Explanations from Omul and Rhul and why they are here in the Blue Mountains.
Chapter Two: The Traveler's Word
No one disturbed the travelers in the morning, the healers had checked them over and said a good night's rest would be the best cure. Dwalin asked if they would be up to discuss their urgent news with Thorin in the morning and the healer said they would be.
"They'd be as stiff as an unoiled hinge in the morning though," the healer laughed. "But they're well weathered travelers, from what I can gather. I would say they will be up to talking, just let them rest and come in on their own time."
Dwalin passed the news on to Thorin. He had been surprised to see the shred of fabric and the rumor that went with it the last night. He was eager to hear more of the tale.
The raging tempest finally broke in the early hours of the morning, leaving behind a peaceful silence and a moment to snooze before most dwarves arose. Omul awoke to late morning light in his room. His back was as stiff as a board and his hips and thighs ached and burned with a mild case of chafing and traveling sores.
The bed he slept in was stiff with well-worn sheets and a flat pillow but it was better than a bed roll. His clothes were strung up to dry in front of a small hearth and his knives and cash pouch sat on the small table next to the bed.
Memories of the night before crashed through his mind and he berated himself for acting so stupid and blindly racing through the night like that. He could have been injured or his sister killed while traveling through such a tempest.
Omul stood in his socks and stretched his neck and back with a grunt before locating his boots. He knew he was reckless but in his heart he knew he couldn't stop, he wasn't allowed to stop. It was a strange feeling and he did not appreciate it.
He cinched his boots and looked out the window, thinking about how he was feeling. Something had changed in him when he arrived through the gates to the point where he hadn't felt like this in forty years. After traveling aimlessly for a long time, switching from path to path with no real destination in mind, he knew he was finally on the right track for what he had been looking for, in a spiritual kind of sense.
He put on his own, now dry though still dirty clothes, on his person and left the bare room with a stiff gait and borrowed clothes hastily folded on the bed. Omul moved down the hall, looking for the entrance to the Healing House. The entrance wasn't far, it face directly into the main corridor of the mountain and stood across from the armory and training wing for convenience.
The House was built into one of the cliff faces of the mountain with most of the ward having outward facing windows to allow fresh breezes to cure the scent of illness or injury away in times of war. Omul stopped himself when he reached the door way to the House because just around the corner from the ward were the kitchens busily preparing what meat and bread they traded for from the farmers close by. His stomach growled angrily, reminding him he hadn't eaten in over a day or two.
Omul strode in, ignoring the kitchen entirely. He needed to find his sister.
The House's ward was rather cheerful, in a dwarvish kind of way. It had beautiful carvings of dwarves holding pitchers and herbs with their armor at their feet and bandages over their arms along the wall. It was the dwarves way of saying to be proud of the injuries they could survive and to live to fight another day.
"What can I help you with, laddie?" a middle-aged dwarf asked, he had an apron and an empty satchel swung over his shoulder. He was off to the stores to collect what herbs and bandages they needed to restock.
"My sister," explained Omul, coughing to clear the grogginess in his throat. "She was brought in last night, dark blond hair, fairly young, with an injured arm."
The dwarf's eyes lit up with recognition. "Aye, I treated the lassie this morning. Never complained like most dwarves 'er age would. Quite a change it was, especially with Dís' boys runnin' around and gettin' into all kinds of trouble. Ye tell 'er arms fine and to keep it bandaged and clean for the next few days."
After that, he pointed Omul in the right direction where to go. Even told him breakfast would still be warm if they wanted it. At the mention of breakfast, Omul's stomach growled again and the dwarf smiled and went off on his way, humming a tune and marching outside.
Rhul had been given her own room in the ward since she was a dwarrowdam and her privacy was respected. He was glad he didn't find her resting on one of the many cots that lined the room. He knocked twice and entered once she said so.
She was already redressed in her own clothes and her dark blonde wavy hair had yet to be tied back in her usual traveling braid. She was examining a tear in her sleeve that matched exactly with the cut on her arm. She was told the scrape would scar if she did not take good care of it.
"I take it you've been up for a while," Omul greeted in the best way most brothers would.
"You know I'm never one to sleep in much," she said a smile turning up her lips.
"How are you?" he asked, taking a seat in a chair and groaning softly. She sat on the bed, one foot tucked under her and began to tie her hair back in a couple of braids.
"I've been better, I feel fit enough to move about and finish up our priority business," she said, trying to gauge how she actually felt. "I wouldn't mind a day's rest though. I can't believe we actually made it here in once piece."
Her brother sighed, shaking his head. "It was careless of me to lead us onward through that storm. I could have gotten us killed."
She placed a hand on his arm, calling his attention to her gray blue eyes. "Don't linger on what was done, Omul. You mustn't worry; we've been through much worse before. And besides, whatever would have happened I would have followed you regardless. We stick together." She bumped his hand and he chuckled, grabbing hers between his calloused palms.
"Always the optimistic one, aren't you?" he said, mirth dancing in his eyes.
"Someone needs to be it with you around, Mister Seriousness. You always feel like you have to get things in order and it has to be as finely crafted as gemstones."
"Oh don't go picking on me! You're a lot like that too, Rhul."
"But I know when it's needed," she leaned back and shot him a smirk.
"They've treated you well here?" he asked, looking around.
"Yes, from when I've been awake."
Omul smiled. Whenever they would stay a night in a dwarven settlement, or even back home, most dwarves would give her extra attention because she was a Dwarrowdam. She didn't ask for the extra attention but she also didn't object to it either. With few dwarrows in the population, every one of them was protected and cherished and looked after in their culture. It had always been that way since the beginning.
"You frightened me when you fell of Kip last night," he said, referring to her ram she road.
"I merely couldn't stay seated any longer," she said. "Hopefully they were paying more attention to you than they were me."
"Aye, they probably were, with the news I had to tell them," he said, leaning back in his chair.
He remembered how his father came rushing into their house not a two months ago, telling them of his finding in the woods. He would have ridden to Ered Luin himself, but he had pressing matters at the Iron Hill Outpost and felt it would be good for his children to be tested. He trusted them to see it through without delay.
Rhul grabbed her jerkin and pulled on her boots over a pair of fresh socks. "I'm famished, did they tell you where to find some food here?" she asked.
Omul nodded and stood up, ready to go searching with her through the ward and kitchens.
She grabbed her scarf, a beautiful weaved and beaded accessory that was designed to resemble a beard from a distance. She wore it everywhere when they traveled among the world of Men. It kept her shielded from prying eyes.
The ward was empty for the most part, besides one of the only dwarrowdams moving in between the beds changing sheets. "We need to find Thorin and his lieutenant, they've most likely been waiting for us to rise and recover," explained Omul.
"Which allows curiosity to stir if we take much longer," she said with a slight grumble. "I'm not one to like much attention from overly curious dwarves. We told our father that we would deliver the news and then head back home after gaining supplies and making a few trades."
"Yes, but considering recent developments, they are going to want to hear the rest of our tale. About the recent dangers we encountered just outside their borders. There will be more than curious towards us after hear what else we bring word of," he laughed.
Rhul flapped her hand at him, brushing away his point. She already understood that, and she just needed to talk for a minute. "Two dwarves from the Iron Hills, one not even of Age, traveling across the world on errands," she mocked. "They'll call us crazy, blame our father for this insanity! From their point of view we're too young and inexperienced to the world."
"Then we'll prove it to them," he said.
"Which is why we are going to tell Thorin everything so he can understand exactly what we are doing here and why we were allowed to go in the first place."
"I didn't plan on having it any other way. 'Honesty is the best policy for travelers among Durin's Folk,' father would say, especially for dwarves without a reputation amongst the masses. Since we come from the Iron Hills it will put us in better standing with these folks."
They stopped talking and listened to a dwarf come tromping down the hall to only turn into the kitchens. He was laughing merrily with a friend.
"It would be a nice to stay for a while," suggested Omul, looking around the room and relishing in the shade of mountain stone.
"A break from traveling would be enjoyable," she agreed. "If we stay to long you know there will be lads getting the idea to ask for my hand. I may not be of Age just yet, but that doesn't stop them. Unpleasant things, you're lucky you don't have to deal with them. I'm more looking for my One."
"You most likely will not find him here, Rhul," he said and turned to face her. "Or anywhere for that matter, you might as well accept a proposal."
"That is why I travel with you! I now search the many settlements of our great people for love," she laughed at her silly and exaggerated voice. "I sound like some sappy Dwarrow tale. Besides, we've never visited the Blue Mountains before, and luck can be found in the strangest of places, Omul."
"It sure can," thought Omul, thinking back on that feelings he was experiencing.
"Buck? What buck are you looking for in this place?" An old dwarf with an ear trumpet asked. He just appeared from a room and only caught the end of their conversation.
He had a gray curly mane of hair and a large peak-like noise and he was hard at hearing and discerning the correct words said. After a head scratching conversation asking where breakfast would be served– because everyone was confused for a moment – he led them to the kitchens exclaiming why didn't say that in the first place.
The siblings quickly dug into their food. It was a small meal of warm, thick soup, bread and an apple and it filled their starving bellies. They quickly finished the entire pot off.
One of the cook's helps stepped up when they were ready to leave and said he would lead them to Thorin's office room. A message came in earlier asking if they had recovered from last night and were ready to present their news.
The young Ironfoot's were grateful and they slowly followed the red-haired dwarf out of the Healing House and into the great hall. They were eager to get a move on.
Ered Luin had all the signs of a growing village transforming into a city. Chiseled stone pillars rose towards the ceiling, nearly finished in the beautiful blue granite. Grander halls grew slowly beneath the mountain by careful planning and in phases.
The mines spread like a network hives, mattocks and pick axes ringing as the forgers and smithies banged and clanged through the day. From the many storage rooms and cellars dwarves saddled up to travel to the nearby farms of men for trade. They had silverwork and building contracts ready to be agreed upon for next year's harvest and furs.
It was a place of prosperous work and growth. It was home for many of the younger generation and shelter for those with gray beards from the greater enemies of the dwarves.
Compared to the dull colored fabrics of reds, blues, yellows and browns the dwarves favored, the Ironfoot siblings stood out amongst them. Their skin riding jackets, tough wool clothing, and leather enforced bracers, boots and the seat of their pants held a very distinct red hue with part of the leather tanned to a lighter color. Their belts and the cuffs of their jackets had faded elk etchings along with the cloaks embroidered with a boars head. Their clothes were the works of a fine craftsman. Rhul spent much of her time perfecting her skills and she took great accomplishment in her works.
"Even though we may travel everywhere, we still dress to impress," she would say to her brother in a joking matter. "We are not mere travelers or merchants, but skilled dwarves of fine trade. And you a warrior."
Omul was the leader and warrior of the two. He was leanly built with hidden strength and fast reflexes. He was calm and collected, a good listener but passionate in protecting and defending what he loved and knew to be right. He carried his scars with pride, understanding the history and lessons learned behind each one, and he loved his sister and his service he rendered to others. He was honest and humble, always wanting to what was right.
Rhul was courageous and kind, with a loving heart and compassion to many. She understood others hurt and sought them out when they were lonely and she excelled at beauty even with her rougher exterior. She was never willing to give up and would always at least try. She was lean like her brother with quick feet and faster hands. She was quick sighted and clever giving her an advantage to outsmart her opponents.
The two of them walked to show their personalities. They had been trialed, tested, and faced hardships and the dwarves noticed they were not the youngsters they all thought them to be. They did not carry the same burden the older generation did of having their homeland taken from them, and they did not show it either in their grooming. In a lot of ways, the resembled hope, even if the gray beards would not want to admit it.
They arrived at a spruce door set with a brass handle and trimming. Inside the room there stood a solid spruce desk with a simple comfortable chair and a window to the right looking out on the valley. Other chairs were also in the room in the same simple fashion. Even in simple fashion, each work was intricately carved and crafted just not overly lavish.
A weapons rack hanged with varying swords and axes of importance to the owner and a book case decorated the opposite wall of the window. Old bound books, parchment scrolls, contracts, letters, and maps peaked out from the shelving.
The office held the status of nobility and a touch of longing for greater things of the past. From what was known of Thorin Oakenshield it suited him in a good way but not perfectly for his status.
Thorin Oakenshield, Exiled and current King-Under-the-Mountain, stared out the window of the room with his pipe in his lips and a thoughtful expression in his icy blue eyes. He slowly puffed on it as a late spring breeze fluttered through the portal, carrying the scent of his pipe smoke through the room. It was a mixture of Old Toby, hickory and pine.
Dwalin had taken residence on a chair to the right of Thorin's and he sharpened his knife with a whet stone, looking impatient. Or maybe it was just his natural expression, they did not know.
The siblings entered and took all of this in a glance before finished with a bow and a curtsy of respect when the doors closed behind them.
"Omul, son of Osk, and Rhul, at your service," they greeted, feeling that they should be the ones to introduce themselves.
"I see it that you are well rested," said Thorin, turning to look at them. "I was told you bring news of great importance. Now tell me, what brought you to Ered Luin in such a hurry during last night's storm?"
Omul looked at each of the dwarves before he spied the piece of fabric he had given Dwalin the night before on the desk. The letter had also been opened, and he knew Thorin would want to hear the full tale from his own lips.
He took a seat after Thorin inclined his head to do so. Rhul sat next to him and looked to her brother to see where he would go.
"Our tale is a long one and we will answer any questions you have," he began, his thick Iron Hill accent breaking the silence. "To answer your first question, we were seeking shelter after we were unexpectedly caught in the storm. Thanks to my limited knowledge of the area, I thought we were closer to your settlement than we really were. It was our original intention to arrive this morning but Goblins had been on our trail for several days, forcing us to run and arrive earlier. That storm was our best chance to lose them when they caught up with us yesterday morning."
"And why were goblins on your trail? Were you causing mischief among them?" Thorin asked, taking a seat in his chair and setting his pipe in a bowl.
"We do no such things; goblins, as we have learned, are best to be left alone. They ambushed us a few nights ago and killed our ponies. We knew the goblins would be back since no game had been spotted in the area.
"Our camp was situated in a tight crevice along the cliff face to shelter us from the wind. They had us surrounded before we knew it. We took our leave through some bloodshed and saddled our pack animals when the massive storm was on the horizon. Goblins can stand a drizzle but they fear giant and fierce storms."
"They lost our tracks when the storm picked up and we may have drawn them to closer to your lands. It was beginning to turn dark when we arrived at a valley peaked on either side with two giant stones. It was too dark to find a place to rest and we knew your Halls had to be in the vicinity."
"It wasn't our intention to draw them in. We hope these vermin will not be an inconvenience to you," apologized Rhul.
"That is not our worry now, we can handle whatever comes our way," Thorin leaned forward and looked Omul straight in the eyes, searching for the truth. "Dwalin informed me that your father spotted Thrain in the wilds of Dunland. Tell me, how is this possible?"
"I take it you have read my father's note."
"I recognized your father's name and the loyalty he possess. I knew him in my days of youth. He is a loyal dwarf and an honest one if my memory does not betray me. He wrote briefly about the Battle of Azanulbizar and the is it possible Thrain survived?"
Omul pulled a knife out a sheath hidden in the back of his coat. The knife was thick and heavily inscribed with runes along the blade. It was not any usual knife because it carried significance and status regardless of how old it was. Thorin's eyes widened slightly at the sight and Dwalin leaned forward even more curious than before.
"Thrain's royal guards' blade," breathed Dwalin, his eyes lighting up with recognition. "Where did you find this?"
"We come from a lesser noble line of Erebor, commonly referred to as the Stonehides," said Rhul with great admiration in her voice. "Our father was there, fighting alongside all of you."
"It was given to my father before that dreadful battlefield. Before marching on our sacred halls, one of Thrain's guards was injuring in a cart accident. Osk was right beside him as he passed away. The guard was able to see something in him and he handed him his knife and commanded him to protect Thrain if he was ever called on to do it. Osk swore on his honor, not wanting the dwarf's death to be in vain and he followed Thrain into battle."
His father's stories entered his mind. Omul could see the blood, the fear, and the giant Orcs crawling over the stone fields of Azanulbizar to slaughter all who opposed them. The stories, as gruesome as they were, gave him nightmares in his youth; he could only imagine what it would be like to actually live through it.
There was a dense break in the conversation and no one looked each other in the eye. Omul picked up where he left once he reigned in his memories. "After the beheading of the King, Osk followed Thrain through the masses as well as he could with another guard. But they were separated from him and they watched Thrain face down the Pale Orc."
Thorin's face turned pale, realizing what his father had done at that time.. "What happened to my father after the battle? He never returned and we could not find any sign of him. I searched for days amongst the slain," he said as a slight bitterness entered his voice. "There was no sign of him."
"Our father does not speak of it, but they watched as Thrain was carted off, unconscious by orcs. He retaliated furiously with what was left of the guard when you lead the charge, but they lost sight of him.
"When the battle was over, and mob of orcs escaped, my father remembers seeing him taken away. They tracked his trail for days, finding he was still alive, but never being able to catch up in their battle weary state. That was till the trail went cold."
"The guards knew Thrain to be alive and in captivity, why else would the Pale Orc not kill him?" said Rhul, posing the question they were all thinking in a soft voice. "No sign of him has been heard for a few decades and many of the old guards had left long ago. But our father kept searching, hoping to find something. And he did, for the proof is right in front of you. Even though he had only been a part of Thrain's company for a few weeks, he still holds true to his promise.
"He recognized the embroidery, gave it to us and told us to deliver it to you. He knew it would be important, a closure for you to know Thrain was somewhere and maybe at some point may be alive and well."
Thorin was quiet for a moment, letting it sink in. Dwalin looked thoughtfully at the two young dwarves, silently thanking them for their bravery.
"The journey was has not been easy one, in the amount of time we completed it," said Omul. "We only ask for a place to stay and recover."
"That I do not doubt," Thorin said in a soft voice, his eyes clouded with memory but they cleared quickly when he turned to Omul. "I thank you for bringing this information. You have left much for me to think about. Answer this last question, why do you wear the emblem of the Iron Hills when you have ties to Erebor?"
"Our mother is from the Iron Hills," said Rhul. "We were raised there for a time before living in the Misty Mountains near one of the Ironfoot Outposts. The Ironfoots are the culture we have adopted best, but we love the tales of old from Erebor so do those in other settlements."
Thorin nodded and he stood from the table, dismissing the two dwarves. "I see it that there is much to your past, there is more to you than meets the eye. But for now you are welcomed in my Halls. Stay as long as you need to resupply and rest. My people will take care of you when you need it."
"Your rams are in the stables," said Dwalin. "The stable master will help sort you out."
Omul and Rhul stood also and bowed their heads to show their respect. They turned and left to room without another word, having completed their business.
Thorin stood at his window, relit his pipe again and drew in a deep breath of smoke.
"You are conflicted Thorin," pointed out Dwalin, watching his good friend.
"And I have the right to be," he replied lowly. His eyes drifted to his hand where the same ring Balin, Dwalin, and he shared rested. It was simple design in durable silver, and a blazing reminder to their past. It symbolized their struggles and friendship since the Battle of Azanulbizar and the sacking of Erebor. He knew he would not be alone in this mystery of Thrain's rumor.
"Do you believe the lad?"
"I know it to be true Dwalin," Thorin turned to look at him, a determined gleam in his eye. "I will think about this, it changes much what I have thought before."
Dwalin nodded in understanding, knowing his beliefs had changed also. "What about the Goblins, they can prove to be a nuisance to the settlements on our borders. They will disrupt trade and livestock."
"Gather a party and track them down," commanded Thorin. "Let them know the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains will not allow such vermin to cross into our lands."
[Updated 3/21/15] Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin's ring they share comes from the concept art books. I thought it was a great idea so I included it. Things differ in this version of Thrain's backstory because I wanted it to match with the DOS EE scenes. Remember, everything that happens, happens for a reason.