Master Dori," the wizard replied, bothered more by the simple question than the rain. ", and it will continue to rain until the rain is done! If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard!"
The last line caught Snow's attention.
"Are there any?" she asked from her position right behind him.
"Any of what?"
"Other wizards?"
"There are five of us." He answered with a little more interest.
And so he began to tell the girl about his fellow mages.
"The leader of our order is Saruman, the White, who lives in the watch tower of Orthanc in the fields of Isengard. There is Flendar the Green, the witch of the south, who resides most of her time in the elven kingdom of Lothlórien. The elves there call her Galadriel. Then there is the blue witch of the north…" [1]
Gandalf trailed off, deep in thought.
"You know," he said finally, ", I've quite forgotten her name."
"And who's the fifth?" Snow asked.
Gandalf smiled fondly as he answered:
"That would be Radagast, the Brown."
"Is he a great wizard?"
"I should think so, in his own way." Gandalf answered proudly. "He is a solitary fellow, preferring the company of animals to others. He keeps a watchful eye over the Greenwood and the forested lands to the east. And a good thing too. For always evil will seek to find a foothold in this world."
Gandalf finished solemnly, and Snow nodded in understanding.
Behind her, however, she heard Kili gossiping to Fili.
"I thought it was because Elven King Thranduil won't bother to do it himself."
Snow couldn't help but snort at that.
[1] Yes, so I turned Galadriel into a wizard. It's all part of the plan for my version of the story. Don't like? Don't read.
Also, what do you think of the name I've given her?
Also, I HAVE cut out the incredibly important stuff with Radagast, because in this version events didn't quite move so fast because of the nature of the forces behind them. You'll see! *sing-song voice*
Note to readers who are also fans of Big Hero Glitch: Because I need to do some description of some things in the chapter that are based off of Hanakaptr's drawings, it'll be a while before the chapter comes out. Right now she's making the preview comic, a whopping 4-page epic that'll make the actual thing worth the wait, so she'll be a while before she can finish the drawings so I can do my descriptions. But don't worry! It'll be a blast! And a Blast will turn up!
You'll have to read it to understand that riddle!
Until then, you'll be getting a number of updates for Snow White. Yays!
So, yet another chapter down! A nice long one, with a series of events happening in quick succession, inspired by the movie, book, and my own ideas. Hope you enjoyed, from the joining of the company, to Balin's tale, to the revelation of the wizards!
Next time, however, the company faces their first true trial!
Next Time: Chapter 7: The Trouble with Trolls
