"We are at the Carrock." The wisened old man rasped in exhaustion. Healing of stubborn dwarven lords was tiring work. The Grey Pilgrim leant heavily on his staff, his spent energy making him look more like the frail old man he posed as. "There is a house, at the bottom, we may find refuge." His light grey eyes darkened as he gazed around the torn up company.
"Friend or foe?" The deep gravely voice revealed none of his pain- the dwarf king still managing to look majestic whilst bruised and bloody.
"Friend," Gandalf sighed in resignation, "Or, at least, I do not believe she will kill us."
This gave Thorin little hope, yet (as he thought through the groups options) he found it was the only sound option they had. "Lead the way." He commanded, and the company was on their feet yet again.
She knew they were coming. Unna had seen their arrival for months. Different paths crisscrossing as to how and when, but always they came. The meal was like a banquet along the large table. The beds had been turned down and Unna had salves and poultices ready for the wounded.
Finally the knock arrived, heavy and unforgiving on her front door. With staff in hand, Unna made her way to the door, dancing skillfully through her home.
"Gandalf." She greeted once the door was open. She could feel the shocked looks burning into her skin. Whatever the dwarrow expected to find, it was not a fairly young dwarrowdam as their host. "You seek shelter." Her dreamy voice floated.
"Yes." Gandalf said with a tired smile.
"The table is layed and medicines are ready in the bathing chamber." Her voice seemed to drift in the breeze, light and whimsical as if she was not completely present. "Come," Although her voice was light and passive her words were strong, "You all require healing." With that she led the way to the bathing chamber. The wizard followed close behind her, and thirteen dwarrow and hobbit trailed behind him.
The bathing chamber was large- especially for such a small home. It was down beautifully carved stone steps. Its placement was underground, making the most of the natural hotsprings placed there. The dwarrow were deeply appreciative of the beautiful hardwork put into carving it. They mumbled to each other in appreciation of the intricate detail and the complicated architecture.
"Wash and tend your hurts, the meal is in the dining room," Unna's voice floated around the in a soft, hushed echo, "Although I would not spend too long, or else it shall become cold." The lass exited the room, a far away look painted upon her beautiful face.
Once the door was closed Thorin rounded on Gandalf, "What is this?" He snarled like a caged bear.
Gandalf hummed, a mischievous secretive twinkle in his eye, "All in good time. All in good time." And the turned away, finishing the conversation before it was started.
Before Thorin could protest Gandalf's secrecy Oin was whacking him upside the head and demanding he wash so that the healer could heal him. The dwarf king resigned himself to his fate. He would get answers, but his company needed healing first.
The hostess didn't reappear to the group until many had finished their food, and this time Thorin required answers. However his voice died in his throat as her gaze snapped to him, it was as if she were looking right through him, the breech in privacy unnerving him. Still, he forced himself to study her, starting with her odd eyes. They were the same blue as azurite druzy. Or, perhaps, on second glance, they were not. No, they seemed to flicker between azurite druzy and dark purple sugilite depending on how the light shined against them. How odd. He forced himself to continue his study.
Her hair- Mahal her hair. Whilst Dori's hair was the colour of raw, unmined mithril and Balin's the colour of forged mithril works, hers was the colour of heated, liquid mithril. The silver was pale and almost white but tinted with glowing blue, flowing like the liquid silver steel that was so coveted. Her hair curled in loose ringlets down to the bottom of her spine. Her bearded was just as silky looking, reaching just bellow the base of her neck. It was far more fine than that of a dwarrow, and shorter too (dams very rarely had beards reaching more than halfway down their chests). It was odd- for a dam- that only one small braid lined her glossy hair. The braid itself marked her of age, the rustic bronze bead claiming her to be of the Longbeard clan. His clan. There was also a wooden bead, carved into the shape of a bear's roaring head. Thorin did not understand its significance- although it must have one. Also running down the small braid that framed the right side he face was a ribbon of emerald shade. Upon it were runes, stitched with brown thread. He did not know their language, nor understand their meaning. Odd.
Her attire was (thankfully) familiar to him. It was more the traditional casual clothing of dams when inside their homes and mountains. Not ornate clothing for parties, rituals and other such occasions, nor armour. It was simply comfortable. Brown leather trousers clung to her legs, accentuating the powerful muscles. From the design he would guess they were tied with latticed laces at the back. What appeared as a green tunic (almost matching the colour of her ribbon) draped off of her shoulders. Due to having a sister of his own, he knew that it was not in fact a tunic, rather more like a bodice with long sleeves that ended a couple of inches above her navel. A thick brown belt rest at the base of the bodice, the shape curved around the base of her breasts. String tied it in a lattice format at the front. From Thorin's knowledge most dams used such belts to secure weapons to themselves. Dark brown leather boots danced up her calves. Grey woollen socks poked out the top of the boots, resting just bellow her knees. The outfit showed of her muscular but feminine figure (that many outside the dwarven race were not aware dams had). But the dam was in her own home, she had no reason to hide who she was.
"Unna," Her voice drifted, "At your services." Before she gave a traditional bow.
"Balin, at yours, lass." Balin stood and bowed.
This continued in a circle of the dwarrow and a hobbit until, lastly, it was Thorin's turn. "Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror, at yours." Half glaring, suspicion flared inside of him, he asked in a growl, "How did you know we were coming?"
Before she could answer Gandalf interrupted. "Miss Unna, here, is a seer." His eyes dance with mischief whilst his tone was meddlesome and all knowing (in a way only Gandalf could ever pull off).
"I can speak for myself, thank you, Gandalf." Although her tone was light, the warning was as sharp and clear as glass. Gandalf nodded a quick apology before puffing at his pipe (at habit he often partook in when in trouble or avoiding answers). The dwarrow all felt shivers down their spines at the prospect of an angry dam. From experience they all knew it would end badly for everyone who crossed her.
"A seer?" Balin redirected the topic. "An amazing gift. There has not been a dwarven seer in over a millenia." Unna simply hummed in response.
"You head to Erebor." Thorin had disconcerted that the whimsical far away tone was her natural tone of voice.
"Aye." He agreed gravely. "How did you come to live here?"
"My parents settled here after Erebor's fall," She commented, "But that is not what must be spoken of." Her eyes flickered to Gandalf. "Middle Earth is at a tipping point."
"What do you mean?" Gandalf enquired, much in the same way he had of Bilbo those many months previous.
"The key moment approaches. Whether Middle Earth is truly saved, or whether she falls to darkness." The seer's tone made the foreboding statement even more eerie.
"What do you mean 'fall to darkness'?" Kili questioned, never was he one to stay quiet.
"Morgoth's Spawn would rain." Her eye bore into the dwarrow.
The poor oblivious boys merely gained a confused look upon his face, "Who? Elves?"
She gave him a sad sort of smile, "I did not mean it figuratively." She turned her gaze from Kili to the dark window. "The key moment is upon us, whether Middle Earth shall be made or broken. It rests on the shoulders of the king."
"King?" Gandalf commanded, "What king?"
Unna turned and stared blankly at the wizard, "The only king I would follow."
Gandalf's bushy eyebrows drew together as he studied her, "Thorin?"
"Yes." She sighed, like an April breeze before the showers.
"What d'ya mean 'Thorin'?" An overprotective Dwalin demanded.
"He is the tuning point." She reinforced, "It rests with him."
Thorin studied her. "You would follow me as your king?" He finally thought aloud.
"Of course." She agreed as if the answer were obvious. "You are the true king. You deserve your title, not only through Mahal's blessing but through your actions. You deserve loyalty." She smiled softly at her king.
After a moment of stunned silence, Unna continued, "What is your plan?"
"Shouldn't ya know?" Dwalin grumbled under his breath. Unna chose to ignore him.
"Through Mirkwood, then Laketown and other to Erebor." Stoic Thorin simply answered.
"I meant for the gold sickness." Unna hummed.
Tension seized Thorin's muscles. "I shall not becoming mad for gold." He ground out through gritted teeth.
"You shall." She informed. As she stared blankly at him, she gave no softening words, only the cold truth.
Thorin fought hard to keep his expression blank from the terror suddenly drowning him. "There is no cure." He sad tonelessly. He felt resigned and empty.
"Because it is not an illness, it is a curse." She informed. Unna turned her face to Gandalf. "A protective blessing of Mahal should break it."
Gandalf considered her. Slowly he nodded, "I shall cast it once I reach the mountain."
"No." The daydreamer voice hit hard with urgency. "You shall arrive late. Cast it this eve. I feel Mahal's eyes. He watches."
"Very well." Gandalf conceded after long deliberation.
"Good." Unna sung, "The paths grow clearer already."
"Paths?" Bofur questioned.
At the same second Bilbo question, "Clearer?"
"The future is not set in stone," She explained, "It is never certain. There are millions of paths that float and crash and collide. Little decisions that form the bigger picture. The more likely the path, the clearer the image." Unna leaned gently upon her staff. "Paths can always change if one chooses to go a different way."
A deep frown was printed on Gandalf's face, "How is it that Lady Galadriel speaks nothing of this."
"Her sight is being blocked." Unna shifted her weight, "By a ghost. An enemy in the shadows." Gandalf gave her a sharp look at her chosen words. She smiled sadly, "You shall know soon." Her eyes grew dark, a deep azurite druzy colour. "Do not let Saruman follow the Necromancer after Dol Guldur." Her urgent voice floated in their ears. "He shall find something and be lost forever."
"I cannot control Saruman." Gandalf frowned, "He does as he decrees is best."
"If he follows he shall fall to darkness. Prevent that Gandalf." Unna's expression was blank and cold. "Two kinsman you have lost, do not let another fall." Gandalf nodded in silent despair. He began to plan.
"It is time for rest." Unna softly commanded. "The journey is still long and the beds are calling for bodies to keep them warm. Tomorrow your journey continues." Staring out the window again she commented, "In the morrow we he'd to Beorn's home."
"We?" Thorin raised his eyebrows.
"Of course. You need me." She hummed. For once, Thorin did not argue, for the he wished to protect any dam. The seer knew what was to come, and much seemed to rest upon this success.
"Very well." He nodded regally. With that, Unna began to show the males to rooms and beds.
As all slept, Gandalf cast the spell. The room glowed of mithril at Aulë's acceptance of the protection. Gandalf heaved a sigh of relief. He stumbled to the remaining bed, his old bones creaking. He ought to rest whilst he could, he feared that the worst was still to come. As his eyes closed, he prayed. Then he was asleep.