[i]"The giant Gundabad orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began by beheading the king. Thrain, Thorin’s father, was driven mad by grief, he went missing, taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us. That is when I saw him. A young dwarf prince facing down the Pale Orc.He stood alone against this terrible foe. His armor rent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield. Azog the Defiler learned that day, that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken. Our forces rallied, and drove the orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated, but there was no feast, nor song that night for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few, had survived."[/i]

Saeril has heard the story many times during her time in Gandalf's care, and the more she listened to the past, the more it began to catch up with her, and it was expressed with a twitch on her lips a little bit, just until the tale began to leave her ears. She knew what happened; she was there, and she herself sent the defiling Orc there. What was there to say now? "I was there", she spoke up in a soft voice. 

"Azog was fierce. Sadistic and vicious of any creature I have ever seen", the she-elf began. "I witnessed his strike upon the king, and if Thorin hadn't tried, you all would not be here now. His victory gave him greatness, but it left a stone heart inside", she concluded before sheathing out one of her curves daggers from the back of her waist, examining the metal upon the blade with a grim expression.