— Igris' Point of View —
Together with the dwarves, we set out beyond Rivendell. Kíli was supposed to come with us as well, but just as we were about to leave, Gilan called out to him and he backed out. Apparently, our young dwarf preferred drinking coffee and chatting with his masters over standing outside waiting for other dwarves. Honestly, I couldn't blame him; he could meet dwarves anytime, but spending quality time with Halt and Gilan—actually learning something from them—was not an opportunity just anyone got.
We had just reached the main gate when an elven guard stepped in front of us. With that classic expression that clearly said what are you doing here, he asked,
"Where are you going?"
Leaning slightly forward in the saddle, I replied,
"New companions are coming to join us. We're going to meet them."
The elf frowned, surprise creeping into his voice.
"More dwarves?"
The faces of Dwalin and Fíli darkened instantly. They were just about to start arguing with the elf when I stepped in, putting on my most friendly smile.
"Not that many—just around forty dwarves."
That did it. The guard went into full shock. In a tense voice, he asked,
"Does Lord Elrond know about this?"
I paused to think. Truth be told, I hadn't considered that at all. I shrugged it off casually.
"They're basically considered members of the Oakshield group already. Lord Elrond wouldn't break his hospitality and oppose that—don't worry."
The elf still looked hesitant, staring at us, so I let out a deep sigh.
"Look, my friend, we need to meet these people. If you want, go inform Lord Elrond. In a week or two, once preparations are done, we'll be gone anyway. After that, Rivendell will return to its old, quiet, boring, peaceful self. Now, if you'll excuse us…"
I spurred my horse and rode past him. The dwarves followed behind me, chuckling.
I heard the guard shout after us,
"What do you mean boring!?"—but I didn't even look back.
As we rode along Rivendell's stone roads, I put on my helmet—just in case. After reaching the edge of the valley and riding for about another half hour, we climbed a high hill along the borderlands and began to wait. Dwalin broke the silence.
"So, where are these dwarves coming from? Reinforcements from the Blue Mountains, or the Blackbeard colony?"
For once, I stayed out of it. Explaining things was Balin's and Thorin's job this time. I can't even describe the sheer comfort of not having to explain anything to anyone. Thorin answered calmly,
"Neither."
Fíli jumped in, surprised.
"Then our kin from the East? Or the ones from the Grey Mountains?"
Balin let out a deep sigh. There was a hint of sadness in his voice.
"No… forget where they're from for now. What matters is that they arrive safely and stand shoulder to shoulder with us."
Sometimes I genuinely envy this unbreakable bond the dwarves share. My people in my world used to be like that once… Some still are, but the majority have turned into money-worshipping types who would sell their own sibling for personal gain. They say when a few dogs enter a wolf pack, the bloodline is ruined—our situation was exactly that. But that's no longer my problem. I will build my new state using the bitter lessons learned from 2,700 years of history. I'll lay such a foundation that no traitor will ever be able to tear it apart from within.
As I watched the horizon, something occurred to me.
"Balin, can I ask you something?"
Balin turned to me with curiosity.
"Of course. Ask."
"Can you tell me about Azanulbizar?"
The atmosphere froze instantly. The dwarves exchanged shocked glances, while Thorin fixed me with a hard stare.
"Where did that come from?"
I shrugged and smiled.
"Just curious. We're not planting trees here—might as well pass the time while we wait."
Balin stroked his white beard.
"Why don't you ask Thorin?"
That actually made me laugh out loud.
"Hahahaha! If I asked Thorin, his answer would probably be something like this…"
I crossed my arms over my chest, deepened my voice, and continued with a perfect Thorin impression:
"We turned defeat into victory, but suffered heavy losses. Period."
I returned my face to normal and smiled.
"The end. Story over."
Thorin's face instantly turned to stone, while the other dwarves burst into laughter. Balin chuckled, scratching his beard.
Can't argue with that… That's exactly how he'd tell it."
Thorin muttered in a dark voice,
"I don't talk like that."
I looked at Dwalin. He added with a grin beneath his mustache,
"You talk exactly like that."
Then I looked at Fíli on my left. He winked mischievously at his uncle and said,
"They're right, uncle."
Thorin was completely cornered now.
"This is outright betrayal!"
"Hahahaha! No, Thorin—that's called being honest,"
I said, leaning toward him.
"Besides, you talk little but to the point. If you talked too much and bored people, no one would take you this seriously anyway."
Thorin shot me a sharp glare.
"Are you asking for a beating, Igris?"
I slammed my fist into my palm, excitement surging through me.
"I haven't seen a single fight or brawl in seventeen days! Believe it or not, I'm dying for a fight! When we get back, how about finishing the match that got interrupted by that ambush? It's long past time to break that 17–17 score."
Thorin grinned just as fiercely.
"Took the words right out of my mouth."
As we stared at each other with competitive fire, I heard Dwalin whisper to the one beside him,
"I'm putting five gold on Igris."
Fíli immediately countered,
"I'm betting on my uncle—ten gold!"
Just then, my horse Shadowmane neighed restlessly. That familiar, perverse voice echoed in my mind.
"Boss, I smell scoundrels. And it's fresh… very fresh."
Startled, I focused on my strange partner beneath me.
"Where—and how many?"
Shadowmane sniffed the air, ears pricked, almost as if listening to the wind itself. Sharing a bond with a horse carrying Firemane blood was truly a blessing; the bastard was like a living radar, sensing trouble from away.
Thorin noticed the shift and frowned.
"What is it?"
"Vermin," I said quietly.
Dwalin slammed his fist into his palm, a savage grin spreading across his face.
"Finally! Some action!"
At that moment, Shadowmane's voice echoed in my mind again:
"East side, boss. They're far—but not too far."
I slowly drew my sword partway from its scabbard and used the blade's smooth surface like a mirror, sweeping it across the eastern slopes. After watching carefully for a moment, I caught the glint of reflected light coming from a rocky mountain about one to two kilometers away.
"Found them," I whispered.
"On the rocky mountain to the east, about ten to twelve meters up. They're scouting. Either they're setting up an ambush for one of Lord Elrond's patrols, or they're gathering information… maybe more."
Fíli blurted out,
"Could those creeps tailing us be waiting for us to leave the valley?"
I nodded.
"Most likely. They're probably orcs. No mercenary band would dare come this close to Rivendell and risk provoking the elves."
Dwalin could barely contain himself.
"Then let's go rip their heads off!"
Thorin thought for a moment, then shook his head.
"Let them be. We're too exposed right now. Best to inform Halt and Gilan—let them hunt quietly."
"I was thinking the same,"
I said in agreement.
"But we could also inform the elves."
Thorin snorted dismissively.
"If they can't spot spies watching their own territory this openly, then elven security is useless."
I shrugged.
"My friend, that mountain sits in a blind spot—right on Rivendell's boundary line. The elves are a bit overconfident; they think everything is under control. No need to blame them—pride sometimes blinds even the sharpest eyes."
Thorin was just about to respond when Fíli raised his hand to shield his eyes and pointed into the distance.
"A dust cloud!"
We all turned that way. The cloud was growing rapidly as it approached. Dwalin burst into a booming laugh, surprised and delighted.
"HAHAHAHAHA! Look at that! Ram riders are coming!"
As the riders drew closer, Balin's eyes widened in astonishment.
"By Durin's beard… those are Khazad-dûm–forged dwarf armors!"
Thorin and Dwalin froze as well. I frowned.
"Are they really that different from Erebor's armor?"
Balin turned to me and explained.
"Not exactly the same, Igris. Khazad-dûm armor is forged with very different alloys. Compared to what we make in Erebor, it's both sturdier and light as a feather."
"So… mithril in the mix?" I asked curiously.
This time Thorin spoke.
"Mithril isn't a metal you can work as easily as you think, Igris. Even in the vast treasury of Erebor, only a single coat of mail was ever forged from mithril—and it took years. It is one of my people's most precious heirlooms."
I nodded and watched in silence. When the riders came to a halt right in front of us, the ground itself seemed to tremble. Before us stood powerful dwarves clad head to toe in heavy armor, mounted on massive rams whose bodies were nothing but solid muscle. Dwalin nodded, impressed.
"Impressive."
Leaning against Shadowmane, I studied the newcomers. Since the system had already arranged for these dwarves to work under Thorin, the diplomatic formalities didn't really concern me. Just then, Shadowmane's voice—full of awe, practically lovestruck—echoed in my mind:
"I think my heart's been stolen… Boss, what is that? Just look at that beauty!"
Chuckling, I raised an eyebrow and looked at my horse.
"Don't tell me you've started drooling over rams now—let's not go that far."
Shadowmane wasn't even listening anymore, neighing as if completely enchanted:
"Her hide is white as snow… her eyes shine with sunlight and illuminate my soul… her hooves crush my heart…"
I stared at him in disbelief.
"Since when did you become a poet?"
Curious, I followed Shadowmane's gaze to the very back of the riders. There stood a woman mounted on a pure white mare. The horse truly was magnificent—but when I noticed the woman, my brows knit involuntarily.
'Has Rivendell gained a new guest?'
I examined her with deliberate indifference, yet something about her felt familiar. White hair, blood-red eyes, and a powerfully built, hardened body. When she felt my gaze on her, she turned her head and looked straight at me. For a brief moment, we silently measured each other from head to toe. A single thought surfaced in my mind:
'This woman has undergone extremely harsh combat training… Could she be Matheld? No—that one had blonde hair and blue eyes… Probably just someone whose path brought her here. Not my concern.'
I pulled my gaze away from the mysterious woman and returned my attention to the dwarves. Thorin, asserting his leadership, urged his horse forward and took position at the front of the group. Narrowing his eyes, he studied the arrivals.
"Who is your leader?"
Two of the ram riders stepped forward, as if they had been expecting the question, and removed their heavy helmets. One was red-bearded and truly imposing; the other black-haired, more typical in appearance but solidly built. The red-bearded one looked first at Thorin, then at me as if trying to bore through the eyes beneath my helmet, and finally back to Thorin. He spoke in a deep, confident voice:
"It is an honor to meet you in person, Thorin Oakenshield. I hope the great stories I've heard about you are true—otherwise, I'd be sorely disappointed."
Dwalin's brows instantly furrowed, his hand moving as if to reach for his axe, but Thorin raised a hand to stop him. A stern yet appreciative smile appeared on his face.
"Rumors are always exaggerated. If you want to see the truth, walk with me and judge for yourself. I've also heard a few things about you and your group… not particularly pleasant things."
Thorin shot me a brief glance. The newly arrived "Witcher" dwarves also looked me over, as if trying to figure out what I was. I merely shrugged. Thorin turned back to the red-haired leader.
"What's your name?"
The red-haired dwarf burst into a hearty laugh, baring his teeth in a grin.
"HAH! Straight to the point—no beating around the bush. I like that. You've earned a point from me! The name's Zoltan Chivay. And this here is my friend, Kargan Colwen."
At the name, I blinked several times.
'What did he say? Zoltan? Why does that sound so familiar?'
I strained my memory.
'Zoltan… Zoltan… Chivay… Wait a second… the Witcher world!'
It hit me like a hammer.
"ZOLTAN CHIVAY?!"
All of the dwarves flinched at once and turned toward me. I, meanwhile, stood frozen in shock, staring at Zoltan. Thorin raised an eyebrow and asked,
"Is there a problem, Igris?"
I didn't even hear Thorin. My attention was entirely on Zoltan, and I spoke from under my helmet.
"What are you to Geralt of Rivia?!"
Zoltan hesitated for a brief moment, then that familiar expression appeared on his face—the stern yet warm smile of someone remembering old friends.
"My best friend."
My mouth fell open. Thankfully, my helmet hid my expression from everyone else.
'What the hell is going on?! The very first Witcher dwarves I summon, and I end up with Zoltan?'
I took a deep breath. I needed to calm down, talk to the system, and get my thoughts in order.
"Carry on, gentlemen," I said, pulling my voice together.
"Zoltan, you and I will have a private conversation later."
Zoltan chuckled and nodded.
"I'll be waiting eagerly, Black Knight."
I turned my horse, ready to leave, but instead of moving, Shadowmane began to whine.
"Boss, please, just a little longer! That white mare has completely stolen my heart!"
I shot my horse a stern look. He understood immediately and let out a dramatic sigh.
"Those serious eyes again… Fine, fine, we're leaving! But after this, don't you dare interfere—I will find that beauty!"
I nodded and turned back to Thorin.
"Thorin, I'm going to go retrieve the 'Red Archers.' I need to evaluate them privately before they arrive. You take the dwarves to Rivendell."
Thorin nodded in agreement, while Dwalin and Fili looked as though they were about to swallow their tongues in disbelief. Dwalin stared at me blankly and shouted,
"You called for reinforcements again?! Where the hell do you keep finding these people every time?!"
As I spurred my horse and rode off, I looked back and chuckled.
"From the air! And trust me, Dwalin—you're really going to love the newcomers!"
Dwalin shouted after me, curiosity clear in his voice.
"Why's that?!"
I burst out laughing.
"Hahahaha! Because they're elves!"
As I rode at full speed, I imagined the look on Dwalin's face and couldn't help enjoying myself. His legendary roar echoed through the valley behind me:
"WHYYY IS IT ELVES AGAIN?!"
Fili's voice echoed from afar as well:
"IGRIS, DO YOU NEED HELP?!"
"NO NEED!" I shouted back, feeling the wind rush against my face as I pressed onward. Once I had put some distance between us, I immediately called out to the system.
'System… explain this immediately! What is Zoltan Chivay doing here?!'
— Third-Person Perspective —
"Elves again! I'm sick to death of elves! Damn ****** pointy-eared bastards!"
Dwalin was fuming, snorting angrily through his nose. Living on top of elves for the past seventeen days had driven him to the brink of madness. And on top of that, being forced to eat those raw vegetables—rabbit feed, as he called them—had nearly broken him. Even the most patient dwarf would have reached his limit by now. When he'd heard they would be leaving the valley in two weeks, he had nearly danced with joy.
And now Igris was saying he'd bring five hundred more elves?!
As if one valley full wasn't enough—five hundred more!
Just as Dwalin was lining up his most creative curses, Zoltan Chivay chuckled.
"I like this one," Zoltan said, pointing at Dwalin.
Kargan joined in.
"Of course you do. He's foul-mouthed, just like you."
Laughing, Zoltan unhooked the flask at his belt and tossed it through the air toward Dwalin. With professional reflexes, Dwalin caught it midair and eyed it suspiciously.
"What's this?"
Zoltan winked.
"Spiced dwarf ale. Real medicine."
Dwalin glanced from Zoltan to the flask, shrugged, then popped it open and downed it in one go. Within seconds, the tension drained from his face and his shoulders relaxed.
"Feels like medicine…" he muttered.
Zoltan turned to Thorin.
"You've got quite a lively group, Oakenshield."
Thorin let out a deep sigh.
"You have no idea…"
At that moment, Balin chuckled softly, stroking his white beard.
"Seeing dwarves who use surnames… truly a fascinating experience."
Zoltan and Kargan looked at Balin with an odd expression. Seeing this man—someone they had once fought back-to-back with in the Azanulbizar War Simulation, someone they had brushed against death alongside—standing here in flesh and blood, saying the very same things, created a powerful sense of déjà vu.
Zoltan sighed and spoke.
"You must be Balin."
Balin raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"Do we know each other?"
Zoltan smiled mischievously.
"Did the Black Knight tell you everything? Especially about our 'little test'?"
Balin nodded slowly, still surprised.
"Yes… he did."
Kargan chuckled and cut in.
"Then take a guess—under whose command, and alongside whom, did we fight during that test?"
Balin froze where he stood. Thorin leaned in slightly, listening with interest. Dwalin, tossing the now-empty flask back to Zoltan, asked,
"What test is this? And what does Igris have to do with it?"
Zoltan caught the flask in midair and took a sip. Thorin turned to Dwalin and cut him off firmly.
"I'll explain later, Dwalin. Now is not the time."
When the king spoke, Dwalin nodded silently, though his curiosity was unmistakable.
Just then, Fili asked anxiously,
"Uncle… will Igris be alright on his own?"
Thorin answered with certainty.
"He'll manage. Don't worry."
Fili first looked toward the eastern mountains, then at Igris riding farther away.
"But the ones following us haven't given up the chase! What if Azog is around here?"
Thorin frowned the moment he heard the name of his sworn enemy. Balin, however, smiled gently, trying to reassure Fili.
"Don't worry, lad. Ambushing the Black Knight is not so easy. He is not one of those who become prey while hunting."
Meanwhile, the white-haired woman who had been silently listening to the entire conversation turned her horse toward the direction Igris had gone. Zoltan shouted in surprise,
"Where are you going, Ciri?!"
Without changing the cool, steady tone of her voice, Ciri replied,
"Thorin may be the employer of the dwarves, but the employer of the Witchers is that man called Igris. I want to observe him up close."
Zoltan urged his ram forward and rode up beside Ciri, his voice filled with concern.
"Are you sure? The effects of what that bastard ****** clown did to your body are still lingering. Don't push yourself."
Ciri stopped her horse and slightly turned her head. The determined look in her eyes was enough to silence Zoltan.
"Don't worry, Zoltan. My connection to the Elder Blood has only been temporarily severed. My swordsmanship is still intact. And I've gained new abilities."
Zoltan let out a helpless sigh.
"Be careful. If anything happens to you, Geralt will skin me alive… and Yennefer would torture me so badly that I'd pray for Geralt to just skin me instead."
Ciri rolled her eyes.
"I'm not a child anymore, Zoltan."
She spurred her horse and galloped after Igris at full speed. Watching them ride away, Dwalin's mind was completely scrambled.
'By Durin's love, what in the hell is going on here?!'he thought, but remembering Thorin's warning, he kept his mouth shut.
Meanwhile, Gloin had already struck up friendly conversation with the newly arrived dwarves.
"So then, cousins, which father's line do you belong to?"
One of the dwarves answered proudly,
"We are of Durin's line!"
Upon hearing this, Gloin burst into hearty laughter.
"HAHAHAHAHA! Then that means we're family straight away! Welcome to the company, my brothers!"
Thorin's eyebrows shot up at that. Turning to Zoltan, he asked,
"Of Durin's line, you say? What exactly do you mean by that?"
Zoltan took a deep breath and looked at Thorin.
"Believe me, Oakenshield, it's a very long story. Without a mug of beer, it would sound terribly dry—and it's also a bit of a… 'special' situation."
Thorin nodded in understanding.
"I'm genuinely curious. Then let's discuss it somewhere calm."
He then turned to the other dwarves.
"You are all welcome. I will speak with each of you in time. For now, follow us—we're heading to our temporary lodging."
Zoltan nodded.
"Lead the way."
Thorin nodded back and turned his horse, ready to move—when suddenly the sound of approaching hooves echoed nearby. Dwalin sighed and spoke with irritation.
"What now?!"
---
(3501 Words)
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