The sky's usual blue colour is slowly melting away into a mixture of orange, pink and red. As the sun sets, hiding more and more behind the mountains in the west, the warmth disappears as well. For me, as an Ice Witch, it's not much of a problem since I was born and bred in ice; Fenrir, with his thick white fur is not affected by the dropping temperatures as well, as he even barely seems to notice. So as we walk through a meadow, I can't help but wonder what makes me so anxious, as if thousands of ants are marching under my skin.
"We should rest here." Fenrir's growling voice pulls me away from my thoughts.
"Aye." the reply is rather distant, as my mind is still far away in unknown lands.
Since the Dire wolf doesn't need accommodations such as warmth and nicely cooked food, I take it upon myself to gather wood and kindle a fire while he checks the perimeter, making sure nothing is lurking in the tall grass.
A sudden chirping sound startles me and I look around, yet see no bird fluttering away, nor something else that may have produced that sound. Frowning, I pull my staff off of my back and still kneeling next to the fire, tap its tip gently against the ground. A fast wave of snowflakes spreads in a wide circle, that way allowing me to know if there's something nearby. When the snow wave doesn't return from any direction that means it hasn't collided with anything worth my attention.
As I'm about to stand up and look around for Fenrir, I hear the rustling of the tall grass, as it gently sways under the night's chilly breeze. The tall vegetation is gently lulled from side to side as if a magical hand is brushing over it.
"What are you looking at?" for a first time Fenrir's sudden appearance doesn't get me crawling out of my skin, as his voice is hushed to almost a whispers, as much as that's possible for him at least.
"I heard a strange chirping … but there's nothing miles away. Maybe it was the wind." I whisper and look at the wolf.
He seems rather tense – his fur is not slicked back as usual, his whiskers are twitching nervously and his ears are pricked. Frowning at his alarmed state I once again look around, trying to sense something. Again to no vain.
"Did you see something?" I ask after finally sitting near the fire and warming my ice-cold hands.
"Nay. Not even a mouse." he sits near me, yet his tensed body signalizes that he'll be ready to jump at any moment.
That's when the meaning of his words actually reaches me. 'Not even a mouse… Nothing alive… where is everybody?' I wonder and look at the sky. The welkin is coloured in a deep and intense black, with the occasional small fluffy cloud. Yet not even a single star is present today. Just the moon, a big bright sickle that baths us in its ghostly white shimmer.
"Could the dark magic have laid its roots even here? So fast?" I whisper as my eyes stay focused on the beautiful moon.
"I doubt it. We are too far away from its nest. The creatures were either chased away or killed by something else."
With a slight nod the conversation dies out and I eat in silence for a while, before resuming my previous task to warm up my hands.
"How so does the Ice Witch feel cold?" his deep voice purrs in a comic disbelief, making me chuckle.
"Contrary to common belief I do feel coldness, but just not like others. It's more that I sense the temperature has dropped, but it doesn't bother me like it does with any other living creature." I explain in a soft voice, already feeling tired.
"Then why are you warming your hands?"
"Because they're icy. It seems that they and my feet don't have good enough blood circulation and are constantly cold. And it doesn't bother me – I'm used to it; it's just that people freak out when I touch them with such cold hands. It's an old habit, I guess. " I sheepishly smile at the last part, remembering how as a child I used to spend hours in front of a burning fire in order to get some blood and colour in my hands.
"Habits are hard to break." Fenrir concludes with a wise voice and rests his head on his paws. "I'll take the first watch. Rest."
I look at him and wonder if one of the Dire wolf's secret abilities is to read the minds of the poor fellas that are too close; soon I brush this nonsense away and rest both my staff and then my sword on the ground next to me before lying down and staring at the welkin.
"You never told me what happened…" I murmur as soon as my lids start closing.
"With what?"
"With your kin. Where did they go?" my thoughts get sluggish and I find it hard to follow them.
"What happens with all great and powerful creatures – they eventually disappeared." by the gruffness and edginess in his growling timbre I realise he doesn't wish to speak of this, and somehow I understand him.
Tonight I dream of a mountain filled with tons of glistering jewels and gold; piles and piles of coins, necklaces, chests, chalices and all other kinds of valuable things. It all turns into a horrifying scenery when suddenly all those piles start moving and crumbling; the gold takes different shapes and soon something emerges from underneath it. It's a red patch of skin, no, scales, yet I'm too far away to see clearly. As the coins keep on falling and hitting the stone ground with a jingly noise, I feel dread filling me from the inside out. Staring at the exposed patch now, I know what I'm seeing. A scream is stuck in my throat, suffocating me. As I come even closer, my heart beats gets faster, banging painfully against my ribcage. As the realisation sinks it the skin moves and suddenly what turns out to be an eyelid lifts, revealing an eye with a vertical iris. The eye of Smaug.
I wake up from a scream. Which, for all I know, might have been my own. Looking around frantically I notice the tensed posture of Fenrir, who's cautiously following each and every twitch of my body with a mixture of hostility and fear.
"Get those away, Isis." he growls at me.
Furrowing my eyebrows in confusion as I have absolutely no idea what he's talking about, I shake my head. That's when I look over my shoulder and notice the huge icicles that are hovering next and above me, their sharp and polished ends pointing at the wolf, ready to pierce him if I as much as wish so. 'Great Mother….'
With a flick of my wrist the huge dagger-icicles disappear into thin air and I breathe a sigh of relief.
"What happened?" the distress in Fenrir's voice makes me look at him, a dark expression on my face.
"It has been awakened. Smaug is awake, Fenrir." there is deep and uncharacteristic graveness in my voice.
"Ah. So the beginning of the end has come." with that he sits back down, as if nothing has happened and rests.
We keep on moving further south with each passing day and I keep being hunted by strange dreams. Sometimes it's the dwarves' treasury and all that shining gold, under which hides that monster. Sometimes it's Gandalf and the dwarves going through a misadventure. Once I even dreamt Dol Guldur and what may be lurking in there. But most of all I dream of Thorin Oakenshield. His eyes, hard, yet filled with passion, so often sad and so rarely brightened by happiness; and his voice - that baritone which makes shivers run down my spine, the fire with which he speaks to his people, his deep, warm laugher that I only managed to hear once, and briefly. And while at night his image invades my dreams, during the day I can't stop wondering why. Why am I even dreaming of him? Sure, the look he gave me after I managed to pretty much save them had my knees buckling just a little, but still? And he's pretty good looking, true. With that long jet black hair of his, with a few silver strings in it, and the braids, and the way he walks and acts. He may be a dwarf, and I know first-hand just how pig-headed they can be, yet still there's something in him that dedication to his cause; it seems that he doesn't even believe in failure, for him that's not an option. And I can't help but admire him for that.
With each passing day Fenrir carries us further south and away from any home we ever knew; soon I can't help but realise that if we don't intercept the dwarves at Carrock, there may be no other chance for our paths to cross and for me to help them.
There aren't many obstacles in our way – some Orcs patrolling, a few not so friendly foresters and even a bunch of angry goblins we eventually had to kill. Despite the lack of any evident enemies, the more we near the mountain, the more worried and anxious I get; the knowledge that the beast has woken up has me on the edge of my sit constantly. It comes to that Fenrir has to tell me to get a grip over myself in order for me to stop looking over my shoulder or up in the sky every three seconds.
"If you keep acting like a scared goat I'll kill you before that drake!" he grows at me one night.
"I can't help it! It's all those dreams! They are driving me insane!" I throw my hands up in the air in defeat. "I hadn't slept peacefully since we left our lands."
Pacing in front of the fire, I think of a way to chase away whatever's plaguing my mind. 'This needs to stop! I'll go insane by the time we reach the mountain! And of what help will I be, if I turn into a shaking wreck by the sheer sight of the beast?!' my pep talk this time, finally!, manages to get my chaotic thoughts in a straight line. And when there's nothing to spoil my concentration, the solution to this pestering problem pops out on its own.
"The flute…" I mumble.
One thing I forgot to tell Bilbo about the ice flute I gave him is that it tends to create a connection between the bearer and the owner; in our case between him and me. Which explains all those strange visions of the dwarves running away from a battle between stone giants, only to end up in the lair of angry goblins. 'Didn't think of that option...' I scold myself mentally and sit down, finally feeling somewhat relieved by the fact that I'm not going mad by my own fears, but from Bilbo's.
"Isis!" the wolf barks, making me snap my head in his direction.
"Hm?"
"What flute?!" his irritated growl and narrowed eyes make me gulp rather nervously.
"I gave the Hobbit the Ice flute. It seems I have forgotten about the bad side effect it tends to have." I explain as I stretch my hands up.
"You gave him the Ice flute?! For what purpose?!"
"To call me if they need help… which seems to have been the issue these days – he just hasn't used it, yet the flute delivers me what's happening in the form of a dream… or a nightmare." I frown and look at the popping fire.
"Does this mean that through it you can find out their current location?"
I nod and look at Fenrir. It's hard to tell what he's thinking since his face is practically unreadable; most of the time he looks irritated, angry and moody; yet now he seems as if he's thinking something.
"A coin for your thoughts?"
He just looks at me and gives me what I'm guessing is a smile before standing up and stretching his athletic body.
"My thoughts are worth a lot more than a single coin, Ice Witch. Either way – use that connection to find their current position as you sleep; it'll give us the advantage needed to catch up with them."
With that said he walks away, taking his strategic place in the bushes since the whole night's watch has been his ever since those dreams appeared.
Even after his white fur is no longer visible, I keep on staring at where he disappeared at. The nights are getting colder as we are going further south and away from the otherwise warm regions. Hastily pulling my cloak closer to my body, I look at the sky – the moon is almost full now, yet there are still no stars, and the white pearl seems rather lonely in the vast inky welkin. Involuntarily my thoughts drift away to my house, probably already in ruin thanks to the spiders, and the massive destruction that must have befallen the forest and its residents. The sorrow that clenches my heart is fleeting as I know that if my dream-prediction is true and Smaug is awake, then a far greater abomination is to befall all living creatures. 'There's no time to fool around – I'm no damsel in distress. It's time I step on the ground and take matters into my own hands. Fenrir said it – here I have no allies. I must be ready to defend myself and the company.' With this new aspiration for success I get my staff and hold it before me. The flames light it up nicely, giving it a mystical appeal. Its form is rather unusual, compared to the staffs of the other wizards which are tend to be long and with little to no texture. Apart from being created from the root of the Sacred Tree, as all magic items are, mine is covered in a thick layer of ice, as if the wood had been immersed into cold water and left to freeze, later to be pulled out and lightly polished so that I wouldn't cut my hand. Also from the bottom, reaching almost the top there are two intertwined lianas, as if wrapped around the ice to keep it in place. The top looks like two huge opposite scorpion stings that intersect in the middle and curl slightly up; this part is bared from any ice, revealing the texture of the wood itself, with only a few small scales of frost here and there. I marvel at this masterpiece, as every single detail was in fact created by Mother Nature at my birth. Now, as I examine for a God knows which time the fine creation and its beauty, I feel pride swirling in me by the sheer sight of it.
"Let's make some magic." I whisper and lay the staff in my lap.
With closed eyelids, I give myself a few seconds to clear my mind of any thoughts before I start chanting a spell as old as time. Soon my whole being is concentrated in the words that wash over me, the magic oozing from each syllable. It's minutes later that I start feeling dizzy and tired, my head is spinning and unknowingly I fall down, the magical words taking my breath away.
The next morning I wake up and look around, still dizzy from the spell. A few feet away I see Fenrir munching of a big bone, whose origin, I realise, I don't want to know. Seating up, I take a few gulps of water from my flask and let the rays of the sun warm up my face. The day will be a good one, as there's not a single cloud in the sky and the wind is warm and gentle.
"The spell worked." I finally say after getting up and packing away my stuff. "They are really close – if we leave now, we'll be able to reach them around nightfall."
"Good. And where exactly are we supposed to 'reach' them?" his sceptic view of things never ceases to amaze me.
"Somewhere in Beorn's territory."
"You must be kidding…" he whines and stands up, stretching his stiff body. "That skin-changer will rip them apart before they know it."
"You are forgetting one really important aspect, Fenrir."
"And what's that?"
I throw my bag across one shoulder, secure my staff and sword on my back and look at the Dire wolf over my shoulder.
"Gandalf the Grey is leading them."
The wolf just grunts and follows me to the river, where I wash my face and quickly eat up some of my supplies. Then, after we're ready and on the right track, I get on his back and he runs off, successfully making me bounce up and down.
Lunch came and went and we are still on the move, without any intention of stopping any time soon. By the time the sun finally starts lurching westwards we cross the borders of Beorn's territory. Despite the fact that I'm aching in various places and my back hurts really badly, an offer for a quick break doesn't come from either of us. As the wolf slows his pace a little, examining closer our surrounding, I use the opportunity to pull out one of my ice soldiers and wake him up.
"Follow the pull of the flute and show us the way." I command.
The warrior stays rooted to his place for a second before turning to his right and running off. Without a second thought Fenrir follows him, successfully managing to jump over rivulets and randomly appearing pits along the way. Still, with a guide and in a hurry, I know we won't make it in time before sunset. And after that it may get pretty nasty. Since Beorn is a skin-changer, and one of the last of his kind none the less, when the sun sets he shifts into something that resembles a huge bear; usually it's rather impossible to reason with him in that form, which leads to only one end of tonight's anyway long journey – we'll have to run for our lives.
"Do you have a plan?" Fenrir's voice is barely audible from the rustling of all the leaves.
"Almost." I try to outshout the noise, all the meanwhile thinking through the plan that's taking slowly, but gradually, shape in my mind.
"Elaborate."
That's when an animalistic howl splits the night's silent hum and the words get stuck in my throat, almost making me choke. Fenrir doesn't stop to look or sniff, as we both know from the clear and loud sound that Beorn is somewhere close-by.
In this very instance, as we pass by a few large rocks, I feel a thug in the back of my mind. It's strange and alluring, as if someone is summoning me, calling out for me. Looking around, I try to pinpoint what exactly is happening. Thankfully it's the Dire wolf that, unwittingly, sheds some light on this query of mine.
"The dwarves are close. I can smell them." his voice is a low rumble from underneath all that fur.
'The flute! Bilbo is using it!' my mind screams at Fenrir to go faster, and as I lean even closer to his body, I tell him about my plan. He gives a barely audible gruff, which I take for some sort of approval, before ducking just in time as we pass dangerously close to a low branch that would have send my head flying away, had I not noticed it in the last second.
"We are close." it's the only warning I get before Fenrir literally climbs on a near rock and jumps in the air, saving us some time and allowing a better view up front.
"There! I see them!" I shout as I manage to spot the whole group, led by Gandalf, running out of the forest.
"And they're not alone." adds the wolf and his whole body gets tense the second he lands gracefully and lightly on the ground.
True to his words, a few hundred meters to our right I can soon see a huge creature running with a speed that greatly exceeds the expectations for such a large mass. Needless to say, Beorn's bear form can easily and surely plant fear in the heart of the fiercest warriors.
We manage to outrun him, and exit the forest a few precious seconds before him. As I pull the figures out of my pocket and whisper the awakening spell, I wonder if this is even going to work – if not, we are all as good as dead. The roar that comes dangerously close from behind, though, gives me no time to second-guess my plan.
"Go! Carry them!" I shout orders, not paying attention to the hot bear breath that I feel on the back of my neck.
"You!" I shout at the warrior next to me, "Grab me and when we are close to the wall throw me towards the door!"
Without further ado, the warrior grabs me by the waist and runs off. As we near the house, I see all the dwarves being swept off of their feet by my warriors and even Bilbo trying to fight off one of them before realising it's not an enemy. The startled exclamations are mixed with those of terror, as some of them still seem to not realize what's going on. Gulping and trying to prepare myself mentally for the huge stupidity I'm about to do, I almost skip to notice the graciousness with which Gandalf jumps on Fenrir's back. 'That man is unbelievable! I'd have tripped over my feet hundreds of times with that robe and he? Fabulous, as usual.'
Soon I know I'm flying, fast and up. Then I'm falling, again fast. Landing with a low thud and making a quick spin, just like I envisioned it, I run to the door, which opens on its own after a quick spell. I slip in and start pulling hard, as the wooden beams weigh a ton, and barely manage to move away as Fenrir dashes right past me, almost running me over. He is followed by the ice warriors carrying the dwarves and the loud booming, fast approaching steps of the bear. Almost immediately after pulling, I have to push. With my back against the door and my feet kicking as hard as possible I begin to close the door, but not fast enough. That's when the dwarves come to help, each pushing with all they've got. Yet, even then, I know we won't make it, as the bear in only a step away, and the door is ajar enough for its muzzle to sneak through. So I once again do something extremely stupid, and move under the arms of the dwarves, pushing my body forward, trying not to break their concentration or trip them. When I reach the now trying to break in bear, I quickly get my hands in a handful and blow a gust of air. The ice dust immediately appears out of nowhere and ends up all over its face. Startled and obviously not favouring the sudden coldness, the beast moves away enough for the boys to close the door with a bang and pull down the huge wooden bean.
"What was that!?"exclaims the still panting Ori.
"That, my friends, was our host." informs Gandalf before eyeing me.
"You made it!" it's Bilbo this time who looks at me, as all the rest seem to have forgotten who swooped in and saved them.
"I told you our paths would cross again. I didn't predict being chased by a bear, but then again, who am I to argue?" I smirk and walk into the room.
As the dwarves out-talk one another, as usual, and create a noisy cacophony, I look around the barn-looking room. There are a few cows, some chicken fluttering away, goats and other domestic animals, freely roaming around, and now looking at us with frightened expressions.
"Don't you even think of eating any of them!" I whisper and look up, where on a wide beam I spot Fenrir, casually lying, and not so casually eyeing the poor creatures.
His green eyes shift to me and he gives me something that can pass for a frown, obviously not happy. Then his eyes move again to somewhere behind me, and his warning growl, to which I got used to during our trek, echoes in the suddenly deadly-silent room. 'Great…' I whine and turn around, already knowing what I'll see.
True to my prediction, everyone has now noticed the giant wolf and is currently staring at it with a mixture of bewilderment and fear.
And then I spot Thorin, who's aiming an arrow at him.
"Good gracious, Thorin, get that fucking thing away from him!" I snap, hoping that we didn't just run away from one wild beast, only to get locked in with another.
"What's that thing?" he demands, still taking neither his eyes, nor his weapon away.
"He's… an acquaintance of some sorts."
The gruff, throaty laughter that follows and the low thud inform me that the wolf has decided to grace us with his presence. Turning halfway to look at him, I notice the way he moves and stands, despite the long journey and the tiredness he may be feeling. For someone who ran over thousands of miles, Fenrir hasn't lost even an ounce of the graciousness that's so habitual for hunters like him – the type that sneaks up behind you and snaps you in half with a single powerful bite of its dagger-like fangs. His dazzling green eyes are narrowed slightly and there's a witty, provoking flame in them, masked with a sheer layer of mockery that's there just so to anger the dwarves.
The silence gets tense as the wolf walks around, narrowing the circle, obviously playing with them.
"For the love of the Valar, stop it!" I finally snap. "It's been a long journey so far. We are all tired, hungry and in desperate need of sleep. Let's leave the glaring contest for tomorrow morning."
"I agree with Isis. It will be wiser not to start a feud with the creature that just helped us, Thorin."
Yet the said dwarf seems to disagree since he stays just the way he did all this time – with his bow and arrow aimed at Fenrir, and ready to shoot. Not that it will have any effect on him, since his fur works like armour, but I decide to keep this piece of information to myself.
"How do you expect us to sleep peacefully when this beast is lurking in the shadows?" growls Thorin, his irritation and anger, despite being justified by Fenrir's nature, now are completely irrational.
"You are pretty quick in putting labels, dwarf. That may come back to bite you." Fenrir growls in warning before whisking his tail and moving away, obviously not entertained anymore.
"Thank you, Master Fenrir." thanks Gandalf, with a clear tone of immense gratitude that at least he understands the intensity of destruction a conflict right now can cause; after all, the last thing we need is a wolf who'd gladly tear apart everyone.
"Do not thank me, Wizard. Thank the Ice Witch and her temper." the wolf growls as he passes by me, giving me a look by which I know I'll be paying an arm and a leg one day for all the small favours he'll be doing.
Without another word said he climbs back up and finds the widest beam on which he can lay without his feet sticking out. When finally up and away from any possible confrontation, I take a deep breath and exhale in a dramatic and genuinely tired sigh, before turning to the rest of the group. While most of them are still shaken up by what happened, Thorin is the only one whose wrath and discontent are currently aimed at me. Deciding to ignore his bad looks and gruff attitude, I offer everyone to make ourselves at home as much as possible and have some dinner before bed.
After filling our stomachs with warm food after so many days of cold and hard bread, all of the dwarves prepare for bed, shooing away the animals in the further end of the huge stable and unrolling their sleeping bags. I, on the other hand, stay in the kitchen area and look out of the window. It's been over ten minutes, in which I have been studying the surroundings, until someone clears their throat behind me. Looking over my shoulder I notice Gandalf is looking at me expectantly.
"Anything bothering you?" he asks as he starts cleaning his pipe.
"Apart from the horde of Orcs that's probably lurking around? No, nothing." I shrug and look at the sky.
This time the moon is completely full and there are a few starts here and there, finally giving some more dimension to the otherwise stiff-looking welkin.
"Things don't seem good with that problem either. But that's not the only thing what worries me." I whisper as I finally turn around and give the wizard my whole attention.
He just glances at me from under his heavy eyelids, indicating that he's listening and urging me to keep on speaking, before continuing ramming the pipe.
"It's Smaug. I think he's awake."
The graveness that passes the wizard's old face would have scared everyone in the room, were they to see it.
Gulping, I hug myself and look aside, knowing perfectly well what he's about to tell me.
"Keep this information to yourself. They do not need to know."