---Igris's point of view---
I look at Arwen sitting opposite me… she asked something I never expected… It was an embarrassing request — why must I tell my own adventures? Telling them to our group would be one thing, but explaining myself to a woman I've only just met feels very strange.
"Arwen… my adventures aren't that entertaining… among the Elves there are people with far more exciting tales than mine."
Arwen spoke calmly and with grace as she wrapped the bandage around my left arm.
"Yes, but I've read them all, or heard them. For the last thousand years nothing exciting has happened. My routine is always the same: wake up, have breakfast, study, stroll through Rivendell, spend time with my mother and father, watch the stars, and sleep."
While she spoke she picked up the dagger on the table to cut the bandage… now I understood why a dagger was pressed over my chest. I sighed and answered.
"Can't we choose something else?"
Arwen smiled, rolled up her sleeve and exposed her arm — and I felt my breath catch, not because she revealed skin but because the arm bore a large bruise. I swallowed.
GLUP!
Arwen looked at me calmly, saying nothing — simply showing the bruise on her arm… the princess of Rivendell was blackmailing me! I had never imagined such a possibility. If someone in Arwen's family saw that mark, I'd be finished!
"…All right."
Arwen smiled brightly and spoke in that composed, gracious way of hers.
"Thank you."
Shameless! She blackmails me and then thanks me! Women are the most dangerous beings — and if they're beautiful, double trouble… Never mind. Although it felt humiliating, a deal was a deal.
After Arwen finished the last winding of the bandage she cut off the remaining thread with the dagger.
"Arwen, why are you using a fighting dagger? You could have used a scalpel or scissors."
Arwen looked a little embarrassed.
"…I forgot them when I took the dressings, medicines, and threads."
For a moment I didn't know what to say, but then I noticed something very odd.
"Why are you looking at me? Isn't there a healer in Rivendell?"
Arwen answered in her gentle voice.
"I don't know… my father insisted."
I was astonished — why would Lord Elrond insist on that? Because of Thorin's? Or because of Gandalf? It didn't seem likely. I raised my obsidian-colored right arm.
"So what happened to my arm?"
Arwen peered at it with curiosity.
"I don't know… it was like that when you arrived."
Like that? It had been a perfectly normal human arm before I fainted! What happened while I was unconscious?
"…"
"…"
We stared at one another for several seconds. Okay — a strange atmosphere settled in the room… What does this woman expect? While thinking this, Arwen, as if to break the awkwardness, changed the subject with an easy remark.
"Your mount has quite an interesting character."
The moment she said Shadowmane I shivered — some bad feeling pricked at me.
"What did that bastard do?"
Arwen chuckled.
"He tried to court almost every mare in Rivendell, but he failed. Still, four mares seem quite interested in him."
I felt as if a spear had struck my heart. What on earth is that foul horse doing?! Why behaves he so outrageously? Why can't he sit still for once?
"What color is that horse?"
Arwen replied, surprised.
"Completely black, he had Fire mane blood."
Then she smiled and added gently,
"He's even polite enough to let me ride him."
AAAAH! I'LL STEW THAT DISHONORABLE HORSE! I'LL FLAY HIS SKIN ALIVE!
He had once again made me look ridiculous. If he behaved for once, would the world fall apart? I drew a deep breath and answered with as much composure as I could muster.
"I don't know that horse. You must mean Gandalf's spare mount. My horse is brown."
Arwen looked astonished.
"But your whole party told me he was your personal mount."
Those scoundrels!
"They were mistaken."
Arwen was briefly stunned, then she giggled and covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders trembling. I frowned and continued in a very serious tone.
"I'm serious! I do not know that bastard."
Arwen could not hold it and burst into laughter.
"Hahahahahaha!"
I felt ashamed — apparently she didn't believe me at all… Wait, Shadowmane — wait until I finish with you; let's see if you're still walking afterward!
---Rivendell Stables---
Shadowmane gave a violent shiver, then sneezed loudly. The other horses startled.
'Which mare is thinking of me now, I wonder?'
---Guest Chamber---
Arwen's velvet laughter cut off as our door opened and the voice of a woman full of wisdom entered — a voice that put one at ease.
"Nai alyë alassëa, Arwen."
(You seem merry, Arwen.)
Arwen's laughter stopped, she rose and bowed gently.
"Ammë-tárië."
(Grandmother.)
I looked up at the woman who entered. She was very beautiful: long golden hair, eyes deep as an ocean blue, dressed in white — when she crossed the threshold it was as though a light followed her. She spoke again:
"Manen ná i estelmo? Manen nálya feelë?"
(How is our patient? How does he feel?)
Arwen answered with respect. I remained silent: I did not know who stood before me. I wished I knew more Elvish; if she had spoken Sindarin I might have understood some phrases, but this was Quenya — the older, more noble tongue used by high Elves.
"Sina umë mára ulco, mal merë ista man cárë i ranco."
(He seems okay now, but he's wondering what happened to his arm.)
"Manen nálya indómë erya nya?"
(What is your first impression of him?)
Arwen looked at me as if pondering. Questions formed in my head. After a few seconds she spoke.
"Elda fëarëa."
(…Energetic.)
The woman chuckled softly in a composed way. Then, finally, she spoke in the common tongue.
"Of course he is; he has been discussed at the White Council meetings several times in the past six years — some of us see him as a headstrong outlaw, while others view him as a necessary scourge."
My brow twitched. What had Arwen said about me? A necessary scourge? Headstrong outlaw? Now they had struck a nerve.
"Discussing someone in the room while that person is present is a great discourtesy, especially when the person you speak of does not understand your language. I begin to suspect ill intent toward me."
The two around the table flinched in surprise. I went on.
"Furthermore, from where does the White Council derive the right to judge me? Who gave them such authority? I have not threatened Middle-earth; I have only cleansed its filth. I did what the White Council should have done in the first place. Also, it's rude to comment about me without introducing yourself, I'm sure you know my name."
Arwen grew tense, but I ignored her and looked into the eyes of the woman in front of me without blinking. She chuckled again, then smiled and spoke.
"You are indeed the headstrong young man rumored to be, Dark Knight Igris. I am Galadriel of Lothlórien, daughter of Finarfin of the Noldor, Lady of Light and Keeper of the Golden Wood."
I rolled my eyes — these long, formal introductions never delighted me. I answered coolly.
"Pleased to meet you, Lady Galadriel."
She smiled at me.
"You don't seem very surprised to see me?"
I shrugged and indicated Arwen.
"There aren't many Elves the princess of Rivendell would hold in such high regard. At first I thought you were his mother, but she didn't call you mother, she used a term I didn't know. The energy you gave off, your bearing, the way you spoke — far above ordinary elven nobles. A few lady-elves came to mind, but you were the only one who could have come to Rivendell."
Galadriel looked at me and smiled with regal composure.
"An interesting deduction. People I know do not think in such detail."
I shrugged.
"Then your acquaintances are either lazy or foolish."
So what if the lady before me was Galadriel herself? I wouldn't change my character just because of that; I am, bluntly, a straightforward warrior.
Arwen at my side looked slightly surprised; Lady Galadriel only chuckled.
"Perhaps you are right."
I chuckled. Then, in a more respectful tone — because the woman opposite me was an Elf who had lived eight thousand years — I spoke with due courtesy. I disliked formality, but respect should be given to those who earn it.
"Thank you for allowing your granddaughter to look after me. If you came here to speak with her, I can leave the room. I feel better now. Though my wounds are not fully healed, I can walk."
I moved to sit up. Lady Galadriel was likely here for Arwen. I was an ordinary mercenary… technically someone preparing to found a kingdom, but still very much a work in progress. As I prepared to get out of bed, Arwen touched my shoulder.
"Lie down, Igris. Your cracked bones have only just knitted — you should rest another day or two. Your left arm was filled with fractures from end to end; it is a miracle it did not break."
She spoke and I looked at her. At that moment Lady Galadriel spoke.
"Rest, young warrior. I am not here for Arwen; I came for you."
I stared, astonished. Why would one of Middle-earth's most noble ladies wish to see me? Lady Galadriel's voice was calm.
"Do you know what you are?"
"I'm a half-blood — Dunedain and some unknown strain. I've researched much, but I don't know what I am."
Lady Galadriel came closer.
"May I examine you more closely?"
I nodded. She took my right arm in her hands and studied it. I felt ripples of mana flowing from it: thin, warm, and strangely soothing. I did not resist. Lady Galadriel was wise and gentle; she would not harm me. She examined my arm for a while, then looked at me thoughtfully.
"…Have you ever felt a different kind of energy?"
I cocked my head in question.
"Like an aura?"
She shook her head.
"No — a much wilder energy. Destructive, cruel. Also very strong and strangely alluring."
I fell into thought. Had I ever felt anything like that? Hmm… the first time I used an aura? No. When I first neared death? No. The first time rage overtook me? No… Wait! During the ambush night, when I killed Juji (Jumba), I did feel something different — but the urgency of the situation forced me not to dwell on it.
"…I once felt a different energy during a fight, but it was only for a short time."
She asked, quietly,
"Was it mana?"
"…I'm not sure. My senses sharpened; my body felt stronger and faster, as if I'd pushed past my limits. But when the feeling ended I was utterly exhausted."
Lady Galadriel seemed deep in thought. I asked, eager.
"My lady — what exactly am I?"
Truthfully, I did not care much. I am Igris: someone who died in my old world and was reborn in this one. What I am should matter little, but I struggle with aura control, and one of my hands is turned to obsidian black. I needed answers. I was a leader now and would have people to protect.
Lady Galadriel looked at me intently, and after a few seconds she spoke.
"For now, rest. Your body's struggle with the poison delayed the healing of your wounds. Later we will run a test — there is one thing I must be certain of before I give you an answer."
Weird… why wouldn't she answer me now? And what did she need to be certain of? Galadriel continued.
"There are those who have come to see you. Don't worry — you will have your answer. It seems you will remain in Rivendell a while longer."
As Lady Galadriel finished, I heard footsteps in the corridor. She smiled gracefully and, looking at Arwen, said:
"Lelyuvalyë, Arwen. Á lëmala marillomëo melinderyo."
(Let us go, Arwen. Let us leave our wounded one in the care of his friends.)
Arwen answered with the same grace.
"Ná."
(All right.)
As they moved toward the door, Arwen looked at me.
"Dinner will be in three hours. We will send someone to inform you… And please, do not forget our agreement."
She finished the last part with a warm smile, and though my eyebrow twitched, I nodded. I ignored Lady Galadriel, who looked at Arwen's back with a raised eyebrow and a hint of curiosity. As the two beautiful elven ladies left the room, I stared at my left arm, lost in thought.
'Strange… Why was Lady Galadriel so absent-minded? Her most distracted moments are usually tied to things about Sauron. She wasn't this way even when speaking with Frodo… Or perhaps my memory is clouded; it's been a long time since I read the book and the films are blurred for me. Many details are faint. My notes are only for a few events.'
BAM!
"IGRIS! x8!"
While I was still thinking, the door burst open and the dwarves launched a charge toward my room. I flinched; the bed was surrounded.
"GOOD TO SEE YOU AWAKE."
"I TOLD YOU HE WOULD BE GOOD! HAHAHAHAHA! HE'S A TRUE WARRIOR!"
"WE WERE AFRAID YOU MIGHT NOT WAKE."
"I WAS SURE YOU'D OPEN YOUR EYES."
"How do you feel, master Igris? Any pain?"
"IGRIS! IS THERE MEAT IN THE SPACE INVENTORY? I'M SICK OF EATING GRASS!"
"I AGREE! PLEASE TELL US THERE IS MEAT! I FEEL LIKE A RAM!"
…
All of them spoke at once; I could not decide whom to answer. My quiet, peaceful room turned into chaos. I opened my mouth, but a sharp, commanding voice cut in.
"ENOUGH!"
I turned to the door. Thorin stood with his arms crossed, watching us. Beside him were Gilan, Halt, and Gandalf. Behind them, Altay and Fin waited. Thorin's voice this time was calm.
"You are making far too much noise."
The dwarves glanced at each other and shrugged, which made me stifle a laugh. The men at the doorway approached and everyone found a place to sit. Thorin asked:
"How do you feel?"
"Not bad. I was having a pleasant dream, but I woke up and my arm was different."
Gandalf watched my arm with interest.
"We were surprised — your arm changed while you slept…"
Gandalf's odd studies of my limb unnerved me a little. I raised my arm and asked,
"What's happening to me?"
Everyone looked to Gandalf as I had. He answered, distracted.
"I can't say without certainty… For now, rest. Your body could not properly heal your ordinary wounds while it fought the poison. You have slept for seventeen days."
I inhaled sharply and nodded — apparently I would wait for Lady Galadriel… WAIT!
"HOW MANY DAYS HAVE I SLEPT!?"
This time Halt spoke with a teasing tone.
"Exactly seventeen, sleeping beauty."
I was stunned. I had thought it was four or five days… I asked cautiously.
"What about the campaign? Won't we be late?"
The group exchanged looks, then fell silent waiting for Thorin. He spoke plainly.
"Do not worry. We have found the entrance. The lord of Rivendell used moonlight to decode the inscriptions. There are two ways to open Erebor's secret passage."
I was stunned—two paths? How? Wasn't there supposed to be only one? Wouldn't the door open with the last light of Durin's Day? I asked curiously,
"What do you mean?"
Thorin glanced seriously at the group, and they all understood immediately. Dwalin and Balin moved toward the door to check for anyone coming or going, Bombur, Ori, Kili, and Fili secured the windows, and Bofur took position on the balcony as lookout. Gandalf rolled his eyes and muttered,
"You're overreacting, Thorin. No one here means you harm."
Thorin shrugged.
"I trusted Elves once and was stabbed in the back. There's no harm in being cautious."
Then he turned back to me.
"There are two ways. The first says that on the last day of Durin's Day, the final rays of sunlight will reveal the keyhole."
I nodded. That much matched the original story—I waited for him to continue.
"The second way," he said, "requires my blood… and a cipher."
I tilted my head, puzzled. Thorin continued,
"Igris, you've spent plenty of time among Dwarves. Have you ever heard of rune-smiths?"
And in that instant, I understood.
"Yes. Rune-smiths are masters who can use mana through written symbols. But in this age, there are only three or four Dwarven rune-smiths left alive."
Thorin nodded slightly.
"Partly true. They are masters who can combine metal, stone, and words. Becoming a rune-smith requires special conditions, talent, and wisdom—it is a craft that takes decades to master."
He pulled out an old parchment and placed it before me. Strange markings were drawn across it.
"This,"
Thorin said,
"might interest you. It's one of my family's heirlooms. It contains the rune alphabet."
At those words, my curiosity flared. I studied the parchment intently, but I could make little sense of the symbols. Gandalf, with the air of a scholar, began to explain. Roughly translated, they meant the following:
ᚠ Fehu— Wealth, prosperity — The blessing of the first ore drawn from the mine
ᚢ Uruz— Strength, endurance — The mountain's hardness, the essence of steel
ᚦ Thurisaz— Giant's might, destruction — Rune of battle, impact, and protection
ᚨ Ansuz— Wisdom, divine inspiration — The stone given life by the master's breath
ᚱ Raido — Journey, movement — Guide of tunnels and roadsᚲ Kenaz — Fire, creativity — Symbol of the forge and melting flame
ᚷ Gebo— Gift, bond, exchange — The soul link between master and craft
ᚹ Wunjo— Joy, harmony — The pride of a finished work
ᚺ/ᚻ Hagalaz — Storm, change — Rebirth through the breaking of stone
ᚾ Nauthiz — Need, necessity — A seal that opens only to the one in true needᛁ Isa — Ice, stillness — The silent strength of cold stone
ᛃ Jera— Harvest, cycle — The rhythm of forging, the turning of time
ᛇ Eihwaz — Yggdrasil, the world tree — Spirit of the tunnels, veins of the earthᛈ Perthro — Fate, mystery — The hidden power within the ore
ᛉ Algiz — Protection, blessing — The shield rune, the ward upon the wall
ᛊ/ᛋ Sowilo — Sun, victory — Essence of flame, energy of smelting
ᛏ Tiwaz — Honor, courage, justice — The warrior's oath, the soul of the weapon
ᛒ Berkano — Rebirth, growth — The crafting of ore, the sprouting of life
ᛖ Ehwaz — Partnership, trust — Bond between master and apprentice
ᛗ Mannaz— Humanity, intellect — Symbol of knowledge, reason, and unity
ᛚ Laguz— Water, intuition — Flow of energy, lifeblood of the forge
ᛜ/ᛝ Ingwaz — Seed, potential — Hidden strength, unrefined ore
ᛞ Dagaz— Dawn, transformation — Light after fire, the completion
ᛟ Othala — Heritage, home — Rune of clan, mark of the family mine
I studied them for ten straight minutes, my eyes darting from one symbol to another. Some pulsed faintly, as though etched with living energy. When I finally looked back at Thorin, I waited for him to continue.
Things were starting to get interesting…
Author's Note:I'm saying this upfront! Yes, your clumsy author here is trying to create new languages for different races—something even Marvel never bothered to do! I know, it's kind of my obsession. Honestly, it just feels weird to me when completely different species all speak the same language. Plus, I really enjoy writing this stuff!
Though… I have no idea if you actually like it. No one comments, no one leaves ratings—I just stare at my cold, empty chapters in silence... sigh. Anyway! Thanks to ChatGPT, I'll keep using different languages! Like I said, I've got a few quirks—this is definitely one of them.
BUT DON'T EXPECT ME TO START WRITING FULL SENTENCES IN RUNES! I'm not that far gone! Ahem...Maybe… if I start getting a few more reviews, you might just see some rune writing pop up!
Anyway… we'll continue right where we left off in the next chapter