Meara growled low in her throat. She stared down this warg, the Matriarch, as some of the warg's growled out the word as she passed them. What slightly surprised her, was the wargs' who looked to her, growling out, "Challenger."

The Orcs were jeering, lifting their weapons and egging each other on. It quieted as the Matriarch passed them, a great white orc astride her back. He had over a dozen scars crisscrossing over his body, his left forearm missing with a pronged weapon shoved into the joint. When he began to speak, Meara could hear the darkness in his words, the threat in them. With a snort, she turned to Alby and picked him up.

"Catch!" She yelled up to the dwarves.

It took effort on both Alby and the dwarves' part, but they managed to keep him up in the tree. Meara turned to the Orc Pack behind her, eyes glowing gold as she reached for her sword. The ring of her sword withdrawing from its scabbard drew the Orcs' attention to her, the light of the moon glinting ominously on the silver of her blade.

"Who's first?" Meara smiled, letting her bloodlust simmer to the surface. The very air around her changed, becoming heavy with tension. The wargs closest to her and rider-less, shrank away, whining. However, a few more words from the pale orc, had the wargs, with renewed courage attacking. Some went for the dwarves in the trees, a few made the mistake of attacking her head on. With a few swift strikes of her blade, the wargs lay at her feet. She was mildly aware of the wargs attacking the dwarves, bringing down the trees and the dwarves jumping to different trees until they were all in one, above her. Despite this awareness, her attention was riveted on the Matriarch, a need to shed blood clouding her senses. And then the orc riders swarmed in.

Scowling, Meara focused her attention on the foes in front of her. Then a familiar panicked yip caught her attention. Meara drove her blade through an orcs face, then turned to look at Alby. Only, she found the warg pup hanging by his front paws on a toppled tree, fire blazing around them.

"Alby!" Bilbo and Meara shouted. With a guttural growl, Meara jumped to Alby, the tree shuddering with her quick steps. She grabbed Alby by the scruff of his neck just as he slipped, a sigh of relief escaping them both. With a small grunt, she lifted the warg back onto the tree, looking to the Cliffside as she did. Fire spread everywhere, keeping the cowardly wargs away from toppling the tree any further. But Thorin stood alone, facing the pale orc astride the Matriarch. Meara knew he had no chance. Maybe if the orc had been alone, it would have been more of a fair match, but the Matriarch was huge, and once Thorin was grasped between her jaws…Meara felt her heart sink and rage bloom. Her eyes cut to the dwarves still standing dumbstruck on the tree.

"Will you not rally? Will you not defend him?" The words were not spoken in common tongue, nor any language the dwarves knew, but the meaning behind it was understood. The dwarves that were able, hefted themselves up, and raced toward Thorin's assailant. Meara studied the orc and matriarch. She dully noted that the orc had ordered another to do the killing blow. Another who was defeated by Bilbo Baggins. Pride swelled for him in Meara, a fond smile gracing her lips as the other dwarves' attacked the orc riders that sauntered towards Bilbo's childlike frame.

Meara's eyes snapped toward the Matriarch, feeling eyes on her being. But it wasn't her that watched her. Another Warg, fitted with riding gear but rider-less watched her. It wasn't a challenging gaze, like the one she dealt to the Matriarch, but one of curiosity. Aggression was absent in this wargs' stance, and instead it looked tired, exhausted even. That's when Meara noticed the gray sprinkled throughout the wargs dark fur. A veteran, she mused. The warg licked his chomps and then dipped his head before turning and sauntering away from the orc pack. Alone and unnoticed.

With a frown, Meara hefted Alby over her shoulders, ignoring his protests as she balanced her way back to solid ground. She was about to set him down when the loud shriek of an eagle blasted into her ears. Her eyes went skyward, spying several large birds swooping low. One picked up Thorin as others attacked the wargs, picking them up and then dropping them, either over the cliff or into the fire. One swooped down, its talons stretching for her and Alby. Meara adjusted Alby, stretching an arm out to grab onto the eagles' claw.

A grunt escaped Meara as the great bird gripped her and Alby tightly in its' claw. Meara tightened her grip on Alby, frowning up at the bird. Eagles. Big Eagles. Meara swung her gaze around, looking to the fiery cliff they were being carried away from. She'd dwell on the eagles of oddly large size later. Her eyes zoomed and locked onto the Matriarch, the wargs' eyes trained on Meara. Both stared each other down, eyes narrowed in a clash of gold and yellow, until they could no longer see each other upon the horizon.

The eagles flew far over the land, giving Meara plenty of time to think about all that she'd learned so far. The Matriarch is Alby's mother. She'd heard of her for sure, but she never made the connection between her and Alby. Like werewolves, Meara assumed that the wargs varied in several different shades of fur, it was definitely not the case. Most of the wargs' she's seen in the past seventeen years had been in varying shades of brown and the rare grey. The Matriarch was the only known white warg, prestigious amongst the Gungabad wolves. She was also the largest and nastiest wolf if the malicious aura around her was anything to go by. Meara glanced down at Alby, who looked a little sick as he gazed at the trees and mountains that passed underneath his feet. She expected that the Matriarch had wanted a successor that inherited her great qualities. White fur, large size, aggressive behavior. Alby, though white, lacked in those aspects. He was aggressive when he needed to be, but otherwise calm in nature, and for a two year old Warg he was rather on the small side, about the size of a pony really. Meara sighed. The Matriarch would have killed Alby had she gotten the chance. Meara wondered for a brief moment why the Warg hadn't killed him when she first realized he wouldn't be what she wanted him to be, but quickly put the thought out of her mind as the eagle crested over a mountain side, preparing to land.

Loosening its claws, the eagle dropped Meara and Alby on the cliff top, its large wings sending dust flying into the air as it settled beside them. Meara gave the eagle a critical look, taking in its features. For all the world it looked like a normal golden eagle, save its large eyes and the intelligence that twinkled in its eyes.

"You and your warg friend are heavy."

Meara blinked. Talking giant eagle? Honestly, the surprise that briefly flit through her shouldn't have been there, and yet here she was. Surprised.

"You speak?"

The bird snorted, giving her a condescending look, "Of course, I speak. I am one of Manwë's Eagles. Now go, your friend is hurt."

With those words, the eagle lifted up and away as other eagles glided by dropping off dwarves one after the other. And then an eagle hovered over the cliff top, setting down an unconscious Thorin. Meara listened carefully, hearing his heart beat, albeit very weakly. Gandalf came forward where the largest eagle had set him down.

Gandalf kneeled beside the dwarven prince, chanting under his breathe with his hand outstretched over the dwarf's face. Gandalf's scent flared in the air as his magic washed over Thorin and helped his lungs to breath in air. Unwittingly, Meara's body broke out into a small shiver as Gandalf's scent wafted through the air and circled all around her. It wasn't a challenging feeling she was getting, but a feeling she was familiar with. The aura that Gandalf's magic expelled had the same effects of the presence of an omega. These wolves were treasured by all because of their rarity and ability to calm and reconcile other werewolves.

The magic washed away, and Meara found herself giving the Wizard a calculating look. He was far more powerful than he was letting on, Meara knew that from the moment she met him. He had the makings of an Alpha wolf, but what made him Omega was his non-use of that command—sure he led the dwarves and stepped on a few toes but he wasn't commanding them. Manipulating would be a better term, though it seemed it wasn't for his own personal gain. Very omega-ish. Meara shook the idea that was floating around in her mind; not only was it completely crazy, it would never work, especially because he's a wizard to begin with. Things tend to get messy when you mix werewolves with magic, Meara being in Middle-Earth is proof of that.

The strength of Gandalf's magic in the air lessened as Thorin blinked open his eyes, registering the wizard's face hovering over him. "The Halfling?"

Gandalf smiled, "It's alright. He's here; he's quite safe."

Thorin lumbered to his feet, Dwalin and Kili helping him as he struggled slightly. Shrugging them off as he faced Bilbo, he gave the Hobbit an unreadable look, "You! What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!"

Meara bristled, frowning at the dwarf prince with impatience. To Meara's surprise, Alby stood beside Bilbo, silent but watchful. Again, Meara found herself wondering what happened between Alby and Bilbo that earned such trust.

"Did I not say you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild? And you had no place amongst us?"

Meara glanced at all the dumbstruck dwarves and Gandalf. They were all shocked into silence as they watched Thorins' displeasure of Bilbo's actions.

"I've never been so wrong in my life!" Thorin gripped Bilbo into a hug, a grin spreading across his face. Meara shook her head, a disbelieving chuckle escaping her lips. If there was one thing Meara was sure about Thorin, it was that he was one dramatic dwarf.

As the group warmed with cheers, Meara looked over the mountain side they were on, her gaze zooming in on what could only be called a lonely mountain. Erebor. She heard the dwarves begin to talk about the mountain, how they were half way there. Meara looked down at Alby as she heard him approach, giving him a fond smile, "There's still a long way to go, little Alby."

"The longer the distance, the more the adventure." He gave her a wolfy grin before trotting away and bumping his head against Bilbo in a playful manner. Meara's fond smile turned into an amused one as she took in Bilbo and Alby.

"You, woman."

The smile slipped away as Meara turned her attention to the dwarf prince and Dwalin who watched her with narrowed eyes. Though the other dwarves were making themselves busy by finding a way down the mountain side or checking their weapons, she knew they were listening.

"What are you? Some kind of demon?" Dwalin lifted his axe with menace at the question. She heard Gandalf scoff where he was quietly listening.

With the roll of her eyes, Meara let out a scoff of her own. "Yes, I am a werewolf, Mr. Dwalin."

The dwarves were quiet, pausing in their actions as Meara's statement sank in. They were all still until Gandalf stood with a mighty scowl on his face. "You are hardly a demon, Lady Meara. I have seen you in your other form and you are no demon giving out random death—not unless you are threatened!"

The dwarves, still silent, blinked back and forth between Meara and Gandalf as she gave a smirk and shrug, her gaze going back to the dwarf prince. "I am a werewolf, Prince Thorin. And I am in your service. That's all you need to know."

Meara turned away and made to go down the mountain, ignoring any remarks the dwarves made in her passing.

Things were awkward at first, but after a short time of travelling, the dwarves began to ask Meara questions along the lines of "what is a werewolf?" (They did know what a werewolf was after all there were tales of them, but they had the distinct feeling that their tales of werewolves were quite different than the kind of werewolf Meara is) and of course what kind of form she took.

Thus on the next full moon, Meara joined the company for the night. Meara found it amusing when the dwarves spluttered over themselves at the mere size of her form emerging from the shadows. There was unrest amongst the dwarves at her first appearance as a large silver-furred wolf. They didn't truly relax around her until Fili made the connection that she was the same wolf that saved Kili from the Orc Pack. Meara had to admit it was more liberating for them to know of her other form, allowing her to travel amongst the dwarves as both human and wolf.

Now that they knew they were being hunted, their pace was much quicker and they relied more on Bilbo and Meara's stealth amongst the trees and foliage. They'd send Meara forward to scout for dangers in the future, and Bilbo backwards to scout where the remaining Orc Pack was. Meara was returning to the group, when a strange smell captured her attention. It was a strong mixture of musk and hay, what made her pause was the scent of bear, cow and horse. An odd mix.

And then she heard it. It was a loud roar that sounded similar to a werewolf roar, but different. If she had the scent to go by anything, she'd say it was maybe some type of monstrous bear. Curiosity had always been her weakness. Following the direction of the roar, Meara recalled the last time her curiosity got the best of her.

She'd been travelling through Africa looking for "the Dragon Tooth", a sword that, as legend has it, was carved from a High Dragons tooth. Her demeanor at two weeks into the Congo, was less than amused. With Botfly's buzzing for an opening, mosquito's that didn't let up, and worst of all, the searing hot temperatures. As a werewolf, her natural body heat was exceedingly high, most thinking she had some form of fever when they touched her. The blazing heat of the African sun was most unwelcomed on Meara's sun-tinted skin. For once she wished that her Father had entrusted this miserable, albeit important, task to someone else.

With a disgruntled huff, Meara continued travelling through the jungle, pausing every so often to listen to the jungle around her. She was nearly to the heart of the jungle when a strange scent curled into her nose. It was the distinct musk of werewolf on the scent that made Meara pause in her forward trek. Indecision had Meara paused for an untellable amount of time, switching her gaze from the path to the Dragon's Tooth, and the direction this werewolf had gone. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her though, for what reason could a werewolf have to be in the worst climate for them, other than to retrieve something? So Meara turned off her intended path and followed the strange werewolf's scent.

She had tracked him all the way out of the Congo and into the nearest village. She found nothing but panic. The dark skinned natives of the land were screaming, women and children running from the center of the village and men, carrying spears and scythe's, rushed in the direction the women were running from. Meara followed, drawing her own blade—as it would be more effective against a werewolf with its silver blade. Meara raced along with the warriors of the village, her sudden appearance only allowed because of the more apparent danger.

When Meara came upon the carnage the werewolf was ensuing, she paused. She knew immediately that this werewolf was new, at least new enough not to have complete control over himself yet. His fur was so black it gleamed blue in the sunlight and his wolf eyes were a startling shade of blue—rare amongst natural wolves and even rarer amongst werewolves. Meara turned to the warriors, speaking the native language with a fluency that surprised the warriors.

"Don't attack him. If anyone is injured beyond saving, behead them and burn their corpse. I will deal with the Demon Wolf and lure him away from your village, Brothers."

Meara didn't wait for them to take or refuse her orders, she approached the wolf, who was tearing into the side of a camel, its owner dead, and crushed beneath it. The wolf paused in its eating, his head swinging to watch her movements. Meara called her own wolf forward, her brown eyes turning gold, and stared the wolf down. He didn't like it.

"Do you understand me, Pup?" She asked in the common language—latin.

There was no response. Just a menacing growl as the black wolf abandoned the camel carcass and started stalking her.

She tried several different other languages before she tried the native language again. "Do you understand me, Pup?"

The wolf paused. Huh, Meara thought, an African Wolf, there's a first—not that they couldn't be werewolves, but there were such things as were-lions. Meara mentally shook herself to concentrate. She arched a brow at the wolf. "Do you realize what you are doing? You are letting the beast take your humanity. Is that what you want? To be an animal?"

The vibrant blue eyes of the wolf dulled ever so slightly, enough that Meara knew the man behind the fur was if not in control, at least listening.

"Come on then, before they realize we are the same kind of creature."

Meara started running out of the village, the wolf trailing behind her at a fast lope. She could hear some of the villagers' cheering as the distance between the werewolves and village grew. Meara didn't stop their fast paced trek until they were at least a two days journey from the village.

Turning to the wolf, Meara gave him a calculating look. "Change back. Now."

The wolf looked a little stricken as he processed the words. Scowling, Meara let her wolf come forward and pull the man from the wolf. It was something only an ancient and dominant werewolf could do. Though Meara should be about three hundred at this time, her recent adventures through the other realms have left her nearly a thousand years old and in the exact moment she left. Naturally, she kept her ancient status a secret from even her own father.

With the pop and breaking of bones, the wolfs' black fur began to melt away, revealing smooth dark skin. Meara blinked at the man now kneeling before her, recovering from the change with deep breathes. His hair, as black as his wolf fur, was twisted into dreadlocks, hanging around his shoulders like a curtain. When he lifted his head, Meara found herself looking into deep pools of cool steel. She also found herself rather attracted to the man. Meara physically shook her head, hardening her gaze as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Care to explain yourself, Pup?"

He wrinkled his nose, straightening himself to his full height, his very naked full height. Of course, being a werewolf, Meara was used to nudity. Her eyes stayed on his.

"I am not a pup, as you so call me, She-Wolf. Are you the demon who turned me?" Meara rather enjoyed the sound of his voice. Deep with power, yet somehow soft. She gave him a scowl; for his accusation and her attraction to him.

"I am not a demon, Pup, and if I were the one to have turned you, you would know it." Meara stepped toward him, her eyes returning to their normal brown. "The wolf who turned you, do you remember anything about it? Male, female? A scent, anything?"

He growled at her approach, taking a step back. A slight fear trickled into his eyes as he released his growl, "No, stay away. I cannot fully control myself, yet."

Scowling, Meara approached anyway, "You will not harm me. I am much older than you, and I am Alpha to your wolf." Meara paused, "Though it is possible that you may very well be a dominant wolf yourself."

"Dominant?" He looked down at his hands with trepidation. Meara placed her hand on one of his, as a sort of comforting gesture—she always forgets that being made into a werewolf is different than being born as one.

"It's okay. Being dominant just means you have a strong will. Whether you are dominant or not doesn't make you a monster. It's control. If you can control the beast, you have nothing to fear. A pack and a strong Alpha will help." Meara offered her hand in greeting, "I am called Meara."

"Amare."

Meara gave him a smile, and found that she was overly grateful for her curious intent. Her smile turned into a smirk as her eyes did a once over of the man before her. Very grateful indeed.

A pang went through Meara as she followed the bear scent right back to the Company. Oddly enough, they were running quite frantically into open plain toward a large cabin that had smoke billowing from its chimney. Alby ran amidst them, Bilbo gripping the fur on his back.

Then a great bear crashed through the trees they just ran from and barreled towards them. Meara let out a long roar as she sprang into action, racing the distance toward the dwarves and crashed into the bear just before he reached the humble cottage. They tumbled in a mess of arms and limbs as they snapped and growled at each other. Meara's jaws ripped viciously into the bear's back, her teeth crunching down on far too much fur to be anywhere near lethal.

Meara jumped away from the bear, its claws swiping down across her side in the process. Baring her fangs, Meara half growled and half groaned. She hated bears. If there was one thing that could kill a werewolf, it was a bear—a grizzly to be more precise—but they lacked the knowledge to actually plan attacks. This bear, however, had eyes that gleamed with intelligence, though feral in nature. And this bear was about twice the size of a grizzly.

If Meara could scowl, she would, but as it were, her wolf form let out an indignant huff before she turned and ran for the trees. The earth practically shook with the bear charging after her. For once, there was a stitch in Meara's side as her wound started, very slowly, stitching itself back together. Though all of her movement kept reopening the wound. If she didn't stop long enough for the skin to heal she could very well bleed out and kill herself in the process.

Meara slowed her pace, just enough to stay ahead of the bear and allow herself to heal. She noticed the bear had also slowed, though not by much. Meara wondered if it knew it had injured her. In a gentle lope, Meara arched around, heading back towards the cottage the dwarves were sheltering in. The bear seemed to be aware of her intention, and sped up with a warning growl. Meara growled back, annoyance filling her. If she had the time and it weren't a full moon, Meara would gladly change back and shoot the bear in the face with an arrow.

Meara threw her head back and howled. She got a very faded howl back from Alby. With a deep breath, Meara picked up her pace tenfold, figuring the wound was closed enough not to kill her. She ran at a fast pace that sent the scenery around her into a dark blur. When the cottage came into view, a small form of relief filled her as she saw an open door with Alby and Gandalf peering around the door frame. Unfortunately, the bear was practically right behind her. Diving for the door, Meara practically slid into the cottage, Gandalf, Alby and a few dwarves that were still awake slamming the door shut and locking it just before the great bear slammed into it.

Hehe. So this chapter is dedicated to all my followers who waited patiently for this chapter that was two weeks late. I have no excuse. I was being a little shit and not writing when I should have and could have been. In my own defense though I for whatever reason just could not write most of this chapter eloquently. I think it's because I was coming to the end of one movie and the beginning of another, which I didn't have a lot of material to work with. On the brightside, that's over and done with and I should be spitting chapters out much more frequently (I hope)...

I have also set up an Instagram account to post my renderings of the characters, though as of now there are no photos posted. The username is fandrawings101 (I know so generic and dumb but I also plan on posting more than just this stories characters, so you can expect to see Ireth and Artemesia on there as well.

Oh right...Y'all don't know who Artemesia is...Basically she is a character under construction who will be appearing when...if...I ever finish the Silmarillion.

anywho! read and review my lovelies, Y'all know I love them Reviews.

and OMG...have y'all seen the Power Ranger's movie?! Holy Shit, I was never a huge fan of the original PR, but HOLY SHIT. It was amazing and I would literally go watch it again and pay full price. Go see it. I implore you.

haha, look at me using fancy words.