Through the Crevasses of the Felmor mountains, the Dalarii continue their travels. The journey east had become a march against hunger. Their food had run out three days ago. What little remained had been divided carefully. Every person received a portion. Every person except Hrolf. Lothær didn't notice at first. There were too many other things demanding his attention. The wounded, the children, the snow, the distance still left to travel. But on the third morning, he noticed something. Hrolf was sitting beside the fire, or what remained of one, watching a young girl eat.
Eira, his granddaughter. She was perhaps eight winters old. Small even for her age, wrapped in a fur cloak far too large for her. Hrolf watched as she tore a piece of dried meat between her teeth.
"Eat it all," he told her.
Eira looked down at the remaining portion in her hand.
"Grandfather, you haven't eaten."
Hrolf smiled.
"I ate earlier."
She frowned.
"When?"
"This morning, You weren't there."
Hrolf chuckled.
"Then yesterday."
"You weren't there yesterday either."
Lothær stopped, Hrolf looked up and their eyes met. Lothær said nothing. Hrolf's expression told him everything. Lothær walked over.
"Hrolf."
The old hunter sighed.
"Don't."
"You've been giving her your rations."
Hrolf looked at Eira.
"She's a child."
"So are the others compared to you."
"She's mine."
Lothær's voice hardened.
"And you're starving yourself."
Hrolf didn't answer. Eira looked between them.
"Grandfather?"
Hrolf reached over and gently touched her cheek.
"Finish your food."
"But…"
"Finish it."
She hesitated, then obeyed. Lothær waited until she was finished before speaking again.
"You can't do this."
Hrolf looked toward the mountains.
"Someone has to."
"I'll give you mine."
"No."
"Hrolf."
"No."
The old hunter finally looked at him.
"You have twenty four people following you."
His voice was quiet.
"Every ration you give me is a ration someone else doesn't get."
Lothær clenched his jaw.
"And you think dying is better?"
Hrolf smiled.
"I think her living is."
Lothær had no answer. Hrolf looked toward Eira.
"I've watched her mother die."
His voice became quieter.
"I watched her father die."
He swallowed.
"I won't watch her die too."
Lothær looked away. For once, he had no command to give. Only a choice he hated. Lothær remained beside Hrolf for a while, neither of them speaking. The wind moved through the bare branches above them. Across the small camp, Eira sat beside the fire, carefully wrapping the last piece of dried meat in a scrap of cloth. Lothær watched her.
"What are you doing?"
She looked up.
"Saving it."
"For what?"
She shrugged.
"For Grandfather."
Hrolf closed his eyes. Lothær's chest tightened.
"Eira."
She looked at him.
"Grandfather says he isn't hungry."
Lothær glanced toward Hrolf.
"He isn't."
Eira frowned.
"Then why does he look sick?"
Hrolf sighed.
"Children notice too much."
Eira crawled closer to him and rested her head against his arm.
"You're coming with us, right?"
Hrolf opened his eyes.
"Of course."
"To the Stoneborn?"
"To the Stoneborn."
"You said they live inside mountains."
"They do."
"Are they really made of stone?"
Hrolf chuckled.
"Some days I think they must be."
Eira smiled.
"Will they let us stay?"
Hrolf looked toward Lothær. Lothær didn't answer. Hrolf looked back at his granddaughter.
"I think they will."
Eira smiled again.
"Good."
She leaned against him. Hrolf wrapped an arm around her. Lothær watched them. For a moment, they looked like any grandfather and granddaughter, not refugees, or people running from a dying mountain. Just family. Lothær stood.
"We move at first light."
Hrolf nodded. Lothær turned to leave.
"Hrolf."
The old hunter looked up. Lothær hesitated. Then quietly said,
"Thank you."
Hrolf smiled.
"For what?"
Lothær looked toward Eira.
"For giving her another day."
Hrolf's smile faded.
"Give her more than that."
Lothær met his eyes.
"I will."
Morning came too quickly. The Dalarii packed what little remained. There was almost nothing left to pack. Lothær counted them.
Twenty four.
He counted again.
Twenty four.
Hrolf stood near the edge of camp, leaning heavily upon his staff. Eira stood beside him.
"Ready?"
Hrolf nodded.
"Always."
Lothær looked toward the eastern horizon. The mountains were beginning to break apart. Beyond them, something blue shimmered beneath the morning light. The fjords. They were close. Very close. Lothær turned toward the others.
"Keep moving."
They began to walk, and Hrolf followed. One step, then another. His breathing grew heavier, but he kept walking. Eira stayed beside him. Every few minutes, she reached up and took his hand. And every time she did… Hrolf squeezed it.
By midday, they saw the first Stoneborn road. Actual roads. Carved directly into the mountainside. Lothær stared. For the first time in weeks, the survivors began to whisper. Some pointed, others smiled, one child laughed. Eira looked up at Hrolf.
"Grandfather."
"Hm?"
"We made it."
Hrolf looked ahead. The great fjords stretched beyond the mountain. And high above them, carved into the stone… stood the walls of the Stoneborn fortress. Hrolf smiled.
"Yes."
His voice was barely a whisper.
"We made it."
He took another step, then stopped. Lothær turned.
"Hrolf?"
The old hunter's staff slipped from his hand. His knees buckled. Eira screamed.
"Grandfather!"
Lothær caught him before he hit the ground.
"Hrolf!"
The old hunter's eyes fluttered. His breathing was shallow. Eira dropped beside them.
"You said we made it!"
Hrolf looked at her and smiled resting a shaky hand on her warm cheek.
"We did my little mountain lily."
"Then get up."
Eira grabbed his arm.
"Come on."
Hrolf tried, but his body wouldn't move. Lothær looked at him.
"Hrolf..."
The old hunter's eyes met his. There was no fear in them. Only exhaustion.
"You promised me."
Lothær whispered.
"I know."
Hrolf looked toward the fortress.
"Then keep your promise."
Lothær's eyes burned.
"I will."
Hrolf looked back at Eira. She was crying now. He reached toward her. She grabbed his hand with both of hers.
"I'm sorry, Eira."
"You said you'd teach me to hunt."
"I know."
"When we got there."
Hrolf smiled.
"I was going to."
Eira shook her head.
"No."
She squeezed his hand.
"You still can."
Hrolf looked at Lothær. Lothær couldn't speak. Hrolf's eyes slowly closed. Eira leaned against his chest.
"Grandfather?"
Nothing.
"Grandfather!?"
Lothær placed a hand upon her shoulder. She looked at him.
"He's tired."
Eira's face crumpled. Lothær pulled her into his arms. Behind them, the Dalarii stood silently. Ahead… The Stoneborn fortress waited. So close. So painfully close. Lothær looked toward its towering walls. Then down at the girl in his arms. He had promised Hrolf. And this time… He would not fail. Lothær rested Hrolf's staff in his hands, and lifted Eira to his chest. He turned to two of the younger hunters and requested.
"Please take a moment to see that he gets the rest he deserves."
They nodded to him and approached the now frail frame of Hrolf. One of them knelt and gently lifted his body. The other retrieved his staff. Lothær watched them carry him a short distance from the path. There was no time for a proper burial. No ceremony, no songs. Only a shallow grave beneath the frozen earth. It felt wrong. Hrolf deserved more. He deserved a feast. He deserved the stories of his life told around a warm fire. He deserved to die in the mountains he had spent over seventy winters hunting. Instead, he would remain beneath unfamiliar soil, overlooking a fortress he would never enter. Lothær lowered his head.
"May the All Mother guide you, old friend."
Eira looked back.
"Grandfather..."
Lothær tightened his hold around her.
"He's at peace."
She buried her face against his chest. For a moment, Lothær simply stood there. Then he looked toward the fortress.
"We have to go."
One of the hunters nodded. The small group began moving again.
The closer they came, the more enormous the Stoneborn fortress became. What Lothær had mistaken for towers from a distance were entire sections of the mountain carved into massive structures. Stone bridges stretched across the fjords. Great chains disappeared into the cliffs. Waterfalls poured from openings in the mountainside and fell hundreds of feet into the dark waters below. And everywhere...
Movement.
Ships traveled through the fjords. Workers hauled crates along the roads. Smoke poured from enormous chimneys. For the first time since the destruction of their home, the Dalarii saw something they had almost forgotten existed.
Life.
Not survival.
Life.
Lothær slowed. Eira lifted her head from his shoulder.
"Is that where we're going?"
Lothær looked toward the fortress.
"Yes."
"Do they have food?"
A faint smile touched Lothær's face.
"I hope so."
Eira thought for a moment.
"Grandfather would have liked it."
Lothær's smile disappeared.
"Yes."
He looked toward the fortress again.
"He would have."
They reached the beginning of the Stoneborn road proper. It was unlike anything the Dalarii had ever traveled. The road itself had been carved directly into the mountainside, wide enough for wagons to pass in both directions. Stone pillars stood along its edges. Each bore symbols carved so deeply into the rock that they looked as though they had grown there naturally. Lothær reached out and ran his fingers across one as they passed. He had heard stories of the Stoneborn all his life. Small folk who lived within the mountains. Builders, miners, masters of stone. But the stories had never prepared him for this. The mountain wasn't merely their home. They had made it their kingdom.
As they approached the gates, a deep horn sounded from somewhere above.
BOOOOM.
The sound rolled through the fjords. Eira startled against Lothær. The Dalarii stopped. Another horn answered from somewhere across the water. Then another. Lothær looked upward. Stoneborn guards appeared along the walls. Dozens of them. Then hundreds. Their armor was made from dark metal and layered stone, their weapons held at the ready. Lothær instinctively shifted Eira higher against his chest. One of the guards shouted.
"HALT!"
The Dalarii stopped. The guard stared down at them.
"Identify yourselves!"
Lothær stepped forward.
"I am Lothær of the Dalarii."
The guard's expression changed.
"The Dalarii?"
Lothær nodded.
"We seek audience with your king."
A murmur traveled across the walls. The guard looked over the group.
"How many?"
Lothær hesitated.
He looked behind him.
Twenty three.
He looked down at Eira.
Twenty three.
His voice nearly failed.
"Twenty three."
The guard studied him. Then looked at the others.
"Where are the rest?"
Lothær's eyes hardened.
"They're gone."
Silence. The guard lowered his weapon slightly.
"How?"
Lothær looked toward the mountains behind them.
"Something came."
The guard waited. Lothær looked back toward the gates.
"It killed them."
The guard stared at him for several moments. Then he turned.
"Open the outer gate."
A tremendous grinding echoed through the fjord. The gates began to move. Lothær stared into the opening. Beyond it waited the kingdom of the Stoneborn. And somewhere within those walls...
was a king.
Lothær had spent his entire life believing a leader's duty was to protect his people. Now he had nothing left to protect them with, except his voice. He stepped forward.
"Eira."
She looked up.
"Yes?"
"Stay close."
She nodded. Lothær crossed beneath the Stoneborn gate. And for the first time since the night his home burned… The Dalarii walked somewhere they did not know. Hoping they would be allowed to stay. The gates closed behind them. The sound echoed through the mountain like thunder. Lothær looked back. For a brief moment, he watched the massive doors seal away the path they had traveled. The Felmor mountains disappeared behind stone.
He turned forward. The Dalarii stood in silence. Twenty three remained. Twenty three. Lothær counted them again. Eira was still in his arms. The other survivors stood close together, their eyes wandering across the enormous cavern that surrounded them. No one had prepared them for this.
The Stoneborn had carved an entire world into this mountain.
Massive columns rose from the floor and disappeared into darkness above. Bridges crossed the cavern at different heights, connecting buildings carved directly into the stone. Warm light poured from hundreds of windows.
The air smelled of smoke, metal, and fresh bread. For some of the Dalarii, the smell of food was almost unbearable. One of the children began to cry. Her mother immediately pulled her close.
"It's alright."
The woman whispered.
"We're safe."
Lothær heard the words. He wasn't certain they were true. But he wanted them to be. A group of Stoneborn workers passed nearby. They slowed when they saw the Dalarii. Some stared openly. Others whispered to one another. Lothær couldn't blame them.
The Dalarii must have looked like something dragged from a battlefield. Their furs were torn, their faces were gaunt, their weapons were battered. Some walked with limp. Others leaned against one another. They had come to the Stoneborn as refugees.
Not warriors, not hunters, not the proud people who had once called the Felmor home, refugees. Lothær looked down at Eira. She had fallen asleep against his chest. He adjusted her carefully. Then a voice echoed through the cavern.
"Make way!"
The Stoneborn gathered along the road. Lothær looked up. A procession approached from the far end of the cavern. Stoneborn soldiers marched first. Behind them came several attendants.
And at the center...
A man wearing a crown. Lothær stopped. The man was larger than the others. Not by much in height, but in presence. His beard was streaked with gray and bound with silver rings. A heavy cloak rested across his shoulders, fastened with a clasp carved in the shape of the Stoneborn crest. Beside him walked a woman. Her crown was simpler. Pale stone adorned with silver. She looked first at the Dalarii. Then at Eira. Then finally at Lothær. The man stopped several paces away. His eyes moved across the survivors. Twenty three. Lothær could see the moment he counted them. The man's expression changed.
"So you are the Dalarii giants I have heard tales of."
It wasn't a question.
Lothær stepped forward.
"I am."
The man studied him.
"I am Thrun."
He paused.
"King of the Stoneborn."
Lothær lowered his head.
"Your Majesty."
Thrun looked behind Lothær.
"Where are the rest?"
Lothær's throat tightened.
"They're gone."
Thrun's eyes narrowed.
"How many did you lose?"
Lothær looked at the survivors. With only twenty three left by his side. He could still remember when that number had been much larger.
"All but these."
Thrun stared at him.
"And what happened?"
Lothær looked toward the great stone walls surrounding them. Then back to the king.
"I would rather tell you beneath your roof."
Thrun held his gaze. For several seconds, neither man moved. Then Thrun turned toward the palace.
"Come."
Lothær blinked. Thrun looked back.
"You and your people will eat first."
Lothær hesitated.
"We appreciate the offering"
Thrun's expression hardened.
"That was not a request, start walking before you waste away."
Lothær looked down at Eira. Then toward the others. For the first time, one of the Dalarii smiled. Lothær nodded.
"Thank you."
Thrun turned and began walking. The queen remained behind for a moment. She approached Lothær. Her eyes settled on the sleeping child in his arms.
"Is she yours?"
Lothær shook his head.
"No."
He looked down at Eira.
"Her grandfather is."
The queen's expression softened.
"And where is he?"
Lothær looked toward the gates.
"Outside."
The queen understood immediately. She placed a hand gently against Lothær's forearm.
"I'm sorry."
Lothær nodded.
"Thank you."
She followed her husband. Lothær remained still for a moment. Then he looked at the survivors waiting behind him.
"Come."
He began walking. And for the first time in weeks… the Dalarii followed someone toward food instead of away from death. The smell reached them before the hall did. Bread, meat, root vegetables, stew. The scent alone made several of the Dalarii slow their steps. One of the younger hunters actually stopped. Lothær looked back. The hunter's eyes were fixed upon the tables being prepared ahead.
"You alright?"
The hunter swallowed.
"I can't remember the last time I smelled bread."
Lothær looked toward the tables.
"Then you'll remember tonight."
They continued. The doors opened into an enormous dining hall. Long wooden tables stretched across the chamber, each already being filled with food. There was more food in that room than the Dalarii had seen in weeks. The survivors stopped at the entrance. No one moved. Lothær frowned.
"What are you waiting for?"
One of the women looked toward him.
"Are we allowed?"
Lothær looked at her. The question struck him harder than he expected. He turned toward the Stoneborn attendants. One of them nodded. Lothær looked back at his people.
"Eat."
They didn't move until Lothær raised his voice.
"Eat."
That was all it took. The survivors rushed forward desperately. Chairs scraped against the floor. Bowls were grabbed. Bread disappeared almost immediately. One of the children began shoving pieces into her mouth so quickly that her mother had to gently pull her hands away.
"Slowly."
The girl shook her head.
"I can't."
The mother smiled through tears.
"You can."
Lothær stood at the edge of the room. He watched. For the first time since the destruction… he wasn't needed. No one was asking him where to go. No one was asking how much food remained. No one was asking if the next mountain was safe. They were simply eating. Lothær looked down at Eira. She was still asleep. He carried her to an empty chair and carefully sat her down. A Stoneborn servant approached.
"Would you like me to take her?"
Lothær hesitated. Then shook his head.
"No."
He pulled a bowl of warm stew toward her.
"When she wakes."
The servant nodded and walked away. Lothær sat beside Eira. He stared at the bowl. Steam rose from it. His stomach twisted. He hadn't realized how hungry he was. He picked up the spoon. Stopped. Then looked around the room. The Dalarii were laughing. Quietly at first. A few were crying. One of the hunters had already fallen asleep sitting upright. Another had eaten so quickly that he was now staring at his empty bowl as though expecting it to refill itself. Lothær finally took a bite. Warmth spread through him. He closed his eyes.
For just a moment...
he was home. Not truly. He knew that, but close enough. A chair scraped beside him. Queen Hyrissa sat down. Lothær opened his eyes. She smiled gently.
"You haven't eaten much."
"I'm not very hungry."
She looked at his bowl. Then at him.
"You are a terrible liar."
Lothær almost smiled.
"Is that a Stoneborn trait?"
"No."
She picked up a piece of bread.
"It's a queen's."
Lothær looked toward Eira. Hyrissa followed his gaze.
"Her grandfather?"
"Hrolf."
"You knew him?"
Lothær shook his head.
"Yes but..."
He looked down.
"Not well enough."
Hyrissa was quiet.
"What happened to him?"
Lothær stared at the stew.
"He starved himself."
Hyrissa's expression changed.
"For the girl."
Lothær nodded.
"He gave her his rations."
"And you couldn't stop him."
"No."
Hyrissa looked at Eira.
"Some people spend their whole lives protecting one person."
Lothær looked at her.
"Some spend theirs trying to protect everyone."
Their eyes met. Hyrissa smiled faintly.
"Which one are you?"
Lothær looked around the room. At the other survivors. Then at Eira.
"I don't know anymore."
Hyrissa stood.
"Then perhaps you should figure that out before you speak with my husband."
Lothær's expression tightened.
"Your husband?"
"King Thrun."
He nodded.
"When will I see him?"
Hyrissa looked toward the far end of the hall.
"Tonight."
Lothær glanced toward the doors.
"Why?"
Hyrissa's expression became more serious.
"Because my husband has questions."
She paused.
"And I suspect you have more than a few answers."
She walked away. Lothær watched her go. Then looked toward the doors at the end of the hall. For the first time since entering the Stoneborn fortress… he felt the weight of what came next. He had brought his people here. He had asked them to trust a kingdom they did not know. Now he would have to ask its king for something far greater. A place to call home. Lothær looked down at Eira. She stirred in her sleep. He gently placed his hand over hers. Whatever happened tonight… he would not give up. Not this time.
The night passed slowly. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the Dalarii had nowhere they needed to go. The Stoneborn gave them a series of chambers carved into the mountain, each large enough to house several families. Thick furs were laid across the stone floors, and blankets were placed beside each sleeping space.
It was more comfort than most of them had known in weeks. Some fell asleep before their heads touched the blankets. Others simply lay there, staring at the ceiling. As though afraid that if they closed their eyes, they would wake beneath the burning skies of the Felmor once again.
Lothær walked among them. Checking on each of them. One child was already snoring. A mother slept with both arms wrapped around her son. One of the younger hunters sat awake beside the doorway, staring into the darkness.
"You should sleep," Lothær told him.
The hunter shook his head.
"I don't know how."
Lothær understood.
"Try."
The hunter nodded as Lothær continued. Eventually, he found Eira. She was curled beneath a blanket, sleeping soundly for the first time since the journey began. Lothær stood over her for a moment. Then carefully placed Hrolf's staff beside her.
Eira stirred.
Her eyes opened halfway.
"Grandfather?"
Lothær's heart tightened.
"He's not here."
She looked around sleepily.
"Where?"
Lothær sat beside her.
"He's gone."
Her eyes began to water. Lothær took her hand.
"But he got us here."
Eira looked at the staff beside her. She nodded.
"He said we would."
"He was right."
She closed her eyes again. Lothær stayed until her breathing became slow and steady. Only then did he stand. He walked to the doorway. The Stoneborn halls were almost completely silent now. Lothær stepped outside. The cavern stretched endlessly around him. Hundreds of tiny lights flickered against the darkness. Far below, the fjord reflected the moonlight. For the first time, Lothær allowed himself to look at the mountains without searching for danger. They were still mountains. But they were not his. He missed the Felmor. He missed the cold. He missed the sound of wind through the pines. He even missed the smell of smoke from the winter fires.
He closed his eyes. For a moment, he could almost hear Bulrah laughing. His eyes opened. The memory disappeared.
"Lothær."
He turned to see a Stoneborn guard stood at the end of the corridor.
"Yes?"
"The king requests your presence."
Lothær looked back toward the sleeping chambers.
"Now?"
The guard nodded.
"He is waiting."
Lothær looked once more toward Eira. Then toward Hrolf's staff. He took a slow breath.
"Very well."
He followed the guard.
The deeper they traveled into the fortress, the quieter it became. The warm lights of the residential halls faded behind them. The walls became older, larger. Carvings covered every surface. Ancient symbols. Stoneborn kings, battles, stories Lothær couldn't understand. Eventually, the guard stopped before two enormous doors. He opened them, and beyond was a private chamber overlooking the fjord. King Thrun stood alone beside the window. He didn't turn when Lothær entered.
"Close the door."
Lothær did. Thrun remained silent for several seconds. Then finally spoke.
"How many?"
Lothær knew what he meant.
"Twenty three."
Thrun turned.
"You counted them."
"I count them every morning."
Thrun studied him.
"You've lost more than that."
"Much more."
"And yet you remember the number."
Lothær's expression hardened.
"I remember every face."
Thrun nodded slowly.
"I should expect you would."
The king gestured toward a chair.
"Sit."
Lothær remained standing.
"I would rather stand."
Thrun almost smiled.
"So I've found, you remind me of a cave bear, always alert, never quite rested, not to mention massive."
He chuckled to himself as he walked toward the table.
"Then stand if that's what you wish."
Thrun poured two cups of wine. He pushed one across the table. Lothær didn't touch it. Thrun noticed.
"Very well."
He sat.
"Tell me what happened in the Felmor."
Lothær stared at him. And for the first time since leaving the mountains… he prepared to tell the story from the beginning.
"The Winter Games had just begun."
Thrun remained silent.
"The people were celebrating. We had finished the harvest. Families had gathered. Warriors were preparing for the games."
Lothær's eyes lowered.
"Then the fire came."
Thrun leaned forward.
"What kind of fire?"
"Emerald."
The king's expression tightened.
"It spread across the village."
"From where?"
Lothær shook his head.
"I don't know."
"Was it natural?"
"No."
The answer came immediately.
"Nothing natural behaves like that."
Thrun watched him carefully.
"What did it do?"
"It touched the living."
Lothær paused.
"Some turned to ash."
"And the others?"
Lothær's jaw tightened.
"They changed."
Thrun's brow furrowed.
"Changed how?"
"They became..."
Lothær struggled with the word.
"Beasts."
Silence filled the chamber. Thrun leaned back.
"How many?"
"I don't know."
"You didn't count?"
"We were too busy trying to survive."
Lothær's voice hardened.
"They weren't an army. They were our people."
Thrun nodded slowly.
"Go on."
Lothær looked toward the window.
"Bulrah was one of them."
Thrun said nothing.
"My brother."
The king's expression softened.
"He was fighting."
Lothær swallowed.
"Then one of them caught him."
He looked down at his hands.
"The fire entered him."
Thrun remained silent.
"He told me to kill him."
A long pause.
"I couldn't."
Lothær's voice cracked.
"Not at first."
Thrun looked at him.
"And eventually?"
Lothær closed his eyes.
"I did."
Neither man spoke. The silence lasted several seconds. Then Thrun asked quietly,
"How?"
Lothær opened his eyes.
"With my axes."
Thrun's gaze moved toward the darkblood weapons resting against his back.
"You killed your own brother."
"I saved what was left of him."
Thrun nodded.
"I understand."
Lothær looked at him.
"Do you?"
Thrun met his eyes.
"I've worn a crown for thirty years."
He looked toward the fjord.
"I've ordered men to die."
He paused.
"I've watched fathers bury sons."
His eyes returned to Lothær.
"But I have never had to bury my own brother."
Lothær looked away. Thrun continued.
"You said the fire spread beyond your settlement."
"Yes."
"How far?"
"We don't know."
"How many villages?"
"At least ours."
"At least?"
Lothær nodded.
"We saw signs of it in the mountains afterward."
Thrun's expression darkened.
"Signs?"
"Animals."
"What about them?"
"We found an entire herd of mountain vyrl."
Lothær paused.
"Dead."
"How?"
"Frozen."
Thrun stared at him.
"Frozen?"
"From something beneath the cold."
Lothær remembered the green shimmer across their hides.
"The frost had a green color."
Thrun slowly leaned back.
"Green."
Lothær nodded.
"It wasn't just the village."
Thrun looked toward the fjords.
"What did you see?"
"Ash."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Forests were dead."
Thrun remained still.
"How far?"
"As far as we could see."
The king stood and walked toward the window. Lothær followed him with his eyes. Thrun stared down at the lights of his kingdom.
"How far south did you travel before turning east?"
"Not far."
"Why?"
"Because the mountain was becoming worse."
Thrun turned.
"You believe whatever destroyed your home is still there."
"I know it is."
"How?"
Lothær's eyes hardened.
"Because I don't believe something capable of destroying the Felmor simply disappears."
Thrun was silent. Lothær stepped closer.
"That's why I brought them here."
The king's expression changed.
"You believe it will follow you."
"I don't know."
"That's not what I asked."
Lothær hesitated. Then answered honestly.
"Yes."
Thrun's face became grim.
"Then why bring them to my kingdom?"
Lothær stared at him.
"Because I had nowhere else."
Thrun's voice sharpened.
"And now you expect me to make it my problem."
Lothær's jaw tightened.
"No."
He stepped closer.
"I expect you to understand that I cannot protect them anymore."
Thrun said nothing. Lothær continued.
"I knew every trail in those mountains."
His voice grew quieter.
"I knew where to find food. Where to find shelter. Where the snow would settle. Which beasts to avoid."
He looked toward the sleeping chambers beyond the palace.
"Now I don't even know what we're running from."
Thrun's expression softened. Lothær took a breath.
"I am asking you..."
He stopped. For a moment, the great warrior who had fought through the burning ruins seemed smaller than he had when he entered the room. Then he straightened.
"...for asylum."
Thrun looked at him.
"Your people?"
"Yes."
"All twenty three?"
"All of them."
Thrun looked toward the fjord again.
"You understand what you're asking."
"I do."
"If I accept you, I may be bringing whatever destroyed the Felmor into my kingdom."
Lothær nodded.
"Yes."
Thrun stared at him.
"And if I refuse?"
Lothær's eyes lowered.
"They die."
The words hung between them. Thrun looked at the man standing before him. A warrior who had crossed mountains with twenty three survivors. A leader who had buried his own brother. A man who had buried an elder that very day. And yet he was still standing. Thrun finally spoke.
"I need time."
Lothær nodded.
"I understand."
Thrun looked at him.
"You don't."
Lothær stopped.
Thrun's voice softened.
"I am not only a king."
He gestured toward the fjord.
"I am a husband."
He looked toward the distant chambers where his people slept.
"A father."
He returned his eyes to Lothær.
"And if I make the wrong decision..."
He paused.
"...my people pay for it."
Lothær nodded slowly.
"I know."
Thrun studied him.
"Then you know why I cannot simply say yes."
"I do."
Lothær turned toward the door.
"Thank you for hearing me."
He reached for the handle.
"Lothær."
He stopped. Thrun looked at him.
"Stay."
Lothær turned. Thrun gestured toward the chair.
"Sit."
Lothær hesitated. Then returned to the table. Thrun poured another cup. This time, Lothær accepted it. Neither man spoke. For a long while, they simply sat there. Two leaders. One broken kingdom. And a decision neither man wanted to make. Then the doors opened. Queen Hyrissa stepped inside. She looked at Thrun. Then at Lothær. And immediately understood that something was wrong.
"Thrun?"
The king looked toward his wife.
"I don't know what to do."
Hyrissa walked closer.
She looked at Lothær. Then back to her husband.
"Then perhaps..."
She placed a hand gently upon his shoulder.
"...you should stop thinking like a king for a moment."
Thrun frowned.
"And think like what?"
Hyrissa looked toward the sleeping chambers.
"A man."
Thrun stared at his wife. Hyrissa moved around the table and took the empty seat beside him.
"A king must protect his people," she continued. "But a king is still a man before he is anything else."
Thrun looked toward Lothær.
"And what would you have me do?"
Hyrissa didn't answer immediately. Instead, she looked at Lothær.
"You said the fire began during your celebration."
Lothær nodded.
"Yes."
"And you said you don't know where it came from."
"I don't."
Hyrissa studied him.
"But you do know something."
Lothær frowned.
"What?"
"You mentioned the beasts."
He nodded.
"And the fire."
"Yes."
"Was that the first strange thing you encountered?"
Lothær hesitated.
"No."
Thrun looked at him.
"What else?"
Lothær stared at the table. For a moment, he considered saying nothing. Then he remembered the woman. The stranger who had appeared before the winter feast. The words she had spoken. The warning he hadn't understood.
"There was a woman."
Hyrissa leaned forward.
"What woman?"
"I don't know."
"Where did you meet her?"
"Near the village."
"Before the Games?"
"After."
"What did she want?"
Lothær shook his head.
"She spoke strangely. She warned me."
Thrun's expression tightened.
"Warned you about what?"
Lothær looked toward the window.
"I don't know."
Hyrissa exchanged a glance with Thrun.
"What did she say?"
Lothær thought back. Her voice. Her eyes. The feeling that something was wrong.
"She told me..."
He stopped.
"I don't remember all of it."
"Try."
Lothær closed his eyes. Then the memory came.
"She said there were things beneath the world that should never wake."
Thrun's face hardened.
"Anything else?"
Lothær nodded.
"She knew my name."
Hyrissa's expression changed.
"How?"
"I don't know."
"You had never met her?"
"Never."
"Then how did she know you?"
Lothær shook his head.
"I don't know."
Hyrissa leaned back.
"Did she speak to anyone else?"
"No."
"Did she approach anyone else?"
"Not that I saw."
Silence filled the room. Hyrissa looked at Thrun. Then back to Lothær.
"Perhaps this isn't following your people."
Lothær's eyes narrowed.
"What?"
She spoke carefully.
"Perhaps it is following you."
The words struck harder than any blow. Lothær stared at her.
"No."
"You don't know that."
"I watched my home burn."
"I know."
"My brother died."
"I know."
"Children died."
"I know."
Lothær's voice cracked.
"Don't tell me I brought that upon them."
Hyrissa softened.
"I'm not."
"But you think it."
"No."
She shook her head.
"I think we have to consider every possibility."
Lothær stood.
"You think I am the reason they are dead?"
Thrun rose as well.
"Lothær."
The warrior turned away. His breathing became heavier. He looked through the window at the fjords below. Twenty three people.
Twenty three.
And every one of them had followed him here. He remembered Hrolf.
Give her more than another day.
His eyes closed.
"What if she is right?"
Thrun and Hyrissa remained silent. Lothær's voice became barely audible.
"What if it followed me?"
Hyrissa stood.
"Lothær..."
"What if every place I go..."
He swallowed.
"...dies?"
Thrun stepped toward him.
"Enough."
Lothær turned. Thrun looked him directly in the eyes.
"You did not destroy your home."
Lothær stared at him.
"You fought for it."
Thrun's voice hardened.
"You carried twenty three survivors across the mountains."
He pointed toward the door.
"And you brought them here."
He paused.
"Whatever this is, you did not create it."
Lothær's eyes lowered.
"But what if it finds them here?"
Thrun didn't answer. Because he didn't know. Hyrissa did.
"If it is following you..."
She looked at her husband.
"...then perhaps the answer is simple."
Thrun understood. His expression darkened.
"No."
Lothær looked between them.
"What?"
Hyrissa looked at him.
"You leave."
Lothær's face went still.
"No."
Thrun spoke quietly.
"She may be right."
"No."
"You want your people safe."
"Yes."
"Then you cannot remain here."
Lothær shook his head.
"They need me."
"They need you alive."
Thrun stepped closer.
"If you stay and something comes for you, my people are endangered."
He paused.
"But if you leave..."
Lothær understood. He looked toward the door. Toward the chambers where his people slept.
"Then they are safe."
Thrun nodded.
"If you leave them in my care."
Lothær stared at him.
"You're offering them asylum?"
Thrun's expression remained solemn.
"Yes."
Lothær's eyes widened.
"All of them?"
"All twenty three."
Lothær struggled to speak.
"And you will protect them?"
"I give you my word."
Lothær looked at Hyrissa. She nodded.
"They will be treated as Stoneborn, large ones… but Stoneborn nonetheless."
Lothær's eyes filled. He looked away. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he whispered,
"Thank you."
Thrun placed a hand upon his forearm.
"Don't thank me."
Lothær looked at him.
"Bring me the answer."
Lothær reached for the doorway after a short pause and returned into the hallway.
Later that night, Lothær walked through the sleeping chambers. He stopped beside each survivor. He didn't wake them all. Some were too exhausted. Others had finally found sleep deep enough that he couldn't bring himself to disturb it.
But those who were awake...
He said goodbye. The young hunters embraced him. The mothers cried. Some refused to believe he was leaving. One of them grabbed his arm.
"We just got us here."
"I know."
"Then why are you leaving?"
Lothær struggled to answer.
"Because I need to make sure you can stay."
The woman understood. She released him.
"Come back."
Lothær nodded.
"I will."
He didn't know if that was true. But he needed her to believe it. Eventually, he reached Eira. She was awake. Hrolf's staff rested beside her. She looked at Lothær.
"You're leaving."
He sat beside her.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I need to find something."
"What?"
"The thing that hurt us."
Eira looked frightened.
"Are you going to kill it?"
Lothær smiled sadly.
"If I have to."
She looked toward Hrolf's staff.
"Grandfather would tell you to come back."
Lothær swallowed.
"Your grandfather was a wise man."
Eira reached out and hugged him. Lothær closed his eyes. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply be there. Then he stood. He picked up his axes, his pack, his cloak, and what was left of Bulrah's cloak. He looked back one final time. Twenty four had become twenty three. No. He corrected himself. Twenty three. Hrolf was simply no longer among them. Lothær stepped into the corridor. Thrun waited there. The king looked toward the weapons.
"Where will you go?"
"Ralstrog."
Thrun's brow furrowed.
"Why?"
Lothær looked at him.
"You said there may be something there."
Thrun nodded slowly.
"There are old stories."
"What kind?"
"Green magic."
Lothær's expression hardened.
"Like the fire?"
"I don't know."
Thrun looked toward the east.
"Ralstrog is home to the High Elves. They know more of ancient magic than any people I have ever met."
Lothær tightened his grip around his axe.
"Then that's where I'll go."
Thrun looked at him.
"You'll need to cross the grasslands."
"I will."
"You'll be alone."
Lothær glanced back toward the sleeping chambers.
"No."
He looked at Bulrah's cloak draped over his shoulder.
"I'll have my brother with me."
Thrun said nothing. Lothær turned toward the exit. Then stopped. He looked back at the king.
"Take care of them."
Thrun nodded.
"With my life."
Lothær lowered his head. Then stepped into the darkness. The great doors opened. Cold air rushed into the fortress. Lothær pulled his cloak tighter. Behind him rested the last remnants of the Dalarii. Ahead lay the road to Ralstrog. He looked once toward the mountains. Then toward the distant horizon. And began to walk.