Shadow of the Moon: Chapter 15

Chapter Eight

Pale in the Light

His eyes drooped and his feet stepped numbly over smooth stone. Bilbo was having no luck finding a place to rest for the night, or the Orcess – who had vanished. All the doors were sealed shut or guarded by stoic elves. The hobbit sighed, rubbing his eyes with an invisible hand. This ring was wearing down his energy faster than normal.

The suspended pathway he walked on merged into solid rock. Hallways were placed throughout the mountain walls, creating a hive like feel. There was a door cut into the first stretch of stone, a little sign with golden needle and thread hung on the doorframe. Bilbo pursed his lips, perhaps it was a seamstress’s shop.

He tiptoed up to the open door. A warm smoky smell mixed with the scent of fresh linens and fabric filtered out. The hobbit breathed deep through his nose, it reminded him of his mother’s sewing room.

Before he had the chance to enter, an elf came out of the room, her flowing emerald dress swishing softly around her graceful footsteps. Bilbo gazed up at her face, she seemed troubled, her delicate features were creased and her hazel eyes were glimmering. The elleth’s simple braided hair was golden and it gave her face a very innocent appearance. He smiled slightly, she was lovely. But the morose elleth tread away in a soft swaying of skirts and out of sight.

Bilbo then stepped forward to peer into the study. Perhaps whatever upset the elf was still there. He was not expecting to see Ithildae seated in front of a small fire place, her eyes staring in cold, deep thought into the flames. The hobbit almost jumped clean out of his skin and proceeded to pull back around the doorframe.

He swallowed and once again glanced into the room, fully prepared. She had not moved at all. She was leaning forward, her elbows rested on her knees and her fingers netted together intensely. He saw their joints moving from underneath her pale skin. The hobbit swallowed and came forward. He could only see the side of her smooth and chiseled face.

The fire light reflected off her bare arms like smooth stone. Memories surfaced of the burning pines on the mountain cliff side. Thorin's unconscious body was lying prone behind him, the warg riders closing in around him. Sting gleaming blue in the heated light as the Pale Orc stared murderously at him. The hobbit took away his prize. Deep, guttural words were shot at him from the Orc leader. Bilbo would never forget those eyes, cold as ice and shining in the fire light.

He blinked those memories away, finding himself near to the Orcess’s still form. Bilbo was silent as he could be, hardly daring to breathe. He knew how sharp her senses were. The hobbit stepped to the side, backing away and facing her straight on. Ithildae's features were strong and defined, cheekbones high and pronounced. Her lips were a soft gray that matched a vertical scar on her right cheek.

Just like her father, the scar had healed like a deep ravine on her skin. Bilbo felt his throat tightened, she looked so much like the Pale Orc. Besides her red hair, it was long and impossibly thick locks of vibrant red, it was deeper and bloodier colored than Bombur’s beard. He narrowed his eyes, such an odd trait for an Orc. Her mother must have been very special.

She made no acknowledgement of his presence, her eyes glaring unwaveringly into the fire. Bilbo began to back away. He did not want to disturb her thought. But before he had taken many steps, she took a very deep breath.

“Where are you going, Bilbo?” She asked calmly, her deep voice cut through the air. Her eyes made no movement from their stare.

The hobbit’s face blanched, not sure how to react.

“I know you're there. You haven’t bathed in weeks.” Her eyes flicked directly up to his own, making him freeze.

Bilbo held back indignation; he could not hide from her nose. He pulled the ring from his finger, materializing into the air. She raked her eyes over him, analyzing his condition. The hobbit felt fear rise in his throat, her eyes were glowing in the light. Ithildae met his fearful brown eyes. Any coldness seemed to melt away into grief. She broke the gaze.

“I am sorry, Akashuga.”

Bilbo felt his lip quiver, holding back any words that might tumble out without his consent. He saw her body lose its emotionless façade, a soft vulnerability shown through from the depths of her core. He felt himself calm. This was the Ithildae he knew.

“I-I’m not angry.” He managed.

“But you are afraid. I see it in your eyes, Bilbo. You fear him and therefore you fear me.” Her fist clenched and her eyes glimmered in anger.

The hobbit gulped.

“I'm not afraid of you, Ithi… not anymore.”

The expression that crossed her face was raw, as if she could not handle the emotion inside herself. Ithildae’s eyes lifted, something akin surprise shown in their depths. But then it was lost after a mere blink, her pupils shrinking and looking down in anger.

“What has he done to you?” She asked, worry in her tone.

“Nothing, he did not hurt me,” he shifted, finger slipping into his waistcoat pocket for comfort, “But he almost killed Thorin.” Bilbo added hurriedly.

She seemed relieved, although her brow quirked.

“Gandalf conveniently left off Thorin's title when he asked me to guide the Company.” Ithildae hummed.

Bilbo’s nose twitched.

“And he also forgot to mention you who you were.”

The Orcess let a bitter grin cross her lips, revealing sharp ivory fangs. Bilbo tried to keep his expression calm. She was no doubt an Orc. Her teeth alone could gut someone.

“Wizards are shady folk, never telling the full truth; or speaking in riddles or gibberish.” She said, sitting up and stretching her back.

Bilbo chuckled, rolling his shoulders.

“He has given me a fair amount of surprises in my lifetime.”

Ithildae gave him a fond look; her eyes were soft and her expression kind.

“You should be back in your Shire, it is safer there. You are too gentle of a creature to be in such peril.” The Orcess said.

The hobbit looked down, lips drawing in a firm line.

“Perhaps, or maybe I am just getting warmed up.” A little smirk eased onto his lips.

Ithildae was silent for a moment.

“Thranduil has declared that if I set foot outside this realm, I will be shot dead on sight.” She pursed her lips.

“He did not seem angry with you earlier.”

Her eyes sharpened.

“So you were in his study. I knew I smelled a hobbit.”

Bilbo huffed.

“You and your nose.” He muttered.

“It is my deadliest weapon.” The Orcess smirked.

“Why would the king want you dead? Haven’t you been raised here?” Bilbo asked, switching topics.

Her arms crossed and she contemplated an answer.

“He discovered my heritage and now he views me as a threat, a loose end with possible causalities. He wants to make sure he has control over my every move and be sure I am not serving the Orcs.”

“Are you?” Bilbo asked.

She snorted.

“Of course not! I have not spoken to any of my kin in over a century. Beyond leading the dwarves through the forest, I have done nothing wrong.”

“That still seems overly precautious…”

“When your father is an Orc who almost succeeded in genocide, there tends to be extra vigilance.” She said coldly. “Besides,” she looked down at the ground, “I was raised here. I know the ins and outs and I am under contract to lead the dwarves. Thranduil is trying to manipulate them and if I free them, he won’t get his gems.” She ended mockingly.

Bilbo's eyes widened.

“You can get them out?”

She bit the inside of her lip.

“There is a possibility, but I do not think I can achieve it. I would draw too much attention and the security is heavy.”

“How?” Bilbo asked, a determined light beginning to gleam in his eyes.

Ithildae's eyes narrowed.

“There is a river that flows under the realm… it runs into the lake which the dwarves must reach. If they can somehow be sent down the river, my contract would be fulfilled without stepping out of the realm.”

Bilbo's jaw tightened with purpose.

“I might be able to figure something out. I have my ring.”

The Orcess nodded hesitantly.

“We must be careful. Thranduil could lock me away at the drop of a pin. I don’t want him to suspect anything.”

The hobbit reached into his pocket to draw out his ring and set to finding an escape.

“No Bilbo, not yet.” Ithildae said, reaching forward and gently touching his cheek. “You are exhausted. Winter is still weeks away, take your time and rest.”

Bilbo sighed to hide the yawn that crept up his throat, he leaned his cheek into her warm palm.

“Come, you will be safe in here. Thalias will not return till morning.” Ithildae said, standing from her stool by the fire.

Her hand rested on his disheveled russet curls as she led him to a cot on the far end of the workroom. Bilbo felt comfort from her maternal gestures. A strong trust welled up in his heart. She would keep him safe.

Ithildae stepped away and let him shed his worn coat and slid into the simple linens that covered the cot. Bilbo felt exhaustion numbing his mind and pushing him off into oblivion. The Orcess pulled the blankets up around his small body.

“Ziimarum,” she murmured as her hand left his curly hair. The little hobbit was already breathing deeply and his eyes were shut.

The Orcess stood, looking at the shadows the fire cast upon the fabric lined walls. This was a familiar and comforting place for her. Her eyes looked to the worktable that she had bashed Maltríth's head against when he attacked Thalias over a century before. That was a fond memory, hurting him like that.

Ithildae walked silently across the room to a rack where cloaks hung from pegs by the door. She fished out the darkest fabrics she could find and pulled it over her shoulders. This cloak was fancier than her normal one, it was silky and small silver embroidery lined its edges. She smirked. She was going to visit a king after all. Even if this king had no kingdom and he was locked within a cell. It was time she spoke to Oakenshield.

[Ziimarum – Peace]

xXx

Loud snores hummed in the air. The dwarves were knocked out in deep sleep on the sparse cots of their cells. All but one, Thorin was wide awaked. His brows were pulled together in dark brooding, his arms were crossed and he leaned against the wall of his alienated cell. Thranduil obviously did not want him within plotting distance of his men.

Thorin exhaled, closing his eyes and blocking out the sound of the snores. Bilbo and Ithildae were unaccounted for. Perhaps there was still hope left for their quest. Rhythmic footsteps of an elvish guard came near his cell. The dwarf breathed deeply, The Eleven King was not lacking on security.

Instead of passing by him, the guard’s steps were halted. His unconscious body fell forward and was caught by a pale arm before it could collide with the stone. Thorin's heart was pounding as the arm pulled the elf’s body out of sight. He knew that arm. Deathly white skin, muscled and structured nearly the same.

Ithildae's tall form stepped into view, a silky black cloak hung off her broad shoulders like a shadow. He swallowed. The hood covered her head but no mask was concealing her face. Dark lips and a pale complexion were unmistakable in the torch light. Fire red hair slipped out around her shoulders, a small trinket catching in the light.

Thorin felt himself running through any scenario he could imagine, and how to survive. She would have an advantage no matter what. He had no weapons.

“Don’t act surprised.” She said. “You have guessed.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes blazing.

“I did not want to believe.” He said to her, his voice a harsh whisper.

 “Of course you didn’t.” She scoffed, turning her head and meeting his gaze with piercing eyes.

A deeply rooted fear rose in his chest, her face was an echo of her father’s. She bore a far more thoughtful gaze, but a simmer of ferocity lingered on her features. Like a beast that was tamed and trained, but only so she could snap when the time came.

“He always hated you,” she smirked, eyes glazing in a memory. “He would curse your name on a regularly. I would ask him how it happened, how he lost his arm. He would always say it was Dushaklaagz, the dwarven filth of Durin. And that he would one day kill him.” The Orcess took a step closer to his cell. “In other words, you pissed him off quite badly. And there is a high chance he will kill you, my father is not one to let his prey go missing.” She said darkly.

“And will you help him?” Thorin snarled, tensing.

Her lips pursed.

“No, that is his problem, my problem is a bit different. I must keep you alive for a while longer.”

The dwarf let his brows furrow. She knew who he was, yet why would she not take this chance to finish out what her sire had started? What had Gandalf offered her that was greater than the acceptance of a father?

“How do you intend to free thirteen dwarves?”

“I cannot directly free you. Thranduil has learned of my heritage and he has no intent of letting me upon the world.” She paused, her eyes smiling. “But your burglar is here in the realm. He can manage something. After all, he freed you from the spiders.”

Thorin snorted.

“I would like to know what made you leave us.”

The change in her expression was instantaneous. Darkness filled her eyes and a snarl lifted to her lips, hated was gleaming.

“It was him. He came out of hiding after all these years, a trick and a lie.” She whispered angrily.

It was unnerving. Her eyes were alight with the same obsessive gleam Thorin had seen in his grandfather’s eyes before Erebor fell. She was consumed with hatred for this person she spoke of.

“I could not let him threaten everything. I fear that he knows my father. I had no choice but to follow him.” She said, voice rising.

His eyes widened.

“Who is he?”

Ithildae's furious gaze shot to him.

“Maltríth, the one who trained me, he is an elf with a rancid heart – banished for murder and the attempted murder of an elleth.”

“An elf?”

“Hardly, some foul creature in the form of one.”

“He was in the wood?” Thorin whispered angrily.

“A mirage of him, he was not there.”

The dwarf’s expression darkened.

“How deadly could he be?”

Ithildae's eyes filled with bitter mirth.

“He trained me.”

Thorin nodded curtly, a flutter of fear in his gut.

“It cost us greatly.”

“I know that.” She snarled. “And I will get you all to the Lake, as was promised.”

“I hope Master Baggins has something in mind.” He huffed.

“Of course he will.”

“Will? He should be going now.”

Anger bloomed in her chest.

“He is resting. He will work on it when he can walk straight.”

“Will he be discovered?”

The Orcess sighed.

“No, I let him rest in a safe place.”

A stir came from the unconscious guard outside the cell. Ithildae snapped to attention.

“I assure you that I will get you safely to that lake. But beyond that you are out of my power, my father may still be on your tail. I cannot save you or your line from his rage.” The Orcess looked to the cell where Fili and Kili were resting. “They are too young to die.” She said, looking down into Thorin's eyes.

Ithildae pulled back from the cell, her hands grasping the embroidered edge of the cloak.

“Wait for Bilbo.”

Then the daughter of the Pale Orc was gone, using the shadows and her silence to fade away. Thorin sat very still in his cell. He feared that sleep would not come easily that night.

xXx

Beyond the Elven Realm, in the darkness of the trees, figures crouched in silence. Mist from the river would dull their pungent odor and the river’s rolling rapids concealed every sound they made. Dozens of Orcs were hidden in the trees. Their leader was leaning out and surveying the Elven Gates, his giant mace rested effortlessly in his hands.

Bolg's skin caught the cloudy light, making him stand out amongst the darker skinned Orcs. Another male was near to him, his brow was knit.

“The gates are guarded.” Narzug said to the tall pale Orc.

Bolg breathed deeply through his nose. He could not return to Dol Guldur, not empty handed. His father would be furious. Their pack had caught the dwarves scent a few days ago and hardly ceased hunting them. Only earlier that day they came close, but the golug-hai got to them first.

The Orc leader was not pleased with what he knew came next, it would bother him to follow Ninkhont's instructions. Before he left the fortress, the twisted elf had approached him. He spoke of the water gate, a hidden and secret gate above the river which flowed out of the Elven Realm. At the time, it made no sense why the smirking elf would tell him this. But now considering the situation they found themselves in…

 “Not all of them.” Bolg said finally, turning and striding back into the forest.

Narzug hissed towards the gate in a mocking of the elves. Bolg paid it no heed, his damaged mind was focused somewhere else. On the last words Ninkhont spoke.

“She will be there. She will be at the river. You will see.”