Chapter Five

Of Darker Blood


Ithildae was frozen where she stood. Her grip was painfully tight around the hilt of the sword. Bilbo's petrified face stared at her, his dagger gleaming blue. The dwarves were slack-faced and anger began to appear. Thorin stood; his eyes were cold as he sheathed his sword. That action caused Dwalin to spin towards him – horror bloomed across his stoic face.

The Orcess's jaw clenched, now they knew. She practically watched the trust fade from their eyes. Ithildae slammed the sword back into the scabbard on her back.

"Well, now you know." She growled.

Gloin was particularly red in the face. But before he could offer her any fuming insult Kili let his youthful tongue loose.

"B-but you're a female!" He said.

"Where do you think Orcs come from?" She shot sarcastically.

Kili reddened and looked down.

"How dare you." Dwalin said. His axes were already in his hands as his body tensed towards Ithildae.

"How dare I what? Keep you safe? Guide you? Protect you?" Anger laced her words.

The warrior, fumed. Before he could attack her, Thorin held his shoulder with a firm hand. Dwalin spun on his friend.

"YOU KNEW! You let this filth into our midst! Let it speak poisonous words to your own nephews!"

"Gandalf assured me that she was trustworthy. She has shown us no other reason not to trust her!" Thorin bellowed back.

Dwalin was silent but his eyes were murderous towards the Orcess.

"I was not raised by them," she said, glaring beneath her hood, "I was raised by the Wood elves." The tall Orcess turned her back on the company. "Though, my loyalties lie with no one. Failure and lies is all I have found apart from myself."

A cold silence hung in the air.

"You are one of them. Your blood is black." Dwalin said bitterly.

"The color of my blood should not alter your opinions," She snapped. "I have gotten you this far, and I intend to guide you for the rest." Her lips were pressed together in a tight line.

"You saved my life." Ori said in a timid voice. Ithildae had not expected him to speak on her behalf. She tensed her shoulders, awaiting outcries of anger from his brothers. But only silence greeted her sharp ears.

"Is it some sort of trick?" Ori's eldest brother finally said. "That you would save my brother and protect us from those wolves?"

"I saved you," she growled, spinning around, her fist clenching, "because it is my duty to see you all safely to the Lake. Don't make it difficult for me." Her eyes flashed and she spun away, her cloak snapping.

"Get some sleep!" She ordered before she faded into the darkening trees.

-xXx-

The mood was solemn and tense the next morning. Ithildae was very irritated and was not the slightest bit pleased with the attitudes of the dwarves. Their eyes cast glares as she passed down the line in her usual count. Bilbo kept his guilty gaze to the ground. He could not help but feel as if it was his fault for putting their guide in such a rotten position.

Ithildae was moving as if a tempest was on her heels. Their journey would be far more difficult now. She wanted to get rid of them as fast she could. The Orcess suppressed the gnawing feeling of guilt in her gut; they became something she would consider to be comrades, but now their trust was lost. Once again she became an outsider. She had always been an outsider, or a curio to the Elven King, and a game for Maltríth. Thalias alone had accepted her and cared. The Orcess pushed her thoughts away. She had no time for feelings.

-xXx-

She stayed in the front of the line during the day. The dwarves did not feel comfortable with her behind them. Ithildae could feel their gazes glaring into her back, making her shoulders tense and her fists clench. It was not a comfortable feeling, knowing they were watching.

Evening could not come fast enough. Ithildae snarled at them to set up camp and get some rest. The dwarves were exhausted, the hobbit even more so. Bilbo was utterly worn out, he felt his eyes closing as he knelt by the soon to be lit fire. Ithildae was in charge of lighting the fire that night. The twigs were being violently rolled back and forth in her hands. She vented her anger into the sparks.

Awkward silence filled the campsite. They all sat near their packs, trying to decide if conversation was safe with their guide in such a foul mood. Dwalin paced around the outskirts, looking up into the trees. He was restless. Thorin stood and approached him.

"Dwalin, is something following us?" He asked, his voice far too low for the others to hear. Ithildae picked up the words immediately.

The warrior dwarf let out and aggravated growl.

"It is still light. I do not know why that blasted Orc stops so early!"

"She knows what she is doing. Though, it seems our time in the light is longer." Thorin answered as he looked up at the trees. Light was still faintly cast down to the ground.

"Do you think she is in league with them?" Dwalin muttered.

Thorin exhaled.

"I do not know. If she was in league with the Defiler he would have caught us by now."

Ithildae's grasp on the sticks slipped and they tumbled into the small fire. Her heart stopped and her shoulders tensed. The Defiler, her father, was pursuing these dwarves. Her heart sank low in her chest. Now Gandalf's caution made perfect sense. They would know exactly who she was. No doubt they had a nasty past involving him, if Azog thought them worthy to hunt.

The Orcess's slip up did not go unnoticed. Dwalin's head spun like a hawk glimpsing its new prey. Thorin too looked at the Orcess, realizing she must have overheard them. Dwalin already unsheathed one of his axes and began to stride over to her.

"You know of the Defiler?" He hissed, an axe coming to her throat.

Ithildae composed herself and met his gaze.

"Of course," with two fingers she pushed the blade away from her throat, "all Orcs know of him."

All the dwarves had overheard Dwalin's comment and turned their attentions to them.

Thorin was tense. Of course she knew who Azog was. If Azog's name as a hero was as well known as it was among the Dwarves as a curse… very few Orcs would not know. It also meant that their guide was far older than he had expected. The battle of Azanulbizar was fought almost two centuries before.

"And," Ithildae began, "I was born in Moria during his rule."

Murmurs spread around the camp.

"You have seen Khazad-dûm?" Thorin said, his eyes gleaming with what could have been jealousy.

Ithildae swallowed, she had to be careful with how she spoke of Moria. She knew that their leader was not a dull creature, he could figure out her identity.

"Yes, I was born there not long after the battle," her shoulders relaxed and she nonchalantly went back to growing the fire.

Balin, an elderly dwarf with an impressive white beard, spoke:

"How many Orcs live there?"

"I do not know. It has been a hundred years or more since I have lived there."

"What made you leave?" Fili asked, taking the pipe out of his mouth.

Painful memories welled up in her mind. The screams, death, blood and pain that came from that fateful day were too much to bear. It was the last she ever saw of her brother. Her home.

"It was Azog's fault, partially," her voice was strained. Her attempt to control the anger in her heart was failing. "An enemy of his wished revenge on him. In the Orc's wake he destroyed everything. He attacked Moria in search of Azog's mate. He wanted to break him." Ithildae's voice became steady, numbed to the opening of memories that she had oppressed.

There was a dead silence.

The Orcess looked up. The firelight had begun to cast shadows on their horrified faces. She almost laughed. The idea of Orcs having mates must have been truly awful for them to accept.

"His mate?" To her surprise it was Thorin who spoke. His dark eyes were cautious, but curiosity also shown from their depths.

She smirked to hide the pain she felt. Her mother. The mother she lost in a spray of blood.

"Aye, every male has one."

Kili shifted in his spot beside his brother. Ithildae could have sworn she saw guilt in his eyes.

"They have imps too," she added.

"Azog?" Thorin prodded.

Ithildae cursed inwardly.

"Yes."

"That filth has spawn?!" Dwalin burst.

Ithildae glared at him, realizing more than ever how much Gandalf seemed to be correct. But she also wished to see their faces if her parentage became known. At least she would get a good laugh before they tried to hack off her knees.

"You think he would let his blood go to waste? No ruler wishes to die without successors." She said.

Panic seemed to fill their eyes.

"They were my age, always getting into trouble." She remembered how much trouble she and Bolg got into when they were hardly able to speak, and how much trouble she alone had caused… by ripping out another imps eye. Ithildae wondered if he still lived – Kalus, she believed was his name.

"His mate and daughter were killed. I do not know the fate of his son. Any further imps he has I am unaware of." The thought that her father could have taken another mate was odd and seemingly impossible. He had adored her mother so thoroughly.

"The Orcs took me from Moria… they found me suitable to their future purposes." She let repulsion into her words. The thought of that made her shudder. Even though it was a lie, she felt as if it could have happened. If she had been any older it would have been her fate.

"But they came here and fell to the elves' arrows. I was spared, I was only a child." She said, looking into the flames. Ithildae glanced to the hobbit who sat beside her, he seemed upset, his eyes wide at hearing her story.

"You have not been in contact with any Orcs?" Dwalin asked slowly, as if her story had not yet processed.

"No," she said, "they are in the south where the darkness is. I stay away from there."

"Do you think they have caused the darkness?" Bilbo asked.

"My race isn't known for their magic, it was not them. A far darker magic is at work."

Once again a silence returned to their camp. Several dwarves had out pipes which they smoked faintly, their minds elsewhere. The foreboding of Ithildae's words and the knowledge she gave had unsettled them. Their thoughts were warring between what they knew of Orcs and what she told them. It seemed the perceptions of their enemy were not as deep as they thought. A new reality was opened before them. A reality they did not believe possible.

-xXx-

A shift happened once again amongst the company. Their trust was founded in the hope that their guide was truthful in her words. The dwarves were wary of Ithildae, but they kept a reverence towards her. Some of the elders were still displeased with her, but others became more curious.

The air became colder, but no snow or frost made it through the canopy. Only a dry, still, and creeping cold that settled into the bones of every creature. Ithildae was withdrawn, more hesitant towards conversation. Something in the atmosphere became evil, more alive. Her guard was kept up. The webs thickened in the trees.

Webs were scattered at random, shriveled and dead, since they entered the forest. But they began to change, transforming into looming sticky walls of white that stretched up into the trees into unknown depths. The pollens were thicker, the illusions more powerful. Ithildae almost lost Kili as he thought he saw a deer in the trees and chased after it. All of them suffered from illusions. Even Ithildae found herself dizzy at one point.

Bilbo could only imagine what creature of horrendous size could make such a web. He dearly hoped they would not encounter one. The little hobbit suffered from illusions all day. Once he thought he saw himself double and he walked backwards as he felt himself going forwards! Dreadful nonsense. He could not let himself slip too far into the grasp of the forest.

The hobbit sat on a formation of roots, his body narrowly avoiding a massive web shooting up into the trees. As the dwarves rested and complained about their ails, Bilbo stared transfixed at the web. So many little strands and paths made up the main column of the structure. His hand reached out to touch it.

"Don't," Ithildae said, "they will come to find out what it is."

Bilbo snapped out of his trance.

"What will?"

"The spiders," she crossed her arms, "Anything new is a new food for them to taste."

He swallowed and looked back at the web. It suddenly lost its appeal as a work of art, now it beckoned death. Bilbo sighed, letting his shoulders slump and his eyelids flicker. He was exhausted, tired of this forest. All he wished for was to see the sun and feel the air on his skin.

"We will be through soon, Akashuga." She said, her gloved hand reaching out and touching his unwashed curls. The weeks in the forest had left them without baths. Their smell was rather unpleasant. It deeply bothered him to be so lax on hygiene.

Ithildae seemed hardly affected by it. After weeks of being in the forest her garb was more worn, less pure black, the knees of her trousers were gray from the many times she had knelt and her cloaks edges were frayed. But she carried no odor, just ruffled clothing. Of course, he found himself wondering what she looked like beneath the hood and mask. It was a mystery he was not sure he would ever solve.

"I just want to see the sun," He said wistfully.

She made an odd noise in her throat.

"Depends on my mood, Orcs aren't supposed to like the sunlight."

Bilbo blinked, was she being humorous? The hobbit was caught off guard by the sarcasm dripping from her words.

"Do you like the sunlight?" A little smirk appeared.

Her expression was hidden but he could almost feel her smirking in return.

"As I said, it depends on my mood. This forest is a bit of a damper on the sun."

He could not help but chuckle. It was hard for him to believe that she was an Orc. He wondered if deep down all Orcs had a bit of this civil banter. But he also knew that it could not be true. The monsters he encountered in the past could not be this way. Ithildae was different.

"And where I come from there is too much of it." He said, standing lightly. Feeling very small standing next to her, his head only reached her waist.

"Where do you come from?" Her question was legitimate.

"The west, in a place called the Shire." Bilbo began, as he adjusted his pack on his shoulders.

Ithildae looked down at the little hobbit. She saw the way his eyes lit up as he spoke of his home. They walked towards the other dwarves. She lifted her hand and pointed towards the trail. They grumbled and started towards the path. Bilbo walked by her side, his soft voice telling of the beauty and peace of his home.

The Orcess listened as her eyes wandered the surroundings. What he explained seemed too good to be possible. Rolling hills of bright green grass, bright flowers and little trails, small homes that were dug into the ground for comfortable living, six meals a day and a peaceful atmosphere – she wondered why he ever left.

"I miss it, my armchair and pipe by the fire with a good book." He finished, sighing.

"I miss quiet, without little bearded men complaining about everything."

There were several indignant huffs from nearby dwarves.

Bilbo chuckled.

"They are quite a rabble."

"Aye, I pity Gandalf, leading you all this way… I could not do it." She said.

"Enough," Thorin called from the front, "You will be rid of us soon."

Ithildae could not help but laugh, he must not like being referred to as a: "little bearded man who complained". Her laughter ceased quickly, this dwarf was their leader. No doubt the one Azog – her father – wished to catch. Something twisted painfully in her gut, she was betraying her own. She was aiding the ones her father wished to kill.

Her blue eyes glanced down at the hobbit beside her, she would not let harm come to him. If they were found she would fight with them. She would fight for the safety of Bilbo Baggins. He would return to his Shire, she would make sure of it.