Chapter 59: Departures & Dares
000
"I, uh, owe you an apology, cousin."
"You were not in error, Dain."
Thorin rested a heavy hand to his shoulder, jaw proudly set. "You've given us all time to breathe. I should be thanking you again for all that you've done."
Dain returned the same gesture with gratitude. "Aye, well, we have time now. Spring will be kinder to us all when your people return to the mountain. I hear the princess is a few weeks away."
This gave Thorin pause as the pair stopped just outside the main gates into the frigid cold winds. The deadpan look of surprise did nothing to gain more details from the fire-bearded ruler.
"I heard no such news." Thorin cast a puzzling glance over his shoulder to Dwalin standing guard several feet behind who simply returned a questioning gruff, arms crossed to hide the gentle roll of knowing shoulders.
"You should ask those nephews of yours." Dain said with a spark in his eyes. "Many families will be reunited this next year and now it's time I return to mine before the next storm rolls in."
With a short wave, Dain Ironfoot turned his back to the Lonely Mountain and set out towards the Wilderlands further East. Thorin remained on the battlements, watching his cousin's departure slowly fade into the white updrifts and swirls of snow. Dain's colorful language would surely be missed in his absence.
The wind howled across the barren lands and whipped at his cloak, tugging at its heavy edges but the weight kept him shielded from winter's bite.
Thorin took in a sharp breath, exhaling deeply and relaxing his shoulders as keen eyes scanned out towards the long road forking between Dale and Ravenhill. So much death and destruction had taken place between his walls and the city of men. Flashes of memory invaded his mind - a constant reminder of their fortunes to be alive. There was no evidence of war beyond his gates as he kept searching for something to remind him of the bloodshed. No. The battle had long been won. Aside from wagon tracks and footprints in the snow, the white blanket hid any and all traces of onslaught and destruction from view. While the plains were left jagged in areas, winter did well to mask what once was and swept it under its magical, white powdered rug.
The world grew still. An eerie calm before a storm.
In the distance, Thorin flinched as he swore to himself he heard metal clangs of swords, distant shouts as roars ebbed through the valley, and a thunderous charge on the ground. He blinked. The familiar sounds changed tune as faint hammers of blacksmiths, fires, and merchant chatter drifted down from Dale.
Boots scuffed against stone and Thorin addressed his approaching Leftenant, ridding himself of the fading memory.
"My own friend keeping secrets from me."
Dwalin cleared his throat, jerking his head to the side to signal that they seek warmer accommodations.
"Ask the lads. They're the ones who started it."
000
All progress was lost.
The scene before the elderly dwarf baffled him as wide as the mountain was deep.
Weary eyes surveyed the chaos, mouth slightly agape and at a loss for words as Balin's attempt to wrap his mind around the mess in the counting hall came to a thunderous close.
Balin had no will to move as several mounds of gold coins crawled to a slow halt at the base of the steps he'd ventured down from, the clangs of metal ringing across the pillars like a fading song. Overhead, shouts were called to those bellow. Laughter responded.
"Balin!" Fíli's wavering steps sunk through the golden hoard once he spotted his distant cousin, each attempt forcing the young warrior to yield to all fours from its depth. "What brings you down here?"
"I should be asking the same of all of you." In the not so far distance he saw the cause for all the commotion - Nori and Kíli helping an overturned Bombur to his feet.
Fíli followed the sight. "It was just a bit of fun."
"I expected no more from your brother but you," Balin pursed his mouth into a fine line, hands on his hips, "you have responsibilities now."
"I know."
Balin locked eyes with the prince. He was getting too old to be chasing them around.
"We'll clean it up." Fíli said.
"Don't bother. Thorin's been looking for you lads. Best not to keep him waiting long."
That was his cue to grab his brother and venture to the upper levels. The others would have to restack the mess themselves.
Balin surveyed the shiny mountains of riches one last time before turning on his heel with a long sigh. Some days he longed for the quietness of his old quarters in the Blue Mountains.
This was becoming too much adventure for a dwarf his age. Though despite all odds, he suspected a new adventure had begun anew.
000
In another corner of the mountain, the dwarves weren't fairing any better.
Oin had set up a medical wing for the injured post-battle and while most had recovered well enough to move around and occupy other residences, there were some too far gone who still needed round-the-clock care. The issue now wasn't the lack of cots, or blankets, or healers, but a sickness. Fever.
Battle fever.
Oin recruited any able bodies to help with the growing demands to care for the sick. Whether it be fetching pails of water or tending to bandages to prevent infection, the healer took any help that was offered. Éla undoubtedly volunteered without a second thought when she happened to come across the area by chance while hunting down the main kitchens, searching for its cook. Oin had confirmed that the sickness wasn't contagious so she was put to work right away.
Éla started off with grinding some herbs with a wooden mortar and pestle under the guide of another healer. It was the safer bet out of caution given her new status. Oin didn't want to put her at risk with close proximity to the fevered bodies unless absolutely necessary, and having someone focus on the medicine freed up his own time to tend to the injured so it worked out for everyone involved.
Éla kept busy following instructions to concoct the salve used to prevent infections on open wounds. She'd spent the better part of an hour churning herbal leaves into powder, pausing to wipe the sweat from her brow on the back of her sleeve while another healer mixed small doses of it with other ingredients to form a thick greyish paste.
A yelp down the hall startled her from the circulating motions of her wrist, nearly toppling the mortar and its contents on its side.
Over her shoulder she observed Oin rushing to aid another healer with a dwarf outstretched on the ground. She could make out the warrior's leg heavily bandaged to the knee, the rest lost to war. She turned back to the table, focusing on the partially ground herbs, the sight far better than gnarly limbs. A few more spins with the pestle and the crunch between the leaves and mortar forced her to an abrupt stop, the sound reminding her of crushed bones and distant cries for help.
Éla took in a deep breath. None of it should affect her. She'd seen worse, lived through it too. Another cry echoed down the hall and she pushed away from the table, not towards the exit but towards the sorrowful pleas of despair. Something willed her feet towards it. Dropping to her knees, Éla reached for the bowl of cool water by the cot and soaked the rag from earlier observation a Oin and two others fought to keep the ailing dwarf from thrashing.
"What can I do?" She asked with a calmness she didn't know she possessed right then. Oin leaned closer with his ear trumpet ready to answer but their patient was undefeated.
"Don't - don't leave." The injured dwarf stuttered over his words, eyes shut as his body heaved fever's chill. His golden-brown beard unkempt and cheeks sunken from lack of nourishment tore Éla's heart to shreds. Several weeks she wondered many things and one more question was added to that growing list - why? Why hadn't she been down this way before?
One glance from Oin and she rung out the rag, dabbing its coolness along the dwarf's brow with care, tension easing with each soothing motion the cloth gave to his heated body. The dwarf's face had a sickly sheen to it under torchlight even though she could see the red flush on his cheeks. His breathing alternated between a ragged fight for air and slow, raspy breaths. Another healer approached to cover the dwarf's neck and chest with damn cloths as he relaxed and stopped fighting against their hold.
"It's the wounds." Oin offered softly.
Éla glanced over to see what he meant. Infection was a common cause for death. While she didn't see it and was thankful Oin hadn't dared lift the blankets for her to see the extent of the injuries of an amputated leg, somehow a greater force had willed her to stay. Perhaps it was the makings of Mahal answering her earlier prayers. She wanted to be of use and not all jobs required physical labor.
"Please..." The dwarf held back a sob, eyes remaining shut as he grasped onto the edge of the cot. Éla reached out to hold his hand in hers. The new contact had him fight to open his eyes, glazed and laced with fear as he looked up at her. Pleading.
"My leg. Don't let them take my leg."
With a gentle squeeze of reassurance, Éla hushed his worries while soaking the rag in the bowl again. She didn't have the heart to speak for her voice lodged itself like a lump in the back of her throat, fearful that it'd fail to provide any comfort.
Shh.
"Can't...fight..." the dwarf mumbled between rasps and chills, "...without my l-leg."
Éla remained by his side, a small smile tugging against the sorrow of trembling lips when the dwarf's strength allowed him to open his eyes wide enough to stare into hers. When his breathing steadied into slumber, exhaustion a sign of quick defeat, Oin shuffled next to her with a light nudge on her shoulder.
"You don't have to stay, lass."
Instead of taking up the offer to leave she found herself asking, "Will he last the night?"
Even if her back was to Oin, she could see him shaking his head in the stale air between them. While her body screamed for her to rest after the long day, Éla wanted to stay. The chances of the dwarf awakening again were unknown as each labored breath became weaker than the last, but she couldn't find a reason to leave.
What if it was Thorin? Or Fíli or Kíli, or any other from the Company? No one should have to spend their final moments alone. If he awoke, she wanted him to see a friendly face.
As she stared upon this warrior fighting to survive, Éla wondered about Thorin's injuries and seeing him on his own deathbed all those months ago. Had he died, she wouldn't have been part of that initial circle to say goodbye. There would've been no soothing brushes of cool rags to soothe him, or holding clammy hands while awaiting his final breaths to leave this earth. There would've been no final words exchanged, only regret blocked by a zealous council.
Emotions turned to anger and upset as old memories resurfaced.
They cheated death. Somehow, someway, they were to live but this sickly warrior may not. Life wasn't fair.
Éla rung out the rag again, fingers aching numb from the cold water. The room only had one hearth but the feverish were at opposite ends, near the cool stone walls farthest from its heat. Another glance at the dwarf's fading color and Éla thought about his family. He was stripped of his armor so she didn't know which house he belonged to. The Iron Hills was the most probable answer but did he have family? Siblings? A wife and children to continue his line? Did he have friends who'd raise a toast in honour of his passing so that he may safely cross over to the Halls of Mahal like those before him?
She squeezed his hand loosely held in hers and whispered, "you're not alone."
Whether or not he heard, she wanted to desperately believe that this nameless warrior knew. That he knew it was alright between each shallow breath, that she'd watch over him for as long as needed.
No one should ever be alone.
000
"Again."
A cluck of metal and wood bounced and rolled along the stone floor, adding to an ever-growing pile of misfires.
Kíli drew back another arrow on command.
His shoulder fought against the strain of the weighed bow as he angled the butt of the arrow against the side of his face, staring down the target on the opposite end of the training barracks. His grip was shaky at best with muscles searing from little use but he held.
Eyes slanted from concentration on it's intended location. He counted to three and released the arrow. Target missed. He cursed.
"Again."
"It's useless!" Kíli spun around, kneading the soreness in his dominant arm with a huff to show how futile the lesson was.
Thorin uncrossed his arms and walked over, a hand resting on Kíli's shoulder and pointed to the straw dummy ahead. "Your aim's improved. Draw back another and go again."
"An arrow to the gut was never revered as good aim for any archer." Kíli said, looking back at the dummy riddled with odd shots to its lower half. It looked like an odd creature that had been birthed without all its spikes. His eyes narrowed with distaste and shame.
"It will take time before you're at your best again." Thorin gave him a gentle shake. "You were never one to give up easily."
"Eighteen arrows, Thorin. Eighteen! And I still couldn't hit any mark." Kíli grumbled as he dragged his feet to a bench occupied by his brother and slumped down. "I've been at it for weeks."
Fíli exchanged a pleading look without a spoken word to their uncle. The lesson kick-started with light sparring, Fíli needed it most to strengthen his wounded leg. He hadn't been as reliant on the cane the last few days but it helped to keep his posture straighter while regaining strength. Even if pain rippled and tore him apart to bend and fight, the healers told him it was a good sign that he'd get full use of his leg in no time. So he was told to stay active, even if it hurt.
"Skill can only be acquired through training. Practice is what separates a warrior from a drunken brute brawling in a tavern. Those arrows you fired today are just the beginning. It will take hundreds more to get back to where you were."
Kíli frowned at Thorin.
An image propped up from Thorin's memories and he tried to hold back a genuine smile, remembering two dwarflings eager to train with their wooden swords and confident smiles ready to challenge the great Thorin Oakenshield to a fight. Ready to learn what it'd take to become honorable warriors in their own right. Now, as he studied his nephews he wondered where their willing hearts had gone.
He'd tried to father them when theirs left the earth all too soon. He loved them the same way Thrain acknowledged him as a lad, but was it enough? They were of his blood, his line, and yet they were not his own. The memory turned to his sister Dís, and his attention fell on Fíli. A striking resemblance of his father. Víli's passing was especially difficult for him. It always remained a cause for concern when it came to his sister, more so when Fíli strapped an abundance of hidden knives to his gear for the first time, a whirlwind of blades. Thorin had suspected the reasoning but never questioned the lad's motives. It was better to be prepared than finding one's self without a weapon against a terrible foe.
Then there was Kíli, falling into a pit of despair. His joyous and rambunctious character was the very glue that held their family together. War had changed them. Gone was their innocence as they were now subjected to the real world's perils. He understood their hardships but now wasn't the time to surrender.
"We're sons of Durin. Recovery is another enemy we all face. From this moment on, what you decide to do with your time will determine who you want to be."
Thorin straightened, chin raised as he looked between his nephews once more. "Will you give in or try again?"
Kíli dropped his head, staring at the bow resting across his lap. He wrapped his fingers around its center and rose to his feet. Thorin held out the pack of arrows with a nod of approval.
"Again?" Kíli asked, slinging the pack across his back, aim at the ready.
Thorin grinned. "Again."
000
The clutch on her skirts tightened as Éla found herself at the door to her shared quarters. The cup of ale that had been toasted in honor of the life lost that night did nothing to ease the queasy flips of her stomach. She felt sick and tired of all the death Erebor had seen. Someone she never knew, gone. The edge of her vision blurred as she fought back tears. She was tired of death. Tired of their struggles for happiness and peace.
Cold fingers fumbled for the key to unlock the door but the orange glow beneath the wooden frame gave her pause. It was late and if Thorin had already retired she didn't want him seeing her in such a state of distress.
Éla rested her forehead against the door for a heartbeat before turning the handle and entered. She hadn't bothered a glance towards the bed. Knowing he was already there by the rough shape of the rounded covers, she sidelined towards the bathroom to clean up and change for the night. Relieved that no words called after her, she relaxed her shoulders a bit in the process.
Upon re-entering the main space, the warmth from the crackling hearth soothed chilled bones and Éla rubbed her arms as she looked around. Her scan paused on the discarded shirts and cloaks trailing the floor and trunk at the end of the bed. Eyes flickered up to Thorin beneath the covers, well partly. It looked like he waited up for her but fell asleep at some point and her heart ached at the sight. Stepping closer he looked so at ease, so much so that he'd forgotten to put on a shirt. Éla shivered, wrapping her arms closer to herself wondering why he'd go to be bed like that. Fire or not, it was still winter and the corridors carried night's chill. Her thoughts drifted back to he dwarves in the medical wing. She didn't want Thorin to catch a cold.
Rounding the side of the bed, she stole one last look. An arm rested above his head. It didn't look comfortable but he appeared fast asleep. The blankets had been pulled down, pooling at his waist just below the edge of his bandages, his chest laid bare. How often had her fingers run down the vast plains of that muscular torso? She shook the thought away and with gentle ease, guided his arm to rest at his side. She didn't want him to wake up with no feeling later on. His skin was warm to the touch and a surge of panic washed through her.
Did he have a fever? Would that explain the odd resting position?
Fear took hold and like any healer, mother, or crone, Éla instinctively pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. He was warm, very warm. A whimper escaped before she could refrain from making a sound and Thorin's lids fluttered open.
He blinked away sleep and removed the discomforting cold touch from his brow with a ghost of a smile as his sight settled on his wife. "Where have you been?"
"Here and there."
"Hmm." Thorin tugged on her hand, encouraging her to settle next to him.
"How are you feeling?" She asked, sitting on her knees with slight panic when he closed his eyes again. "Are you coming down with a fever?"
He forced his groggy eyes to look upon her. "What brought on this line of questioning?"
"Where's your shirt?" Éla rested her free hand against his chest. Her icy, cold fingers jolting his attention and he grabbed both between his own.
"Why are you cold?"
"I asked first." She said, frowning that he'd evade answering, even if it was unintentional.
He pulled her down and under the covers against her protests. "Come to bed."
"Won't you get chilled through the night?" She asked, pulling the covers back to slide closer. She placed her palm to his forehead again, worried he contracted what she feared that night.
He chuckled that deep tone she loved and that happened to soothe any doubts. "No."
Thorin peeled her palm away from his head and held it atop his chest, tugging her further into his side so she'd stop squirming. He was far too exhausted to move but if he could do anything for her that night, he'd warm up those frozen hands. He made a note to ask her about it in the morning.
He wasn't with fever she realized, her body was just cold after spending so much time in the lower halls. She worried over nothing and relaxed into the warmth he provided, his arm wrapping around her waist under the blankets. She sighed with relief, knowing he was right where he'd always be - safe and alive.
000
Any trace of worry disappeared over the coming days as the mountain settled into a steady routine.
Éla focused her attention on helping in the kitchens and mending whatever was added to the growing pile of clothing when the dwarves learned of her skill. Anything that required patching was sent her way, and Dori had been kind enough to help with the washing whenever he found himself available. Word spread of the next caravan's arrival and excitement grew for extra aid.
Days grew long and the nights had gotten shorter as Éla holed herself up in a spare room close to a washing station some level below the main gates. The mundane tasks occupied her time and she didn't mind the repetitive task until her hands were raw and sore. By then, she continued knitting by a fire or went for a walk to stretch tired legs.
She found it easier to predict where most of the dwarves were. With no urgent meetings she coaxed herself into an unintentional habit of memorizing frequented spaces. She had the freedom to do so and what was better than paying a surprise visit to the king?
Éla entered Thorin's study without knocking, needing a distraction from boredom and repetitive days. The space had been tidied since last she walked in. Fingers traced the edge of the desk as she maneuvered closer, observing her husband's steadfast attention on his work. Éla hummed a short note.
"Now isn't the best time." He mumbled, eyes darting from one contract and quill scribbling on another. "I've much work to do."
Éla rested the basket she'd been carrying on a spare chair, retrieving a glass from a nearby stand and poured some ale. Looking back, Thorin's hunched position hadn't changed. Without a word, she set the glass down on a patch of stained wood, free of papers, ink, or scrolls. Trailing a hand over the aged desk she walked past him, gliding her fingers up his arm, over his shoulder, and across the back of his chair, heading in a slow circle around him. Her fingers felt along the chair's wide engravings before dropping to her side when she paused to look at a shelf of books with little interest.
In another life, any dwarf not in relation would've paid good coin to enter that room to privy through its secrets. Hard books lined the shelves amidst small trinkets here and there. Dust coated any object still untouched. Éla pursed her lips at the untidy scene. She'd have to ask around where to find feather dusters for they couldn't leave any space with through-traffic in a sorry state of appeal, at least not chambers for communion.
"How long can you refrain yourself from me?" Éla asked casually, scanning the rows of texts while awaiting a reply.
"What do you mean?" He grumbled again while overseeing another article, resting back in the chair. She turned to him slowly, seeing his focus where it ought to be, not on her. He was busy and she knew better than to disturb him while his nose was buried in contracts and yet she had a burning question that wanted an answer.
Éla waited a moment longer to see whether he'd tear away from his work for a short while. He did not. The next course of action would certainly infuriate him for unwanted interruption but her body willed it against better judgement. While she didn't want to test his temper on a bad day, she too, had work to be done.
"May I receive an answer?" She asked with respect, though her actions were far from it when a hand rested on Thorin's shoulder and the other cautiously took hold of the contract he held and tugged it from his grasp, placing it on the desk. Thorin heaved a long sigh.
"How long could you go without touching me?" Éla gingerly leaned on the edge of the desk, looking up into his blue eyes with a hand playing between the layers of his clothing, feeling him.
He flashed a warning. "Now is not the time."
"Answer the question and I'll go." She countered, daring to lean in a bit more as he huffed at her advances but not making any effort to push her away.
It amused him, the temptation. He'd entertain it so long as she was willing but time was short and he had mountains of work to do. His council was relentless, always finding more work to keep them apart. "How long? I am King. A lifetime of wait already came to pass. This is child's play."
He tilted her head back by the chin, receiving a devious look. He knew what it meant. She was scheming something while playing with words. While it remained an awkward encounter nonetheless, Thorin understood how fragile their binding was and to give them that reassurance. "I've waited over three long months to be with you again. Was that not enough?"
Éla straightened while leaning back against the desk, hands resting on its creaking edge. "Can you? Refrain from touching me? Or interacting with anyone for a set time?"
"Is that what you want?" Thorin's face dropped, all trace of playfulness fading in the short minute he allowed. He couldn't tell if she was being serious. "You hide behind your games, Éla. I can't yet tell what you want me to say or do."
"I was curious to know how much control you have. Nothing more."
"You don't need to keep your distance when we have our time but I do need to finish overseeing these agreements."
Éla hummed again, leaning off the desk amused by his answer. "Well, we have a month until your councillor's return."
Thorin sat back papers dropping again, this time he showed his frustration. "What is it going to take for me to complete my tasks in peace?"
"I know and I won't take up much more of your time, so why not take advantage of some rule breaking while we can?"
"I already gave you an answer. Though it was not an invitation for more questions that can wait till later." He paused, rising temper misplaced when he clued in to her riddles and playful spark flashing across those dark eyes of hers. Thorin's mood switched, scoffing by way of unexpected advances. "Should I be worried?"
Éla sauntered back up to him after the slowed pacing by the bookshelf, hands gliding up his shirt and pressing herself into him again as she this time sat in his lap. "That depends entirely on what you deem unacceptable."
Their noses barely touched. He waited for her to make the first move, hands resting on the armrests, blood boiling like freshly erupted lava from a volcano. Confusion escalated when she removed herself from him, her face falling into a scheming frown.
"I've been thinking a lot lately, about what happened. About us." Éla clasped her hands together, diverting her sight away from him only to return with a hopeful smile. "I will continue to doubt myself and what I can provide yet I want us to enjoy this second chance. I may not be able to give you everything you want but I want to be happy again. I want to enjoy it. No interferences from your council. At least for the time being."
She removed herself from his lap. "I understand this must sound all so silly to a king, but I want to give in to your hope. I really do, I just need time without being pressured by your people. By your kingdom."
She gazed upon him with worry that he would believe their binding now false by way of despair, that she'd leave him out of fear rather than remain by his side when his kingdom came first. That's where his loyalties lay and rightfully so. She couldn't live with herself if her presence would tarnish his duty & honour. Deep in her heart, Éla knew she would always be second. Living on the road had given her a small glimpse of freedom, following the green-way between Ered Luin and Dunland. Now she was forced to return to ways of old and re-enter society but with a heavier cost to that freedom.
"I understand what's expected of me and the disappointment it could cause if I'm not prepared." She said, fidgeting with a corner of the table. "We may have time now, but it won't last. I don't want you to worry. It's not fair to you when you deserve someone more fitting to play the part of your Queen."
Thorin saw her drabbles were an excuse to stall a plaguing mind. "You're right to say that my kingdom comes first. I cannot put that aside for kin but that won't stop my love, Éla."
Of course his work came before her but there were no regulations stating his wife wouldn't make things easy.
"With all that's said and done, dare I suggest a game?"
"Can it wait?" Thorin jerked his chin towards the mounds of paperwork.
Éla gave him the benefit of the doubt for not dismissing her entirely but she wasn't finished with him yet. "Do you find this unacceptable?"
"Or this?" She gracefully reclaimed her position on his lap, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, the other sliding down the thick embroidered lining of his shirt. "How much control do you have, my King?"
"Careful." He warned, boxing her between the chair and desk and hovering ever the closer, dissecting all her tells for future use as her breathing hitched. "You pledged loyalty to me when you agreed to marriage. Needlessly distracting your king from his duties gives me every right to exact fair punishment."
Éla sunk against the edge of the desk to put space between them, unintentionally providing a better view of her curves, breathing hitched with excitement by his darkened stare. "You expect me to comply at every beck and call?"
"Would you prefer that arrangement?"
"You'd have better luck with Master Dwalin, my lord."
Amusement flashed through his eyes. Whatever she had planned, he now bet on himself to win. "What is this game you suggest?"
"Two weeks without touch." She answered with a sly movement of her hips as she peeled herself out of his seat, hoping to entice him.
Thorin sat back full of smugness, looking her up and down. "Will you be able to last that long?"
"I wouldn't ask if I couldn't."
"And at night? Am I to sleep elsewhere?"
"Of course not!" She laughed. That'd be too cruel even for her. "We can still share a bed but no...extra activities."
Thorin mulled over the terms while gazing her over again and again as he contemplated the risks and reward. He doubted his wife would last so long. They were still newly wed with plenty of free time.
"Very well. When do we start?"
"Right now." Éla grinned, retrieved her basket and left without a word, leaving Thorin to contemplate his agreement with the tempest herself. He thought it'd be an easy dare because he was king.
The challenge had been accepted and she planned to drive him mad by the end of it.
000
A/N: Hope everyone's been enjoying the holidays. I needed a break to refresh some thinking before I continued with this story.
More content is on the way, so don't forget to follow to receive notifications when chapters are added! I've been enjoying the reviews as they come too & can't wait to share what's to come.