The mountain smelled of blood and iron.

Erebor loomed above her like a fortress of stone and secrets, smoke curling from its maw as if the great beast itself were breathing. She stood at the overlook, her hand pressed against the evidence of what he'd done to her - the child growing within her, a living reminder of that night.

He would come soon. She could feel it in her bones, the same primal intuition that had kept her alive this long.

The sound of a horn split the air, deep and commanding. Her pulse quickened as the gates began to open, the rhythmic march of returning warriors growing louder with each passing second.

And there he was.

Eliot walked at the front of the patrol, his muscular frame filling his leather armor, runes glinting on his bare scalp. His eyes scanned the crowd with the intensity of a predator, cold and calculating - until they landed on her.

He stopped instantly, his body tensing as recognition dawned. The atmosphere shifted, thickening with unspoken tension as every warrior around him seemed to sense his sudden focus.

Without a word, he strode toward her, his steps purposeful and menacing. The crowd parted before him like water before a ship's bow.

When he reached her, he didn't speak. His hand shot out, rough fingers curling around her jaw as he forced her face up to meet his gaze. His touch was punishing, possessive.

"You're pregnant," he stated, his voice low and dangerous. Not a question, but a fact.

She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, pain shooting through her jaw.

"Who do you think you are, showing up here like this?" he growled, his face inches from hers.

The child stirred within her, as if sensing the danger of its father.

"I'm carrying your child, Eliot," she whispered, refusing to show fear despite the trembling in her limbs.

He laughed then, a cold, bitter sound that sent shivers down her spine.

"Mine," he repeated, his eyes dropping to her belly with a hunger that had nothing to do with fatherhood. "Everything about you is mine now."