In a dark and deep land lives young Marjorie, a woman desperate for something more than her conventional life in her tiny village, Core. She aches for something dangerous, something like the dark forest, Mirkwood, which borders her home.
Yet, there...
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Author's note: Hey y'all! Thank you so much for continuing to read! <3 I hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know in the comments section what your favorite part was!
It was easy for Marjorie to lose herself among the boisterous laughter of the villagers. Folk she knew since toddling surrounded her at the banquet table, each of them gnawing on pork rib, lamb meat or fried fish. In Marjorie's right hand rested a wooden goblet half full of mead. In her other, a stewed leg of lamb full of vegetable juices and broth.
The village only ate like this on Wolf's Eve. For one unfortunate villager, this meal would be their last.
She glanced around the table and wondered which face would be taken tomorrow. Who would disappear the moment dusk fell over the sleepy settlement?
"Do not eat too much, now," Petyr knocked his elbow into her rib. He smiled around a mouthful of fish. "The more we eat, the better we smell to the Wolf."
"A fool's tale." Marjorie rolled her eyes at his warning. "I will eat as much as I wish. You fear a rumor made by your fellowman to scare you away from a feast. Please, take heed of your own words. You'll leave more for me."
She reached a hand to his plate and took a warm roll slathered in garlic butter. Before Petyr could process her theft, she stuffed it into her mouth and savored the taste.
When he opened his mouth in protest, a deep ominous horn echoed through the night air and swallowed the villagers' noisy conversation. The sound caused a thrill to travel up her spine and the anxious energy leftover sent her attention to the source.
"What in Mother's name," she whispered in awe.
Moonlight mirrored off the surface of the river and reflected the giant, dark silhouette of an oncoming vessel readying to dock against the shallow shoreline. The boat was taller than any building in Core, and finer than any other ship bobbing in the wooden pier. Aboard were the moving shadows of an armored crew. The metal of their chest plates and helmets sent a scattering of light on the river below.
The deep wail of an antler horn rung once again. This time, it brought Marjorie out of her seat. Petyr's hand wrapped around her wrist.
"Sit," he whispered between clenching teeth.
She turned to those around her. She was the only one who stood.
"Sit, please," he continued. A wary expression crossed his face. His hand traveled down to his leather belt, reaching for the hatchet he kept secured there.
Marjorie did not. Instead, she pulled away from his grasp and ran to the docks. The boat forced the river water to seep farther up the land. She only took a few steps before her leather boots squelched in a bank of fresh mud. Above her, a heavy wooden door slowly reeled down, revealing a boat full of stone-faced soldiers.
"Get back." Petyr's hand wrapped around her shoulder and pulled her backward.
The door flew open and landed on the same place Marjorie stood moments ago. Mud splattered over Marjorie's red cape and across Petyr's face.
