Hello beautiful readers! Welcome to the next instalment of Breath of Attachment. A lot of you have been asking me some interesting questions, or stating some awesome statements, so I will take the time now to answer/respond to your thoughts below! :)

Emberlies: Yes! :) I will be continuing with the other two films in this story. I will not create two new stories, but rather keep it as one.

Nixie the Bloody Pixie: The Elvish/Dwarf relationship that Tormora has WILL be explained. Very soon, I suspect, when a certain Elfking comes into the picture… So don't worry, I will make things clearer for everyone!

CalamityBangs – I don't want to write 80 chapters, haha. Not in particular. I suspect this story will be closer to 50. That is my writing goal.

Azukia: Thank you so much for your kind words! I hope you are still enjoying the story and find time to offer me your thoughts in the future. In regards to your question about whether or not I will keep the three of them alive… Well… Let's just say I am a loyal fan and try not to change too much… But you'll have to keep reading to find out! ;)



How could the idea of something so simple become so irresistible in a matter of days? The thought of water was dripping into each traveller's subconscious as they finally reached the bottom of Carrock. The craving for water did not come from parchment and thirst. As the Company touched solid land, water could be heard trickling from behind the thick tree trunks of the woodland.

"There must be a river up ahead," Dwalin spoke as he helped Tormora from his shoulders.

"You are correct, Master Dwarf," Gandalf said. "It is a river called Anduin, a few miles north and breaching on the Old Ford."

"In that case, I say we stop for a wee bit. We haven't bathed since Rivendell and I feel smoke spinning inside my chest."

"Not to mention that some of us are in need of bathing." Oin's eyes shifted towards his brother, who ungratefully snarled back.

Bofur glanced over at Tormora, who managed to keep her balance quite well after the amount of blood she had lost. Her wound had stopped bleeding before the made their descent, but the scab that now covered it was not a major improvement. "I think we all need a bit of tender-loving care," he chimed in. "I say it's high time for a break."

Tormora's eyes closed for a moment as the rest of the Company sailed past her. They were anxious to drink from the clean Anduin falls, but she could not get past the mere sound of water crashing against stone. It was like the whisper of an Elf's spell: distant, but possessing a kind of warmth and familiarity that made one feel hopeful.

"Are you coming?" Thorin's voice interrupted her thoughts.

Her eyes flickered open to see the King standing before her. His shoulders rolled back into the kingly stance she so often admired. His furs, draped like a beautiful woman's arm, decorated his shoulders with regal prowess. His hair was not so beautifully braided as it had been on the East Road, but she could spot his signature silver ornaments hiding beneath the strands.

Thorin was not unaware of Tormora's scrutinizing gaze. In fact, he warmed beneath it. If he allowed her, she would have sized him up all day, but he gently placed his hand on her shoulder as an encouragement to continue forwards.

As the two walked silently behind the others, Tormora's eyes flickered down to his hand. "My ring is still with you, I see." Her calm demeanour did not accurately represent the gratitude she felt. "You have kept it all this time."

"Over a century," he muttered, spinning the ring lazily around his finger. "I believe you made it for me when you were still a blacksmith in Dale. It was the year of 2769, only a year before Erebor was lost."

Thorin spoke of Erebor as if it were something from a storybook: unreal and uncomplicated. "It was shortly after the ball in the Gallery of Kings," she whispered, hoping to bring a memory. "I was only nineteen years old, making you twenty-one."

Both of them simultaneously recalled their kiss in the closet: a childish and irresponsible decision that may have been one of the best of their lives.

Another man took Tormora's focus before Thorin could reply. "Tormora, we must get you to sit down for a while." Balin's voice became intertwined trickling river that suddenly appeared before them. "Oin would be more than happy to help, as he is best with medicine, but he will not be able to accurately hear you with his crushed trumpet. I will do what I can, and he will supervise."

Her eyes shot down to her wound. "This is quite a nasty scar. Are you sure you can fix it?" Balin laughed heartily; not realizing her question was a serious one.

"Take care of her." Thorin's order came swiftly. He desired a moment alone to replay his encounter with the Pale Orc, but as he passed his men, he could not help to gravitate towards a particular Dwarf. "Bofur. A word?"

Bofur's braids swung around sharply, his hand placed tightly atop his hat to keep it from flying off. "What can I help you with?"

"I wanted to thank you." Thorin kept his voice low.

"What for?"

If one knew Thorin Oakenshield, one knew how he wore his pride like a metal upon his chest. Gandalf had once declared that pride would be his downfall, but Thorin could not resist holding it as a trophy of his title. That was why he whispered when he spoke to Bofur once again. "I owe you my gratitude and many thanks for telling Tormora of our quest. Truth be told, I do not know where we would be without her." We would have been fine. But I would have been entirely lost, even with the help of a map.

"You don't have to thank me for betraying your orders," Bofur winked. "It's not the first time, and it certainly won't be the last."


Dwarves were quick with their hands, so it came as no surprise that Balin had concocted a salve in a matter of minutes. Oin, the medical expert of the group, was having difficulty hearing what Tormora was trying to ask of him. "Not too hard." "It still burns." "Perhaps you shouldn't touch there." His ear trumpet had been crushed by the Goblins, and therefore he felt more comfortable allowing Balin to take his place as doctor. He had, however, gathered up many of the plants that would be used to help keep her wound from becoming infected.

Tormora watched Gandalf as he tended to the others' smaller cuts and bruises. "You are as fit as a fiddle, Tormora, daughter of Tordir," Balin said happily. "I should even like to guess that you're well enough to gather berries with Bofur in the woods for tonight's supper." Balin's thick beard could not hide his warm smile. "That is, if you're feeling up to it."

"I cannot thank you enough." She could feel her skin itching with the ointment's sting, but her spirits were suddenly much higher. "You have treated me with such kindness. All of you."

Balin's face fell. "I had doubted you once, long ago. I have known Thorin for many years. He is my dearest cousin, you see. He even saved me from Smaug's fire during the great attack." Balin sighed heavily, his eyes telling distant tales with every blink. "I saw what love did to his soul, and therefore perceived you as a threat. Upon meeting you, I could finally understand why you had haunted Thorin for all of those long and empty years."

Tormora's curiosity peaked. "What did you realize?"

"Your sweetness had simply turned him bitter. Your love was a dangerous reaction. You had cared too much, and it had destroyed him. I tried to convince myself that you were dangerous, but your presence was the only thing keeping him sane. It was when you were not around that Thorin was struggling to feel joy. Kings do not need joy or peace of mind, necessarily, but love is something unprecedented. His love for you was, and perhaps still is, unlike any other I have witnessed. Especially for a Dwarf."

Tormora recalled the old folktale she had told the others. A Dwarf had stolen precious gems from a Wizard, thinking they were the most important thing in life. The Wizard cursed him to never find the true beauty of life, which was discovered in a woman he was unable to love. Dwarves were stubborn and made of greed, which prohibited humble happiness.

Her eyes trailed to her left, where Thorin rested on a boulder. His black sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as he sharpened his Elvish blade upon his leather belt. She did not know if he had been listening to their conversation, but something in his eyes seemed to be resisting a glance upwards.

"I have always respected your opinion." Tormora redirected her gaze to Balin. "You are welcome to offer me your wisdom, whether your words be harsh or caring."

They exchanged a final smile before Bofur snuck his way into the conversation. "I would like to request the company of Tormora, daughter of Tordir, to join me in the most thrilling of adventures: berry picking." Bofur extended his hand dramatically, as if offering a turn around the dance floor.

"Leave it to the other men to hunt." Tormora took his hand in hers. "We shall find the ripest berries in all of Middle-Earth."

"And we shall pluck them delicately from their branches."

"And we shall eat them all before the others have a chance, returning with pink cheeks and purple lips."

"Well go on!" Balin chuckled. "You two are stranger than a bearded Elf."

The duo strolled in the opposite direction of the makeshift camp, their stomachs grumbling at the idea of food. Tormora watched as Bofur ran ahead towards the nearest berry bush, her smile wavering as she recalled the Goblin tunnels. She had to tell him about her doll eventually, and she knew in her heart that sooner was better than later. "Bofur, I must confess something rather upsetting."

"You're vetoing me as your loyal and dearest friend and giving the title to Ori?" He spoke through a mouth of berries, his lips and cheeks stained red from their liquid kiss.

"No, it is not that." She tried not to laugh at his ridiculous appearance and suggestion. "In the Goblin caves, when I was being…" Bofur flapped his hand to silence her horrible memories. He knew where she had been. "They took my doll. I could not grab it, for I was too weak."

Bofur's hand curved over her good shoulder. "Y'know, I gave that doll to you because we couldn't see one another in the Blue Mountains. It wasn't allowed, according to our ever-so-gracious King. I hoped that doll would help you think of me when you were gone, but we're together now." Tormora looked up after hearing the sureness in his voice. "You won't forget me. I don't have to lose you this time."

"I love you, khâzash (brother). You are always in my heart, even if your doll is not in my bag."

Bofur sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes filling up with laughter. "Well thank goodness that's over. I can't stand all of that sappy, teary-eyed affection." Tormora laughed, playfully snatching some berries from the bush and hurling them in his direction. Unsurprisingly, he managed to catch every one in his mouth.

The Dwarves had travelled many paths under many moons, but deep within their weary souls, echoes of merrier lives remained. They just needed the trickling of a river and pockets full of berries to remind them once again.


When the feast was over and the moon rose to its highest, the Company was extremely content with their situation. They had eaten as much as they could collect, which had fortunately been more than enough. Rabbits, birds, berries, herbs, and fish filled their stomachs and smeared their faces with oil. It did not take much convincing of the Dwarves to hop into the river for a late night party, or in other terms, a bath.

"Bathing in the river?" Tormora whispered to no one in particular. She watched the men run to the edge of the riverbank, flicking their shirts and belts off as they stumbled over themselves. Just as Gloin tugged at the strings of his trousers, Tormora turned her burning face in the opposite direction. Clearly they weren't used to having women around.

"Do not worry, dear Tormora." Gandalf's chuckle rung out above her head. "The river is long and there is a section that narrows in the middle. Trees have grown there, and manage to block the other section of the stream. If you wish to bathe there I will take watch that the men do not pass."

Tormora was going to reject the kind Wizard's offer in fear of her wound touching water. However, she was feeling quite awake, and therefore sharp in her senses. She could smell herself without even having to get close to her skin, and she knew she was in desperate need of a washing. "I would appreciate that very much."

Tormora walked down the riverbank, quietly thinking to herself. After a few minutes passed, she felt safe enough to wade in private. She removed her worn boots, setting them beneath a Willow's shadow. Next were her muddied trousers that hung loosely on her small waist. She wore a black blouse, lined with small silver stitches across the neckline, which was also swiftly removed. It was the only piece of clothing that had actually been hers. Everything else belonged to her father, whom she often tried not to dwell on. It only caused her misery and second doubts about the fight she was partaking in.

Stripped down to her undergarments, she tossed the dirtied fabric onto a nearby branch. The cold air hit her body unwelcomingly, and she readied herself for an evening with only the voice in her head to accompany her.

One toe dipped itself into the surprisingly warm water. The rest of her followed, but she made sure to keep her shoulders well above the surface. Her wrapped bandage was still fresh, and needed more time to soak up the salve's ingredients.

She let her hands spread over the top of the water. The roughness of her skin contrasted with the sleekness of the water. It was black in the night, unlike the swhite falls of Rivendell, but the darkness somehow felt safe. It was dangerous for her to be alone, but she had little choice. She had never shown her body to a man before and was nervous at the thought of any wandering eyes. Many of her friends had never been married, and she suspected the younger ones had never even been with a woman. On the other hand, she was also not entirely interested in seeing their naked bodies.

Tormora heard the last chirps of the birds spring from overhead. They were going to retreat to their nests soon in order to spend the late hours protecting their family. She wished she could do the same, but if her father could keep his strength up for only a few more weeks, she knew a journey to Dale would be worth her disappearance.


The Dwarf's head snapped upwards at the sound of creaking wood. Sinking her vulnerable body further beneath the water, her wide eyes grew at the idea of a possible threat. "H-Hello?" She stuttered, feeling ill at ease without her sword.


"Thorin!" Her arms flung across her hidden breasts as she caught sight of the King across the water. Knowing that he could not see her naked body was a comfort, but she was taking extra precautions. "Why have you come here?"

He moved forward slightly, the moonlight hitting his bare chest in a way that forced Tormora to look turn her head. "I had not realized that you were here. I needed to get away from the chaos for a moment."

Tormora could hear the others splashing, wrestling and singing in the distance. She should have known Thorin would not be amongst them for long. "Gandalf promised to take watch."

Thorin's lip curled up into a half-smile. "Then he is not a very good watchman."

Tormora rolled her eyes. The Wizard supported their relationship more than anyone. As the pair pondered the situation on opposite sides of the water, Thorin used the moment of silence to get a better grasp of his situation. He had been looking for solitude to think about the battle. Just as Azog had appeared to him from nowhere, she was also there without warning. Only her shoulders were bare above the water. The still line of the river's surface stopped just above her breasts, and the darkness of the water hid everything from that point on. He was glad for nature's prudence. He felt invasive just being near her, and worried that she would be thinking the same. "I will leave you now. I did not mean to interrupt your washing."


Thorin had already turned his back when her curt response rang out. He turned around slowly, fearful that he would not be able to resist a kiss or touch of her smooth skin. When he finally looked at her, his eyes tried not to drown themselves in the pureness of her skin, glistening like the diamonds of Erebor. Every part of her reminded him of precious jewels, and made him wonder once again what was really worth dying for.

"I am in pain." She bit her lip. Thorin knew it was not meant to seem like an attractive gesture, but the beauty of her lips turning red from the bite was enough to stop his heart momentarily. "The wound stings if it touches the water. I cannot reach upwards either, and my hair is rather filthy."

"What do you wish me to do?"

Tormora tried to distract herself from his soaked hair. He had tied it into a thick ponytail, making his sharp cheekbones stand out even more. Despite the aging circles beneath his eyes, his features remained sharp. Droplets of water shimmered in his thick beard, silently pleading Tormora to dry them with her touch. She was resisting the urge to pull him to her, her cold skin suddenly burning. "If you could help me, I would appreciate it."

He inched closer. "You want me to help you wash your hair."

"At least spread some water over it," she laughed sweetly.

Thorin did not answer with words, but a simple nod of his head. He did, however, wear a small smile that took Tormora back on a trail of fond, youthful memories. His lean body carefully cut through the water, not menacingly like a snake, but with a sense of purpose like a protector. He was soon out of sight as he waited behind her. Tormora, smiling against her will, pushed back her dark curls so that they rested on her shoulders.

"There is too much hair." Thorin's voice held a mixture of laughter and uncertainty.

Tormora's fingers pressed against her lips as she tried to reduce her growing smile. "Do what you can, my King."

She felt two large hands, wet with the cool stream, gently brush over the top layer of her thick mane. A noise, one that had not been heard for many years, rang out in Tormora's ears. Thorin was laughing. "This is what my title has come to, I see. I clean the hair of wounded Dwarves."

"It could be worse."

Thorin grew silent for a moment, his hands resting at the base of her neck. "Yes, I suppose it could." Tormora knew that his thoughts had gone back to Azog. He had not said a word about the devious creature since their landing on Carrock.

"I feared you were dead during the battle," she mumbled. "There were no words for the emotions I felt as I saw you get trapped in the razor teeth of that…" Tormora shook her head, unable to finish the horrid memory.

Thorin gently soaked his hands in the water again. "For so many years, I felt a sense of pride in knowing that my father and grandfather had been avenged. Tales were told of my bravery and songs were scripted." She felt his hands move deeper into her hair, erupting a shiver down her spine. "They are all lies now. I am no more of a King than the men that stand beside me. If I have not slayed my enemies, then what kind of King could I claim to be?"

Tormora's head dropped slightly in disappointment. "You should not think that way. Your people were reduced to dreadful circumstances, but you made a new life for them in Ered Luin. I can testify, for I am one of them."

"You cannot say that I treated you fairly."

"Perhaps not, but you did not fail me." Her hand reached back, placing itself atop his own. He froze at the sensation of touch, his grey eyes fixated on the broken curve of her nails. "You offered me a chance to live with my people. There was nowhere else for me to go where Dwarves were concerned, and though I could not be with you, I was grateful to be alive and with my father."

Thorin would always regret what he had done to Tormora, but like a noble woman, she had forgiveness in her heart. She would have made a brilliant Queen, and the thought haunted Thorin. "I will finish him," Thorin said quietly. His thumb trailed over the top of her hand as if planting a silent kiss. "We will all save the life we once knew."

"Most of my life was spent in a blacksmith shop in Dale. I do not know how much longer I can live that way, but I would like to bring my father back to his rightful home."

"You were not only a blacksmith. You led a life of peace."

The Elves. For as long as she could recall, her family had been assigned to maintain peace with the Elvish race. There were the Elves of Rivendell, whose music and hearth wrapped her in a blanket of comfort. Their dark hair and dark eyes were fond in her memories. She had always preferred the darkness to the light. The light reminded her of the Woodland Realm. She remembered the single time she had met Thranduil, the merciless Elvenking, and quickly pushed the memory from her mind. "I worked closely with the Elves, you are correct. They were a second family to me." Golden hair. Ice-cold blue eyes. Hateful scorns on perfectly pink lips. "Well, nearly all of them."

"When we were in Rivendell, many questions that came to me." Thorin's hands moved to wet the bottom layer of hair. The back of his hand accidentally brushed against Tormora's neck, where it lingered for a moment too long. "I do not believe I ever asked you how your family became designated to relay peace offerings to the Elves. It seems like the duty of a noblemen, and yet..."

A lump suddenly grew deep within Tormora's throat. She herself did not know the entire story. What her grandfather had told her had been limited, but enough to make her uncomfortable with her family's ancient past. "It is nothing," she spat out quickly. Her body pulled away. "What I mean to say is that… my family is simply hospitable. Our limited hair growth kept up separate from the Blacklocks. We never truly felt as if we belonged anywhere, and the race of Men accepted us more than many of our own kind did." She laughed, but there was bitterness laced in her chuckles. "Dwarves are incredibly stubborn."

"Elves and Dwarves used to be trusted allies and friends." Thorin felt the loss of her already, although she only stood a few feet before him. "It is a shame that I lost that memory at a very young age. I was not even twenty when Thranduil and his kin grew furious about us keeping hold of the Silmaril necklace."

"You were simply impressionable."

"Yes," Thorin smirked. "I suppose you could say that."

She turned her head slightly. "Would you rather have me call you ignorant?"

Thorin laughed, sinking his neck below the water. He was fearful that his cheeks were turning red from the playfulness of their conversation. "Ignorance has never been used with my name in the same sentence."

Tormora spun around to challenge him, but was taken aback to see that he had moved closer. They both stood still beneath the rippling current, but their shaking breath was unable to keep calm. "Perhaps we should forget about the past for this evening. With Azog coming into the picture, and Mirkwood not entirely far away, I think we will soon be haunted by our previous circumstances. Perhaps tonight we could simply focus on-"

"Us?" Thorin's head fell to his shoulder. A smirk remained planted on his face, as if he were mocking and agreeing with her at the same time. She could hardly stand his playful demeanour, and reached for the water to splash it across his face. Thorin looked momentarily stunned as the cool liquid hit him, but did not waste a second to return the gesture.

Tormora shrieked. "That's unfair! I have no beard to keep the chill from my skin!"

Thorin simply shrugged, moving a few feet backwards. What an insufferable man, Tormora thought with amusement. "Come now, finish your work." She wagged a finger at him and turned back around, waiting to feel water slipping through the strands of her hair.

Instead, she felt something press against her bare shoulder. At first she could not place the feeling, but when her eyes moved downwards, she noted that it was a pair of lips that captured her attention. Thorin's lashes flickered shut as he breathed. They casted a long shadow over his face while the kiss continued.

She could feel the heat of his skin against her, even through the watery barrier. He made sure to keep his body far from hers, but his hands rested gently on her forearms, while his lips slowly came up from her skin.

Neither of them spoke. Tormora would have thought that he would say something in regards to the old days: a bittersweet memory of a kiss in her blacksmith shop. Thorin would have expected her to say something witty or full of snark to take the edge off the romantic moment. She was a nervous girl, and not always open to the idea of romance with such a wounded heart. Instead, they both said nothing, even as Tormora turned to face him.

Letting her arms slip from beneath the water, she pressed her soaking hands to the sides of his face. Water danced down his beard and onto his chest, illuminating the flesh that Tormora was trying to ignore.

Thorin had no interest ignoring the beautiful woman before him. The years that had kept them cruelly separated only softened her features. He could feel the rough skin of her hands on his face, burnt and battered from smithing. It was a contradiction to the rest of her flesh, which seemed tender in the close distance. There were scars scattered about her torso, the newest one on her shoulder, and a small one near her eye. He was not sure if he had ever taken notice of them before, but her imperfections only captured him further. They told silent tales of her wisdom and travels, and he suddenly felt a craving to hear them all.

Just before Tormora's lips could part in a question, Thorin silenced it with a kiss. It was not like the embrace in Rivendell - full of yearning and desire – but instead held a sense of familiarity. It was the kiss that two people exchanged when they knew that they were safe in the other's arms. It was the kind of kiss where people quietly whispered that there was nobody else for them, and meant it.

Tormora had kissed him before. Why did this time feel so different? She could smell the scent of soil on him from the riverbed, and something similar to iron. He tasted like the berries she had picked, the sweetness of his breath keeping her breath tightly locked in her chest.

Thorin was fearful of their bodies meeting beneath the water. He had never seen her unclothed, and he had certainly never touched her bare flesh. Secretly, he had dreamed of a moment like this, but it had distracted him from his duties and was therefore ignored for many years. He never thought it might be real. All hope for regaining Tormora's touch had been lost along with Erebor and Dale. And yet, here she was, standing before him with as much passion in her lips as in his heart.

Tormora brought herself closer to him, feeling part of his thigh against her own. Her heart tightened in her chest. Over the years, she had become a calm woman, but Thorin broke down all barriers. His breathing kept a steady rhythm, as if this were a natural occurrence that he had dreamed about many times before. She, on the other hand, could hardly repress her emotions from spilling over the edge. "I thought I had lost you," she whispered between kisses. "What would I have done if I had lost you?"

Thorin pulled back for a moment upon hearing the genuine distress in her tone. His eyes trailed over newly flushed face, trying to offer her reassurance with his eyes. "When I was fighting against Azog, I was worried that I had lost you." His brows came together with the recent memory. "I did not wish to die at the hands of Azog, but even more so, I did not wish to leave the world with you still in it."

Tormora's hands slid down his arms in order to clutch his hands beneath the water. "The longer I am on this quest, the more I begin to feel that you... the more I believe that you and I could try again. I feel forgiven, and I feel forgiveness." She moved her body closer, daring Thorin to remain in his place. Their legs were almost entirely touching now, her chest threatening to meet his own. "Do you not think that these feelings are dangerous given the situations we find ourselves in?"

"I would rather take the risk." Thorin's words came out swiftly. "If you tell me that you wish to end any kind of feelings that are resurfacing, then I must admit to you that I will fight for their survival."

Tormora twisted his ring beneath the water. It felt the same as it did when she had crafted it. He had taken good care of it over the years. "I will not make you fight for them."

"I am forgiven." It was not a question. Thorin knew that he had, miraculously, been redeemed by the woman he loved.

"As am I."

Thorin brought his lips to hers again. Her could feel her body shaking beneath the water. The river was warm, and the night was not entirely frigid. She was simply nervous in his presence. He had grown thinner over the years, but judging by her tight clasp around his fingers, he knew she had not lost her attraction to him. She had always been slender, albeit muscular, and the thought of her unique figure in his arms excited him in more than one way.

"Thorin…" Her forehead fell against his. It was a gesture highly private in the Dwarf kingdoms. It signified the unification of two minds. "Can I ask you something?"

He could not close his eyes with her handsome face so daringly close to his.

"Do you still love me?"

A whirlwind of thoughts came spinning into Thorin's head. They came easily and without warning as his mind let loose the words he had been yearning to say for over one-hundred years.

I love you.

I have loved you since I set eyes on you.

Since you tossed me that apple, and swung your skirts around as if you had no care for my title.

Since you and your family came into my kingdom bearing gifts for those who already had so much more than you.

Since you pulled back that curtain in your blacksmith shop and offered me your lips.

Since you wept and shouted at me in Ered Luin, warning me of your oncoming hatred.

Since you joined my company with your fiery eyes and passionate heart.

I have loved you as long as I have known you.

The words would have come out of Thorin's mouth as easily as he thought them. The only issue was that another sound was distracting them from any kind of answer. It was the voice of Gandalf, and its message was not quite as welcoming.

"Quickly! Dress yourselves and take arms! The Orcs have followed our trail!"


WOWZA. Okay, so I'm a bit nervous about this chapter because it's been a while since I've written something so romantic. Please let me know what you think! I would really like to hear your opinion on their relationship/how everything is going with the story.


(Okay, this is really stupid but at the part in this chapter when I wrote:

"Do not worry, dear Tormora." Gandalf's chuckle rung out above her head. "The river is long and there is a section that narrows in the middle. Trees have grown there, and manage to block the other section of the stream. If you wish to bathe there I will take watch that the men do not pass."

I REALLY wanted him to see Ori creeping to the trees and Gandalf just pointing and shouting, "YOU SHALL NOT PAAASSSS!" … That would be hilarious.)