The situation at Thorin's table was somewhat different. Thorin and Balin were sharing a table with the newly arrived dwarves from the Witcher realm. As for their own comrades, the dwarves of Oakenshield's company were gathered at a relatively distant table at the far end of the hall, chatting amongst themselves. There was only one reason Thorin and Balin hadn't brought their old brothers-in-arms along while trying to get better acquainted with these new dwarves: to keep Igris's secret safe.
"So, rocks are important to dwarves in this world, is that it?"
Chewing the food in front of him, Zoltan cast a bewildered, uncomprehending gaze over Balin. Balin, after popping a piece of potato from his plate into his mouth and swallowing, nodded slowly.
"Not just any rock, but exceptionally special and distinct stones. We live inside the mountain, Zoltan. We give thanks to our home and the place we dwell. We were born of stone, which is why we understand their language; we respect them and give thanks. Stone is not merely stone; it is the very essence of us dwarves."
Surrounded by dwarves from a different realm, Balin took a sip of water from his goblet to wet his dry throat before continuing his speech.
"We take the rocks as our example. We dwarves are as solid as rock; we are hard to carve, hard to bend, and even harder to break. We stand tall, we live with our pride, and we die with our pride."
Zoltan paused for a moment at these words, not entirely sure what to say. In his own world, the history of dwarves stretched back to ancient times, but he had no clear knowledge of where their origins or essence came from. Yet the dwarves here seemed to never forget certain fundamental bonds, no matter how much time had passed. Seeing his thoughtful demeanor, Balin smiled faintly.
"Igris told us about your world. You have forgotten your essence. As humans rose up and occupied every corner, your kind chose compromise over resistance. Frankly, that is not a bad thing, but I believe the way it was handled was entirely wrong. Dwarves cannot be this weak and spineless."
Kargan let out a deep sigh and leaned slightly toward the table, chiming in.
"Believe me, Balin, our situation in that world is far more complicated than it is here. Dwarves were systematically weakened and reduced to a lower class of humans, but this isn't just a matter of standing tall; there are also various betrayals, propaganda, and alliances involved."
Another Witcher dwarf right next to him interjected in agreement.
"Our dwarves are very different from the ones here, Balin. You are warriors, every single one of you, but... We are merchants, artisans. We are fond of gold, and as long as we make money or get our professions accepted and live in peace, everything is fine by us."
Hearing these words, Balin let out a troubled sigh. Just as he parted his lips to reply, Thorin, who had been listening in silence until then, intervened.
"Making money is not the issue; the dwarves here love gold too... in fact, sometimes this love twists into greed and makes you obsessed with wealth."
Thorin picked up a small slice of potato from the plate before him and tossed it into his mouth. Chewing slowly, he swept his gaze across those at the table.
"But if your love for gold causes you to abandon your identity and honor, making you blind to those around you, then it doesn't matter if you are a dwarf, an elf, or a human. You become worse than the most despicable creature. Even trash has more value than you."
The Witcher dwarves around the table fell silent, staring thoughtfully at the wooden surface and the food, while Thorin took a sip of water from his goblet and picked up where he left off.
"I am not like you. I haven't lived through what you have lived, and all I know of your world is the monotonous information provided by you and Igris..."
Thorin paused briefly to look carefully into the faces of everyone at the table, one by one. Once he was certain he had fully captured the attention of the men across from him, he spoke again.
"But what it means to be homeless? That, I know all too well. When my people and I were driven from our home, we lived scattered across the four corners of the continent for decades. Some went to the Iron Hills to my cousin Dain, while others, unable to swallow their pride and seek refuge with another dwarven king, drifted helplessly from one end of the continent to the other... and I was one of them."
His eyes drifted to his empty plate for a moment, his mind swept away to the bitter memories of years past. Drawing a deep breath, he shook off those dark thoughts.
"I was once a rich, powerful noble and the prince of Erebor, one of the mightiest kingdoms in Middle-earth, but overnight, I became no different from a beggar... I did everything to protect my people, to give them a home. There was no job I didn't work for a few mere coins, and in the places I went, many eyes looked upon me with pity, disdain, or mockery... It was then I realized that there is nothing worse in this world than being stateless."
He lifted his gaze from his plate once more and turned to the Witcher dwarves, who were listening to him with rapt attention. His tone was now firmer and deeply resonant.
"If you have a homeland where you can live comfortably, where no one meddles with your culture, and if you have the power to protect that peace, then your future is secured. I learned this by losing my homeland... which is why I want to take it back. I will rebuild Erebor with the treasure that rightfully belongs to my people inside it, and I will raise the fallen dwarves back to their feet."
Thorin's piercing gaze made direct contact with the eyes of every single dwarf.
"You are dwarves too, and blood tied to Durin now flows through your veins. What were you in your previous world? How did you live? What did you do? I do not care. Erebor always opens its arms to its friends. As a dwarf, it is your absolute birthright to live in a dwarven settlement. If you do not turn against us, you can live in Erebor, or the Iron Hills, or the Blue Mountains. I can give you my word on this."
The Witcher dwarves sank into deep thought at this unexpected offer. In truth, they had gathered quite a bit of information about the dwarves of this realm before stepping foot here; legends of the Seven Fathers or a figure like Thorin were new but highly awe-inspiring concepts to them. They had been forced to live with marginalization and an inferiority complex in their own world for so long that having a true dwarven king—one ready to sacrifice everything purely for the sake of his people—standing right before them felt incredibly surreal. Due to human oppression and internal strife in their own world, they had no king, left entirely to the mercy of councils. Yet, deep down, a minority who yearned for the glorious tales of ancient dwarven kings was always there. Now, sitting flesh-and-blood at a table with a leader straight out of the old legends was an entirely different feeling. Breaking the silence, Zoltan looked at Thorin from beneath his thoughtfully furrowed brows.
"What do you want in return? Loyalty?"
Thorin offered a faint, wise smile at the corner of his lips.
"You are asking a dwarf to buy the loyalty of other dwarves in exchange for land. It isn't that easy, is it, Zoltan?"
Understanding the implication, Zoltan grinned and nodded in agreement.
"It isn't."
Thorin joined him, bowing his head slightly.
"Earning a dwarf's loyalty is difficult, especially between dwarves with cultural differences. Therefore, decide for yourselves during your journey. Am I worthy of your loyalty?"
While Zoltan, Kargan, and the others at the table fell back into silence under the weight of what they had heard, Thorin continued with a demeanor that made it clear his piece was not yet finished.
"But my offer is separate from that. Whether you are loyal or not, as a dwarf, it is your most natural right to dwell in dwarven lands."
At these words, every dwarf at the table flinched slightly in their seats. With astonishment in their eyes, they watched Thorin, who calmly returned to his meal after concluding his speech. Balin, meanwhile, looked upon his king—the finest student he had ever raised—with immense pride.
Just then, the large wooden doors of the hall opened. Hands in his pockets, a thoughtful expression on his face, Igris stepped quietly inside. Estel—who was Aragorn, the future king of Gondor—had gone to his mother upon receiving news from the guards. Without disturbing the crowd in the hall, Igris walked straight toward the table where Thorin and Balin were seated. Noticing him, the two dwarves slid slightly to the edges to make room in the middle. As Igris collapsed into the empty chair, the Witcher dwarves scrutinized him with curious eyes. Thorin asked with interest.
"Where have you been?"
Igris exhaled a troubled breath and rested his elbows on the table.
"Let's just say I was visiting some old friends... I received some intelligence regarding the vicinity of Erebor... Things are looking more complicated than we expected."
These words shifted the expressions on Thorin and Balin's faces, both of their brows furrowing simultaneously. Balin immediately jumped in.
"What did you learn?"
Igris leaned a bit further forward, keeping his voice at a level where the surrounding tables couldn't hear.
"Mirkwood is under a spider infestation... the giant ones, at that."
The two Erebor dwarves exchanged a heavy glance at what they heard. Weighing the gravity of the matter, Thorin asked.
"How large of an infestation?"
Igris casually picked a piece of potato from the plate in front of him and tossed it into his mouth as he replied.
"Mid-scale, but it's a troublesome situation. Moreover, there are giant snakes and a new type of monster: creatures that are half-human, half-spider."
The moment this information dropped onto the table, Thorin and Balin simultaneously spat a hearty curse in the dwarven tongue. As Thorin rubbed his fingers over his eyes in exhaustion, Igris chuckled faintly at their reaction.
"It gets even better. Almost everything edible or consumable in the forest has been poisoned. It seems there is some sort of malevolent force in the woods."
As Thorin's face darkened further with the news, Balin asked, as if piecing together a puzzle in his mind.
"Do you think this situation has anything to do with the bastard in Dol Guldur?"
Igris nodded without a moment's hesitation.
"I am 99.9% sure. He definitely has a finger in it."
Zoltan, who had been listening quietly to the conversation, chimed in and asked.
"Why aren't you sure about the remaining 0.1%?"
Igris shrugged and smirked mockingly from the corner of his lips.
"Just to leave myself a loophole to defend myself in case I'm wrong."
The tense atmosphere dispersed for a moment with these words; a small ripple of laughter broke out among those at the table. Finding this answer remarkably reasonable, Zoltan grinned.
"Good tactic, I should use that too."
Igris nodded in agreement, then directed his full attention to Zoltan.
"We haven't been able to formally introduce ourselves, Zoltan. Since you know who I am, there's no need to drag it out. Why did you come here?"
Zoltan bowed his head, showing his appreciation for this direct approach that didn't beat around the bush. Then he pointed his thumb at Kargan sitting right next to him.
"I'm here because of this guy. He is a close friend of mine, and I was afraid he'd get himself into trouble. After all, receiving a bizarre message and an offer to journey to an unknown world isn't something you see every day."
Seeing the whole picture, Igris nodded in understanding and sighed.
"I apologize. Frankly, my ability works at random. I never expected you to be invited. You had finally put your life in order, and now here you are."
His gaze drifted from the table for a brief moment, finding Ciri, who was sitting at the women's table chatting a short distance away. His tone dropped slightly.
"And it seems I've caused more inconvenience than necessary."
Zoltan and the other Witcher dwarves around him were taken aback by Igris's demeanor. Some experienced a mild shock, while others looked profoundly thoughtful. In their eyes, Igris was a leader, but they hadn't expected him to sit before them and apologize so directly and respectfully. Appreciating this mature attitude inwardly, Zoltan nodded with satisfaction and spoke.
"Ah, never mind, retirement isn't really for me anyway."
Then, running a hand over his face, he straightened his posture, a proud expression settling on his features.
"Besides, I got my youth back, and my handsomeness has increased. So it's not much of a loss."
As the table chuckled again at his cheerful mood, Igris also smiled and nodded.
"Still, I am grateful you came, but I have no intention of forcing you to work for me. Once the mission is over and your families arrive, you can do whatever you please. My advice to you is to settle in the Dwarven kingdoms and live among your people."
As the Witcher dwarves fell back into their internal contemplation upon this assurance, Igris asked curiously.
"Zoltan, have you ever encountered the creatures I mentioned? Or heard anything about them?"
Forcing his memory, Zoltan thought for a few seconds, then shook his head negatively.
"No. I haven't seen such creatures in my own adventures, nor have I heard Geralt mention them. There were some creatures resembling snakes, but I don't think they'd be the type you're talking about."
Igris let out a soft sigh at this response, while Thorin, who had been silently formulating a strategy until then, interjected.
"Do you think we should change our route?"
Igris shook his head with a resolute expression.
"It won't make a difference. We either deal with monsters and wood elves in the forest, or we fight those chasing the bounty on our heads and Azog's mongrels on the road. Personally, I prefer Mirkwood; our chances are better there."
Following this explanation, Thorin and Balin fell silent and began to assess the situation. Igris was right about this. Especially considering that Sauron had unleashed powerful Great Ork and dark elves onto the field—creatures that managed to corner even two elite rangers like Elladan and Elrohir—it was clear that Mirkwood was the least dangerous region to lead his people and friends through. Rather than falling into a massive ambush in the open and suffering casualties, playing a game of cat-and-mouse with monsters in the depths of the forest was a much better option. Furthermore, the twins had told him they would personally write a letter for him to give to King Thranduil. This meant that passing through the Wood Elves' territory safely and securely wouldn't be much of an issue. Weighing all these strategic scenarios in his mind, Igris silently wished in the depths of his thoughts.
"...I hope so..."