The city of Dale shivered under the unnatural cold that poured south from the man-less realms of the far north. Despite the approach of summer, soft flurries fell lazily upon the ornate blue-tiled roofs of the city. Rumor had it that one of the servants of Sauron had taken up residence in an ancient tower in the frozen reaches of Forodwaith and had set in place a curse of foul weather. Not only had the ground frozen overnight when it came time to sow the crops in the eastern farmlands, but now the grasses that the herds of cattle and goats needed to survive had begun to wither.

So, he has already set his plan into motion. Hith-Shagi, clad in the simple raiment of a traveler, wandered through the overcrowded streets of the market district of Dale, passing by garrisons of Rhunic occupation troops and Dalish citizens who kept a wide breadth of the soldiers. The high-end shops of Dale had not suffered too greatly under the occupation, for there would always be a demand for handmade items for the wealthy, though many small stores and eateries struggled to keep their doors open. Hith pitied the commoners who were now forced to support the brunt of the reparation taxes. If only their kings had not forced them into a war they could not win. Despite the gravity of the situation, he forced himself to remain focused on the issue at hand by keeping his eyes from locking with those of the beggars who littered the streets.

"Kama," he said to the similarly clad man who trailed him, "are we nearing the tavern?"

"Yes, m'lord," he replied with the heavy accent of the eastmost Varag clans, "The Comely Vixen lies just two more blocks ahead."

In the past month of plotting and scheming, Hith had found himself alone except for the council and company of his guardsman, Kama. He was the same archer who had been recruited to his bodyguard following the Battle of Erebor, and he had proved not only trustworthy, but also worldly-wise in ways that Hith could not hope to compare to. A lifetime in palaces and libraries had not been kind to his sense of intuition, yet Kama proved to be his opposite in every way that would be of help. The archer had even been the mastermind behind the secret meeting that they now were attempting to attend, though caution took precedent over hastiness. It would be most counterproductive for it to be known that the Khan had arrived in Dale alone and without fanfare. Soon, the duo found themselves in the shadier side of Dale, passing suspicious-looking shops and squalid brothels. They approached a poorly-kept tavern, marked by a placard in the shape of a busty maiden with flowing red hair.

The Comely Vixen

A small group of ruffians lingered by the scarlet-painted door, smoking and laughing.

"What 'ave we got 'ere?" Shouted a particularly ugly yet brawny man to his fellows, "A couple a' brown-skinned orc fuckers?" This insult drew a series of cackles from the gang.

"Get lost, Easties," snipped a man who had an uncanny resemblance to a goat, "this 'ere joint isn't for your kind."

"Gentlemen," Hith said, approaching as if his authority would be recognized, "it would be in your best interest to allow my friend and I to enter."

This aroused another chorus of laughter. Hith retreated a few steps, clearly at a loss for words and actions. As if on que, Kama stepped forward and, with all his great brawn behind him, threw his fist into the face of the first man. With a sickening crunch erupting from his nose, the man fell onto his back, stunned. Within moments, every ruffian was throwing his fist at Kama, who blocked most of the blows and seemed unaffected by those that landed. He moved with the finesse of a trained martial artist and threw his fists with the strength of a tested brawler. Within moments, the Dalish men were either moaning in pain upon the ground or standing at an ample distance from the Easterling. Clutching his broken and bleeding nose, the brute who had first been struck stood to face Kama, but rather than attack him, he began to laugh.

"Where the hell did ya' learn who to fight like that mate?"

"My great-grandsire created the Art of the Ibris during the Second Gondorian War. It is an honored tradition in my clan to learn it, but at heart I am an archer, so I never mastered it."

"Bloody hell, mate!" shouted the man with a hearty laugh, "Ya' could've fooled me! Come on in, and, if ya' show me some of them swings, drinks are on me!"

With the arm of arm of the man who moments before would have happily killed him around his shoulders, Kama was dragged into the tavern. Looking back at Hith, who warily followed behind, he laughed in their native lounge, "It is all about respect with men like this."

Passing through the doorway, Hith was hit with a murky heat and the rank odor of sweat and poorly kept ale. The dark dining room was lit only by a raging fireplace and the little natural light that pierced the heavy shutters. Feeling quite lost, as Kama had been hauled to the bar, Hith began to frantically scan the room for those who he came to meet. A collection of seedy looking men and dwarves filled the small hall, many sitting around a circular table where a red-haired woman, similar in appearance to the woman on the sign yet clad in far less, danced seductively. Ignoring her, Hith peered into the darkest corner of the tavern where two individuals sat, staring at him. Approaching them, the Khan soon realized who they were. One was a man clad in a blue tunic. His long black hair fell loosely about his grim, clean shaven face and he twirled an arrowhead in his calloused fingers. The other was a fiery-bearded dwarf, hooded in burgundy. A gilded-steel warhammer rested by his chair and in his glove was a tall tankard of mead. Both glared at him, anger clearly brewing beneath their furrowed brows. At least Bard and Thorin headed my summons.

"Do you mind if I have a seat?" he asked as discreetly as possible.

"I don't know your royal-fucking-highness, do we?"

Bard briefly directed his glare to his comrade, who was clearly there under duress.

"You could have summoned us more…officially."

Hith sat before them, summoning as much commanding presence as he could manage given the situation.

"Yes, I could have. But then the Council would know that I am collaborating with you."

"Collaborating he calls it," Thorin took a swig of his mead as if to dull his frustrations, "I wonder what he calls the taxes? An investment opportunity?"

A flash of anger poured into Hith's heart. "As I seem to recall, the only reason you have to pay those taxes is because you and your fathers refused to surrender before blood was shed."

"Your reparations have left my people on the streets." snapped Bard.

"Your taxes to pay the reparations have left the people on the streets, and yet you and Thorin still eat the finest Greenwood venison and drink the finest Dorwinnion wine."

"Listen here ya' bastard," Thorin shouted, smashing his tankard on the table, "Your men carted away half the gold of Erebor, including my father's crown and my mother's wedding ring. Don't talk to me about sacrifice."

"Where do you think that gold went? To Rhudel? I've nary seen a coin from this arrangement. Your birthright now decorates the tower of Sauron and, lest we act, he will take the rest."

At this, the two kings raised their eyebrows.

"Act? How so?"

"What would make you betray your damn god?"

"Firstly, Sauron is not my god. I have seen him. I have attended his councils. He is no god. He simply likes that title because it feeds his ego. Secondly, from these councils and my time at Barad Dur, I came to realize that our alliance with him is not a mutually beneficial one. He will betray Rhudel." Hith's frustration cooled, and his expression changed into a barely concealed sorrow, "My people cannot stand alone against Mordor, especially when most of them still worship Sauron. You, my kings, are the only hope we have of standing against him."

A long moment passed before another word was said.

"Why should we help you?" Thorin's anger seemed to fate as he stared down at his father's warhammer. "You have brought nothing but grief and pain upon our people. Your forbearers offered no help when we needed it. We fought wars, and Rhudel profited. Our kingdom was taken from us, and Rhudel did nothing. My kin were in exile, and not a single hand was reached out in charity. Tell me, Khan, why should the Sons of Durin, or the people of Dale, help you."

"Because, ununited, we will all suffer a fate worse than death. And…if you swear an alliance against Sauron and help me dethrone the Council, I am prepared to grant your kingdoms and their fiefdoms independence again."

Again, a stiff silence filled the air, only broken when Brad began to tap his arrowhead against the table.

"How can we have assurance of this?"

"You have my word."

"Your word means nothing to me."

"I…" Hith had thought that the promise and the stakes alone would be enough to sway the kings, "I have to nothing to bargain with but for the circumstances of my approach. I came here alone, save for one bodyguard, at great personal risk. Beyond the risk of entering a city full of people who would love to see me dead, I could be dethroned or killed by the Council for defying Sauron. That is my word. I have nothing without you. We all have nothing without an alliance."

Bard and Thorin seemed to stare into Hith's soul, searching for any sign of dishonesty or ill intent. After a long moment, they looked at each other and, without a word, they stood.

"We will fight," said Bard, "but not for you. We will fight for our freedom."

"Erebor and the Iron Hills will do the same," Thorin took a final swig of his mead, "but make one move against us, if even one hair on my beard twitches wrong, I'll kill you myself."

"Alright then…we should discuss how to deal with the Council. I…"

"It's already prepared," Bard said as he pulled up his hood, "we will simply not put into effect the part of our plan where we have you killed."

Speechless, Hith turned as they stepped past him. As they left the hall, every patron, man and dwarf alike, stood and followed. A cold sweat broke across Hith's forehead as he noticed that they all carried swords and axes beneath their cloaks. Within moments, Hith was left alone in the tavern; alone except for Kama, his new friends, a very confused barkeep, and a very confused dancer.

Well, at least they agreed to fight. Now I just need to survive this war.

UPDATE:

Sorry for the short chapter this time, guys. I've had a ton of school work lately, plus I have had something come up (which is the main reason I'm writing this update). I have a writing project right now that I'm going to fight tooth and nail to get published, but I need to devote my writing time to that right now if I'm going to get it to a state where it could be picked up. If it doesn't end up working out, I'll post it here, but for now I'd like to keep it a secret. This is going to slow down my update schedule for RoS over the summer, especially if my new thing (which is Tolkien related, I'll tell you that) does end up going somewhere. Thank you everyone for the support and we'll see where all this stands as the year goes on.

Best of wishes to you all!

Michael