Chapter 28

Blood on the Horizon


He wished the air wasn't so dank and stale. It was underground and that was expected, but it still bothered him. Maltríth stepped over some damp and slippery rocks, gleaming green from the torch he carried in his hands. His cloak trailed behind him, the hem of it heavy and wet. He stopped when the underground cave came to a halt, the wall rough and scaly under his gloved hand.

"There's one." He muttered.

Maltríth dropped his torch, the green fire defied usual limitations and spread over the wet rock, illuminating the small cavern. The twisted Elf approached the wall, stretching out his hand and pressing it to the warm wall. He could feel the slow and deep pounding of a heart far bigger than his own body.

"I've got a little message for you." He smiled, white eyes a violent green in the firelight.

A dark pulse of shadow left his hand and entered the body of the gargantuan worm slumbering in the depths of the earth. There was a low rumble in the core of the ground, Maltríth put his hands behind his back and waited. Inside him he felt the words of an ancient dark language swelling up and pouring into the veins of the rocks and stones all around him. These were words no Elf knew, but Sauron did. He just needed someone to help him communicate his dark will.

The warg beneath him pounded into the earth, running at speeds which the animal could not keep up for much longer. Bolg crested the hill and he lay eyes on the massive army he heard from miles away. Azog led the thousands upon thousands of Orcs, riding Naurlûl with his new arm brandished at his side and Zuzar on a warg not far behind him. The rhythmic pound of heavy feet and the clank of armor caused a ruckus melody.

Bolg kicked the warg faster, spanning the space between him and the Orc King in a short time. He pulled the warg to a stop by Azog, who turned his head to look at his son. With one move of his arm, the army dropped its weapons in a wave of sound which echoed through the foothills.

"Woodland Elves!" Bolg bellowed, snarling at the thought of them. "The King's son and a She-elf… They tracked us to Lake-town."

Azog's long razor arm outstretched, threatening to tear into his back. Bolg knew that if he was not of the same flesh and blood, he would already be dead upon the ground.

"You killed them?" Azog breathed, his words heavy with rage.

"They fled… squealing like cowards." Bolg's head lowered from Azog's as Naurlûl circled him, there was none to correct his lie.

"You fool!" Azog snarled, "They will return with an arm of Elves at their backs!" His deep voice rattled Bolg.

Bolg said nothing, keeping his head lowered.

"What of your sister?" Azog's tone even deadlier than before.

"She did not ride with me after the Elves."

"You left her?" There was more rage pooling in Azog's eyes.

"She disappeared."

A tense moment passed between them as Azog mulled over the answer Bolg gave him.

"Ride to Gundabad… Let the legions come forth. I will find Aza."

Bolg snarled, nodding his head.

"Bolg," Azog snarled, "Do not have failed me again."

With that, Bolg whirled his warg towards the north. There was hate and anger so deep in his heart that nothing could overcome it. He would always fail in the eyes of his father.

Fotak's directions led them to a massive valley-like space less than a day's travel on warg from Erebor. The massive mountain was much smaller in the distance, Ithildae could see its snowcapped peak shining in the moonlight. A tall pillar of smoke still rose from the ruins on the lake. Ithildae turned her attention to the crater where Fotak stood, looking in on the ledge. There was a distant and constant chorus of snarls and growls as thousands of Orcs were hunkered down within the crater.

"I say we go around." Fotak rasped.

"Agreed." Ithildae did not want to deal with walking through the riled-up army.

"Damn. They're all here." Kalus breathed.

"They stand no chance… not in their current state." Ithildae backed away from the ledge.

"Wait… you're worried for the humans?!" He barked.

"They are too weak to fight back."

"All the more reason to wipe 'em out."

He realized after the words left his lips that he shouldn't have said that. Her hand was gripping the front of his armor and her strength had him backed up to the ledge.

"You remember Dâgâlur. He waited for us to be weak. You know the pain that followed, how it tore up any peace we had in Moria… Surely, you cannot ignore that others feel that too?" Ithildae let him go and let her eyes search the crater for a high point.

Kalus looked down the drop where he could have been shoved. He signed up for treason as soon as he took her side. There would be nothing but lies spewing from his mouth from then on.

"I am going to speak to my father." She nodded towards the plateau rising above the encampment, Azog would be there.

The trio of rogue Orcs made their way on the lip of the crater, allowing the wargs to lope at a steady pace over the unsteady rocks. The sun was almost setting by the time they reached the high point. Zuzar stepped from behind a curtain of warg skin replicating an entrance to the tall and brutal looking tent erected on the plateau.

"Your father was about to send out an army to look for you." The general stopped and watched Ithildae dismount her warg.

"Tell him he doesn't have to." She quipped, walking towards him. "Or, I will. Where is he?" Ithi halted in front of Zuzar.

"Up the hill some more… He's got a bit of a surprise."

As he said that, the earth under their feet shook. Ithildae turned and looked at Kalus for any sort of clue, his brow was furrowed. Fotak was nowhere to be seen. The Orcess closed her mouth and shouldered past the gray-haired general, taking powerful strides up the hill where she came face to face with a wall of rock. Except this rock had a hole drilled into the side of it. A deep groaning roar emitted from it, causing Ithildae to stand utterly still. Her skin prickled. What creatures had they harnessed?

Naurlûl lounged at the opening of the massive abrasion smashed into the wall of rock. Ithildae came to the white warg and touched her long snout, tracing the scars gashed into her skin to mimic her father's. The Orcess closed her eyes and let her hand fall from the bristly fur.

"Aza," Azog's voice echoed from the tunnel. "You found us."

"Of course." Ithildae faced her father.

He stepped from the shadows with the confidence of a king, a small animal impaled on the end of his sword arm. The Pale Orc tossed the creature to Naurlûl, she snapped it up in her jaws and crunched it happily. Ithildae said nothing as he neared her, a pleased smirk on his face.

"What is this?" She asked, pointing to the tunnel.

He did not answer because another Orc came riding on the back of a warg from within the tunnel.

"The tunnels will be done by dawn!" He said, bowing his head in respect to Azog.

Azog's smirk widened.

"Good. The attack will be swift and deadly. The fools have forgotten what lives beneath these lands… The Great Eartheaters have awoken."

"Earth… eaters?" Ithildae smothered every thought of shock and fear spiraling through her mind.

"Yes, they have made us a path straight to the mountain."

"When will you attack?" She ventured.

"We move at dawn." Azog said, triumph in his voice. "Rest tonight, Aza. There will be victory tomorrow." His rough hand gripped her shoulder.

Ithildae looked up to his eyes, trying to see past the haze of obsession at the cusp of bloodlust. His hand left her shoulder and she realized that his gesture resembled a warrior greeting another. Amid her fear for the people around the mountain, Ithildae took pride in the sense that she was not seen as a child. He acknowledged her strength.

The Orcess couldn't remember the last time she had slept on a full stomach. She took advantage of the few hours her restless mind allowed her, those few hours of voided time and space were precious to her weary body. Ithildae woke and sat up immediately. The cramped little cave she found was not only housing her, as it had been when she fell asleep.

"Kalus." She exhaled in the dark.

"You should go back to sleep." His voice was heavy.

"Why are you here?"

"Don't trust any males. You need your sleep… you barely sleep."

"Can I trust you?"

"I hope you can. I ain't stupid enough to hurt you."

"But you are stupid enough to try and protect me. You know I don't need it." Ithildae allowed a smile on her lips.

"Ack, I know." He grumbled.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, giving her the ability to see the gray outline of his face. Kalus was sitting close to her, his back against the rock with his arms crossed. He had his jaw clenched and his whole body seemed tense. Ithildae couldn't help but watch the steel plate over his eye, the same one she had torn through so long ago. Without her conscious consent, her long arm reached up, her fingers curled in apprehension as her knuckles touched his cheek.

Kalus went still. No snarky comment left him, only shallow ragged breaths. Ithi's fingers unfurled and graced the steel plate covering his empty eye socket with the gentleness of a feather. They went down onto his cheek, touching his skin for a moment until she lowered her arm. Neither of them spoke. She anticipated an awkward air from him, but there was only a calm silence.

The Orc male moved with little hesitation, lowering his body and leaning over hers in the darkness of that small cave. Ithildae made eye contact in the lowlight and saw no aggression in his one golden eye. She lay there in stillness and listened to their breathing synchronize.

"Ith," he rasped, "Don't do anything stupid tomorrow. He won't let you live or at least be free if he finds out what you've done." Kalus' voice was hardly a whisper.

"The same goes for you." She replied.

He lowered his forehead and touched it against hers. A symbol of deep trust and affection. Ithildae closed her eyes and attempted to push away the horrible feeling of dread in her gut. She did not fear for herself, she feared for Kalus and those who did not know what was coming.

The deafening clang of weapons and armor rang through the crater and woke Ithildae from a deep sleep. She lay there in the cool rocky cave, the warg fur she was given serving as the only barrier between her body and the ground. The Orcess felt an arm tighten around her torso. Kalus lay beside her, his strong limb over her equally strong stomach.

Her lips parted and she sat up, he was sound asleep at her side and his warmth was a welcoming comfort in the dry winter air. Ithildae blinked and watched him sleep peacefully at her side. The vulnerability he showed her gave her a creeping warmth in her chest, he truly did trust her.

Ithildae listened to the commotion outside of their small cave, the army was readying for the advance towards Erebor. She knew she should go out and ride before the army at her father's side, but all the Orcess wanted was to stay in this tiny cave and avoid the death and war which fell upon the world. By Kalus, she realized.

Her thoughts pushed her to lay down again, by the slumbering male. She moved herself closer to him and placed her forehead on his chest, Ithildae hadn't felt so exhausted and lost in her entire life.

"Ith?" Kalus' voice was deep with sleep and cautious.

"I don't want to fight, Kalus." Her eyes opened and clicked with his.

The smith took a moment of silence to process her proximity to him, and the way she leaned into his chest. For a moment, he saw the innermost layer of who she was, not the tough and capable warrior she always proved herself to be, but the female who did not know where she belonged. A female who wanted nothing more than peace and quiet in a world that was too violent and divided.

"I know ya don't, Ith. But you have to go out there… You can't hide away."

Ithildae turned over on her back, looking up at the ceiling of the cave and tracing lines of lichen with her eyes, her left hand over her chest and curled into a fist. Kalus watched her with his one eye, letting it drift over her long red hair splayed out on her back and shoulders.

"Kalus… Don't die."

"I'll try my best not to."

"I… I am very serious, do what you must to survive. Even if it is not our usual way."

"I wouldn't want to leave my queen behind." He muttered, a half grin sliding onto his lips.

"I-I'm not a queen, Kalus… They would not even recognize me as-"

"I said my queen… not theirs."

Ithildae couldn't respond to that. Kalus growled under his breath as he sat up, looking at her with an earnest eye.

"Damn you, Ith."

"I suppose that I am fine with being your queen, I get to order you around."

"You do that anyways." He grunted and stood up.

Ithildae realized he had removed his armor and set it in the corner where hers lay. He began picking it up and sliding the pieces on to his body, his demeanor becoming more grave as he felt the weight of the armor on his body. She rose and ducked to avoid the low ceiling, taking a step to his side and doing the same as him. Kalus gazed at her for a moment.

"You gonna leave all that hair down?"

"No," Ithildae scooped her thick hair back with two hands.

He reached behind her and took her hair in his hands.

"A second in command'll usually help their leader with armor on the day of battle."

"Who made you second in command?"

"Me."

"You may get demoted."

He grumbled under his breath and kept pulling back her mane of bright hair. He snapped his fingers and pointed to her wrist, she took off the tiny rope tied there, it was lightweight and clearly of Elvish craft. Kalus tied off the hair behind her and touched the space between her shoulder blades. Ithildae shivered.

"Is that all the armor you're wearing?" She asked him.

"Yeah."

"You should wear a helmet."

"Nah, I have a hard head."

"Don't be obstinate." She snarled, hoisting her longsword up from where it rested by the exit.

Ithildae held it in her hand for a moment, analyzing every intricate swirl and dip in the colors between ebony and ivory across the sheath. This sword would be stained with blood by the end of the day. She took a deep breath and nodded for Kalus to follow her out into the war-torn world.

The world was colder than she remembered, but just as full of death. Thalias walked beside the wagon which bore the fabric she would use to assist the people of Lake-town, her soft Elven shoes soaking up the cold snow gathering in the ruins. Dale was desolate and disturbed by the recent events, dawn's early light made the tan stone of the buildings almost seem golden.

The army Thranduil assembled marched ahead of the supplies and greeted the humans with food and water. Thalias wanted to shrink away, there were so many people rushing in around them. But the seamstress opened the cart and began pulling sections of cloth out and handing them to the eager and freezing hands grasping her way.

Once the initial hoard of people was calmed, Thalias took a pile of blankets in her arms and started ambling towards the dwellings where the humans were resting. The world was a daze for her glassy hazel eyes, so much death and fear surrounded this mortal place. But now hope graced the air, all was not lost and they had food to eat.

Thalias wove in and out of cots housing injured humans, finally tasting fresh water and food. She looked for anyone in need of a blanket or cloak, hoping that there would be no one to engage her in a conversation of the necessity. Until her roaming eyes landed on a small figure, sitting on the edge of a cot wrapped in a black cloak… a very familiar one.

The Elleth was by the cot in an instant, grabbing the fabric and remembering every single stitch and moment when she encountered the owner of the cloak. Except, a small human girl looked up at her and there was no icy gaze.

"C-Can I help you?"

"O-Oh…" Thalias breathed.

The little girl gripped the dark fabric pooled on her lap.

"I-I was simply wondering… where you got that cloak?" She managed to ask the child.

The girl's dark brown eyes shown with confusion.

"It was given to me…"

"By whom?"

"A friend."

"I-I made that cloak for a friend of mine as well." Thalias sat herself down by the girl, hoping to diminish her lanky height and seem more approachable.

A tense moment of silence passed.

"Ithildae?"

Thalias' body erupted into a shiver which left her flesh raised with goosebumps.

"Yes, that is her."

"How do you know her?" The girl questioned.

"W-Well… She lived with me for quite a while. And you?"

"She pulled me out of the water and got me out of the fire."

Thalias' felt her eyes warm and threaten tears.

"Is she okay? Please…. I beg you, do you know if she sides with her own kind?"

"She has two friends." The little girl answered, "But I don't think she is bad."

"I-I see… Do you know where she is?"

The girl's eyes narrowed.

"Are you going to hurt her?"

"Goodness no," Thalias gasped. "She means quite a lot to me a-and I just want to know if she is safe."

"When I last saw her she was. I don't know where she went."

Thalias shuddered, lowering her head in thanks. The girl watched her with wonder for a moment.

"I'm Tilda," she introduced in a soft rasp.

"Thalias."

"Y-You are an Elf? Are you an Elf queen?"

"No, I am only a seamstress." A flush touched Thalias' fair cheeks.

Tilda stroked the fabric around her, realization dawning on her youthful expression.

"You made this?"

"Yes, for Ithildae… Before she went out into the forest."

"Mirkwood?" The child said in awe.

"Well of course," Thalias sat down on the cot beside the child.

Tilda's questions began rolling from her tongue in pure curiosity of the Elven Realm which had been little more than stories before that day. Thalias admired the youthful mortal, her immortal eyes not laying eyes on such a young being since Ithildae was a child. The questions presented her were a way to ignore the impending war.

Through a gap in the wall of the ruins where the two sat, Thranduil paced by, flanked by Bard and two warriors as they strode towards the abandoned armory. The Elven King halted as he caught sight of Thalias in the corner of his eye. She momentarily stopped her conversation to meet her king's gaze, those intense blue eyes locked onto Tilda and her cloak. His eyes widened and flicked to hers.

Thalias nodded. Thranduil lifted his chin and an odd expression came over his face at the knowledge of Ithildae's recent presence.

"Lord Thranduil?" Bard asked.

"That child, who is she?"

"That is my youngest daughter, Tilda." The Bowman answered warily.

"Your daughter?" Thranduil gave his attention to the dragon slayer.

"Yes… What of her?"

"That cloak… Do you know the nature of where she got it?"

"I assumed she got it from your supplies, your Elves have been handing out cloaks to those in need." Bard replied.

Thranduil searched his expression momentarily, becoming aloof in an instant.

"Very well." He continued his long strides towards the armory.

Bard gave his child a fond look, his dark features becoming clouded at the sudden interest Thranduil offered towards her. What could that cloak mean to an Elven King?

Night closed in on Dale, torches were lit where the campfires would not reach. Elves mingled amongst humans standing like golden centuries out of the drab appearances of the humans. The tent constructed in the middle of the ruined buildings housed a glow and many Elven pleasantries. Thranduil sat at his throne, wine in his hand as he surveyed the Man and Wizard in his company.

"Since when has my council counted for so little? What is it you think I am trying to do?" Gandalf scoffed in anger.

Thranduil was poised upon his throne, expressionless.

"I think you are trying to save your Dwarvish friends, and I admire your loyalty to them. But that does not dissuade me from my cause." Thranduil's tone housed venom.

He rose from his throne and loomed behind Gandalf.

"You started this, Mithrandir, you will forgive me if I finish it."

Thranduil rounded and strode to the entrance.

"Are the archers in position?" He called.

A guard came to attention.

"Yes, My Lord."

"Good. Give the order: if anything moves on that mountain… Kill it."

Gandalf's eyes widened, the smoke from his pipe trailing from his gaped lips.

"The Dwarves are out of time." Thranduil returned to his throne.

Gandalf's mouth twitched in fury and he spun his focus to Bard, who sat in quiet attention.

"Bowman, do you agree with this? Is gold so important to you, that you would buy it with the blood of Dwarves?"

Bard's eyes rested on Thranduil for a moment, gauging his response.

"It will not come to that. This is a fight they cannot win." He replied.

"That won't stop them," A small figure materialized into the tent. "You think the Dwarves will surrender, they won't. They will fight to the death to defend their own."

"Bilbo Baggins!" Gandalf exclaimed in delight.

The Hobbit grinned fondly at him.

"If I am not mistaken, this is the Halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guard." Thranduil said coldly from his throne.

Bilbo's grin faltered and he scrunched up his expression.

"… Yes… Sorry about that." He cleared his throat.

A little grin flitted over Bard's mouth.

Bilbo inhaled and stepped forward to the table in the center of the tent.

"I came to give you this," he set a little wrapped up item on the circular table, apprehension written on his face.

He unfolded it and a thousand different hues sprung up in tendrils of light. The three with him tensed up with shock, Thranduil rose from his throne.

"The Heart of the Mountain… The King's Jewel..." Thranduil breathed as he stared upon the stone.

"And worth a King's ransom... how is this yours to give?" Bard looked to the Hobbit as he got a closer look.

"I took it as my one-fourteenth share of the treasure."

Gandalf suppressed a smile.

"Why do this? You owe us nothing." The dragon slayer asked, confusion in his face.

"I'm not doing it for you," Bilbo shook his head. "I know that dwarves can be obstinate and pigheaded and difficult. They're suspicious and secretive, with some of the worst manners you can possibly imagine. But they are also brave and kind, and loyal to a fault. I've grown very fond of them, and I would save them if I can."

Silence fell on the three of them as they weighed the pawn which was placed in their hands.

"Thorin values this stone above all else. In exchange for its return, I believe he will give you what you are owed. There will be no need for war."

Thranduil's cold eyes stared at him, searching his expression.

"Do you know where she is?"

Bilbo's spine tingled.

"Pardon me?"

"Ithildae. She aided in your escape, did she not?"

At her name, Gandalf stilled and Bard looked to the Elf king oddly.

"Who?" Bard asked.

Thranduil simply looked at him.

"Call for you daughter, the little one." He said to the Man, walking to the edge of the tent and speaking in Elvish to a guard.

"B-But it is late, I am sure she is asleep…"

"Do it."

"What… does Ithi have to do with this?" Bilbo shifted on his feet.

Thranduil smirked.

"She has a hand in every part of this war and that makes her dangerous."

"My lord, Tilda is but a child, why must you speak to her? Who is this woman?" Alarm and worry came from Bard in waves.

"I suppose you do not know the tale." Thranduil refilled his wine goblet. "A century or so has passed since the day when a troop of my guard intercepted a pack of Orcs travelling through Mirkwood. They killed them all but one," He looked Bard in the eye, drifting down to Bilbo, who had paled.

"They spared an Orc child. A little girl, her skin white as snow and her hair red as fire. They found her avenging the body of her mother, she was covered in blood and screaming many vile words to the sky."

"A-An… Orc girl?" Bard stammered.

"I spared her for the nature of her existence, so perhaps I would learn of whence she came and discover her strengths… And I did. I named her Ithildae, moon shadow, the Orc maiden." Thranduil let a sigh pass his lips. "She protected Mirkwood for all that time. Until she was apprehended leading Dwarves through the wood without my permission." His voice was a bitter whisper.

"And a Halfling."

Bilbo had his eyes glued to the ground, his hands clenching.

"Now, I want to know how a human child has come in possession of her cloak." Thranduil looked to the entrance, where Tilda stood by Thalias, the cloak keeping her warm.

Bard's eyes filled with horror. Thalias and Bilbo tried to contain their shock and joy at seeing one another again.

"Tilda…" He rasped.

The child gulped.

"She pulled me out of the water…" Tilda murmured.

Thranduil's head tilted in surprise.

"She saved you?"

"Yes," Tilda gripped the cloak, eyes watering. "I won't tell you where she went. I don't know, and I don't want you to kill her."

A haunted look passed over Thranduil's eyes.

"After she took you from Lake Town, where did you go?"

"Out in the foothills… She gave me her cloak to keep warm."

"Were there any other Orcs with her?"

Tilda hesitated.

"Tilda," Bard's stern tone made her wince.

"T-Two. A male… he was grumpy… and a female who had a bad scar on her tummy."

"Another female?" Gandalf cut in.

She nodded, her eyes watching the kindly old wizard.

"She… She said that Ithildae was hiding things… Hiding things from her father."

The chill which settled over the area could even be felt by the child at her words.

"I want to know who she is." Bard's voice was cold.

"She is the daughter of Azog the Defiler." Thranduil spoke.

Bard's face blanched.

"But…"

"Not in front of the child," Gandalf scolded, putting a hand on Tilda's shoulder, guiding her towards the door. "Why don't you run along to bed, little one." He coaxed with a smile.

Bard shut his eyes and looked away from his daughter, she had been taken by Orcs. The Bowman allowed himself to watch his child leave and be ushered away by Percy, his friend. She cast a glance back at him and the lady Elf standing still.

"You wanted to see me, Lord Thranduil?" Her voice was meek.

"Thalias," Thranduil greeted, "Do you have any insights to Ithildae we do not know?"

"No, my Lord."

"Do not insult me by lying." He snapped.

Thalias grimaced.

"I-I do not believe Ithildae would turn against us. She has a f-feral soul but a kind heart."

"She wouldn't want Thalias to be here." Bilbo rasped.

"Ah, so you were in league with their escape?" He asked her.

Thalias almost melted away under the unwavering eyes of her king. One nod came from her.

"You are both lucky war has fallen, if not I would be sure to have you punished." Thranduil said coldly

Thalias visibly trembled, Bilbo gave her an apologetic glance.

"We may still be able to reason with Thorin, war hasn't fallen yet." Said Bilbo.

"If Mithrandir's predictions are indeed correct, Dol Guldur has sent out an army of Orcs to claim the mountain. They are led by Azog the Defiler."

Bilbo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. So, that was why Thranduil inquired about Ithildae, her father led an army their way.

Gandalf made a noise under his breath and put his hands on his hips.

"That is a problem we shall deal with tomorrow, for now, I believe rest is in order."

Thalias said nothing, bowing to Thranduil and leaving in a flurry of skirts. Bilbo was after her in a moment, trying to catch her.

"Thalias!" He called, dodging two men carrying a heavy barrel.

The Elleth halted at the end of the road, out of the traffic and in untouched snow. Her green dress caught the silvery light bouncing off the snow, creating a shimmer in the faintest of threads. She spun and gaze at him with tears in her gentle eyes. Her pointed ears were tipped with red from the cold, her golden hair in a loose braid down her back.

"I-I'm sorry… I should have not said anything to you I—"

"Bilbo, he already knew. It was not your fault." She lowered her head.

"Still… What if he punishes you?"

Her rosy lips tightened into a line.

"That will not matter if you and Ithildae are safe."

"Thalias…"

"I am glad you are here, Bilbo." Her cheeks flushed.

"I thought I wouldn't see you again." He confessed, blinking heavily and coming to her side.

He gazed up at the immortal beauty in the moonlight, she had a gentle and naïve aura. Thalias had lived a long and sheltered life within the halls of Mirkwood, the violence and pain of the world not affecting her.

"Nor did I." She smiled, eyes sparkling. "Now, come and rest. I can get you food and a place to rest."

He followed her and pushed his fears to the back of his mind, they paced through the snowy and heavily trodden streets. Behind them loomed the Lonely Mountain, its mass blocking out the stars and the distant braziers like pinpricks of fire. The ominous shadow cast beyond the base of the mountain, covering the possible battlefield in a haze of darkness.


what sorcery is this? another update? that isn't like four months apart?
Yes that sorcery was called NaNoWrimo and I gift your early December with this chapter.

(Thank all of you for the continued support. I wouldn't be writing this without y'all.)

I also love hearing your thoughts and feedback, so don't be scared to drop a review!