Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any connection to the literary or film franchises of either The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings. I am not receiving any monetary or material payment or compensation from publishing this story. I am merely writing it for my own personal pleasure.
Where now the horse and the rider? © bangbangbangitybang
Chapter 5: Roads go ever ever on
Some people are born with tornados in their lives, but constellations in their eyes. Other people are born with stars at their feet, but their souls are lost at sea.
Nikita Gil, Perspectives
It had been months since the Foaling Festival, and true to his word Holdfara had refused any and all offers, bribes and barely veiled threats in regards to the mismatched eyed yearling. Many of the Eomaegisters had been intrigued by the young equine's looks, the brown and blue eyes not seen in their breeds for many generations. However, Holdfara was wise enough to heed the warnings of his wife's mother. Léowine did not even require words for her wishes to be heeded; she had mastered the art of a single, well narrowed look to convey her thoughts. The statuesque Dúnadan woman stood beside her daughter's husband, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders to ward off the approaching winter chill.
The horses had been gathered into a loose herd inside the pen, the great shaggy haired hounds used for guiding paced along the fence line as if they were sentries. He was able to glimpse slivers of his children as they slithered between the equines, lightly palming the horses' legs and sides to check for strains or injuries. One of the colts nudged Éofara's hip, the action ending with Rána roughly shouldering the younger horse aside.
"The Bonding Ceremony must take place soon, for both." Léowine tucked some graying dark blonde hair behind the curve of her ear. Holdfara nodded in agreement.
"Rána is of the age where Éofara can begin training." The Erkenstedamaegister oversaw his children's work, ensuring they did not grow complacent with their duties as the colder wind began blowing across the plain. The sun was setting as well, lowering the temperature even more. Already the horses began huddling together, the older ones urging the foals and yearlings inside the protective circle to warm them.
"Holdwulf! Éofara!" He bellowed down, two bright heads turning toward him at the sound of his voice. "Bed them down in the barns! Then get inside before you catch cold and your mother has my head!"
"Giese Fæder!" The siblings chorused simultaneously. Holdwulf lightly ran to the gate of the pen, whistling to the hounds that sprinted to the young man's call. Much like his name, Holdfara had passed his looks to his only son. At thirty years, his son was tall but well built with strength. Unlike his father, Holdwulf kept his shoulder length blond hair pulled fully away from his face in a messy twist at the back of his head.
With a flick of his wrist and a strong command, the dogs rushed past his son's legs, barking as they fanned around the horses to herd them to the large, barn structure within sight of their home. The mares with foals whinnied in annoyance, staunchly remaining near Éofara as the hounds yipped at their legs. Holdfara could not hear from his position on the hill, but experience told him that his daughter was murmuring calmly to the skittish and protective mares. Eventually, under the direction of his children, the hounds, and the lead stallion, the herd began to trickle out of the pen and toward the barn where the Eoscealcs awaited their charges.
"Holdwulf will be an excellent Erkenstedamaegister." Léowine smiled in maternal pride as she observed her grandchildren.
"It is not a station passed through blood." Holdfara reminded her wryly.
"Indeed, it is bestowed upon the one the King believes best suits the title. Holdwulf will exceed I dare say even your expectations."
Holdfara hummed a noise of agreement. He had immense pride in his son and the man he had become. There was a gentleness in his eyes, voice and thoughts that Holdfara recognized in his wife. However his son inherited his father's shrewdness which did not allow that tenderness to transform into naivety. When he passed to the halls of his forefathers, he could go to eternal peace with confidence that his son would provide comfortably – if not very profitably – for his family.
"I fear for Éofara more so than her brother." Holdfara confessed. He did not confide these thoughts with his beloved wife, for the very same reasons he was concerned for his daughter's well being.
"She is resilient." Léowine retorted, wry affection in her tone. "Halgon taught it well to her."
"This world," Holdfara went on slowly, turning back toward his home. Smoke rose from the chimney, his wife Éowine most likely completing the preparations for their evening meal. "will break her. For all of his kindness, Holdwulf's spirit has been forged in iron. My daughter feels too deeply and loves all too fiercely."
Léowine frowned, easily able to discern the genuine distress on her daughter's husband's expression. Never before had she heard such exclamations as she walked beside him toward the house. Throat constricting, she reached into the folds of her skirt for a linen cloth, covering her mouth with the fabric as the coughing began. Holdfara watched her in grim silence.
"It is growing worse," Splaying one large, calloused hand between the older woman's shoulder blades, Holdfara's concern spiked as the audible, rattling wheeze echoed in her chest with each inhale. What had begun as a simple winter cold the previous season had slowly but steadily worsened. He had seen Léowine disposing of the bloodied handkerchiefs to conceal the sickness from both Éowine and Halgon.
"I am aware." She whispered, voice hoarse as she delicately dabbed her lips. The white cloth was stained with red splotches.
A long moment of silence passed between them before the Eorling spoke again. "How much time do you have?"
Léowine inhaled shakily, something catching in her throat. "To make it through winter would be a miracle." Long fingers curled into Holdfara's forearm, nails digging harshly into his flesh. His wife's mother's face twisted in desperation. "You are right; my passing will be the first to crack Éofara. Promise me something, Holdfara!"
"I will swear any oath you wish." He assured quietly. "I swear on the legacy of my forefathers all the way back to the beginning."
"Watch over Éowine and Éofara. And do not let Halgon do something rash. He is so stubborn a-at t-t-times." Her voice faltered and she was overcome with body wracking coughs once again. Holdfara watched worriedly as her eyes glazed over and she slumped in his grip, fainting.
Easily scooping her into his arms, Holdfara ran as quickly as he was able. "Éowine! Halgon!" His wife had some skill with medicine however he doubted she would remain calm enough to be of much use. "Summon the healer!"
His unsuspecting children at this time were completing their chores in the barn. After guiding the whole herd into the massive structure, both Éofara and Holdwulf gathered the respective Eoscealcs under their command to ensure each knew their responsibilities before retiring to their hall. As she passed the stall he shared with his mother, Rána whinnied – the sound was sweet and high like a child's laughter – small head struggling to peek above the door. Laughing, Éofara scratched at the spot where his forelock met his skull. The yearling butted his head into the curve of her palm in response to the attention.
"Unlike Eorl I will be unable to accomplish any great deeds in my youth if you continue to just stand about." Holdwulf was suddenly at her side, ruffling the top of her head with his large hand. Éofara swatted at him.
"You, like most men, cannot abide suffering from hunger and merely wish to hurry me to dinner."
Feigning a hurt expression, Holdwulf placed a hand on his chest. "Such cruel words, you shrew! Were that the case, I could just abandon you."
"And incur mother and grandmother's wrath?" Éofara retorted, laughing at the puckered expression on his face. "Ah yes, exactly as I thought." Following her elder brother, the two siblings engaged in conversation as they meandered along the dirt path leading from the barn to the spacious building they called home. Including their entire family, the household also employed a good amount of servants and staff who also had rooms on the lower levels. There was also a fairly large hall at the structure's front to serve as local court gathering of sorts as in addition to receiving the title Erkenstedamaegister, their father was a dear old friend of the current Maegtheow.
Éofara stiffened suddenly, dirt encrusted fingers blindly searching to take hold of her brother's. "Something has happened,"
Holdwulf paused, gaze shifting from his sister's apprehensive expression to the hall. Light flickered from within, the halls bustling with usual activity; however the air felt tense, as if the world was balancing on a knife's edge. "Come," Tugging at their still joined hands, the siblings raced up the path at a quick run, breath coming slightly more ragged once they stumbled through the doorway. Holdfara was awaiting their arrival, arms crossed severely in front of him.
"Something has happened?" Éofara's tone formed it as a statement rather than a question.
Their father nodded and suddenly both of his children became starkly aware of the creases hedging Holdfara's eyes and mouth. "Your grandmother is very ill."
That evening seemed to whisk by Éofara's mismatched eyes. Her grandfather and mother remained sequestered in her grandmother's room along with the healer for many hours. Just as dawn was creeping across the horizon Halgon quietly stepped out into the hall, face gaunt and heavy with something like resignation. Holdwulf had fallen into a light slumber beside his sister, the two siblings propped against the wall. Her brother's head lay against her shoulder.
"Grandfather," Éofara blinked innocently up at the older man, gaze skirting across his face in search of answers.
Her worry thickened when Halgon did not even attempt to smile in reassurance. "She wishes to speak to both of you. Holdwulf first,"
Gently waking her brother, the elder of the two yawned and ran a hand through his disheveled blond hair before quietly slipping into the closed room. Éofara turned to her grandfather; however she swallowed her words when all she glimpsed of him walking outside was the tense line of his back. The entire structure was morose and quiet, their servants genuinely concerned for their mistress' mother.
Holdfara had, at some point during the still night, persuaded his wife to retire for what little rest she was physically able to get. Thus Éofara remained alone in the hall, staring at the whorls in the wood that compromised the walls of her home. She was unsure how much time passed until the door creaked open and Holdwulf crept out. His expression was strained and shadows flickered in his gaze. "She wants to speak to you."
Nodding, throat constricting in fear, Éofara hauled herself to her feet and slipped past her brother. Her grandmother's room stank with the pungent scent of herbs and poultices, overpowering the normally clean, faint lavender aroma that clung to her skin and ends of her hair. The woman herself, normally so robust and poised, lay still and fragile with skin a sallow color against the crisp white pillows supporting her. Her eyes seemed sunken into her skull appearing like the bodies the Riders of the Mark returned with for burial. The comparison shot ice through her.
"My Éofara," Léowine rasped out, the rattle in her chest echoing as if in a hollow cavern, and weakly reached for her grandchild. Crossing the room quickly, Éofara held her hand tightly, curling it to rest against her. "You will truly be beautiful some day and terribly, terribly raw."
Frowning at the glaze of haziness in her gaze as well as her nonsensical statement, the younger woman smoothed the lank hair away from her grandmother's sweat beaded forehead. "Hush now,"
"You so resemble her, you bear her mark."
"Grandmother," Éofara attempted to quiet her once more, desiring her to save her breath rather than waste it.
"I recall her looks well, those eyes of Éoguthwyn." Léowine's chest heaved under the thin covering of the blanket, her gaze wild and unfocused. Her grip on Éofara's hand tightened so that the younger woman swore she could feel her bones creaking. "Many were struck speechless by your great-great-grandfather's sister's gaze. Strong men fell to their knees before her shield and spear, a true shield-maiden of Rohan. Tragedy and loss shadowed her; she wore it as a cloak and wielded it like a war banner. There was a rawness to her movements, her air and manner of speaking plainly."
Léowine began to weep weakly, her breaths growing more ragged. "I am sorry, my dear Éofara. I fear you will bear her same tragic fate. Éoguthwyn endures through you, for you bear her eyes." Reaching out with her other, shaking hand, the sickly woman threaded her fingers through her granddaughter's golden hair, reverently rubbing the soft waves between her fingers. "You must remain strong for me lest I pass from this world with regrets."
Seeing the light and clarity drain from Léowine's eyes, Éofara nodded, throat thick with grief and swallowed sobs. "I swear it,"
Relief smoothed the lines of illness and fear from Léowine's expression, for the briefest of moments she resembled the woman her family and husband had adored. With a quiet, drawn out sigh she eased back against the pillows, stilling and allowing her eyes to close. Éofara waited a long moment, staring, but Léowine's chest did not rise again.
It did not escape either Éofara or Thorin's notice that a nearly indiscernible shift had occurred between the two. Following the apologies both exchanged, quiet and soft and easily broken in darkness, a tension had eased. No longer did the dwarf prince's lips twist in a sneer if a head of blonde hair brightened his field of vision or suspicion coil tightly in his chest when one of his Company spoke to her. Balin never mentioned it; however Thorin was certain that at times when he felt none were watching, the white haired dwarf would smile knowingly at the two.
Somehow, the dwarf prince realized, the mortal woman had seamlessly become accepted amongst his fellows. The hobbit as well was beginning to grow more and more at ease around his dwarf companions, and vice versa. However other oddities failed to escape Thorin's sharp gaze.
Wherever the Company settled for camp, Éofara would avoid the fire no matter how frigid it became. Thorin observed as she would prepare her bed roll night after night closer to the loose herd of equines, back propped against the rough bark of a tree and her head pillowed on a tightly rolled cloak she kept on her shoulder to ease the strain on her neck. He was able to deduce that she had no aversion to the presence of any in the Company but even his blunt nature could not allow him to broach the subject to the Eorling. He had demanded answers and she had obliged, despite the pain she felt with her story's retelling. Any further intrusion into her memories would be cruel.
No one will bar her from joining us. Thorin thought, broodingly staring into the crackling fire. If she wishes to freeze, I give her leave to do so.
Settling himself against the boulder at his back, the displaced king allowed himself a moment of sweet, sweet respite. His muscles were growing accustomed to being astride a pony for long hours; however there was still a deep, present soreness that would abate slowly.
Frerin would have cursed the shaggy creatures. He thought with a brief, weak smile. His brother, like most of their folk, could not abide traveling on horseback and would have walked clear across Middle Earth rather than sit in a saddle for more than an hour. If he allowed his nostalgia to completely take him, Thorin could almost hear his brother's mutterings near him. "Blasted things, I swear on Durin's beard my mount despises me. Did you see it try to throw me earlier, brother? Look, it's glaring at me right now-"
"-Orcs." The word was enough to startle Thorin from his doze, body rigid. Regaining his wits, the dwarf prince straightened and was on his feet before his mind willed it. Whole body turning, shoulders rigid in the manner only one adopted from many years of uncertain battles, he espied his two nephews and the hobbit.
"Orcs?" Bilbo's question did not sound like a squeak, although it was quite close to one.
"Throat cutters," Fili's voice dropped low in warning. "There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them."
"They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep." Kili added on to his brother's words, face somber. "Quick and quiet; no screams, just lots of blood."
Only once the hobbit had turned to stare out over the bluff they had camped upon did his nephews turn to each other with conspiratorial grins, laughing quietly at their joke. Just as Bilbo turned back round, comprehending the teasing nature of the two dwarf princes, Thorin felt something hot snap in his chest.
"You think that's funny?" He questioned in an even, deep voice. It was a tone not needed often, for it evidenced his true feelings. Both Fili and Kili had not heard it for a long time, not since they were children and had done something particularly foolish. "You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?"
Chastised, his nephews shared another look before Kili ventured in an apologetic voice "We didn't mean anything by it."
For a brief moment Thorin became bitterly, bitterly envious of his nephews. Once Erebor fell and the devastation left in the wake of Thror's mad attempt at reclaiming Moria had befallen them, Thorin had sworn an oath amongst the corpses of his folk and kin that his nephews and the newest generation of dwarves under his charge would not grow in the same manner as he had. Thorin would have gladly opened a vein to keep his nephews from feeling the cold, stark terror of uncertainty as he had when his elders faltered. Not knowing where one's next meal was to be found, constantly searching for shelter and security not only for yourself but your family and a whole people who looked to you for guidance. The responsibility had been heavy, but his toils and provided a safe, secure childhood for his nephews to enjoy.
"No you didn't," He swallowed down the emotion, burying it beneath stone and ice and whatever else he could find within himself. As he moved away from the glow of the fire and his nephews and the hobbit and the Company did he realize that Éofara sat but a foot or two away from Fili. Back to the cave wall sheltering his nephews, her legs were bent at the knees while a bowl of stew cooled near her feet. She watched him with an unreadable gaze. Turning away, he stalked to the edge of the bluff, staring out into the cold night. "You know nothing of the world."
Éofara kept her peace as Thorin passed her, something like bereavement tightening his expression in a manner she was all too familiar with for she frequently wore it herself. The bright haired woman was vaguely informed with the story of King Thror's descent into madness; she could only imagine the profound grief Thorin carried within himself.
"Don't mind him, laddie." Balin meandered over, leaning against the out cropping and slotting himself between the princes and Éofara. "Thorin has more cause then most to hate Orcs."
"There are those who like Orcs?" Éofara questioned, slanting her gaze up at the white haired dwarf. "Aside from other Orcs or Goblins and the like?"
Giving her a chastising expression that hinted at his many years caring for mischievous dwarflings, Balin returned his gaze to Fili and Kili. "After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had got there first."
The Battle of Azanulbizar was spoken amongst the people of Rohan with a mixture of confusion, scorn and exasperation. Hostility crackled between the two peoples due to the treasure of Scatha, when Fram refuted the Dwarves claims of ownership. Dark whispers continued even until this age that it was the riches which had caused the Dwarves slew Fram for his insults. At the time the Battle of Azanulbizar occurred, immediate repercussions did not hold much consequence to the Mark. However the Orcs, weakened, began spilling over into the Horse-Lords territory. The once peaceful swells of grass land became infested with enemies and blood.
For her family the story of the Dwarves' folly was told generation after generation. Éoguthwyn, one of the most famed shield-maidens of their age, sought relentlessly to clear the lands of Orcs in the aftermath. Her great-grandmother was rumored to have told Holdfara that Éoguthwyn had journeyed to speak to Thror himself, warning him what doom he would bring not only upon his own people, but those surrounding lands as well. The king had not heeded her warning, and the slaughter had occurred regardless.
Éofara drank in the sight of Thror's proud grandson, the hard line of his shoulders and upright way he stood staring into the dark. She could hear the thundering, echoing sounds of battle. Swords and axes and bodies crashing against shields, the rumble of marching feet and the scent of blood and salt overcame her as if she stood watching the battle unfold before her eyes.
"Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs lead by the most vile of all their race: Azog, the Defiler." Balin droned, something heavy in his tone more than enough suggestion that he spoke with the surety of a witness. "The giant Gundobad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began," The older dwarf hesitated; sounding pained, and briefly glanced to the sky for strength. "By beheading the King."
Breath leaving her lips in a silent, quick exhale Éofara gazed once again at the plane of Thorin's back. What he must have suffered, She thought in sympathy. The Eorling could not comprehend how the displaced dwarf king bore it. The manner in which her husband and son perished had been truly terrible, it was not an end fit for a dog, but she had not been forced to witness it. Éofara could not begin to comprehend what Thorin must have felt in that moment. Standing among that battlefield, smelling the blood and hearing the cries of kin, for the head of his grandfather to be tossed at his feet… It must have been incredibly desolate.
"Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief." Balin continued and Éofara looked away to conceal her expression from Fili and Kili, blinking tears from her eyes. "He went missing, taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us." Pausing, Balin turned to stare at Thorin. "That is when I saw him: a young dwarf prince facing down the Pale Orc. He stood alone against this terrible foe, his armor rent, wielding nothing by an oaken branch as a shield. Azog, the Defiler, learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken" Balin's voice was proud, the tenor one takes when praising their child.
Éofara had been told this tale before. Despite his cold inapproachability, Thorin was widely known and respected throughout the lands for his deeds. She would have been more than grateful to glimpse that moment. To see him – the displaced dwarf prince with the fate of a people heavy on his shoulders – bracing himself against Azog with courage… it would have been a memory worth a lifetime.
"Our forces rallied and drove the Orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated. But there was no feast, nor song that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived." Shaking his head, Balin once again looked to Thorin. The gesture was far more telling to Éofara than the elder dwarf realized. "And I thought to myself then, there is one who I could follow. There is one I could call King."
Hope, Éofara realized with a jolt as the Company rose to their feet, staring at Thorin in awe as he turned with far more serenity than Éofara would have been capable of in that same moment. He gives them a tremendous amount of hope.
And why should he not? Thorin had inherited a heavy crown far earlier than he should have, wearing the mantle with a grace most could not even begin to attain. He had toiled amongst his people, shared their dreams and sorrows, providing always for them ahead of himself. The loyalty of his people was true and earned, they loved him in a manner many leaders would never achieve.
Inclining his head to his Company, Thorin moved back toward the fire with some calm after his original outburst in response to his nephews' innocent mischief. A wind of some sort had gusted through the camp, carrying the tension and anxiety out over the cliff side and into the night. Éofara's gaze crossed with Bilbo's and the two shared a weak expression of solidarity.
"And the Pale Orc?" Bilbo questioned Balin, voice uncertain as his eyes flickered to Thorin. "What happened to him?"
"He slunk back into the hole whence he came." Thorin spat, somehow appearing graceful even when stomping past the hobbit. "That filth died of his wounds long ago."
Quiet descended through the camp, all unsure how to move past the overwrought, previous topic of conversation. Éofara glanced to where Gandalf sat away from the group, stained grey cloak wrapped around himself in an attempt to ward of the evening chill. Puffing on his pipe, the wizard aborted some statement and merely gazed at her pointedly. Shrugging minutely Éofara turned to Balin.
"You are quite the orator, Balin." She complimented, smiling up at the white haired dwarf at her side. "My brother and I would have paid handsomely for you to weave stories during our summer festivals."
"Oh well I thank you, lassie." The older dwarf bowed in a slightly theatrical manner. "That's very kind of you, but Ori is our official scribe. I'm sure he's more qualified than myself."
Smiling at the shy, youngest member of the company Éofara nodded. "'Tis settled then. Once this quest has been successfully completed I expect a visit from both of you to our halls. I'm sure the children would very much enjoy hearing the great tales of the dwarves." No need to inform them that she would be sitting alongside the children of her friends, on the floor and listening with rapt attention. When she traveled Middle Earth with her grandfather, learning the ways of the Dúnedain, Éofara loved sitting around fires or the tables of pubs hearing the stories of the folk who resided in those lands.
Éofara's comments, easily easing the mood around the camp, allowed the Company to return to their individual conversations. Fili and Kili teased one another, although they maintained a somber air after hearing a tale that had affected so many of their family. Éofara observed as Thorin once again isolated himself from the Company, even his kin, the black mood brought on by Balin's tale obviously still gripping him.
Quickly finishing her meal, the bright haired woman walked toward the herd of equines, assuring herself that they were content and relaxed. Thorin had resettled himself against a tree, finding the boulder he had previously been resting upon too close to the fire.
"Why do you separate yourself from them?" Éofara asked the dwarf prince over Rána's back, a stiff brush in her hand running across the stallion's grey coat.
"What consequence does it have to you?" Thorin retorted acerbically, unthinking. Censuring himself, he inclined his head toward the bright haired woman.
"They love you, truly." Éofara responded after a long moment, forgiving him his harsh words. Thorin repressed the urge to fidget under her soulful gaze; it seemed able to pierce through him. "But you feel that you must push them away." She paused, tilting her head to the side quizzically as she walked around Rána to fully face him. "Why?"
"I do not push them away." Thorin defended, voice soft. He stared off into the dark forest. "There are times, when I recall past pain, that I…" He trailed off, unable to vocalize his emotions. Frerin had always known what words to speak to his elder brother to drag him from these dark moods that afflicted him.
Éofara nodded in understanding. "Take a quiet moment for yourself." It was a vague statement in itself, but Thorin stared at her for a long moment, surprised that it seemed to accurately describe his state of mind. "Brace yourself against the pain so that they do not have to bear it themselves."
Humbled by her insight – and slightly outraged at the idea of her pitying him – Thorin cleared his throat and resolutely kept his gaze pinned to the forest. "Is that why you hide yourself in the dark, away from company and warmth?"
Éofara did not reply immediately. "I… do not like fire."
Thorin felt the jagged end of that admission, a void of possibilities widening like a gulf. "That is how they died, is it not?" He guessed softly, voice betraying his sympathy.
"Yes," Éofara confessed in a whisper, voice strained. Hesitation settled between them. "And no, I will not tell you that story on this evening, Thorin Oakenshield. However I have seen your scars, I will return the favor in time."
Thorin nodded. "I shall hold you to that."
An: Part 5! This took me a lot longer than I thought, and I apologize for that! I got swamped with an influx of graduate applications that I did not expect and needed to be completed immediately. I was also pretty sick again and struggling to update my other story as well. I tried to keep the trend of only using Tolkien quotes in the epithets for each chapter but I am probably going to branch out of that. There are so many poems and songs that I can personally connect to what I am trying to express and I want to share that with you all! There is not much to specifically say this update otherwise.
Thank you to all who favorited and followed this story!
Translations
Eomaegisters: Rohirric. "Horse Breeders."
Erkenstedamaegister: Rohirric. "The Chief Horse Breeder of Rohan."
Giese Fæder: Rohirric. "Yes Father."
Eoscealcs: Rohirric. "Horse Servants." Groomers, etc.
Maegtheow: Rohirric. "Clan Master."
I will now be replying to individual reviews so if you don't want to read them you won't be missing any vital news!
Vanafindiel: Thank you so much for pointing that out! I actually went back and fixed it! I suppose that is what I get after I've had a glass or two of wine and my literal thought process is 'I AM HEMMINGAY BRING IT ON THORIN YOU MAGNIFICENT MAN-CHILD I CAN TOTALLY WRITE YOU." I went back and re-read that chapter and you were right I did echo somewhat which I do try to guard myself against but I am grateful you brought my attention to it as sometimes I miss things myself. I am actually shopping around for a BETA reader at the moment so once I acquire one they should help with these smaller, superficial errors. But until that happens I am counting on you to ground me haha.
Oh my sweet Lord in heaven I hate when writers use 'orbs.' Although if I know that the writer is relatively new to the craft or they are younger (i.e. under seventeen) I will let it slide since I was terrible with that word. I abused it something awful but once I practiced more I moved on from it. I can't even read things I wrote when I first began because it was that bad.
And thank you, I'm glad you liked that line! Thanks for reviewing again, by the way, your comments are always so thoughtful and I get so excited when I see them!
PS your icon is hella fierce.
Celebrisilweth: Thanks for another review, my dear! I appreciate it! I am planning to explore the similarities between Éofara and Thorin as the story continues. That does require me to go into great detail of Éofara's past and basically create a whole mythos for her family lineage. I already have the plot for that planned, hopefully I narrate it in a way that is entertaining for you all!
MidnightTales357: Hello, thanks for reviewing, comments are always appreciated! I'm happy you like the story thus far and I will try and read yours as soon as I can!
LittleFlatts: I'm happy you liked it! And thanks for reviewing, I love getting feedback from you readers so I know you guys are happy with it!
Dhalmi93: Hi friend, thanks for taking the time to leave comments! I'm so glad you like the story so far, validates my weird fanfiction style fantasies on my commute where I come up with this stuff! The Company is so fun to write, I'd like for Éofara to have a moment with each individual dwarf but it will most likely have to be spread out over a few chapters. I hope you like what I have in store!
Thank you to all who review. You make my life.
