A pause fell before Queen Despara spoke. She reached for a roasted leg of chicken with quiet grace. Her voice was soft, but steady.
“Perhaps we should send some of our own, my heart,” she said, glancing at Elron. “So the world sees dwarves not behind the cause—but beside it.”
Elron’s frown gave way to a crooked smile.
“Wise as the mountain is old, my jewel,” he murmured, then faced the others with renewed purpose.
“I’ll send two dozen of our own with you. Not my best—they’re at the border holds—but good lads. Loyal. Battle-hardened.”
He turned back to Timmy.
“Truth is, the lad already carries our finest into the fray… even if he doesn’t know it yet.”
A flicker of pride softened the old dwarf’s features as he looked at him.
Arkin leaned back with a warm smile. “You and Arlin think alike. He already sent a dozen of his own to travel with us—his show of support.”
Elron chuckled, eyes gleaming.
“Well, not his best. I’ve got them at my outposts too,” he said with a grin.
Timmy straightened. “Next, we ride to Elkinra.”
His voice was clear, decisive.
Elron’s brow furrowed. “When do you leave?”
“At first light,” Arkin replied. “We won’t stay in Elkinra long—just a few hours.”
Queen Despara offered a kind smile. “I’ll have rooms prepared for all of you.”
Fronan opened his mouth to decline, but she raised a hand, silencing him with a single graceful gesture.
“I’ll hear no mitherin’ objections from those lips o’ yers,” she said firmly, her gravelly voice softening only slightly with unmistakable warmth and determination.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBJvXgSjfTk
“Our royal guest chambers put any manky old tavern’s bunks to shame for cleanliness and comfort. Ye’ll be stayin’ here as our honored guests—and that’s an end to it.”
She fixed Fronan with a look that brooked no argument.
Turning to Timmy, Despara’s expression softened a touch.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ484p7Y3B3l
“An’ the same goes for ye, young Timmy. Yer usual chambers await—neat as a new-minted coin, an’ comfy as a wee babe’s swaddlin’ cloths.”
Despite her gravelly tones, there was a clear undercurrent of warmth and affection in the queen’s words.
“Thank you both for your kindness,” Arkin said, nodding in appreciation.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2PT3mgunlz
“Thanks,” Timmy added with a warm smile toward Despara.
Flookin, the youngest son of Elron and Despara, rose gracefully from his seat.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8YGszOgrkp
A lopsided grin spread across his face as he stretched, the muscles in his arms rippling beneath his shirt.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxMTRlkSLCD
The flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows across his features, highlighting the mischievous glint in his eyes as he glanced at the gathered company.
“Speaking of beds, I should bid you all farewell for now,” Flookin announced, voice laced with playful mischief. “I’ve got tasks to attend to before I’m ready to call it a night.”
Despara rose from her seat, her eyes softening with maternal affection as she embraced her son. Flookin pressed a tender kiss to his mother’s cheek, gratitude and love shining in his gaze. Then, with a faint smirk playing at his lips, he casually saluted his father.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhG0oIMPZat
“Good night, love you,” Flookin said warmly, bidding his parents farewell.
Elron chuckled deeply, watching his son prepare to leave. A playful glint sparked in his eyes as he teased,173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcm0VgRC3gz
“Oh aye, these ‘tasks’ ye need tendin’ to afore retirin’ for the night…” He arched a bushy brow knowingly. “Does this duty answer to the name o’ Faylyn, by any chance?”
A mischievous dwarven twinkle danced in the king’s gaze. Flookin shot a cheeky grin over his shoulder, ignoring the teasing jab, and left the room. The lightness of their banter lingered in the air a moment longer.
Elron’s smile faded with a shake of his head, as if brushing away the momentary levity. His expression hardened once more, focus returning to the weighty matters at hand.
“When ye reach the trading outpost at Elkinra, will ye seek an audience with Jofrun?” Elron asked, voice sharp with interest.
“Probably not,” Fronan replied, serious and measured. “If we do, it’ll be as brief as possible.”
Simo broke in with a sly grin, easing the tension.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5UwmU2Y5Pw
“No real point; sounds like you’ve got all his best men already.”
Elron chuckled, appreciating the jest.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6cFNgB0vtt
“Well, that’s true enough,” he admitted. “But I need ye to update him on everything we’ve discussed today—’tis crucial to keep our plans moving forward.”
Fronan nodded firmly. “We can do that.”
Elron stroked his thick braided beard thoughtfully.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfIOMgFH0sn
“Good, good. Then I’ll send word to ol’ Arlin at Torin’s Passage—lettin’ that stout dwarf know our plans to join forces with Turon’s folk.”
He glanced around the room before continuing,173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9LpQNQT1Fa
“And on the morrow, I’ll make for those ‘Fields of Forever’ myself to parley with Turon face-to-face. We’ll lay all our plans bare and settle matters quick, if we’re to have a dwarf’s chance in this fight.”
Darwin leaned forward, determination shining in his eyes.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMqBQR3gmOh
“Send me, father. You’re needed here.”
Elron furrowed his brow, weighing his son’s request carefully.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgXVLbCffIu
“I don’t know about that, lad,” he rumbled after a moment’s pause. “Let me think it over before deciding anything rash.”
Timmy spoke up firmly in Darwin’s defense.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOuGm33s8xS
“You know he’s right, and he can do it.”
Darwin’s eyes softened with gratitude at Timmy’s unwavering support. Nodding respectfully, he conveyed the deepening bond between them.
Elron regarded Timmy’s words, his expression unreadable. After a long breath that seemed to echo from the mountain’s very heart, he finally spoke.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9z25XaJuju
“Aye, I know you’re both right on this,” the dwarven king stated, the weight of finality in his tone. “Fine then. On the morrow, I’ll brief you proper, Darwin, so you’ll be ready to serve as Turon’s voice and ambassador.”
He turned his piercing gaze toward Fronan.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQH59vFtZq8
“And I’ll be sending Grimnir and Aljanar to join your company. From there, they’ll proceed to Munjonin to carry my message before their council.”
Durbeth, the middle son, met his father’s eyes steadily and declared with confidence,173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvtrsYKsSo7
“I’ll go with Darwin, Father.”
Before Elron could respond, Queen Despara interjected with playful scolding and motherly concern.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8tlNEsInGu
“Oh no ye don’t!” The dwarven queen fixed her husband and sons with a stern yet affectionate look. “Is every dwarrow in this mountain bound and determined to leave me here all alone?”
Though her tone was light and teasing, genuine worry lingered beneath her words. Turning to Durbeth, she said,173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡW8ljJGeF5J
“And you as well, gettin’ such notions? Don’t be forgettin’ your poor old mother’s feelings so easily, my son.”
Elron chuckled warmly, eyes crinkling as he looked at his wife. Placing a calloused hand atop hers, he replied gently,173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcDXRfWfhwA
“Now now, my jewel, you know we’d never truly leave you be.”
He took a hearty sip from his ale before continuing.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡx905E24Ltd
“But your mother’s right. One of you lads needs to stay behind—to keep her company while I oversee operations at the forward encampments.”
His expression grew serious as he met Durbeth’s gaze.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdcgnwnebjm
“But it’s not just for company’s sake. With most of our finest warriors deployed, the city’s left vulnerable. If word reached our enemies—or even a roving band o’ gutsy bandits—that the mountain stands leaderless…” He let the warning hang heavy in the air.
“We’d paint a target on our own backs, see? Can’t let our home become a tempting prize while I’m away.”
With a firm pat on his son’s hand, Elron concluded,173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVSAJLn2FJQ
“So for now, best you remain—a protector watching over the queen and our people’s hearths. We’ll rejoin you at the front sooner than you think.”
Durbeth nodded, acceptance clear in his expression.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkee2gcUr4k
“I understand, Father.”
“Aye, I’m for my bedchambers as well,” Despara said, rising with a weary but tender sigh. “We’ve much to prepare for come dawn’s first light.”
Circling the table, Queen Despara bent to plant a gentle kiss on Elron’s furrowed brow.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOiyXJFUx5G
“Try not to overindulge too much with the lads tonight, my love,” she cautioned, her tone warm and fond rather than reproachful.
Turning to face her sons, she fixed them with a pointed look.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhXwsM11MMu
“Aye, and that goes doubly for you two ruggers. Best keep your wits about you.”
She softened the warning with affectionate pecks on each cheek before stepping away.
As the heavy chamber doors swung shut behind her, Elron visibly relaxed, rolling his broad shoulders with a grunt. His gaze settled on his empty mug, and without hesitation, he reached for the nearest ale jug, sloshing the hearty dwarven brew generously to refill it.
The dwarven king then turned toward Timmy, tilting his head slightly and raising the refilled jug in invitation.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVTjGohnUMI
“Care for a fresh pour yourself, lad?” His gruff voice softened with convivial warmth now that Despara was gone. “No sense lettin’ this fine brew go stale before a proper company of dwarven throats has had their way with it, aye?”
Timmy glanced down at his empty mug, gratitude washing over him as he smiled appreciatively.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7KBfBoSKao
“Won’t say no,” he replied, lifting his mug toward Elron.
Elron chuckled, pouring the rich amber liquid with steady hands.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrKMtJNZMVi
“There you go, lad,” he said, sliding the jug back to the table’s center.
Fronan eagerly seized the jug, filling his mug to the brim before offering it to Arkin, who politely declined with a shake of his head.
“To a successful journey and a swift return,” Arkin proposed, raising his mug in a solemn toast.
Timmy lifted his mug in agreement, a genuine smile spreading across his face.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeM9Id3IsCO
“To victory,” he declared, clinking his mug against Elron’s.
Fronan followed, exchanging a clink with Arkin, their gestures echoing the bond forged between seasoned warriors. The ringing of mugs filled the chamber—a chorus of solidarity and resolve.
As they sipped the warm amber liquid, a comforting sense of unity settled over them, easing the tension that hung in the evening air. Elron savored the moment, reflecting on the challenges ahead and the trust he placed in his companions.
Timmy’s smile widened as he took in the faces around the table, sensing a deep connection and belonging.
As the evening wore on and conversation drifted toward lighter topics, the weight of their responsibilities lifted—if only for a while. Amid the warmth of companionship and laughter, they found solace and strength, their hearts steeled for the trials yet to come.
Elron and Timmy leaned back in their chairs, glasses raised in unison, spirits buoyed. A silent vow passed between them—a shared resolve, forged in quiet understanding, as they prepared for what lay ahead.
*
Meanwhile, far from the halls of stone, Witlon’s stable chores grounded two unlikely captives in a different kind of reality…
Alexi found solace in the quiet routines: the steady thud of hooves on dirt, the comforting scent of hay, and the warm breath of horses pressed close in their stalls. Since his reassignment as a house slave, the stables had become a sanctuary of sorts. His hands had grown familiar with the coarse texture of leather reins and the scratch of horsehair. His movements were smooth now, shaped by the resignation of someone who had stopped fighting but hadn’t entirely given up. There was a practiced calm in him—a quiet surrender that was both comforting and quietly heartbreaking to witness.
Spud, by contrast, was a whirlwind of restless motion. He couldn’t sit still, couldn’t root himself in one place. His days blurred between mucking stalls with Alexi, clattering pots in the kitchens, and pulling weeds from the garden’s manicured beds. He worked as if trying to outrun memory—as if any moment of stillness might let something catch up to him.
They were no longer strangers among the other Witlonians. Faces had grown familiar—some offering kindness, a joke in passing, or a shared loaf of stolen bread. Others turned away, their silence heavy with resentment. Neither Spud nor Alexi blamed them; in this place, survival left many kinds of scars.
They hadn’t returned to the swamps. Nor had they been sent to the wild edges of the estate. Each day without that summons brought a quiet, shared relief. Miluna still passed through their lives now and then—a quick smile here, a nod there—but Lacard had not appeared again.
A sudden clang shattered the kitchen’s quiet rhythm.
Spud, elbow-deep in soapy water, flinched at the sound, splashing a wave across his tunic. He turned to see Hemina frozen near the door, a shattered bucket at her feet and wide eyes fixed on the spreading puddle.
Her laugh was brittle. “I’m sorry, Spud,” she said, nodding toward his soaked tunic. “Lucky you were already wet.”
Spud glanced down, then back at her. Water—clouded with the residue of midday dishes—spread across the stone floor. The bucket had split clean down one side.
He noticed the tension in her shoulders, the silent dread behind her forced smile.
“It’s fine,” he said gently, kneeling to gather the broken pieces. “Old bucket anyway. We’ll grab another from the storeroom.”
Reaching for a rag, he started mopping the floor with quick efficiency. Hemina hesitated, then stepped forward to join him, relief softening her features.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “My head was somewhere else.”
Spud nodded. “It happens.” He didn’t ask where her thoughts had gone. Everyone in Witlon carried worries that pulled them from the present, like invisible threads tugging at their minds.
Then a shadow darkened the kitchen archway.
Kon’ma.
Older than Spud by a few years, he carried himself with the smug arrogance of someone who’d carved out a niche of power within captivity. Arms crossed over his chest, a sneer twisting his mouth.
“Don’t waste your time helping him, Hemina,” he said, voice oily with contempt. “The barbarian should be grateful we let him inside.”
The room fell still. Even the crackle of the hearth seemed to hush.
Spud looked up slowly, something unreadable flickering in his eyes—but he said nothing. The insult washed over him like waves against stone.
Hemina surged to her feet, dropping the rag with a wet slap. She squared her small frame like a soldier.
Her voice was low, but it cut with clarity. “He’s the one helping me, Kon’ma. And no one asked for your opinion.”
Her words didn’t bristle with anger. They rang with disappointment—clean, sharp, undeniable.
Kon’ma’s smirk faltered.
Spud blinked once, then returned to wiping the floor—this time with the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
*
Prince Turon stood just outside the flap of his tent, the pre-dawn air a crisp whisper against his skin.
Before him stretched two thousand soldiers—his army. Their tents formed a vast patchwork across the fading night, a temporary city of canvas and quiet breaths. It was immense. Fragile. And it was his to command.
He had never led an army before.
Within him churned a strange duality. He bore the quiet confidence of a man trained for this—years of royal tutelage in warcraft, duty, and command. But beneath that, colder and harder to ignore, lay doubt. Not in himself, but in the future. The scale of what awaited felt insurmountable—a mountain of blood and steel. And on his shoulders rested not only the lives of the men sleeping behind him but the very fate of his kingdom.
His gaze drifted beyond the camp, out over the vast expanse of the Fields of Forever. The name was cruelly ironic—a place soaked in centuries of battle, where lives had been traded like coin and time itself seemed to lose meaning. The sunrise bled streaks of rose and gold across the horizon, but its beauty did little to soothe the storm inside him. He tried to breathe—deep, steady, disciplined. He focused on the distant tree line, the low mist pooling in the hollows of the land.
Behind him, the army breathed and waited. A thousand hearts tethered to his.
A flash of sunlight glinted off the polished steel of General Winrun’s breastplate, snapping Turon from his thoughts. The general approached with a purposeful stride—rigid, efficient, and unflinching. His face was a slab of weathered stone, expressionless yet commanding.
Prince Turon’s jaw clenched as Winrun’s words hung heavy between them. Errin’s name was a stone sinking deep in still waters, rippling outwards with consequences Turon could not ignore.
He shot a quick, haunted glance at Winrun, feeling the sharp absence of Fronan—a trusted friend and steadying presence—like a wound beneath his ribs. Fronan would have known what to say, how to steady this storm. And Arlep, his brother, the steady hand and measured voice, was gone too, sent away on a mission Turon thought necessary, but now wondered if it was a costly mistake. Had he been left exposed just as the tide turned?
He faced Winrun again, eyes hard. “Is that wise?” he asked, frustration bleeding through. “We’re already testing the King’s patience. Errin should be at Roldoc.”
The unspoken truth sliced sharper than any blade: Errin’s arrival was no reinforcements—it was provocation.
Winrun’s gaze swept over the stirring camp, the low murmur of awakening soldiers rising with the dawn. “The prince wants to fight,” he said flatly. “Not sit safe while others bleed. He won’t be a pawn in the King’s cowardice.”
It wasn’t rebellion—it was a brutal truth.
Turon stiffened at the words. The King’s cowardice. It wasn’t just insult—it was a fear Turon had buried beneath duty and hope. Now it was laid bare, uttered by a man who barely knew him but saw the fracture in their cause.
Winrun nodded toward the horizon, toward the creeping shadow of the invaders. “Besides, those blasted aliens have to get through us before they reach Roldoc—or anywhere else.”
The bluntness landed with finality. This was no longer court intrigue. This was survival. They were the last, trembling wall against oblivion.
Suddenly, a figure approached at a hurried pace—Hargot, the scout, dirt smeared across his weary face, worry etched in every step. He stopped before Turon, breath short and urgent.
“Prince Turon,” he said low, “Prince Errin approaches. With four, maybe five hundred men.”
Silence.
Turon’s shoulders sagged, breath escaping like a punch to the gut. “He’s going to get us all hanged,” he muttered. “Marching in with that many…”
He left the rest unsaid—he didn’t need to. The King’s fury at such blatant defiance was a storm they all feared. Political suicide writ large.
He met Hargot’s young, determined eyes and forced a nod. “Thank you. You may go.”
Hargot bowed and slipped away, leaving Turon alone with the bitter truth:
Errin wasn’t coming to help.
He was coming to send a message.
And that message might cost them everything.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGvwHIe9e5Z
and then Add to home screen.