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Over Hill and Under Tree (Shiva x Traveler)

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Carlin would never admit it aloud, but it was impressive to see the carnage the dwarf could manage on his own. Body after body showed the efforts of his axe, and the elf almost had to duck out of the way of the sweeping blade before Orin saw her. But the way he said Maerwyn's name felt like a blow unto itself, and the redhead only scowled in return. as she sheathed her blade.

"She's hurt," the elf stated, glancing around to make sure there were no other living threats. It appeared all of the orcs had been disposed of, save for the thirteenth she had seen fleeing southward as soon as the fighting had broken out. That was going to be trouble, she just knew it. Carlin was tempted to leave the woman and the dwarf and go after the filth on her own, but she could still hear Maerwyn's groans of pain in the mist.

"Idiot, what are you trying to do?" Carlin cried as she saw the woman trying to prop herself up with one of her swords. The mercenary let out a cry of surprise and raised the blade suddenly, but without anything to lean on pain shot through her leg and sent her collapsing to the ground again. In an instant the elf was at her side, one arm around Maerwyn's shoulders as her eyes fell on the gaping wound on the woman's thigh. "You can't possibly stand on that leg."

"And whose fault is it that they nicked me in the first place?" Maerwyn hissed back as she jerked away from the elf's touch. "What are you even doing here, besides getting in the way?"

"Making sure you and the dwarf don't get killed. Why do you think you've had it so easy the last few days?" Carlin replied, looking over towards Orin. "You. Do you know anything about healing? We need to get her patched up, then you two need to get out of here. There's probably other raiding parties in the woods, and you weren't exactly subtle with all this." She waved one of her white hands towards the smoldering fires and scattered orc bodies in the road.

Maerwyn shook her head. "We can't leave the merchants like that. They deserve to be buried. Or at the very least, burned separately from the orc filth."

The elf rolled her eyes and let out a sigh, sounding very much like a mother dealing with a petulant child. "Narlam, there is no time--"

"They are men! Not beasts!" the mercenary shouted, her own pain forgotten for a moment. "If you're right, and there are more orcs on the way, you know what they'll do to them. I won't allow it." Turning her gaze towards the dwarf, her expression softened into something almost pleading. "Orin, you'll help, won't you? If those were dwarves lying in the road like that, wouldn't you make sure they were sent to their fathers properly?" Maerwyn winced a little as she felt the agony returning, and with a fumbling hand she reached for her hip flask. Carlin had to help her unfasten it, but the mercenary was able to bring it to her own lips for a deep swig.

"Somebody just help me with bandages, and I'll be fine," she said finally, struggling to straighten her leg again.
 
Carlin’s blunt statement crushed the dwarf so thoroughly that he didn’t notice the elf hadn’t answered his question about her presence. He nodded once and followed her up the slope to where Maerwyn was waiting. Or…not waiting, as evidenced by her stubbornly trying to stand. He immediately saw the huge gash on her leg, and when she fell, saw the concern and haste in which Carlin rushed to her side.

‘Yep,’ the thought grimly, ‘she loves her.’ He scanned their perimeter for signs of any other orcs; in his haste to follow Carlin he had only counted eleven bodies. He was startled when the girls’ bickering turned its focus on him, and for a moment thought that he was in trouble. Then the elf asked about healing, and he relaxed. “A little bit,” he said, moving forward. He couldn’t fathom that an elf with Carlin’s experience and age did not know how to patch up a wound, but perhaps her skillset was more in line with creating injuries than fixing them.

He laid his axe next to Maerwyn to look at her wound. Then, taking out a smaller curved dagger, he pried his fingers between her pants and leg and cut the cloth away, so he could see the wound better. “I’ll buy you another pair,” he muttered, as he tried to ignore the women.

"They are men! Not beasts!" the mercenary shouted. Orin flinched at how close she was. If there were any lingering orcs in the vicinity, they knew where the threesome was now…he fingered her wound and found that the cut was clean; through her skin and the thin later of fat beneath, and a slight cut through muscle; that was the most concerning part. That, and the grime and dirt.

He pulled his mother’s flask from his side and warned Maerwyn, “This might sting,” then poured the strong spirit over the wound while he held it open with his fingertips. The dirt that washed out was reassuring and also concerning. They needed to get her somewhere he could clean it out thoroughly and sew up the inner layers. Preferably somewhere where they had plenty of light, clean cloth, and strong spirits to help her with the pain.

"Somebody just help me with bandages, and I'll be fine," she said finally, struggling to straighten her leg again.

Orin smacked her leg to keep her still. “Stop that, Maer! You’ll get more dirt in it.” He looked up at her, then at the elf standing over them both. How had his life gone from one woman who wouldn’t give him the time of day to two, who seemed intent on ordering him around? “I’m going to wrap your leg, and then Carlin and you are taking the two horses down there and riding to the next house or town.” He steadied his gaze at his guide.

“I’ll make sure the humans are separated from the orcs, Maerwyn.” He thought about her experience with her family when she was young, and the burning of their home. Whether it had been other humans or orcs who did it, her concern for the dead was touching. “But only if you promise to go with Carlin and get to safety. I’ll find you. Or…Carlin will find me.” He nodded at the girl in front of him. “But only if I have your word you’ll go.” As he spoke, he ripped a shirt into long strips and began to bind her thigh, pulling the parts of her injury tightly together. “Promise me.”
 
Maerwyn's body only relaxed when Orin approached, although her gaze was still sharp as she looked at the elf. "Don't worry about it," she murmured to the dwarf as he cut a large hole in her trousers to better access the wound. She might not have any others on her at the moment, but at least the weather was warm enough that she wouldn't be too uncomfortable. If her thigh ever stopped searing in pain, that is. The mercenary could understand why Orin needed to pour the spirit over the wound, but she still could barely keep the anguished scream behind her gritted teeth, and her hand gripped at his shoulder as tightly as if she was trying to break it off.

She only released it when she felt his hand colliding with her leg, above the wound but still plenty painful. Reflexively she shoved his shoulder, and her angry gaze turned to the dwarf. "Don't hit me! And I'm not your mare!" she hissed, then swallowed hard as if it would alleviate the pain. "Just tie it up and let's take care of them."

"Orin can handle it," Carlin agreed, watching him bind the woman's leg. "Finish up and let's go."

"No!" Maerwyn said obstinately, finally feeling the fiery pain dying into a heavy, dull ache. Once Orin had finished his work, she put both hands on his shoulders and attempted to use the dwarf's sturdy body as leverage. She actually made it almost all the way up before she stumbled, but Carlin was swift enough to catch her before she could fall all the way down. Despite the elf's raised eyebrow, the mercenary turned her face away and looked back towards the dwarf. "I'm not leaving you alone out here, Orin. You have no idea where you are, no idea where you're going, and you're just as likely to get eaten by a bear as you are murdered by an orc."

"And what are you going to do in your state?" the elf asked, dragging her over towards the nearest horse. "Bleed on them when they come back?"

The mercenary ignored her, and kept her eyes on Orin. "A year, you said. Together for one year. And you want me to leave you already? I will not." A weak smile crossed her face. "I have my reputation as a mercenary to think of, you know. And you..." Maerwyn turned back towards Carlin. "I dare you to stop me. You'll need to tie me to that damn horse to keep me on it, and even then you know I'm a better rider than you. I'll just come right back here."

"Not with a bad leg you won't. You're not that good," Carlin sighed, rubbing her temples. "All right, you said if we burned the bodies separate from the orcs, that would be enough, right?"

A sense of cool relief washed over the woman, concentrating in her wound particularly. "Yes, that would be enough. Let the vermin rot where they lie. They don't deserve the honor of being eaten by the beasts of Mirkwood, but I'll not waste time or energy giving them any other sendoff."

"Fine then," Carlin sighed, helping Maerwyn onto the horse's back before looking back at Orin. "Let's just finish this quickly."

Maerwyn smiled triumphantly, leaning forward against the horse's neck and giving the poor frightened beast a few scratches behind the ears. While the elf and dwarf piled the bodies of the merchants, she managed to maneuver her mount over to a tree near the roadside, and pulling her knife out of her boot (and wincing as she jostled her leg in the process), she began to carve a small memorial in the bark. The lettering was shaky and some of the words were misspelled, but the final epitaph read something like this.

Here wer 6 merchents slauterd by filth of Dol Goldur
Orin, Maerwyn (and after a moment's thought, she added) + Carlin venged them

By the time she'd finished carving the last letter, even her arms were beginning to feel exhausted, and a strange heaviness was settling into her limbs. Her leg didn't hurt anymore, but felt curiously cold and numb. When the human bodies were burning on their pyre, Carlin gathered up the mercenary's dropped weapons, but was alarmed to see Maerwyn could barely sheath her swords or sling her bow on her back.

"She's getting worse," the elf said, looking back towards Orin. "Can you ride? I don't think she'll be all right on her own." Coming up behind Maerwyn, Carlin swung as easily onto the horse's back as though it had been the smallest of steps for her. One arm wrapped securely around the woman's waist as she gently led the other horse over to the dwarf's side. "This one looks strong enough to hold you and your gear, but I don't want to move her over." Was it just a trick of the light, or did the elf's embrace tighten as she pulled the woman closer to her? She certainly didn't seem too thrilled at the idea of trading places with the dwarf, that was for sure.

"Come on, I know a place nearby," Carlin continued, leading the horses westward down the road.

"No you don't," Maerwyn muttered, leaning her head back on the elf's shoulder.

"Shut up," the elf said gently. "Yes I do."

"Don't...wanna go there."

"I know, narlam. But we've got no choice, so just try to stay alive until we get there, okay?"

The mercenary didn't say anything else, and that only made the elf drive the horse forward even faster.
 
Strong. That was something that he liked about her. If he could take her pain and bear it himself, he would have. Though when she declared that she wasn’t his Maer, he didn’t think he could take any more. In cold agony he was reminded; she wasn’t his at all. Just his guide for the year, his companion while the coin lasted, and his friend…well, perhaps she was as much his friend as she was to anyone. The chill of the rain hid the shudder in his breath as he complied, tying her wound up snug.

At least Carlin had the sense to agree with him. But Maerwyn was obstinate. Not only that, she treated him like a child, doubting his ability to care for himself and find his way back to them. He felt the sting as surely as if she had slapped him. Brief hope flared in his heart when she reminded him of their term limit. A year in service and each other’s company. It was promised.

And then that hope was dashed as she spoke of her reputation. The poor dwarf could not be tossed about any more violently if he was on a storm-swept ship. Each time he chanced to think she wanted his company more than his coin, he was reminded of who they were. Employer and guide. Hapless wanderer, with no sense of direction above ground, and no knowledge of the world, and seasoned mercenary.

He stood. “Let’s tie her to the horse,” he agreed with the elf. Then Carlin had an idea that all could agree on. The task was made light by the orc’s already completed work; half the merchants had been disassembled and placed upon the pyre. The other half were pulled across the muddy road to join their companions, and though the rain had settled to a gentle mist, the fire burned steady. Between the elven ranger and himself the work was quick, though not quick enough it seemed.

"She's getting worse," the elf said, looking back towards Orin. "Can you ride? I don't think she'll be all right on her own." She spryly swung behind Maerwyn and looped an arm around her waist.

Orin peered up at the horse that was led to him. “That’s a big pony,” he grumbled, but fitted the tip of his boot into the stirrup and climbed into the saddle. He had no argument with Carlin over the setting of the riders; he would have a challenge enough staying seated. With a slumped-over rider at his chest, the task would be nearly impossible. A soft press of his legs and the horse eagerly followed the other, sloshing down the muddy trail. He shook his head at Maerwyn’s protest, hearing in their words and protest history of another time on this same road.

History with each other. And in Carlin’s voice, fear.

The mercenary was much worse off than the elf let on. They rode for most of the night, until the road curved further northward and they came upon a wooden fortress in the woods. Thick beams of sharpened wood circled the holding; a strong gate shut tight against the dangers without. From the crest of the road he could see the fires burning inside; not the fires of destruction, but rather warm, welcoming flames of stoves inside the largest building, and glowing lamps in the smaller ones surrounding it. An inner wall gave them a second line of defense, and this was guarded by a watcher who paced the length of the gate to keep himself awake through the night. After the untamed wilderness they had traversed, their destination was a welcome sight.

“This is where she doesn’t want to go?” he aske Carlin as he drew his horse to flank hers. A glance at Maerwyn told him that she was no longer conscious. The pallor of her skin was disturbing, and the shallow breaths that lifted her chest came slow. Apparently, his mother’s spirits did not do enough to flush out and incapacitate any disease or toxin in the blood. Hopefully those within the walls would have a healer, someone with ties to the gods who could do more than they and save the mercenary’s life.
 
If the weather had been better and she was only slightly less poisoned, Maerwyn would have smiled when they finally broke free of the treeline and turned to the north. The ground was rising again, and though it was impossible to see with between the veil of rain and the foreboding black shadows of the mountains, if they listened closely the riders could hear a soft rushing in the distance: the voice of the Great River, Anduin. As the horses crested an imposing tree-covered headland, the trio could have stopped to look down on the wide black waters racing their way to the sea, but of course there were more important matters at hand.

But Carlin kept them close to the eaves of Mirkwood, and she didn't dare let out a sigh of relief until she saw the friendly golden lights up ahead, and she could hear the sound of men's voices speaking to one another in conversational tones.

Her hand dropped to Maerwyn's wrist to check her pulse. It was slower than she would have liked, and felt weak. What little hope she had felt at the sight of the house quickly began to sink again. Would the medicine of the Woodmen be enough to save her?

“This is where she doesn’t want to go?” Orin asked Carlin as he drew his horse to flank hers.

At first the elf blinked, nearly having forgotten about the male member of their party. A grim smile crossed her face and she shrugged as she urged the horse forward. "It's her father's house. Or it should be, if things haven't changed in fifteen years," Carlin explained, as someone began to call out a slightly surprised "who's there". Without dismounting, the elf raised one hand to the man as she approached the opening in the outermost wall. "Is this the home of Hulgrim the Woodman?"

"Aye," replied the guard in an accent that was startlingly similar to Maerwyn's, approaching with a lantern in hand. He had a wicked looking axe at one hip and a quiver of arrows on his back, although it appeared he had left his bow behind him. Still, even at this distance they could see the enormous longbow propped up against the watch platform, and there was no question how the man had developed his rather prodigious arms and shoulders.

When he approached the riders there was more than a little suspicion on his face, but when the lantern light illuminated the face of the women, he let out a gasp of surprise. "Maerwyn! And you..." He looked over at the elf with wonder. "You're...Carlin? That's your name, isn't it?"

"It is," the elf said shortly, gently pushing the mercenary's limp body in the man's direction. "You're one of her brothers, aren't you?"

"Valgrim, milady. The second son." Realizing the woman was badly hurt, the man set his lantern on the ground and immediately took Maerwyn in his arms. With their faces right next to each other, it was easy to see the resemblance between Valgrim and Maerwyn. His long hair was a shade or two lighter than hers, but they had the same brownish-green eyes and strong brow, and the same sensually curved lips. "What's happened to her?" the man asked with growing alarm, gesturing to a few other individuals nearby to come and assist with the horses.

"She was injured by an orc blade," Carlin explained, dismounting easily before turning to Orin to see if he needed help. That was the first time Valgrim had noticed the other rider, and if anything could make him more surprised the sight of a soaking wet dwarf certainly pushed him over the edge.

"What in the world has she gotten into now?" he grumbled, gesturing for the elf and dwarf to follow him deeper into the stronghold. There were a few outbuildings between the outermost wall and the next, with a few pens for animals (all safely secured in a warm, dry barn behind the main house) and a large, neatly organized garden. Several good-sized beehives were also scattered here and there, now silent as the inhabitants sheltered from the rain. Inside the second wall, an enormous wooden hall with a thatched roof rose up proudly against the sky, and while it was a bit rustic in its construction there were several intricately carved columns and friezes depicting the animals and plants of the forest.

Inside the hall was dimly lit, but at the far end a fire was roaring away in an enormous hearth. An old man was seated in a wood chair so ornately carved that it almost resembled a throne, and a half dozen children were seated at his feet, all listening with rapt attention as his rather thunderous voice was in the midst of reciting a tale. At the back of the group of children, a heavily pregnant woman with strawberry blonde hair was knitting and listening to the story with a smile while a shaggy black dog snoozed peacefully at her feet. Between the fire and the doors to the hall, two younger women and a boy of about sixteen were busy clearing away the remains of a meal from a long wooden table.

The boy was the first one to see Valgrim enter with the guests. He was so astonished at the sight of a dwarf and an elf that he dropped the empty wooden bowl he was holding on the floor, and the clatter was enough to draw the attention of the other occupants of the room. The old man in particular seemed annoyed at the interruption of his tale, and as he rose to a rather imposing height of more than six feet, several of the children shrank away from him in fear.

"What late arrival is this then?" he asked, picking up a heavy cane carved with a bear's head and striding towards them.

"Da...it's Maerwyn! And she's hurt, badly," Valgrim explained.

The scowl on the old man's face immediately evaporated, and a violent mix of joy and sorrow seemed to overtake him. "So she's come home at last..." he muttered, reaching out to touch the young woman's colorless cheek. He seemed a little reassured at feeling her shallow breath on his fingers, but his eyes remained grave as they looked at the wound on the mercenary's leg.

Carlin leaned over to whisper in Orin's ear. "Hulgrim. He's Maerwyn's father," she explained, then straightened and step forward. "Sir, you may not remember me. My name is Carlin, daughter of Harthion. We met some years ago--"

Hulgrim held up a hand and cut her off. "I remember you, lassie. You're well met in my house. And you..." His golden brown eyes fell on Orin with a curious expression. "Well, I never thought I'd have a dwarf in my hall, but you're welcome all the same. Jorla!" One of the young women that had been clearing the table quickly stepped forward. "See these two get some supper in their bellies. Iorhild, Harric--" The other young woman and the boy stood up straight. "You two come help me with her. My eyes and hands aren't what they were, but I haven't forgotten much of what I've learned of healing. Valgrim, take her to her old room."

His son nodded, then tried to smile back at the elf and the dwarf. "Da is the finest healer you could find in this part of the world. Aside from the elves, that is," he inclined his head towards Carlin, but like Orin he too was curious why she hadn't been able to provide more assistance. "Trained by the old wizard himself, he was," Valgrim added, trying to assure them as he carried his sister through a small door off the main hall. Meanwhile, Jorla was trying to hide her amazement at having such auspicious guests behind a smile, though her wide eyes spoiled the effect somewhat.

"Come sit down here then, both of you. We have plenty leftover from supper; Midsummer, you know, we're expecting plenty of people. What would you like? Meat? Fish? Cheese? Bread?" She was rambling a little bit as she took an earthenware jug off a shelf on the wall and began to pour them each a cup of sweet-smelling mead. While she was preparing food for them, one of the older children had found the courage to approach the table, and came up behind Orin with a stern look on his face.

"Are you really a dwarf?" the boy asked suspiciously. "Or are you just short?"
 
7 - Vales of the Anduin
  • Index
    • “Her…father?” he nudged his horse forward after a moment of inability to breath. Despite the fact that a girl’s father was as rare as a girl in the Mountain, the feeling of meeting Maerwyn’s father made his face grow cold. What if the man hated him? Or worse, what if the man loved Orin and Maerwyn held that against the dwarf? From her short explanation of her family history there had been a reason she didn’t stay with her brothers or father, and that one spoke to pain.

    Orin could only imagine, and true to form, he imagined the worst.

    It startled him to learn that the little fortress he had seen was in fact a home, and one made for a single family. He listened to the familiar accent in the man’s voice and realized it was familiar because Maerwyn had it, when she was tired or very, very drunk. The thought of her drunk made him flush guiltily, remembering their foray not too long ago.

    And he was going to meet her father.

    The large guard stepped forward. Orin thought the man could snap an elf like a stick, if he wanted to. Then, thankfully, a flash of recognition and friendship crossed his face. The dwarf was content to stay back as the man took Maerwyn in his arms. As they were being greeted, Orin slowly dismounted, careful to not catch his boot tip in the stirrup. His feet squished as they landed on the mud, along with every other part of him. This was like being in the river without the drowning, though if he was to tilt his head backwards Orin did not doubt that he could drown in the rain just as easily.

    He happily let one of the younger humans take his horse so he could follow more closely, and soon came through the gardens which he thought must look a lot like the famed gardens of the Shire, past a thatched barn whose inhabitants looked marvelously warm and who he envied tremendously, past white painted bee boxes, and into the place they called ‘home’.

    The hearth reminded him of a great forge, and immediately he felt kinship to the large humans. Both their height and their numbers were large, and as he glanced around he saw evidence that Maerwyn’s father had either married a younger woman once his wife had been murdered, or one of the older brothers had married. Either way, the plethora of children milling about and listening to a story told by their patriarch warmed a part of his heart he did not know existed. Dwarven children were few and fiercely guarded. To see so many, all within the same bloodline, seemed magical.

    The clatter of the bowl drew everyone’s attention to the lad. Orin almost felt sorry for the child. Then, when the old storyteller stood, the dwarf found himself gazing up, up, up, at an imposing figure who still seemed strong and spry despite his years. ‘That has got to be her da,’ he thought. ‘Nice beard.’

    He felt the warm breath of the elf send a shiver down his leg. She explained what he had guessed, then went to introduce herself. The man’s reaction was gruff but not unkind. He remembered the elf well.

    “And you..." His golden brown eyes fell on Orin with a curious expression.

    Orin expected to hear him declare - Get out of my house! You daughter-defiling bastard-dwarf! - but instead, the man welcomed him.

    “Thank you,” was all the dwarf could manage. There were so many people, so many names, that he felt spun around and upside down. All he knew for sure was that Maerwyn was in the midst of people who cared for her, and thus, would help her. When Valgrim explained their father’s training he felt his tension ease. Surely, a wizard-trained man would know how to help her. Wouldn’t he?

    The offer of food quickly distracted him. “Anything but fish,” he said. “I like fish, don’t mistake…it’s just I’ve had a lot of it lately.” He sat down to the table, his mind suddenly on things other than wounds and disapproving fathers, when a small voice piped up behind him.

    "Are you really a dwarf?" the boy asked suspiciously. "Or are you just short?"

    He turned to regard the young lad. Putting a finger to his lips, he slowly stood and turned around, and looked the boy in the eyes. “You’re awfully tall,” Orin said. “I think you’ll grow taller than your Da.” But then he smiled and nodded. “I really am a dwarf, and for a dwarf, I’m considered tall,” he said, extending his hand. “Go on, you can see if I’m real or not.” He remembered the first time he had met a human. They seemed unusually tall and slim to him, like something from another world. And their women were numerous and had smooth faces, even after they had reached their child-bearing years! He first elf he’d seen had seemed even more unreal, and that was from afar.

    It was odd, how things that seemed once so foreign were now all around him. “So,” he asked the lad, “am I really the first dwarf to visit your home?” he felt a bit like an ambassador then, and soon he found the curious children asking questions of his home while he happily put away their leftovers and shared stories of the mountain. He stole a few glimpses at Carlin, wondering what she was thinking.

    “You’re dirty,” one of the young daughters said. She wrinkled her nose at the dwarf, and asked quite innocently, “do all dwarves smell so horrid?”

    He glanced down at his clothing, suddenly aware of the mud and grime and…blood that was still upon his body and clothing. ‘Great Rock a’Cracking!’ he thought, ‘what must Hulgrim think of welcoming such filthy road weary travelers?’ He opened his mouth and shut it again, unsure how to answer. Finally a thought came to him. “Well…no. No, not at all,” he quipped. “As a matter of fact, they kicked me out of the mountain for being so dirty, so beware – when your mother tells you to wash behind your ears, do it.” He nodded solemnly. “Lest you get banned from your home for failing to stay clean, like I did.”

    What else could he tell her? That they just fought a dozen orcs, not a day’s ride from her home? He didn’t want to frighten the child, though he knew that they would have to tell Hulgrim the Woodsman and his sons soon.
     
  • Index
    • With suspicion still on his face, the boy boldly reached out his hand to grab Orin's. The dwarf's hand still easily encompassed the child's, but the boy seemed reassured at the solidity of the greeting, and even smiled a little bit at the idea of being taller than his father. His eyes followed in the direction that Valgrim had gone, making it clear who exactly the lad's father was, and with his own long mane of dark blonde hair tied away from his face there was little doubt to his heritage. "Is that Aunt Maerwyn?" he asked, looking back at Orin. "I thought she ran off and married a scoundrel. Are you a scoundrel?"

    "She didn't marry a scoundrel!" a little girl piped up as she approached the table. "My mama said she married an elvish prince in the woods, and now she's a princess. Isn't she?" she turned to look toward Carlin for confirmation, but the elf's attention was completely focused on the honey cake Jorla had placed before her and she blatantly ignored the child's question.

    "My mama said she was dead," another child commented shyly, earning the argumentative ire of the other two that had spoken.

    "Obviously she's not dead," the girl snapped back, no longer interested in the elf at her grandfather's table. "At least, she's not dead yet. Grandda will fix her, he can fix anything."

    The boy who had originally approached Orin seemed tired of the conversation, and looked back towards the dwarf. "I've never met a dwarf before. This isn't my house though, it's Grandda's. I don't think dwarves ever come to visit him, but we only ever come here for Midsummer and Yuletid." The boy frowned a little, clearly wishing he could have spent more time in Hulgrim's grand house. Then he shrugged and continued on, "I live up the river with my big brother and little sisters. My name's Tarrand. Those two are my cousins, Eirrin and Katwinne," he indicated at the quarreling girls. "Did you come to visit for Midsummer?"

    Before the dwarf got a chance to answer, Katwinne, the girl who's mama was sure Maerwyn was dead, approached him and wrinkled her nose. "You're dirty. Do all dwarves smell so horrid?”

    “Well…no. No, not at all,” he quipped. “As a matter of fact, they kicked me out of the mountain for being so dirty, so beware – when your mother tells you to wash behind your ears, do it.” He nodded solemnly. “Lest you get banned from your home for failing to stay clean, like I did.”

    Katwinne let out a little cry of fear and shrank back, earning grins from Tarrand and Eirrin. "I don't want to go away! I want to see the dancing, and the big fire!"

    "You can't stay up for the fire, you're too little," Eirrin scolded, and a fresh fight was about to break out when more figures burst though the door.

    There were seven in all, two men and four women all drenched with rain. Three of the women and one of the men all carried weapons, but the rest were unarmed, and at their head was a tall man with tangled black hair and an alarmed look in his deep brown eyes. At first he didn't seem to notice the elf, dwarf, or even the children as he scanned the room, eyes finally settling on the shocked figure of Jorla. "Where's Da? There's trouble. Beorgrim found orc bodies in the road, and tracks leading further south. They may be planning a raid."

    "Orcs!" all of the children shrieked in unison, although some of the boys (Tarrand among them) seemed more excited than afraid at the prospect. Across the room, the pregnant woman hobbled to her feet and another man--her husband most likely, judging by the expression on his face--raced forward to take her in his arms.

    "Hush, sweetest," he murmured, laying one hand on her stomach while easing her into the nearest chair. He shot a little glare back towards the first man, a glare Orin had no doubt seen on Maerwyn's face several times. It was obvious then that these were her two other brothers, freshly returned from their own patrol of the forest borders. Judging by the way the group was speaking to one another, it was clear that the leader of them was the eldest brother, Fulgrim, while the expectant brother was the youngest of Hulgrim's sons, Beorgrim.

    He was the one now charged with soothing his overwrought, expectant wife. "You know how Fulgrim panics about these things, Isvera," he placated. "We've left Walbar and his people outside to guard the place, and Gerthelda's watching the river. Everything we found was south of the road, and judging by the pile of bodies I don't think the vermin will have the courage to return tonight yet."

    Fulgrim ignored his brother's comments and instead turned his attentions to the strange guests at his father's table. "I don't suppose you two would know anything about how those bodies came to be there?" he asked, raising a dark eyebrow as he sat down beside Carlin. "I know you..." he said slowly, rubbing his chin as he looked over the elf's body. "You were there that time with Maerwyn..."

    "Da! Aunt Maerwyn is here!' Eirrin piped up, running to Fulgrim's side before pointing at the elf and dwarf. "They brought her here."

    That erupted in fresh surprise for the newest arrivals, and after Jorla delivered the briefest of explanations all of the adults in the room decided it would be best if the young ones were shuffled off to be before the excitement chased off any last chances at sleep for the night. Isvera calmed herself enough to help herd the gaggle of chattering children up into the loft, and it was only when the room had gone quiet again that all sat down at the long table (now it was clear why Hulgrim needed one so huge; to accommodate his enormous family) and drinks were being passed around that Fulgrim spoke up again.

    "Right then, you two had better tell us what happened and what you saw. This house is no secret to anyone familiar in the area, and as you can see we have women and children to think of. Whatever you can tell us will help keep them safe," he explained, looking from Orin to Carlin.

    *****
    ​
    In the small room near the back of the hall that Hulgrim had always called "Maerwyn's" (even though she had never spent more than a night or two in it, and considered the hall less of a home than the Gilded Lantern), the patriarch of the family was busy directing his assistants to do everything possible to save his daughter's life. Once she was laid on the bed Valgrim tried to excuse himself, but his father ordered him to stay put in case they needed to send a message to anyone in the main hall.

    Interestingly enough, the wound appeared to be almost healed already, leaving only a raised white line on Maerwyn's thigh where the blade had grazed her. But her entire body felt like ice under the healers' hands, and her face seemed locked in an expression of excruciating pain. Every now and then a soft whisper would escape her lips, words that sounded like "Stop it!" or "Help me." And often she would gasp out "Orin..." in tones both frightened and longing, but even this wasn't as hard to listen to as her sorrowful call for "Mama."

    Still, Hulgrim set his jaw and looked towards Iorhild. "Fetch the kingsfoil from my room," he ordered, watching as Harric reopened the wound with a razor-sharp knife.

    "The kingsfoil? Sir, there's only a little. I thought you wanted to save it for--"

    "For my daughter, yes!" the old man snapped. "What good was it getting the weed from that cranky old Dúnedain if I'm not going to use it? Now hop to it girl, before I tan your hide." Iorhild let out a little peep of fear and took off like a rabbit, returning less than a minute later with a small silver box filled with a fresh, sweet-smelling plant.

    In truth, Hulgrim had intended to save the plant and use it to grow his own supply by the house. Kingsfoil didn't naturally grow in this part of the world, and it had been a better gift than cold when he'd received the springs, scanty as they were. But if anything could heal his youngest child, he knew this would.

    After what felt like an eternity, Valgrim finally stepped back out into the main hall and approached the table. He was surprised to see his brothers returned, but he knew it was more important to speak to the elf and dwarf. "Da thinks she's going to pull through all right. He had some rare herbs on hand that saved her. He says once he and the others have cleared out, the two of you--" Valgrim gestured to Orin and Carlin specifically, with a warning look towards any other curious parties who might disturb the patient's rest. "--can go in and see her if you want."
     
    Rapid blinks of the eye answered the boy’s question. Was Orin a scoundrel? He had never considered it, but he wasn’t the one Maerwyn had run off with, and that story could use some telling another time. Then the mercenary’s sordid tale came up in bits and pieces; a scoundrel, an elven prince (which must have been Thilion), she was dead, she was not dead. Her family had plenty of stories, it seemed, but none alone were the truth.

    "At least, she's not dead yet. Grandda will fix her, he can fix anything."

    Orin gritted his teeth. Not dead yet was not good enough. He hoped the child was right about her grandda. The thought of losing Maerwyn was something that he could not bear. His hand found a pocket and pulled out the little parcel within, then unfolded the wooden carving she had given him. His fingers trailed over every niche and dent of its form. He listened as they spoke of Midsummer and Yuletide visits, then spoke of their homes so near to the fortress.

    So near to the orcs.

    And then the question came about his smell, and the grime, and he found a reason to divert his thoughts from slaughtered families and burning homes to playful teasing. The children’s excitement was contagious, and when they spoke of bonfires and dancing his smile replaced his scowl.

    Their brief reprieve was broken with the return of more of Maerwyn’s kin. It seemed everyone was tall. Burly too – and then their news of finding the orcs sent all the children into a tither. The dynamics of the family intrigued the dwarf. He watched the love and concern between them; the protection of the men and the safety placed around the women and children. ‘This is how we would be,’ thought Orin, ‘if we had more women and children to build families around.’ How sad that fate had not dealt the dwarves those cards.

    Once the children had been herded off to bed the discussion turned to darker things. “We were traveling,” Orin began, “when Maerwyn scented a fire.” He did not tell them they were without Carlin, thinking it best to keep any discord that might remain among them secret. He continued, focusing on their sister's acts and not his own. “When she realized it was a group of orcs who had just killed off the merchants, and so close to…” he realized then. So close to her home. “…we fought them, but one escaped.” He looked to Carlin. She had said something about a necromancer, but he had been too worried about Maerwyn to pay attention to anything but her care.

    “She made us stay to burn the humans apart from the orcs,” he further explained, his throat tightening. “She didn’t want them defiled.” Perhaps if they had left sooner she wouldn’t be so ill. If They had gotten to her father sooner, gotten her a proper healer instead of dwarven spirits and torn pieces of a shirt. But she would have never forgiven them for leaving the bodies, and the guilt she would have felt might have haunted her.

    His sorrowful admission was halted when Valgrim finally returned. All eyes turned to the second son. "Da thinks she's going to pull through all right. He had some rare herbs on hand that saved her. He says once he and the others have cleared out, the two of you--" Valgrim gestured to Orin and Carlin specifically, with a warning look towards any other curious parties who might disturb the patient's rest. "--can go in and see her if you want."

    “Thank you,” Orin replied. He couldn’t put together the words of his question, finally spilling them out one on top of another. “Rare herbs? It was a wound…does he think it’s poisoned?”

    The minutes couldn’t pass fast enough. Orin shed the worst of his tunic and vest and pulled on a cleaner shirt. It wouldn’t do to see her with orc blood in his clothing. When they were finally allowed to see Maerwyn, Orin thought at first that Hulgrim had been wrong; she looked a breath’s away from death. Her skin, once so tanned and vibrant, had the pallor of a fish’s underbelly, and her breathing was shallow and slow. He looked to the wizard-trained healer, then back to the daughter, and went to stand by her side. The wound had been cleaned and looked now almost healed, though the thin double lines of her scaring. The dwarf attributed it to her father’s healing magic. He knelt beside her bed and slipped a hand under hers, feeling the coldness in her digit as he did. A soft inhale of surprise crossed his lips.

    “Oh Maerwyn,” he said, leaning his forehead against their clasped hands. “You have to get better.” He would be lost without her and not simply because he had no skills with maps.
     
    Fulgrim and Beorgrim both nodded in approval upon the conclusion of Orin's story, hearing that their sister had insisted on sending the poor souls on to the next world safely. "We try to do the same whenever we find victims left behind. It's not so terrible of the beasts of the wood get a a hold of them, but the filth..." Fulgrim's callused hand curled into a fist, and a woman at his side had to lay hers over it to calm him.

    "They've been getting bolder over the past few months," Beorgrim continued, crossing his arms over his chest as he began to pace back and forth. "They used to keep well south of the road, and it was usually our friends on the lower Anduin who got the worst of their raids. That's why Da built this house here." Pausing, he looked directly at Orin. "You've heard of what happened to the old house? And our mother?" His gaze shifted to Carlin, who nodded in acknowledgement. It never occurred to the woodman how exactly the dwarf had learned of Beorwyn's fate, he just assumed the elf had told him at some point.

    Beorgrim wasn't alone of the group who wondered what exactly the relationship was between Orin and Carlin. It was easy to recognize the latter as one of the woodland folk, judging by her clothing alone. The elves of Mirkwood, and the children of Harthion in particular, had visited Hulgrim's house on several occasions in the past seeking news of the wandering daughter, although the callers were usually either a beautiful woman with long golden hair, or a man bearing two intricately wrought swords and eyes like glowing sapphires. Dwarves weren't wholly unfamiliar to those who dwelt along upper reaches of the river, and while they could often be seen traversing the Old Ford no one could remember any party of them ever stopping at the house.

    And of course, the idea that an elf and a dwarf would travel together seemed wholly preposterous to every human in the room, but most were too polite to ask about it.

    Fulgrim, being a bit more headstrong and impulsive than the rest, was about to bring up the question, when Valgrim suddenly returned with the latest update on his sister's condition. Those who knew her let out a collective sigh of relief, and those who didn't seemed happy enough for their loved ones' sake. Only Carlin's face was still stern and suspicious as she came up behind Orin.

    Resting one hand heavily on his shoulder, she dropped her voice to a low whisper so as not to alarm the others. "The orcs were from Dol Goldur. That means they serve the Necromancer," she murmured, glancing down at the dwarf to see if the name meant anything to him. "He's a mortal man who fancies himself a wizard, and isn't above putting dark enchantments on his servants' weapons then sending them out just to see how much blood they can shed. I don't know that Maerwyn's would was poisoned exactly, but something in the blade that struck her certainly made it worse."

    A flash of pain crossed the elf's face. She might have denied it out loud, but in her heart Carlin knew she was at least partially responsible for what had happened to the mercenary. But when she and Orin entered the small room where Maerwyn was lying on the bed, a familiar scent hit her nostrils and gave her a new sense of hope.

    "Athelas!" she gasped, staring in awe at Hulgrim as he was giving some last orders to Iorhild. "How did you come by such a thing?"

    The old man raised an eyebrow, then nudged the young healer out of the room (though not before the blonde could take a long, lingering stare at the beautiful redhead). "Athelas, eh? That the elvish name for it? Fellow who gave it to me called it kingsfoil," he remarked, closing the silver box that was now completely empty. "Came through in the spring during a bout of bad weather. Some less hospitable folks along the river weren't too keen on giving him shelter for the night on account of his looks, an' he was so grateful when Isvera opened the door to him that he gave it to us as a gift." Hulgrim let out a sigh as he looked over Maerwyn's sleeping form. "Was hoping to have it on hand when the baby came just in case, but plans were made to be broken, as the old man says."

    Although he was doing his best to present a gruff, almost annoyed expression on his face, when the old man saw the dwarf kneeling beside her bed he couldn't help but let the mask crack ever so slightly. But the emotion on his face paled in comparison to Carlin's. Relief, grief, envy, and joy all seemed to swirl in her eyes as she watched the pair, and she had to swallow several times before she could find the strength to speak.

    "She'll...she'll be all right?" the elf asked, looking over towards the healer.

    Hulgrim started to nod, then shrugged. "We've done all we can for her. But she's a strong lass, like her mother was. If all she needs to do is fight, I imagine she'll be trying to walk in a day or two." A little smile twisted his mouth, and he leaned closer to Carlin. "The dwarf...is he her...?"

    "See for yourself," Carlin answered, her shoulders stiffening ever so slightly as she refused to look towards the pair. Hulgrim only chuckled in reply.

    "Well, better him than that brother of yours. I always worried about that. Maerwyn would eat a lad like that alive, elf or no." Leaning heavily on his cane, the old man passed by the elf towards the door. "I'll have a couple of beds made up for you out by the fire. Or you're welcome to stay in here through the night if you prefer. We can talk more in the morning either way." Pausing, Hulgrim turned back and bowed towards the elf as graciously as his rather stiff old body could manage. "Good night, my lady. Master dwarf."

    He wasn't sure Orin had even heard the parting, but the patriarch wasn't too concerned about it. Shutting the door behind him, he instructed one of his nieces to keep an eye on the room and not allow anyone in, then sent another relative off in search of pillows and blankets for his guests.

    Now it was just the dwarf and elf alone with the unconscious woman, the few candles scattered around the room sending shadows chasing one another along the walls. Carlin could still feel the storm stirring in her chest as she sank down into a wooden chair by the wall, and it seemed like hours had passed before she finally found her voice again.

    "You care for her," the elf stated, eyes drilling into the back of Orin's head as her hands gripped tightly at the carved arms of the chair.
     
    The name Dol Goldur had meant nothing to Orin when Carlin had informed him. Though he had been too worried about her hand on his shoulder at the time, he thought about it now. The enchantments she had talked about must have been what ailed Maerwyn now. The dwarf felt foolish for thinking it a mere injury, that cleansing and time would heal. No… had they not come here for help he might be burying her tonight.

    The thing called “althelas”, or “kingsfoil”, had given her a chance. He had heard Hulgrim’s admission that he was saving it for the baby’s birth but had used it on Maerwyn instead. Orin owed him tremendously. As he felt the coolness of the mercenary’s fingers against his forehead, he began to pray for Ilúvatar’s mercy. Surely, the One who created all things would bless this human. For good measure he offered up pleadings to Aulë as well, whose dedication to Yavanna would soften his heart to this woman lying so close to death. Maerwyn loved nature and the earth, as well as the skies above. Orin shuddered to think how dull the world would be if her life were to leave it.

    He did not fool himself with thoughts that she would think of him again after their year was over, unless it was in passing as she spent his coin. But…if they parted and he knew she was well, and thriving, he would be happy too.

    He heard the man address him at the door and looked up. “Good night,” he answered, “and thank you,” though his voice barely left his lips. How must the man feel to have his daughter home in these circumstances, so close to their Midsummer’s celebration? And with the news that orcs were near… he had much on those broad shoulders to bear. He watched Carlin sink onto a wooden chair. She, too, looked drained. He lowered his head to their clasped hands and began to entreat the divine once again.

    Half the night seemed to pass when once again the elf gave voice. "You care for her," Carlin stated.

    Orin looked up. Maerwyn still slept. He slowly released her hand and turned to sit upon the floor, his back to the bed. He looked at Carlin as she sat in the chair gripping the arms tightly. “I do…she’s a friend,” he replied. “You were right, at Havus’s house.” He sighed. “I don’t know Maerwyn well, but she knows me better than anyone else,” he told the elf, “and she’s helped me to…figure out things I should have known.” He pulled up his knees and rested his arms upon them. He looked at the elf as she sat there; beautiful and tall, like a goddess of the forest. She had everything, and yet she looked so lost. “You care for her too.”
     
    "A friend, hm?" Carlin repeated, her low voice dripping with disbelief. "And that's all she is to you?"

    If it was true, it should have been enough to make the elf happy. The idea that a dwarf could compete with her for Maerwyn's feelings was absolutely laughable. And yet...she had watched pair every night since they had left Havus'. She had watched them talking together, laughing, singing. They might have just been a pair of friends traveling together on a journey, and up until she saw him at Maerwyn's bedside the redhead really had believed Orin's feelings for the woman were purely platonic. But if there was more to his heart than that, Carlin wasn't sure her heart could bear it. Because she had seen the way Maerwyn had looked at the dwarf, and that was what pained her most of all.

    It had always been foolish for her to harbor feelings for the mortal woman, Carlin knew that. As long as she had known the mercenary, Maerwyn's almost obsessive love and devotion towards Thilion had blinded her to any other man in the world, let alone women. At first the red-haired elf had tolerated the situation, mostly out of love for her brother and the sneaking suspicion that Maerwyn's feelings might not have been totally unrequited at first. After all, if Carlin couldn't have the woman as a lover, there was still some joy in the possibility having her as a sister-in-law. But then Thilion and Maerwyn had their falling out, and she felt doubly torn between them. No matter what her own feelings for the woman might have been, it wasn't worth driving a wedge between her brother--and the eternity of their future across the sea--and herself, when all she would get for the effort was a few short years with a woman who still had a habit of infuriating her.

    In a way, she was happy at the way Maerwyn had behaved the past few years. It was easier to hate her and fight her when she was stealing, sleeping around with other scoundrels, and all other matter of despicable behavior. And if Carlin could hate her, it was easy to forget about the love that, despite everything, still refused to die. At the same time, it was particularly annoying that the dwarf seemed to pick up on the secret she had tried so hard to hide, and his mention of it did not do much to improve her mood.

    "Why does it matter to you what I think of her?" she snapped, rising to her feet. "What business is it of yours?"

    A soft groan from the bed warned her immediately that her voice was growing too loud, and immediately Carlin shrank into herself again, though not before looking over the sleeping woman's body once more. Maerwyn was breathing more regularly now, and when the elf reached down to touch her hand she could feel a little more warmth in the scarred fingers, though that might just have been Orin's own heat lingering behind him.

    "If you are so curious to know my feelings, they are this," she said finally, looking over at the dwarf again. "You'd be better off telling her about your own heart than troubling me about mine. But..." Carlin let out a soft sigh, then got down on one knee beside him and locked her eyes with his. "Because you are the son of Havus, I feel I should give you this warning: you may not be able to make her happy, but she will make you miserable if you let her. Dwarves may not live as long as elves, but they still outlive men. And women. My brother--" Her voice choked a moment at the mention of Thilion. "My brother couldn't bear the idea of loving her, marrying her, then grieving her for an eternity, and neither can I. He was wise enough to leave Middle Earth while she was still young and strong and free, and that's how she'll always live in his memory. If I was wiser, I would follow him and do the same."

    A sad smile crossed Carlin's face as she rose to her feet again. "But I have Emlin to think of, and my king still needs my help. So you can see, my life is much larger than one mortal woman." Although she tried her best to swallow it, she couldn't stop the sigh that escaped her. "Nothing can come of what I feel for her. We won't marry, or have children, and she won't cross the sea with me to the West when the time comes. And a few short years together--and they will be short, at least to me--just isn't enough. So there's no purpose in my telling her anything," The elf looked at the woman on the bed again, and saying the words aloud was like shoving a dagger into her own heart. A soft, bitter laugh tumbled over her lips. "Even if I did, she'd most likely scorn me for the way I've treated her in the past, or at best she would pity me, and feel guilty for not being able to return my feelings. I don't want any of that." Carlin shut her eyes a moment and took a deep breath, forcing the tears back.

    Once she had the strength, she smiled at Orin again, and this time it was much warmer. "It's enough for me to know she's safe, and she's happy. That's what I want to keep for myself now. Someone else can have the rest. They can do more with it than I can," Turning her back, she laid one hand on the door handle and was about to leave, but then paused and looked back at him.

    "By the way...she smiles at you, you know. When you aren't looking at her. She used to smile at Thilion like that. I thought you should know." The elf opened the door, then didn't look back. "Good night, Master Dwarf. Please stay with her tonight, I think when she wakes up she'll want to see you."

    And without a sound, she shut the door behind her.
     
    "A friend, hm?" Carlin repeated, her low voice dripping with disbelief. "And that's all she is to you?"

    He honestly did not know the answer to that. He had lived so long thinking that he loved Dís, but he was beginning to understand that he had been infatuated with the idea of loving her. What even did it mean to love someone? He thought of his mother and Lorryn. Was that love? Or was it just another pebble on the riverbank that you had decided to call a diamond?

    Maerwyn had pointed out the fallacies in his feelings about the dwarven woman who had sent him on this quest. She had helped him to see that Dís’s treatment of him was not a cleverly disguised code for ‘I love you too’. Between Maer and his mother, he realized that the maiden was telling him, quite literally, to get lost.

    “I…I wouldn’t just do nothing if she disappeared,” he said, furrowing his brows. “I care about her…so yes. A friend.” Besides, the mercenary did not want any tethers in her life. She had said as much when she said that she wanted to wander the world until she couldn’t wander any longer. She had dismissed the idea of settling down and having a family as something undesirable. Her vision of a perfect life was far removed from Orin’s.

    He had pointed out Carlin’s feelings, and she snapped at him. When she rose to her feet, he thought she might stalk across the room and strike him, but she did not. Instead, she gave him advice as she knelt down beside him. He listened intently, taking in her advice, and then her warning. Thilion came up again, and the coward’s choice lit a fire in his heart.

    “No one is guaranteed a long life, Carlin. You and I, and even Thilion, could die at a wayward arrow or an orc’s axe. There is no guarantee that even an elven woman would have been there with him for more than a few years. I’d rather have a few years with someone I loved than never have held them at all.” His breath came rapidly; even he was surprised at how he felt. “It’s foolish to walk away from love when it is so rare…” he let out a breath and felt his heart drum against his sternum. “How could your brother have known that they might not have married, and he would have been the one to die first, leaving her alone to grieve in her twilight years?” He shook his head. Her brother had been a selfish coward in his eyes.

    Then Carlin rose to her feet and smiled sadly. He could tell, from both her words and the way her eyes fought against the tears, that she did love Maerwyn. ‘And,’ he thought sadly, ‘it is possible that Maerwyn could love her back. Surely, more likely than that she would want one such as I, noble born or not.’

    She turned to leave, seemingly having made peace with her decision. Orin was about to speak when she continued. "By the way...she smiles at you, you know. When you aren't looking at her. She used to smile at Thilion like that. I thought you should know." The elf opened the door, then didn't look back. "Good night, Master Dwarf. Please stay with her tonight, I think when she wakes up she'll want to see you."

    And without a sound, she shut the door behind her.

    His eyes had grown wider at her words. He leaned his head back on the bed, listening to Maerwyn’s soft breathing. The candle’s light flickered softly, illuminating them like a memory from a dream when things were simpler, mead flowed in their veins, and there was no thought of if tomorrow would come. How strange that it had merely been a week ago when life seemed so simple.

    Orin eased to his feet, feeling the aching in his body from the battle and the tension of not knowing if his guide would live. He turned and looked down at her, then decided to slip off his boots and belt and climb in beside her, wrapping an arm around her as he did. “Come back, Maerwyn,” he whispered, “I’m not ready to lose you.” He found her hand on the opposite side of her torso and slid his fingers through hers, holding her there and falling asleep to the sound of her soft breathing.

    Tomorrow would take care of itself. Tonight she lived, and that would be enough.
     
    Maewyn was never aware that she had lost consciousness. She could remember hearing Orin and Carlin speaking to one another, and feeling the air on her face as they were riding...but were they riding? As real as the sensation had felt, it was almost as real for her to lay in the road, seeing the elf's decapitated head beside her and the dwarf's impaled body at her feet. And all around her, laughing, stinking, staring down at her...orcs. It seemed like an army of them. The woman wanted to shrink away from their view, but then their meaty, blood-slick hands were all over her, tearing away her clothing and carrying her down into the shadows.

    She saw an immense black castle, full of broken ramparts and towers that crumbled against the moonless sky like rotting teeth. No matter how hard she shut her eyes the silhouette remained, filling her with more dread than she had ever felt. The Black Pit seemed like a haven now as she was dragged through a labyrinth of tunnels, passing open doorways filled with ghostly and ghastly faces. There were more orcs, leering at her with slobbering tongues, but others as well. Men and dwarves and elves, their expressions either despairing or shattered into madness, while the sounds of sobbing and maniacal laughter drowned out even the sound of the blood pounding in her ears.

    And then...him.

    Maerwyn couldn't see his face. She couldn't see any features of him. It seemed the man was made entirely from shifting shadows, and even though he had no eyes that she could see, she could feel him staring at her. Through her skin, through her bones, all the way to her very soul. And although his hands didn't move, she could feel him touching her everywhere, filling her motionless body with sensation of white-hot pain that made her want to scream, even though she couldn't even open her mouth. This seemed to amuse the man greatly, and she could hear a horrible, disjointed laughter in her mind as she tried to let out the shrieks.

    What business does a whimpering bitch like you have in My Kingdom?

    Like the laughter, the voice seemed to echo in Maerwyn's mind, rather than in the air around her. "Nothing! Nothing!" she wanted to scream, but still nothing came out. Regardless, her interrogator seemed to sense the answer.

    You parleyed with elves he accused, sending another bolt of immeasurable agony through her limbs. The woman pleaded with him to cut them off, legs arms and all. They were useless to her now and only served to pain her, and if her captor would not do her the kindness of killing her outright, maiming her was the next best thing she could hope for.

    You and the dwarf were seeking something in Moria. What was it?

    "    I don't know! I DON'T KNOW!"

    More pain. More laughter. Was she the one laughing now? Had he finally broken her mind completely?

    You will bring it to Dol Goldur when you find it. You will bring it to me, or I will have you brought to me.

    Maerwyn was about to agree with him wholeheartedly. She would have agreed to bring him Orin's head if he asked for it, or even her own. But something new and strange had penetrated the shadows, and suddenly the dark man seemed to shrink behind a powerful voice that thundered through the room.

    "Now, my little Harefoot, let's get you hopping about again."

    Da? she wondered incredulously. The shadows were all melting away now, and she could smell something familiar in the air: a fresh, slightly floral smell of plants and mud. The floor in front of her had become shiny and was starting to ripple, while beneath her it seemed to grow softer and tilt ever so slightly. From somewhere Maerwyn found the strength to sit up. There was green all around her, and when she reached out one shaking hand her fingertips brushed the fresh, firm stalks of reeds. Cool water was running over her aching toes and quickly driving away all semblance of pain in her body. Behind her, she could hear the sound of a woman humming, and her eyes filled with fresh tears as she tried to look back.

    "Mama?" she whispered, but firm hands quickly turned her gaze forward again, forcing her to view the evening sun slowly dipping behind the mountains, leaving red glitter on the surface of the Anduin.

    "No moving, my lass," Beorwyn's voice chided slightly. "You don't want a crooked braid, do you?"

    The tears finally spilled over Maerwyn's cheeks, washing away the last of her sorrows as they dripped into the river, and despite her mother's scolding she leaned back against her, feeling somewhat surprised at how strong her arms had grown. And when she felt their cheeks rubbing together...was that a beard?

    Her eyes opened. The river was gone before her, but so was the horrible fortress. Maerwyn could see a thatched roof overhead, and the sounds of activity behind the thin plank walls slowly filled her ears. There was an open window to her left, letting in the warm air of a summer morning while cloud-veiled light flowed into the room. The more she woke the more uncomfortably warm she felt, but even though she wanted to push beautifully woven blankets off of her there was another weight pinning her down. Turning her head, she saw Orin's head on the pillow beside her, and an overwhelming sense of relief filled her.

    "So the bastards didn't get you after all," she murmured, her voice sounding rusty and weak as she raised one hand to caress his beard. It took more effort than she would have liked to roll on her side, and her left leg still felt annoyingly stiff, although the pain was gone. Grunting, Maerwyn tried to push herself up on her arms, but the sleeping dwarf had too strong of a hold on her. "Orin...get up..." she said, a little louder this time as she pushed against his chest. "By the stars...are you made of stone?" she muttered, quickly feeling her energy sapping at the efforts of pushing him off of her.
     
    Peaceful. Perfect. Warm, and soft. Maerwyn was the ideal pillow, and Orin slept deeper than he had in… in his entire life. On the road they traded watches and slept independent of each other. The only time he’d slept with her had been under the influences of mead and dwarven spirits. It had been a frantic night, full of passion and sorrow, not in that order, and then filled with the deep dregs of liquor and sex.

    This night, aside from her perilous injury, there was peace. Her family stood guard and they could rest. No one would breech the walls around them, and the sturdy roof above him held in the heat of the hearth.

    "So the bastards didn't get you after all," he heard her say through his dreams. He smiled, drifting deeper into sleep. She lived and talked. All was well. There was nothing to worry about; nothing to compound their troubles, aside from the orcs. They still had to deal with the orcs…

    He felt her moving beneath his arm. So strong, like a little dwarf she was. So obstinate and clever. As she pressed against him, he could feel her through the mist of his dreams. Maerwyn pushing his arm playfully as he made a joke, telling him his puns were horrid and laughing all the same.

    "Orin...get up..." she said, a little louder this time as she pushed against his chest. "By the stars...are you made of stone?" she muttered.

    “Mmm…” he hummed, “Okay, okay, I’m awake, I’m…you’re awake!” his eyes flew open. “Maerwyn!” His arm remained around her, pulling her closer. “Thank the gods.” His eyes danced over her as he sat up and then looked over her laying in the bed. “How do you feel? Are you hungry?” His elation was almost overwhelming his sense of propriety.

    He slid off the bed, then, realizing that he had been squishing her. “Carlin’s still here,” he said, moving to pull his belt back around his waist and buckle it. “And your brothers discovered our…well, where we fought the orcs.” He glanced up at her as he slid the end through the last loop. “And,” he sighed, “your family is amazing. They all remind me of you in different ways.” Once he was situated, he returned to her side. “Do you want me to fetch your father for you?”
     
    “Maerwyn!” His arm remained around her, pulling her closer. “Thank the gods.”

    Fresh color bloomed on Maerwyn's cheeks as Orin embraced her, although after a moment she found the strength to return the hug. Her arms felt almost as stiff and heavy as her legs, but touching him seemed to soak up a little of his warmth and bring back the feeling to her body, weak as it was. "I'm sorry if I startled you," she murmured, shutting her eyes a moment and just enjoying his nearness. Had he stayed with her the entire time? How long had she been unconscious anyway? Judging by the light outside she guessed it had to be late in the morning, and the last she could remember it had still been the middle of the afternoon.

    Well, Orin certainly looked like someone who had been sleeping for a while. If she hadn't been so happy to see him, Maerwyn probably would have been a bit annoyed at his chipper attitude, but as it was the relieved look on his face was contagious, and she managed just to let out a little sigh before trying to sit up again.

    “How do you feel? Are you hungry?”

    Her stomach answered the question for him, growling loudly and causing the woman to break out in giggles. "Starving," she admitted, managing to get herself mostly upright and finally taking a look around. There was something familiar about the room, something that was making her feel...well, not afraid exactly, but definitely far from chipper "Where are we, anyway?"

    Orin was already busy dressing, but his excited ramblings quickly gave her the answer. Oh no...oh stars no she thought, but then again didn't she recognize the blanket on the bed? The carving of the chair by the wall? The tapestry hanging above the window and the bustling chicken coop beyond? Yes, she knew exactly where she was, and suddenly she couldn't get out of bed fast enough. But her legs wouldn't obey her, and even moving seemed to take as much energy as lifting a boulder, and before long she was trying not to pant with the effort.

    A few minutes later, the door to the room opened, and a shy-looking young man with vaguely familiar eyes poked his head in. "Good morning. I uh...heard voices and thought I would check in." Stepping inside, he raised one hand awkwardly in greeting towards the woman in the bed. "Hullo, Maerwyn. You probably don't remember me. I'm your cousin, Harric."

    "Harric?" she repeated, eyes widening. "Why, you were just a little lad last time I saw you! What in the world are you doing here?"

    "Saving you, of course."

    A lumbering shadow loomed up behind the boy, who quickly stepped aside to allow Hulgrim to enter the room. Compared to how Orin had reacted to Maerwyn's awakening, the old man almost looked disappointed to see her sitting up, though there was a slight humorous glint in his eye as he glanced at the dwarf. "What did I tell you? Trying to get up already," he muttered, then looked back towards the bed. "Well then. How fares my daughter this blessed morning."

    Maerwyn's eyes narrowed, and she quickly found something out the window to stare at instead. "Fine."

    "Fine, eh? Any pain in that leg of yours?"

    "No."

    One of Hulgrim's bushy eyebrows raised in the exact manner his daughter's often had, then he turned towards the young healer. "Hear that boy? 'Twas fine work you did for your thankless cousin."

    That got her attention. With a note of guilt in her voice, Maerwyn looked back towards Harric, but made a pointed effort not to look at her father. "You saved me, Harric?"

    He blushed a litttle and stared at his feet. "Well...me and Iorhild."

    "Iorhild?"

    "Isvera's sister," Hulgrim explained. "Ah, but you don't know Isvera either, do you? Of course not. Your brother wedded her last summer, and you haven't been home in--"

    "Orin," Maerwyn cut in loudly, looking directly at the dwarf. "Could you possibly see about getting us some breakfast? I think once I get some food in me I'll be able to get up. A bit of stretching and we can be back on the road by this afternoon at the latest, I think."

    "HA!" The old man's laugh echoed through the entire hall like thunder as a heavy hand clapped onto his daughter's back, nearly knocking her off the bed entirely. "Good to see you haven't lost your sense of humor, lass. Best get comfortable, you'll be in that bed at least a day or two yet. But yes, there's breakfast on the table, if your dwarf friend feels so inclined to bring you any." Sitting down on the bed beside her, Hulgrim looked more seriously at Orin. "Take your time and eat your fill, my lad. I'm afraid while this shiftless girl of mine is resting up we'll need to ask for your help with a small matter." He paused, then rubbed his chin. "Well, not small, most likely. You'll need your strength, so go and get it while it's hot. Your elf friend is already out there, been up for hours that one."

    "And you, little harefoot," Hulgrim continued, putting a rough finger under his daughter's chin and forcing her to look him in the eyes. "I think need to answer some questions."

    Her eyes narrowed defiantly, albeit for a moment they seemed to look past her father and plead with Orin, Please don't leave.
     
    He grinned at her stomach. Yes, if Maerwyn was hungry all things had to be okay. “I’ll get you something to break your fast,” he said, coming back around the end of the bed to where she was lying. “I don’t think you should try to stand – you had a terrible injury,” he began, but she persisted. He did not know why he expected differently from her. Obstinate. Had that not become her middle name by proxy?

    When Harric came in it was obvious that he and Maerwyn had been on good terms, and Orin was fast expecting a happy family reunion. Certainly, happier than his had been. Then her father appeared, and though he was still a huge man, the dwarf found himself less apprehensive around him. Perhaps it was because he had not immediately hauled him out of the house and beat him to a pulp for hovering around his daughter.

    "What did I tell you? Trying to get up already," he muttered, then looked back towards the bed.

    “She’s a stubborn woman,” Orin agreed, though his eyes reflected admiration of that trait, and not condemnation. And so he was surprised to she her eyes narrow and her disapproval of her sire so evident in the way she answered his questions.

    It seemed the family was full of healers. Iorhild must have been the young blond woman from the night before, the one who had gazed at Carlin as if she were an angel in the flesh. And then it began to become clear. Maerwyn had been gone so long that she didn’t know what was happening in her own family, and her father was not pleased about it at all. The dwarf found himself intrigued at the family dynamics, so unlike that of his own.

    "Orin," Maerwyn cut in loudly, looking directly at the dwarf.

    He startled and looked at her, his eyebrows raised. The only time anyone spoke to him in that tone was when he was in trouble. Was he in trouble?

    "Could you possibly see about getting us some breakfast? I think once I get some food in me I'll be able to get up. A bit of stretching and we can be back on the road by this afternoon at the latest, I think."

    “I’ll get you some breakfast—” he began to say, not certain she was as hale as she believed she was. It would be a while before she could skip about the woods once more.

    Apparently, Hulgrim agreed. His hearty slap on her back drew a surprised glare from Orin, who thought he might have knocked her lungs clear out of her chest. She seemed fine.

    He felt the large man’s eyes upon him, and as Hulgrim spoke, he seemed like an overgrown dwarf. Larger than life. Indestructible, and confident. The little matter ahead was one he thought he knew; perhaps to defend against the orcs, or even seek them out. The other… to leave her in his care so they could talk…he saw the pleading in Maerwyn’s eyes. She didn’t want to be alone with him, but Orin did not feel like the man was cruel. He felt like she wanted to avoid something she should have done long ago. Like Carlin, with her affections. Perhaps the most important thing to do was the thing you feared the greatest.

    He walked around the other side of her, opposite her father, and took her hand in his. “I’ll bring you breakfast. Soon. But,” he said, glancing up at Hulgrim, then back at the mercenary, “talk to your Da. You never know if you’ll get another chance. We’ll be gone for at least a year,” he reminded her as he squeezed her hand, understanding how much she might hate him for saying those words, and went out to the common rooms.

    The instant aroma of food made his stomach growl, and all about the tables, Maerwyn’s kin were gathered about. Children and women, warriors and healers; they made up their own little city gathered here for Midsummer Festival. He made himself at home, though everyone seemed shoulders above him, and when his plate was full, found a seat one spot down and across the table from Carlin. “Did you sleep well?” he called out to her across the din.

    Little Tarrand came and wiggled himself next to the dwarf, his own plate piled nearly as high as Orin’s. “They’re whisperin’ about adult stuff,” he confided to his newfound interest. The dwarf hadn’t been a dream. They actually had one Grandda’s house. He was excited to have met one so early in his life; and one who talked too! He’d always heard that dwarves were mean, but Aunt Maerwyn seemed to have found one who seemed like a shorter version of his uncles.

    “Hm,” Orin acknowledged around a bite of chicken. There were plenty of berries, and fish again, and pots of honeyed butter to slather on the bread the cooks had provided.

    “I want to see them,” the boy commented nonchalantly as he spooned jam onto his biscuit. “The orcs. I’m not afraid of them.”

    That brought a frown to Orin’s mouth. He took a drink and considered it. Yes, bravery was good, but there was a difference between bravery and foolishness, and the thought of a young human male wanting to see orcs was in the realm of foolishness. “Who will protect the girls if you do?” he asked, pretending to consider the lad’s implied assertion. “If the ones outside should fall, they’d all be helpless here. Eirrin, Katwinne, even Isvera,” he said, looking towards the expectant woman. “We need young men like you to guard the hearth.” He pressed his lips together and shrugged as he dug through his meal. Surely Hulgrim had spoken enough with Maerwyn that he could return?

    The boy did not look convinced.

    “I’ll tell you what. If you promise to stay at the house and protect the women, I’ll draw you a picture of the battle. One you can keep,” he swore, popping the last bit into his mouth. Once he had Tarrand’s oath he rubbed his head, then went to fill a plate and get a drink for Maerwyn.

    Outside her room he paused, listening to the cadence inside. Then, after a short knock he entered, carrying as much food for her as he had eaten, and a jug of light cider to drink. He brought the meal to her bedside, playing the part of servant/friend and hoping he had not interrupted anything too sensitive for the guide.
     
    "I should have let the spiders eat you," Maerwyn grumbled when she realized Orin was not going to defend her against this most frightening enemy. Her father merely chucked as the dwarf excused himself, then turned with amusement sparkling in his golden eyes as he looked down at the woman.

    "He seems a good sort, that fellow of yours. Been together long?" he asked, pulling a long wooden pipe out from somewhere and beginning to pack it with some fragrant herbs.

    Still pouting, Maerwyn turned away. "A few weeks. He hired me to get him through the forest," she stated finally, the scent of the pipeweed bringing back far too many memories of past conversations at Hulgrim's knee. Back then she had adored him almost as much as she worshipped her mother. He was big and wise and strong enough to carry her on his shoulders all day if she wanted him to. But the older she'd gotten, the more often he was away from home, usually taking at least one of her brothers with him. Maerwyn had often begged to be allowed to join in on the journeys as well, but the answer was always the same.

    "When you're bigger, my lass," Hulgrim had said. But by the time she was bigger, his daughter no longer wanted to accompany him on his long pilgrimages through the woods. She barely wanted to be in the same room with him, even now.

    Lucikly, it didn't seem to bother the man too much. The patriarch seemed resigned to the fact Maerwyn had hardened her heart against him, but at the same time he knew the advantage he had with a captive audience. "I was hoping you would visit us soon or later, though I'd've preferred you come of your own regard, and not because you've a leg that needs fixing," Hulgrim continued, gripping the pipe between his teeth and puffing gently. "I'm getting old, lass. Every time I see you I can't help but think it'll be the last time."

    His daughter barked out a sarcastic laugh, then rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Father." He had been 'Father' to her for years now; 'Da' had gone up in smoke along with her mother's bones. "I imagine you'll outlive all of us, probably just to spite me."

    Lowering his pipe, Hulgrim put one hand on Maerwyn's shoulder, pressing so heavily she eventually couldn't help but look back towards him. "It's been more than fifteen years, lass. Has the thought of forgiveness never crossed your mind, even once?" If any other members of the family had looked in the room, they might have been shocked at Hulgrim's stooped posture and gray complexion. For once he looked rather small and broken in comparison to the fierce, proud woman in the bed, although her careless expression did seem to falter a little around the eyes.

    In the main hall, the youngest women were trying to keep the children calm while the more battle-ready adults were gathered in a small group near the hearth, trying to determine the best course of action for the day. The biggest debate was revolving around what to do with the young ones: half of their parents wanted to bring them down to the river and send them across in boats, and the rest wanted to confine them to the hall, or perhaps the vast cellars underneath if the fighting got too close. Of course if the battle went poorly, the orcs would have no trouble slaughtering the whole lot of them like lambs in a pen, but the opposing party argued that was still better than risking them drowning in the sweeping currents of the Anduin, if they could even make it there safely.

    Most adults among the Woodmen had some kind of weapon training, if only the most rudimentary skills with a bow or handaxe. Eventually it was decided that those skilled at the former would be posted at intervals along the inner walls of the compound, while the latter would hold the line along the trees. A small group of the strongest fighters, including Hulgrim's sons, nephews, and his slightly terrifying sister Gerthelda, were already patrolling the woods surrounding the house and would sound the alarm at the first sign of approaching danger. Those that couldn't fight would be charged with looking after the children, and in some cases the livestock. Carlin, after barely sleeping the night before, had taken one of the merchants' horses at dawn and had ridden south to observe the gathering forces, and had only returned a short time before Orin emerged from the sick room, with the report that a group of perhaps thirty orcs was amassing near the road.

    When she saw Orin in the main hall, she was busy discussing plans with some of the other fighters, but when the elf saw him filling a plate far beyond what could have accomodated even a dwarven appetite, she breathed out a sigh of relief. So she's awake Carlin thought, praying the rest of the inhabitants would keep word of the impending attack out of Maerwyn's ears lest they have to tie her to the bed to keep her out of the fight.

    Unfortunately, it appeared the person with the loosest lips of all was none other than Hulgrim himself. When Orin returned to the room, the patriarch nodded approvingly at the breakfast he'd brought and quickly cleared away space on the bedside table for the plate. "There you go, my girl. Get some flesh back on those bones. Get some for yourself there, lad?" he asked, looking towards the dwarf. "I suppose you've heard about the trouble we're expecting. We've no right to ask for you help, but there's women and children here that need all the defending we can give them, and that's not including this one." He jabbed a thumb towards Maerwyn, who was staring at him in bewilderment with a mouth full of bread.

    After a long drink, she looked seriously from her father to Orin. "Wait, what trouble?"

    Hulgrim crossed his arms over his chest. "Seems there's a good-sized band of orcs headed our way that don't respect the traditions of Midsummer," he explained, then stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I suppose we have the three of you to thank for the advanced warning. The lads wouldn't have gone out patrolling last night if they hadn't smelled the smoke from your fires, and no doubt the filth would have hit us in the middle of the the celebration. At least now we'll be ready. And from what I hear--" Again, his eyes fixed expectantly on Orin. "Dwarves are very doughty fighters. That true, Master Orin? Can we depend on your axe in this fight?"
     
    It looked like they were having a nice chat; there were no broken vases in the room and the walls did not reverberate with the sound of echoed shouting, like the cavern at Havus’s home had. When Hulgrim cleared a spot, Orin happily set down the small feast he had brought and pulled a chair around so he could sit opposite her father.

    "There you go, my girl. Get some flesh back on those bones. Get some for yourself there, lad?" he asked, looking towards the dwarf.

    “No,” he said, pouring a glass of cider and handing it to Maerwyn. “This is all for her; I already ate.” He’d seen evidence of her appetite on the road. If she was as hungry as she said she was, the piles of bacon, eggs, biscuits, berries, cream, and fish would barely settle down the ravenous growling in her stomach.

    He had eavesdropped on the warriors and woodsfolk in the common room. The pending orc attack was on everyone’s mind, and this was one battle he wouldn’t miss for the world. When Hulgrim mentioned that Maerwyn was among those who needed protection, the dwarf considered his guide. She was a fierce warrioress in her own right. Her injury, however, would make her a liability in any battle. She needed to stay put. His eyes trailed to the window as the large patron explained the situation to his daughter. Nearby, Maerwyn’s bow and quiver of arrows were propped against a corner. She could still fight; just from a chair and behind the protection of her father’s walls. If trouble broke through and threatened the women and children, the mercenary would be a strong line of defense.

    Orin wanted to say, again, that Maerwyn had been the reason they had attacked the orcs, but it didn’t seem like the time or place. They hadn’t lit the fires, but they certainly had added to them.

    “And from what I hear--" Again, his eyes fixed expectantly on Orin. "Dwarves are very doughty fighters. That true, Master Orin? Can we depend on your axe in this fight?"

    He found his hand straying to Maerwyn’s plate and stealing a slice of ham off it, sharing her breakfast even though he’d already eaten. Pausing with the slice halfway to his lips, he nodded. “Of course – even if you weren’t Maerwyn’s family, I’d help. Neither of us would stand by and let evil triumph,” he declared, finally taking a bite of the food. He chewed as he looked at the mercenary, considering the expression on her face. After he swallowed, he shared his idea with her. “You can station yourself at the window with your bow,” he said, “maybe the walls if you’re strong enough, and help protect this home. I’ll go with your brothers to meet the orcs outside the walls, hopefully far enough away that any who break through will be taken down by those arrows of yours.”

    “I promised Tarrand a drawing of the battle if he would stay and protect the smaller children. I gotta keep that promise,” he said with a smile. “That boy is taller than I am; if I don’t, he’ll look down on all dwarves and think we’re oath breakers. Can’t have that, can we?”
     
    "Orin..." There was a soft tone of awe and respect in Maerwyn's voice that had never been there before while addressing her employer. The woman was touched at how quickly he was willing to rush to her family's defense, even though they'd done nothing but give him a bit of food and a roof over his head for the night. It highlighted that nobility she had seen in him in those rare previous occurences, like when he'd let the young bandit escape with his life back in Esgaroth or when he'd refused to leave her to the spiders. Despite standing beside her bear of a father, the dwarf seemed to grow in her mind, and she had to force her heart to quiet itself less the others hear it pounding in her chest.

    Instead, she decided to focus on that new sense of reassurance at the idea she could at least try shooting out the window, but her father quickly put an end to that idea.

    "The doors and windows need to be sealed. I won't have an errant shot draw their attention to the house. If they know where the women and children are, they'll target them even before the men, cowardly filth that they are," Hulgrim grunted, rising to his feet. "If you're done here, Master Dwarf, I'd like to introduce you to my nephew, Walbar. If I overheard my sons correctly, he'll be leading the second wave. I think that's where we'll have the most use for you.

    "Walbar is leading an attack?" Maerwyn cried out in surprise, trying to imagine her oafish cousin sinking an axe in anyone's skull except his own without tripping over his own two feet. "You're letting Walbar lead, but you're going to shut me up in here with a bunch of shrieking wives and brats? You know I'm a better fighter than that! Let me at least hold the front door with my bow. I won't shoot unless I see one of them get in range..."

    Hulgrim immediately shook his head. "It's too dangerous, lass. For you and for the others. We need to do all we can to keep them--and you--safe."

    "Keep me safe? Since when did you care about that?" the woman hissed, fresh rage rising in her cheeks. "When did you ever care about keeping your family safe? If you did, mama would--"

    "Your mother would slap that saucy little mouth of yours if she heard you speaking like this!" Hulgrim roared. Instinctively Maerwyn shrank back for a moment, then found her resolve and sat up straight.

    "I guess we'll never know, will we? Because she's dead. Because you weren't there to protect her," she hissed, peeling back the blankets and immediately trying to stand. Her father stared at her a moment, fighting the instinct to catch her when she collapsed on the floor a moment later. If that was the way she wanted to behave, so be it. He had more pressing matters to address at the moment.

    "At your leisure, Master Orin," the patriarch said to the dwarf, excusing himself back into the main hall. He had no doubt Orin would join him once he'd calmed the woman down a bit, though he hoped the matter wouldn't take too long.

    Maerwyn continued to glare back at him as she tried to pull herself into a standing position, finally collapsing back onto the bed in exhaustion when she was halfway there. "He's a bastard..." she grunted, then rolled over and looked at her companion. "Have you seen my trousers anywhere? Or my shoes?"

    *****
    ​
    After Carlin had finished her breakfast, she had stepped outside again to get a better look at the compound by daylight. The outbuildings were bustling with activity, with the small herd of goats and sheep being quickly led away into the treeline while the chickens were left to tend to themselves as best they could. The beehives were humming away merrily as though nothing could possibly be wrong, and a few of the older children were playing swords with sticks near the front gate when suddenly the ground began to shake.

    Reflexively, the elf reached for her bow and was about to ascend the nearest watchpost for a better shot, but the shape that burst out of the woods was no orc, but an hulking shaggy black bear. All around her the inhabitants had at first tensed at the shaking, but surprisingly when they saw the beast all seemed to visibly relax, and a moment later Carlin saw why. The bear shifted its motion from running all fours to standing up on its hind legs to a height of nearly eight feet...or was it seven feet? Or six? As the creature began to shrink, the thick black hair began to fall away, eventually leaving the muscular figure of Fulgrim standing where the bear had been.

    "Skin-changers..." Carlin murmured in utter shock. The gift was not something wholly unknown to her people, but it was something only the most powerful magicians should have been able to do. To see that such an enchanter dwelt among the common folk of the woods was astounding, and yet all of the people of the house seemed as unimpressed by the feat as though Fulgrim had returned wearing a new pair of shoes. At least, until he broke the news.

    "They're moving north. We need to get everyone inside," he growled, quickly beginning to bark out orders as the children were shuffled inside the house.
     
    Although Orin did not agree with Hulgrim’s decision not to put her at a window, this was his home, and the dwarf respected that he had a right to run his home’s defenses as he saw fit. He accepted the declaration, though his throat felt sour at the thought that she would be defenseless as well. He would have to ensure that, no matter the cost, the orcs did not break through.

    He had no idea who Walbar was. Maerwyn certainly knew! The brief battle of wills between father and daughter was fiery and brief. He learned more of her anguish, and perhaps understood more of his pain. It felt like he was watching something much too private for an acquaintance of merely a month to see, but there it was; all spread out in its naked glory. She blamed him for her mother’s death. He did not feel the same way. At the moment all the dwarf could do was be thankful her wrath had not turned upon him.

    And then, the silly girl tried to stand. He wasn’t quick enough; the shock of her effort stilling him. Both Orin and Huglrim watched her struggle and fall back to bed. ‘She’s going to be impossible,’ thought the dwarf, wondering if she realized she was hurting only herself. Her father gave Orin a few moments, and once he was gone, the sturdy young warrior went to Maerwyn’s bedside. “Stop that,” he told her. “You’re not going anywhere, Maer.” He propped up her pillows so she could sit, and if she let him would help her scoot back towards the wall.

    “I’m going to give you your swords and your bow, in case any of them get into this room,” he said, leveling his gaze at her. “We’ll talk about your father later. For now…” he did as he promised and laid her weapons across the bed. “If I know that you’re safe, back here, I’ll be able to focus on the task at hand.” He sighed, thinking on Carlin’s words of advice to him.

    “I’m not a bard,” he said, knowing their time was short, “so forgive me for being blunt. If you were well, there’s no one I’d rather have fighting at my back. I trust you.” He laid a hand on her arm. “I know we’re going to be okay. If you and I…and Carlin, I guess, could take on a dozen of these creatures, then thirty or forty will be no trouble for your family and I to handle.”

    “But, Maerwyn, the thing that we fight for, these ‘shrieking wives and brats’, are the ‘why’ behind it all, aren’t they? I like your family. And I like you, a lot. So, promise you’ll stay here and do as you are told, just this once, so I know that you’ll still be here when we’re done.” And then, because there might not be an after (if he was being honest with himself), he leaned in and kissed her before she could protest, then hurried out the door and shut it snug behind him.

    The children and women were being herded to safety, and Orin could hear the sounds of windows being shuttered and doors being locked. Fulgrim had already announced at the orcs were moving north. As the dwarf buckled his vest and grabbed his axe, he lamented only that he hadn’t thought to clean and sharpen it when he had the chance. Now the battle was at hand, and there was no time to prepare.

    He spotted Carlin and raised a hand in acknowledgement. Her part of the battle would be in another location, one better suited for her skills. This might be the last time they saw each other on this side of the veil of life. As one of the younger men rushed by Orin asked him to point out Walbar. He jogged over to the much taller group, eager to get the battle started. The worst moments in a war are the ones right before it and the ones after. The battle takes care of itself.
     
    Maerwyn's brows knit together furiously as Orin easily pushed her body backwards. "You're lucky you're paying me, do you know that? You'd never get away with treating me this way otherwise." Still, she was grateful to have her weapons close at hand, though she wasn't sure what good they'd do unless the invaders broke directly into her room. Someone had already close the shutters of the window and secured them with a click of a metal latch, plunging them into shadow. There was enough light coming from the open door into the hall at least, and the mercenary could see the concern and worry in the dwarf's eyes as he looked at her.

    A strange new fear began to grip her heart. Worried as her employer might have been about her, the idea that something could happen to Orin suddenly became too horrible to imagine. It wasn't just because of the money. The idea of not hearing his voice again, never seeing that mischievous sparkle in those beautiful dark eyes of his, never feeling his powerful arms embracing her...all of a sudden Maerwyn wanted nothing more than to hold him tight against her, never letting him go. Don't leave she wanted to say. Don't do this, don't put yourself at risk for me.

    She was so bewildered by the sudden rush of emotion that she couldn't move, couldn't speak. All she could do was listen to him with an expression that was probably stony and uncaring from his perspective, but perhaps that was for the best. It was better he think her a cold-hearted bitch than a coward, because if he knew how frightened she was Maerwyn had no doubt he would stay. But Orin was right, protecting the ones who couldn't fight was important. It was only through her own stupid actions that Maerwyn wasn't able to help them now, otherwise she too would have been on the front lines with her weapons at the ready. She'd been too careless though, and not fast enough, and now she had to pay the price by letting the dwarf fight in her place.

    There was only one thing that could reassure her now as they sat in the gloom, wondering if it would be the last time either of them looked upon the other's living face.

    I like your family. And I like you, a lot.

    And then his lips on hers.

    Maerwyn was grateful for the darkness so he couldn't see the look on her face, but she cursed her pain-dulled reflexes that prevented her from embracing him one last time. She wasn't even fast enough to speak before he was gone and had shut the door behind him, leaving her in complete and utter darkness. "Idiot..." she finally grumbled when the house seemed to have gone quiet. "Be careful."

    For a few moments she sat completely alone in the dark, but a few minutes later the door opened again and the slim figure of Harric stood silhouetted against the frame. "There you are!" he cried, approaching the bed and reaching out to take his cousin in his arms. "Come on, Uncle says you're to go in the cellar with everyone else."

    "The cellar?" Maerwyn repeated, suddenly seeing an uncomfortable resemblance between the dark underground chambers beneath the house and the dungeons of the Woodland King. She shook her head violently. "No, let me guard the trapdoor. I just need a chair and my weapons, place me in the hall and I swear I won't move."

    Harric looked uncomfortable, but the youth's will was nothing compared to the mercenary's. And so it was a short while later that the woman sat alone in her father's chair before the dim fire in the great hall, dressed in a clean white linen gown and no other armor whatsoever. Her bow and arrows were ready, and one sword rested lightly across her lap. The other was on the floor and would probably prove useless, but if worse came to worst, its mate would ensure no orc ever laid a hand on Maerwyn's living body. That was a promise.

    *****
    ​
    Outside, Hulgrim's extended family and friends had all fallen in their ranks. The patriarch stood dead center in the gate of the outermost wall, with Fulgrim and Beorgrim on either side of him. Valgrim, curiously enough, was on the roof of the barn, scanning the treeline for signs of movement. Carlin too was on a roof, albeit she was perched almost all the way on the pinnacle of the turret at the rear of the main house (no one was quite sure how she'd gotten up there, but neither did they doubt the wisdom or eyes of a Mirkwood elf). The rest of the archers were all posted on the walls, while Walbar and his axemen, including Orin, made a solid line along the southern edge of the clearing.

    Curiously, Hulgrim and his sons, along with perhaps two or three others, did not carry weapons of any kind. This did not detract from the ferocity in their faces, however, nor did it ease the tension in their muscles as they seemed poised and ready to spring.

    Finally, Carlin's voice broke the silence. "Archers, at the ready!" her clear tone rang out, and a moment later movement echoed through the woods.

    A handaxe went flying, and if any man but Orin had been standing exactly where he was, a head would have gone flying. As it was, the axe embedded itself deeply in the thick timber of the fence, and with a roar the orcs burst out of the treeline, followed immediately by a rain of arrows from further in the compound. Fulgrim fell forward immediately, his body growing in size and becoming covered in thick black hair as he took on his bear form, and a moment later Beorgrim followed suit, albeit his shape was that of a slightly smaller brown bear. Valgrim broke suit from his brothers; spreading his arms, he grew feathers instead of fur, and with a powerful leap from his now-taloned legs he sprung into the air as an enormous hawk.

    A few other bears appeared in the midst, dodging the axemen as they raced towards the orcs and the next wave of arrows announced on Carlin's signal, but the most impressive of all was Hulgrim, who in his own shaggy form stood at almost nine feet tall and let out a roar like thunder. The sound of him alone was enough to give a few of the orcs pause, but after steeling themselves they pushed forward again, determined to break through the lines and fight their way into the hall where the women and children cowered in fear, and Maerwyn kept her lone vigil with her eyes fixed firmly on the door.
     
    It was not the first time that Orin had thought Maerwyn’s family was like a clan of giant dwarves; fierce, loyal, and steadfast in their ways. He lamented that he had to meet them under such duress, but he was thankful to have met them at all. If he would have only had her side of the story, he doubted he would have thought much of the bloodline that bred such a ferocious woman, let alone one with the traits so strongly endowed in her that he saw reflections of his guide in every face around him as they gathered for battle.

    As he gripped his axe and stood between his taller comrades a grim thought came to mind: this could be the last battle he fought, but at least he would die among family. He frowned and shut his eyes to send a prayer to Ilúvatar, that He not forget this dwarf so far removed from home, and grant His blessings of battle. When he opened his eyes, a swift breeze above him and a harsh ~thunk!~ in the tree behind, told Orin that he’d narrowly missed meeting Aulë. He ducked by reflex, then glanced behind him, sickened at the depth at which the axe had sunk.

    'That could have been me.'

    He raised his voice with the others as they countercharged, feet furiously moving to meet their enemy. A blur to his right drew his eye, and Orin stumbled at the sight of Fulgrim’s change into a bear!

    “What the –“ he had little time to react; a charging orc tried to bowl him to the ground, and soon he was immersed in the fight. A glimpse of wings spreading from Valgrim’s arms flickered across his eyes as he blocked the next swing, then headbutted the orc’s chest and drove the breath from the foul one's lungs. Soon he was immersed; the calm of the battle taking over his awe of what he had seen, and Orin’s only care was to keep the orcs from breaking through.

    Images of the slaughtered merchants overlapped the faces of her kin. Harric, Jorla, Katwinne and Errin, and little Tarrand…he would not let that happen to them! His thoughts went to Maerwyn laying in bed, unable to even get up, and something ferocious clicked inside. He wasn't defending her family - he was defending his.

    Orin's strength surged, and his parries and swings became effortless. As if the orcs had been slowed in thick water, the warrior dwarf moved swiftly among them, ruthlessly cutting down each threat that came in range, and seeing the direction of their attacks more clearly. A sword swing at the dwarf's head was stopped when he grabbed the ricasso and jerked the surprised orc forward, plunging the sharpened tri-blade on his axe end into the creature’s throat, as if throwing a spear. He reversed his grip in time to drive the axe head across an approaching armored chest, ripping through bone and flesh and lung.

    Somewhere in the blur of battle he had ceased using his axe two-handed and had picked up a discarded hand axe, fighting with each hand independently as the orcs poured ceaselessly from the forest. He felt no weariness, and pressed on as if he was merely an observer to his own actions. A bear rushed by, and he recognized it; Fulgrim. He paused to let it pass, and heard the cry of a hawk over head. All around him was foe and friend.

    And behind him, depending on him and her kin, waited Maerwyn.
     
    Carlin didn't want to admit it, but part of the reason she'd taken a post on the roof was not just because of the advantage it would create when combined with her sharp eyes, but because it was one of the safest places to be in the midst of battle. She had been so sure she was about to witness a massacre despite her best efforts; after all, she could hardly expect a ragtag family of near savages to stand firm against the wrath and violence of Dol Goldur.

    And yet...they did.

    To be fair, the skin-changers were racking up most of the kills. Fulgrim in particular fought like a man (beast?) possessed, his massive claws easily taking out two of the invaders at a time if they didn't have the reflexes to jump out of the way. Beorgrim's jaws also had no trouble ripping off a limb here and here, although the elf could tell by one of his roars that he had taken a blow or two of his own in his massive body. Still though, he kept fighting, aided overhead by the form of the swooping hawk while the rest of the bears were busy harrying the orcs trying to circle around to the back of the house. Those monsters that escaped the skin-changers didn't fare so well with the archers, and more than one had fallen to the ground with one of Carlin's own arrows in their chests.

    Most surprising of all was the way Orin was handling himself. Carlin hadn't had much of a chance to watch him fight back on the smoke-choked road, but once she was able to pick him out of the fray she almost froze for a moment, watching him cut down the orcs as though they were so many pieces of cordwood. He didn't have the grace of an elf, at least not a silvan elf. The sheer power in his movements though...that was worthy of the heroes of old. She was beginning to understand why Maerwyn seemed to regard him so highly, though the elf was starting to wonder why he bothered himself with her at all. Especially now, considering the mercenary was holed up in bed in the house, she probably needed Orin's protection more than he could have ever needed hers.

    She was so entranced in watching him fight that at first she didn't realize that the orcs were beginning to fall back. What was left of them, at least. There were only a few individuals still standing, but those that were running to the treeline now weren't showing any signs of fear. Carlin frowned, wondering what in the world they were planning, but a moment later she heard a sound that told her full well what was coming.

    A wolf had howled.

    But it wasn't a wolf. Not a true wolf. No, the three creatures that emerged from the woods now were every bit as large as the men-turned-bears, and they walked on two legs. Carlin had heard the old tales of the gaurhoth, and how The Enemy had trapped wicked souls in the bodies of wolves and made guards for his cursed fortress. While these weren't quite as terrifying as the stories of Carcharoth might have led the elf to believe, they were still enough to send some of the younger fighters back to the second wall, dropping their weapons as they fled in fear. The bears and hawk kept their nerve at least, and setting her jaw Carlin took aim again, praying to Elbereth that the arrows of Mirkwood would be enough to take them out.

    *****
    ​
    Inside, Maerwyn could hear the sounds of battle clearly, but not too closely. That was a relief at least, and she could focus on steeling her will enough to keep from staggering out to join the fray. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around the shaft of an arrow, her thumb brushing lightly over the scarlet feathers as she made ready to fire at the door. Her legs still felt weak, but the more she flexed and practiced drawing her bow, her arms at least began to regain some of their old strength. And when she heard the startlingly loud bang that caused her fingers to slip, she fired the missile deep into one of the intricately carved doorposts. If it had been a person, no doubt the victim would have fallen dead, and that was at least a little reassure.

    But the sound hadn't come from outside. No, the trapdoor near the hearth had flown open, and Harric was climbing out with a heavily pregnant woman on his back. Behind him came another woman bearing a strong resemblance to the soon-to-be mother, albeit her expression was much more grim and serious as the healers laid Isvera on her back before the faintly glowing embers.

    "What's going on?" Maerwyn gasped, although judging by the woman's choked grunts and clenching fists she had a good idea.

    "The baby's coming," Harric explained, trying and failing miserably to keep the nervousness out of his voice. Healer as he was, the young man had still never been allowed to assist in a birth, and it was only due to Iorhild's insistance that he come up and at least stand guard.

    "Baby? Whose baby?" the mercenary asked, blinking stupidly as she immediately forgot the battle going on outside. The woman on the floor continued to pant but looked over towards her as though Maerwyn could ease the pain wracking her body.

    "Be...Beorgrim..." Was all she managed to stammer before another scream ripped through her throat.

    Luckily, the female healer seemed a bit more grounded as she turned the pregnant woman slightly and glanced up towards Maerwyn. "Looks like you're about to meet your niece or nephew," Iorhild remarked grimly, then jerking her head in her colleague's direction. "Harric, help her off that chair. I imagine if you think you're well enough to kill orcs, you're probably well enough to help birth a babe."

    The expression on the mercenary's face made it very clear she would have preferred to face orcs than childbirth, but all the same she slid onto the floor and crawled as best as she could to Isvera's side. "What do I need to do?" she asked finally, looking helplessly in Iorhild's eyes.

    "For now? Hold her hand, I'm going to need both of mine," the healer answered, rolling up her sleeves. For a moment, she glanced towards Maerwyn's abandoned swords. "You can also lend one of those to Harric, if you've a mind. We need water." There was silence for a moment as all of them remembered the water was stored in barrels...outside. Maerwyn eventually nodded to her cousin, who took one of the shortswords before approaching the barricaded door.

    "Stars protect him," Iorhild muttered, then began to stoke the fire.
     
    They were winning! The orcs were falling back, and had Orin not thought they might have been retreating to a trap, he would have followed. Still, the running orcs gave him a brief reprieve, and in that moment he dropped the found axe and gripped his own, panting through the haze of battle. He turned to regard the scene around him; Valgrim swooped to pluck an orc from its attack, ripping it in two before dropping the still-screaming creature to the ground.

    Across the fields Maerwyn’s kin finished off the few remaining who had not fled, and in that brief rest, Orin noticed that he was injured, though he did not recall the moment. His injuries were not grave; but the fact that he had not remembered getting them was concerning.

    The wolves’ howl drew his eyes to the forest and chilled his blood. It was not just the breeze on damped skin, but the chill of knowing that something bred of evil was on its way. He felt the darkness, before he saw the two-legged monstrosities burst out of the forest.

    They were fast. Too fast – one charged by, quicker than the dwarf could react, and by the time he met the next it simply lifted a huge paw and batted him to the side. Orin rolled with the fall, feeling his head ring and cursing himself for not wearing a helm. He heard the growls of both gaurhoth and bear and scrambled to his feet to survey the battlefield. He tasted blood in his mouth, and the ache across his body where the creature had struck him. Orin spit on the ground, seeing blood, then gripped his axe and ran towards the nearest of the foul creatures, not wanting to think what would happen if these broke into the Woodsman’s home.
     
    Carlin's arrows found their mark, but it wasn't enough. Four, five, six shafts now were all protruding from the lead werewolf's chest, and still he came. His eyes were fixed on her, and she was sure he was about to leap up onto the roof after her and tear her head off (and probably go crashing through the thatching at that), but something beneath her caught his attention instead.

    Harric didn't even have the presence of mind to scream when he saw the monstrosity racing towards him. Maerwyn's sword clattered uselessly down the stone steps of the house, and the healer shut his eyes tight, sure his life was about to come to a premature end.

    Then a thunderclap.

    No, not thunder. The young man opened his eyes just in time to see a grizzled brown wall slam into the werewolf's body with all the speed and strength of a boulder rolling down a mountainside. Harric himself was no skinchanger, he didn't have the courage or discipline to go through the necessary training to make the enchantment work, but he recognized his uncle's altered form all the same. Hulgrim, the largest of the bears in the fight, had thrown his entire body weight on top of the gaur and threatened to squeeze the life out of him. The healer was tempted to take the opportunity to run, but when he heard another scream from inside the house he recalled himself. As quickly as possible he filled a nearby pot with water from one of the rain barrels, then sloshing it back and forth (and leaving Maerwyn's sword behind) he quickly retreated back into the house, barricading the door behind him.

    "There's...there's something horrible out there," was all he managed to gasp as he returned to the women, the pot only half full by now.

    "Orcs?" Maerwyn asked in alarm, noticing he no longer held her sword.

    Harric shook his head as he hung the pot over the fire, nearly burning his hand in the process. "Something worse. Something like wolves but...not."

    "Wolves and orcs aside, there's only one thing you need to worry about now: infection," Iorhild snapped. "Go fetch some of the wine, or cider. Anything strong. We don't have nearly enough water..."

    *****
    ​
    While the lead werewolf was subdued by the patriarch, the other two were more than happy to finish the job that the orcs had started. They weren't as intent on getting into the house just yet, not before taking out more of the defenders. A few of the more stouthearted of the axemen were beginning to rally, but the archers couldn't even manage to get a decent shot at either of them (Carlin excepted of course, but even she was beginning to run low on arrows).

    Valgrim screeched and made a dive for the nearest one, but needed to veer his course at the last moment in order to avoid losing a wing to a frothing, snapping maw. His next few attempts were just as fruitless, and eventually he changed his course, flying higher and higher into the sky until he was almost completely gone from view. For a moment, it provided enough of a distraction for Fulgrim to attack the distracted werewolf, but the son didn't have the strength of his father, and the gaur soon had him pinned.

    The third werewolf had caught sight of the wounded dwarf, not quite understanding what Orin was as much as it knew he was hurt. With an rage-filled snarl the monster charged, its mouth open to reveal a set of yellow, dagger-like teeth and raising its claws ready to pierce the dwarf through entirely.
     
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