Sorry for the huge delay... I really hope you don't hate me for it!Feel free to share your thoughts on the improvements!
Anyway, enjoy!
It's cold and wet, the stench of mould and rotten cheese doing its job at jolting me back to consciousness. Blinking my eyes open, I chase away the nausea and the still present headache, while trying to get my body to cooperate and at least stand up. It takes more or less self-provocation to get the stiff muscles to move and flex, and while doing that, my eyes scan the room. 'A cell. A forlorn cell to be precise.' frowning at the thought of having been here for way to long, as the rays of the sun are currently trying to blind me, I manage to push myself to a sitting position. Yet even from this new angle things don't acquire a more pleasant appearance, yet the quite opposite. The cell, despite still serving its purpose at keeping me hidden, has long ago outlived its durability at keeping someone in. One of the walls is halfway collapsed and there's a wild rose bush that has taken residence all over it, most definitely bringing along some of its slimy friends to seek shade and coolness here. Shuddering at the very thought of snakes anywhere near my unconscious body, I once again glimpse at the sky outside through the huge hole. By the look of it, lunch had come and gone not so long ago. 'Which means I've been here for way longer than I'd have enjoyed…' Closing my eyes and trying to work out what happened before I passed out, the memories of what I saw while in the soldier's body make my blood run cold.
"I'll bleach myself and become a harlot if those pig-headed, self-absorbed Kings followed Gandalf's advice." muttering under my breath while tilting my head from side to side in order to ease the tension in my neck, I fight the newly appeared nausea.
Thick silence settles as I close my eyes and concentrate on the connection I have with my warriors. Since the figures stayed in my vest, which I foolishly left back in the house, my last hope is that the three scouts have returned. Under different circumstances, I'd have fetched my staff and found my way out, ready to kick the ass of whoever thought it smart to lock me here, but that's not an option; both my staff and sword are gone and if something or someone comes to attack, I'll have to rely on my face-to-face combat skills, which are lacking when my body is as rigid as a rock, or my small dagger, which despite being useful in cutting ropes is slightly inconvenient when matched for a sword of some sorts.
Thankfully by the time I stand up, shake off the feeling of nausea and the pestering irritation, and climb out of this pitiful excuse of a cell, my soldiers emerge from over the hill. Running with inhuman speed the three ice figures bear the unmistakable signs of combat. Immediately the blood drains from my face and as if a sound barrier has just been lifted, the distant rumble of metal clashing with metal, the battle yells of men and Orcs, and the dying wails of both kin reach me. As a gasp leaves my lips at the realisation that the battle has already started, a huge furry white thing sprints from over the hill and heads our way. In seconds Fenrir's massive body comes to a halt and in a newly acquired gesture he pushes his muzzle against my hand, seeking some sort of confirmation that I'm here. Absentmindedly running my icy figures through his thick fur, I notice the dark blotches that stand out harshly against the sleekness of his coat.
"Brief me in." I whisper and move towards the sound of battle, the soldiers right behind me.
"The fight began right after the elves and humans attacked the dwarves. The men retreated to Dale to protect the women and children, while-"
"We must help them." running my hand over his head in apology for interrupting him, I glance over my shoulder at the soldiers.
"Follow the pull of the staff and bring it alongside the sword and the other soldiers to me immediately!" the ice soldier I nodded at jabs his head in a manner resembling a nod and runs off.
"It's a lot worse than it looks, Isis. It's not safe." taken aback by the sudden show of concern, I finally give Fenrir a more studying look.
True to my initial observations he has ripped open not one or two throats while on his way here, yet more details appear as I take in his shaggy appearance. His right ear has a small piece missing from the tip, there's a nasty gash beginning from under his left eye and running down his neck end ending abruptly over his right shoulder; while his movements are as graceful as ever, I notice the slight limp that wasn't present the last time we met.
"Why are you here, Fenrir?" my voice is soft as my hand runs through his fur once again, enjoying the soothing feeling it provides.
The silence worries me, as his usually witty green eyes now hold a sad tint to them. Skipping the question past his ears, he nods at the currently sieged Dale. Following his gaze, it takes a simple intake for me to get shoved back into reality as the cries for help and the howls of pain reach even this remote place. 'Remote place?' frowning and giving my surrounding once-over, a sudden realisation strikes me. I have not been kept here as punishment for breaking into the royal tent, but as a mean of protection. Due to its remoteness and lack of any life whatsoever, this small abandoned cell hosted me not as a prison, but as a safe house.
"There was a spell around the perimeter, wasn't there? It prevented you from finding me?"
"Indeed, there must have been because neither I, nor your puppets managed to find you as soon as the battle began."
A fierce roar cuts through my next words, making them die out in my throat.
"We move. Now." with that I nod at my two remaining soldiers.
They step forward, awaiting my next command. I would have told them to follow my lead and clear the way, when the distinguishable pull of the flute makes me halt. Turning to the general direction the connection seems to be coming from I eye the huge ice caps of the mountain.
"You two – follow the pull of the flute and aid Master Baggings and the other dwarves in any way possible." as if on cue they run towards the destination, their huge jumps and strides melting away the distance in no time.
"You shouldn't have send them off. Who'll protect you now?" snarling at my seemingly irresponsible decision, I smirk at the Dire wolf, the small mischievous glint in my violet eyes reflecting in his.
"I intent to kick and cut my way through those Orcs, Fenrir. And you, my dear ally, will not only be so generous to take me there, but also have my back." cocking an eyebrow as if challenging him to refuse me, the wolf growls his discontent with me ordering him around, yet lies down.
Jumping on his back and trying not to touch any wounds or cuts, I take a fistful of his fur, flatten myself against his back and exhale. And just like that, without a warning, Fenrir dashes forward, obviously still enjoying my yelps and groans.
It's a melee wherever you look at. Golden armours splashed with black blood glimmer in the afternoon sun. Men get tackled down by Wargs. Orcs and Trolls slash their way around the streets, successfully breeching any defence the poor people of Laketown may have offered. Blood is flowing freely down the streets, its unusual colour due to the mixture of the last life forces of many different creatures making it appear like rivers of tar. In this chaotic mess of bodies, swords and animals of all kinds, I spot Thranduil gracefully slashing at Orcs as if they are merely straw dolls and leaving a path of corpses in his way. His long blonde-white hair flows behind him like a liquefied silver whip, catching and reflecting the rays of the sun. I'd have admired his battle skills for a few more seconds, wasn't it for the Orc that successfully manages to breach his defence and jump at him from behind. Moments before his jagged blade reaches the armour of the Elven King, who notices the movement seconds too late, a huge icicle, thicker than the trunk of an oak tree emerges from the ground and impales the creature on its sharp end, throwing it back. Thranduil's bright blue eyes immediately find me in the crowd. A seconds passes between us, his obvious impossibility to believe I actually just saved him having a hard time fighting the courtesy to at least nod in gratitude.
"We must move." Fenrir grumbles next to me, his irritation at the lack of dynamics painfully evident by the movement of his shoulder blades.
Sensing that the short pause has ended, Thranduil gives me a quick nod, so fast and small that I almost miss it, and continues slaying the enemy.
"I must find Bard and the kids." outshouting the cacophony I look at Fenrir, whose teeth are bared in a snarl.
Spinning immediately and summoning an ice dagger, it's only my not so impressive height that saves me from a quite unfortunate collision with what can only be described as a battle axe of some sorts. The huge icicle protrudes from the back of the Orc, its impeccably clear surface now stained in thick black blood.
I waste no time looking around, but run ahead, slaying creatures as I go. The misfortune to run into three Wargs without Fenrir behind me is short because as soon as the huge dogs bounce at me, a ball of white fur meets them in mid-air with a fierce growl, followed by a gigantic figure. Seconds later the corpses of the Wargs lay in the feet of the ice soldier I send ahead to get my stuff. The Dire wolf snarls at the killed attackers, obviously not entirely convinced they no longer pose a threat. 'Battle blood is getting to him.' calling at him while fastening the strap over my chest and pulling out from the hoisters both my sword and staff I manage to gain the wolf's attention. There's something primal lingering in his eyes, something that's more animal than human. Yet as quickly as it appeared, it evaporates, leaving the old familiar witty gaze staring back at me with a mixture of boredom and excitement.
Seconds later all eight of my ice soldiers are proudly standing in the street, taking care of all alleged threat with their big swords. 'I hope the other two are doing equally as well.'
"We must-" my words are cut by a shrieking, heart-freezing and quite familiar yell. "Tilda!"
The youngest of the children's name leaves my lips as a horrified whisper as visions of what may be about to hurt her flash in front of my eyes as I run down the street, led simply by instinct. Halfway down one steep alley that crosses a main road, I notice Sigrid, Tilda and Bain facing one humongous Troll whose mace is lifted high and ready to strike. Yet before the unthinkable happens something collides with its side, sending the creature to the ground with a pained grunt. Bard's sword finishes the job in a simple slice before he runs to his children, hugging them to his side. A happy smile pushes its way on my face as I breathe a sigh of relief at the outcome of the situation. Yet my happiness in short-lived as a few Orcs and their Wargs come from another street further up the road, obviously drawn by the sound of the fallen Troll, and now marking their new prey.
It doesn't take a word for all of us to spring out of the alley and intercept the Wargs that lunged forward first. Fenrir's jaws click around the throat of the one on the left while the one on the right gets hit by a huge chunk of wall, tossed by a soldier. The middle one, who obviously mistook my small frame as a sign of weakness, has the misfortune to tumble down in a huge ice block after the tip of my staff scrapes him. The Orcs come next, and this time I draw my sword and swing right in time to block a deadly blow aimed for the head. Unfortunately the creature has more physical force than me, so it manages to make me take a step back. Gritting my teeth and frowning at the implication this makes, I loosen my hold of the sword at once, making the attacker lose his solid ground and lean dangerous forward, his balanced destroyed. Ducking and spinning under his hand, I shove my sword down his back and twist. With a last chortled by the blood cry, the Orc falls down face-first in a heap of meat. A grumble sounds next to me and I look at Fenrir, whose eyes are trained somewhere else. Following his gaze, I see Bard looking quite intrigued by the scene he just witness. On the other hand, his children hold the look of petrified lambs to the point where even Tilda stays exceptionally quiet and simply observes the movement of the Dire wolf with unhidden fright.
"You are scaring them, Fenrir!" I nudge the white beast, making him snarl.
Shaking my head, I quickly give the soldiers orders to secure the perimeter and then go to Bard.
"I can't believe you allowed them to lock me in a cell!" is the first thing that leaves my mouth as I come close enough.
Awe-struck and completely speechless, the bowman gives me an apologetic smile.
"The Wizard said it was for your own good." the wariness in him melts away and the previous dark expression takes over his features, the battle making itself known once again by a series of fierce, heart-wrenching howls and screams.
"Of course he did." shaking my head and taking a note to speak to the Gandalf once this is all over, I look at Tilda who is still clutching her big sister's dress for dear life.
"It's all going to be fine, little dove. You'll be taken somewhere safe."
Her eyes twinkle with hardly stopped tears before she unexpectedly flings herself at me, wrapping her small hands around my middle and sobbing against my stomach. Running my hand over her head in a soothing manner, I look at Bard, who is contemplating my words. The raised in question eyebrow confirms my thoughts and I look at Fenrir. Sensing my eyes on him, the great wolf turns his face our way and gives us his legendary frown, which makes his sharp canines, now red from the blood, stand out. Nodding my head his way, he reluctantly comes closer, obviously irritated by how Bard's grip over the sword tightens.
"They must be taken to a safe place. Will the cell be good enough?"
The only indication I get that he even heard me is the wag of his tail, as his green eyes seem to be pinned on the Bowman. When a small growl vibrates in the back of his throat, a clear challenge or a threat, I snap.
"Fenrir! I asked you a damn question, so stop staring at Bard and answer me!"
Another growls follows, this time aimed at me, but I pay no notice to it, as I have grown rather accustomed to his bad moods. A minute later, wasted in a staring contest, he shakes his head, making small drops of blood fly around, and wags his tail in annoyance.
"Aye, the cell will do as long as they keep quiet."
Aware of what my next words will be, he shakes his head and narrows his eyes at me.
"And I'm not talking them there, Ice Witch, forget it. Those pups are none of my concern."
"Don't be a child, Fenrir! They are just kids, they won't hurt you." barely containing my smirk, I watch as the wolf's ears perk up, his vertical irises thinning to such an extent that they almost disappear. Puffing a gust of wind my way, obviously greatly displeased and offended by my words, he chatters his teeth.
"Oh, don't be a fuss. Two of the ice soldiers will go with you and will stay there. I'm not keeping you away from the bloodshed, worry not."
Still not happy, he wags his wail behind him in manner that resembles the way rattle snakes move their tails when agitated. Yet instead of snapping once again, he lies on the ground, grumpy and obviously displeased to a great extent.
"You cannot be serious!" Bard's exclamation makes me look at him.
His face has lost some of its colour due to the realisation that I actually do intend to leave his kids in the care of a huge white wolf splattered in blood and two ice figures.
"That's the only way Bard. Neither I, nor you can fight, knowing that the children may be in danger. That's the only safe place within reach."
I try to keep my voice calm and reasonable, promptly ignoring the background noise of the battle. It will be ridiculous to say I expect him to happily hand over the kids to a wolf that easily can swallow whole his youngest without choking. Yet the retaliation he's about to give me will only waste precious minutes, which will lead to the younglings staying here, where it's everything but safe.
"I know you do not like the idea, and I understand the lack of trust in Fenrir, so I won't ask you to believe him." his eyes clash with mine, and I see all the worry, doubt and anxiety that are currently fighting in him.
Bard wants his kids to be away from here, somewhere safe and guarded so that he wouldn't have to worry for their safety while fighting. Yet the thought of the wolf left alone with them rings too many bells in the back of his head.
"Trust me, Bard. That's all I'm asking for." the words come as a soft and inviting whisper, making the bargeman grit his teeth in defeat.
In a hassle he tells them to be safe, advises Bain to look after his sisters no matter what happens to him, and them hands them over to me. I help Tilda climb in the arms of one of the ice soldiers and Sigrit in the other. When safely tucked away and pressed against the cold chests of the figures I look at Fenrir who is still eyeing Bard in a distrusting way.
"Stop this, Last one." I tell him in the Old language, hoping that he'll show some understanding. "I cannot entrust them in the hands of the soldiers as they do not realise how precious they are to me. You do. Please, Fenrir. I need you to take them to safety."
With a nod he lowers his head on his paws, his green discs looking at me in a strange, almost sad manner, as I urge Bain to go and sit on his back. Yet the boy is reluctant to the point where he's frozen to the spot by the sheer sight of the beast.
"Worry not, Bain. Fenrir will not let any harm befall you." as his widened with horror eyes turn to me, I add, "Nor will he drop you. I have ridden him a fair amount of times and not even once has he allowed me to even slip from his back."
Squeezing his shoulder in a reassuring manner, the young boy, no man, finally nears the Great Dire wolf with his shoulders square and his head held high. As soon as he's safely positioned over his broad back, Fenrir stands up not so slowly, making Bain grab his fur harder in attempt to stay in place.
"Hold tight, pup. The ride there will be bumpy." the rumbling sound of the wolf's voice almost gets swallowed by the yelling of the Orcs that comes from the upper end of the street.
"Go! When it all ends we'll come for you!"
With that they run off the way we arrived. Pulling my sword from its hoist, I grip Bard's shoulder in a manner I only hope will give him some hope and reassurance. To my surprise he takes my hand into his and squeezes it, his eyes still trained on the place his kids disappeared to.
"They'll be fine, Bard. I'm sure of it."
He finally looks at me. The worry and stress seem to have added additional years to his face, as now he seems older, broken and exhausted to the point where any movement may cause pain. By some strange urge I lift our still linked hands to my face and place the back of his hand against my cheek in an attempt to show him that I'm here, with him, and will never allow any of them to get hurt. After the initial shock clears from his face, a small smile of appreciation takes its place and he pulls my hand up to his mouth, placing a small kiss on the back of it, involuntarily igniting a flame that wasn't there a few seconds ago and successfully making my skin prickle. 'What is this man doing to me?'
"I need you to promise me something." he pants after pulling his sword from the body of one of the Orcs.
Ducking under a machete-like sword, I pierce the Troll in the side, my blade slicing through the flesh with a sickening sound and sending blood pouring everywhere.
"Yes?" stepping to the side and missing the claws of a Warg, I quickly summon an icicle that emerges from the stone ground and pierces the creature right in the chest, leaving it to hang a few feet above the ground like a terrifying flag.
"If something happens to me…" he stops as his sword clashes against the axe of another Orc who, despite his small build, seems to be quite lithe and is proving to be a hard match for the already tiring Bowman.
The cold blizzard that suddenly cuts through the air makes the hideous creature lose concentration and then balance. It's a minor mistake that cost him his life seconds later as with a single thrust of his sword, Bard kills it.
"Nothing's going to happen to you Bard!" I outshout the yell of the Orc that has now lunged at me with the clear intention to grab and probably snap me in two.
Thankfully the bigger they are the more stupid they tend to be, so with ease I tumble its heavy bulk over and cut open its belly. The stench is so overpowering that my eyes water and I step back, the desire to throw up getting stronger by the second.
A hand wraps itself around my middle and steadies me against a broad chest as I take the few spear minutes to regain my breath and bearings.
"I need to know that if I die someone will look after my kids, Isis. I cannot bear the thought of them being on their own." the way his voice cracks at the end, as if he already knows he won't make it out alive has me turning around and facing him.
True to my guess, his eyes hold that sad accepted truce with fate. The fate of a soon to be dead man. A father leaving his children behind. Thrusting my sword in the ground next to us, I take off my gloves and finally reveal the insides of my hands. Yet he has no time to study them, nor the small fading white lines, as I cup his face and make him look at me. Holding his gaze in a steady and reassuring manner, I fight all the emotions battling to surface and rather keep my voice steady.
"If you find your death amongst the streets of Dale, then it will be my honour to take care of Tilda, Bain and Sigrid. I'll do all in my might to provide for them and to make them feel loved."
Making small circles over his stubble with my fingers and sending small waves of coolness down his heated flesh, I smile genuinely at his expression – a man who cannot believe his ears.
"But you are not dying today Bard. Not as long as I have a say in it. And let's admit it, I will always have the last word."
Giving him a last gentle stoke, I pull my hands away as the desire to lean forward slightly more, to run my fingers higher through his hair and burry them there washes over me and makes me gasp as if someone knocked the air out of my lungs. My only hope is that he doesn't see all the feelings spinning in my eyes, all the warmth and affection I have grown to have for him in the short span of time we have known each other. Taking two steps back so that I'm a hand's reach away, I quickly fasten up my gloves once again, leaving the upper part of my hand exposed. Stealing a glance at him from underneath my eyelashes, I can't help the small smirk that tugs at my lips at his new expression – slightly shocked, but in a good way, and finally void of that dying resignation. With a single fluid movement I pull my sword from the soil and swing it in my hand, testing its weight, mostly by habit rather than the need to know if it had gained a few pounds while it stood perched there.
"I say we finish this and go see if the kids have put ribbons in Fenrir's fur." the joke does its job and Bard flashes a smile my way.
Fighting our way around Dale, helping whoever we can and killing as many enemies as possible, I continuously tap into the connections with the soldiers I send away – the ones with the kids and the ones with Bilbo. And while those in the old tumbledown cell seem to be facing no threat, the other pair is having a dynamic time by what I can sense. If my hands weren't already full, I'd have went to aid the dwarves, but the very thought of leaving Bard here on his own sends cold shivers down my spine and every cell in my body rebels against the sheer proposal. So the only thing I do is hope that whatever is happening at the top of the mountain will end well for our team.
The streets are packed with corpses of various kinds – one are clad in rugs and the flesh is black, covered in blisters; others have villager clothes on, mostly furs. And mixed between them in the mocking glimmer of the golden armour of the fallen elven warriors. Rivers of blood run down the road, various hues appearing under the setting rays of the sun. The day takes its last breath under the dying cries of the mortally wounded, the sound of the falling of buildings and the movement of the masses. The battle finally comes to an end. A victorious one. 'Yet at what cost?' looking around, my eyes cannot find a single space on the ground that's not covered in the remains of a being that used to be alive not so long ago. And while no pity reaches me at the sight of the Orcs, Wargs and Trolls, the dead bodies of humans, both young and old, men and women, and Elves, forever frozen in their young bodies, never to grow old and die makes something in me twist painfully.
Memories flash in front of my eyes of a time long gone. A massacre that occurred on these same streets. Bodies like these ones were littering the stone floor and the same rivers of red made it hard to walk. The difference now is that there're no flames reaching for the sky, no reek of burned flesh, crisped bones or malodorous dragon breath in the air. Yet in a way it's the same – the heavy and suffocating smell of blood and gore presses down on those who had the fortune to outlive the bodies we must burry. 'No more bloodshed.' I chant and close my eyes, feeling tears forming in the corners of my eyes. It's a risk to intake deeply, yet the heaviness placed on me leaves no air in my lungs, making me feel like a fish thrown on shore and left to flop about until she dies.
"Isis!" a soft voice in my ear snaps me out of my thoughts and I look up only to be met with two pools of brown-green worry. "Are you okay?"
The sincere worry in Bard's voice evokes the usual reaction – all my walls rise up immediately, all emotions are pushed to the back and I give him a small smile. A small smile that cracks with a soft sob. The turmoil in me leaves my emotional condition unstable and all the mental barriers shake.
"I'm fine. I'm fine." the low whispers leave a feeling like I'm mostly trying to convince myself rather than him.
"Is it the memories of that day?" his soft-spoken question and the earnest sympathy and understanding make something in me stir.
No one in my whole existence showed understanding of my grief – even those few who knew its origin. They pitied me, tried to make me forget, but never showed support, never told me it's going to be okay. And I taught myself to raise my barriers whenever the occasion calls for it – I have no need for their pity, their regret, or worse – their fear.
Yet why am I now finding myself unable to erect those walls that have kept me distanced from the others for so many years? Why is that this time I want to let myself grieve, cry, and mourn? What does he do that the other don't? What makes my consciousness seek his comfort since it never even got close to gaining it from those around me? 'Because he cares enough to stay and fight.' a small voice in the back of my head whisper in a shy voice, yet the words bounce off the walls of my mind, resonating like a uncontrollable echo.
"Yes. It's the same thing I saw when… when I crawled from under the ruins. And it's not. " air is still in shortage for my burning lungs and I find myself wanting to flee, to turn tail and just run.
Sensing this, Bard cautiously grips my shoulder, stirring my fluttering attention back to him instead of my inner beast.
"This time we won, Isis. The defeated the enemy." cupping my face gently, I inwardly lean against him, finding solace and comfort in the feeling of his warm hand against my icy skin.
"You are freezing. Are you cold?"
I can't help the small chuckle that skips past me at the sound of these words. It takes a second to sort my emotions and shove them to the side, alongside the strange feelings the Bargeman awakens in me, to pounder later; instead I blink my eyes open and look up at him.
Violet clashes with now intense green. And more emotions, warmth, welcoming, awakening and tempting wash over me in small waves. 'Fight for what you have. Or may have.' the same small voice whispers again and this time I don't scrutinises its judgement. This time I allow it to lead me forward.
"We fought and we won."
Bard nods slightly, our eyes still locked together in a dance of wills. Unconsciously one of my hands ends up on his chest, the feeling of warmth radiating from his body luring me like the song of a siren.
"Let's go get the children."
