The Child Without a Name

The Child Without a Name

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WpMetadataReadOngoing4h 17m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, May 25, 2025
In the wake of narrow escape from Azog the Defiler and his relentless pack, Thorin Oakenshield and his company stumble across an unexpected discovery-a child, small and frightened, alone in the unforgiving wilderness. Her silence conceals a tragic past; her wary eyes betray a life shaped by cruelty and loss. As they journey toward Erebor, the dwarves must contend not only with pursuing orcs and perilous terrain but also the uneasy mystery that now walks quietly among them. Who is this nameless girl, and what ghosts of the past does she carry? Trust comes slowly, built in hesitant gestures and small kindnesses, yet each step closer to the Lonely Mountain draws them deeper into hidden dangers. Soon, they realize the child is not simply lost-she is hunted. And whoever pursues her will stop at nothing to claim what they believe is rightfully theirs. In this unexpected journey, bonds will be tested, secrets revealed, and destinies irrevocably changed-for the child without a name is the last echo of something long buried, something that now threatens to reshape the fate of all who travel beside her.
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#719
bilbobaggins
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- Bagginshield Inspired by North & South - "What business would a family of halflings have this far east?" "Hobbits." Thorin said quietly. His father, and future King Under the Mountain, turned around to look at his eldest son. There was a curious light in the blue of his eyes that greatly reminded Thraín of a time long ago; from when he had first married the Lady Frís. "What?" He asked. "They're called hobbits, father. The halflings are known to the wizard. Our friend, Tharkûn, appears to be the cause of this mischief and had prompted the Bagginses to move abroad. To satisfy some lost inspiration as I was told." "The Bagginses! Tell me, who is it that you spoke with, Thorin. Are you also on first-name terms with these visitors from the west?" Thorin brought his teeth together, he still spoke too much and often, a poor habit that his young nephews were beginning to pick up. His eyes were drawn towards the south-side barracks, where the city of Dale sat in the distance; he allowed his mind to wander to the curly-haired, bright-eyed fellow that had shouted at him earlier. "Aye... There was an incident, with the son." (Also available on AO3 under the same title and username!)

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