Chapter 3
Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!
A/N: And the journey begins! Anything for new readers that is unclear regarding Ryn's identity or any happenings in the last book; feel free to PM me and I'll give you the short and skinny!
Enjoy, everyone, don't forget to review if you are so inclined!
Dawn found a small group formed up just outside the Great Gate, checking over their shaggy mountain ponies, adjusting saddles and packs, and saying their goodbyes.
In a fit of contrariety, Lady Deorynn was helping her handmaiden with her saddlebags, imparting some wisdom she had learned from her years on the road as a solitary traveler. Prince Kíli was speaking lowly to his royal brother, and Bilbo took the time (for he was ready) to survey their small group.
Of course, there were Kíli, Ryn, and Raela the handmaid—whose presence Bilbo questioned, but then realized that if Ryn could take care of herself, there was no reason the other lass couldn't—as well as Master Gloin. Bilbo had at first been surprised to hear he was coming along, for he seemed quite happy in Erebor, but then he remembered that Gloin's wife, Brydda, and their young son Gimli were in the Blue Mountains. It made sense he would come to fetch them home himself.
The thought of gruff, hairy Gloin tenderly kissing his lovely wife hello was one that made Bilbo's lips curl up in a smile in spite of the early hour.
Their party was rounded out by three other dwarves he was not as familiar with. Telchar, son of Meltar, and his cousin Farin, son of Tarin, were both lieutenants on loan from Dain's halls in the Iron Hills. Dain had been rather insistent that someone from the Iron Hills represent their clan when the guard returned triumphant to Ered Luin, a fact that Bilbo knew rankled the young King Under the Mountain—and for good cause, in his opinion; why, Dain had refused to help them on the quest to retake Erebor, and yet expected to share in the spoils! Bilbo found it shameful behavior that was ill-fitting a king, much less a distant cousin—but Kíli had soothed his brother by selecting Telchar and Farin; both young and relatively open-minded, less arrogant and smug than many of Dain's men. The last member of their guard was Ibón, son of Bhûn, of the Emyn Muil dwarves. Bilbo happened to know, in light of the girl's history with Emyn Muil dwarves, Ryn was horribly nervous about her parentage and past being discussed around him; though it would probably come up at some point.
Bilbo wondered if Ibón (or Bhûn) were one of the dwarves that had kicked Ryn's Dwarf mother out of the settlement when she became pregnant by a Man of Rohan all those years ago.
If so, they could be in for a bit of a rough dynamic between those two.
The thought made him scowl, his loyal hobbit heart bristling at the idea of anyone giving Ryn a hard time because of her parentage. It certainly had happened enough in her lifetime—and still was happening, especially now that she and Kíli were engaged to be married—and she didn't need to be dealing with it on the road, as well, where there were plenty of other troubles to be had.
"That disappointed to be leaving us, eh, Master Burglar?" Fíli's teasing voice interrupted his ruminations. Bilbo turned a smile on the lad.
"Of course I'm sad to be leaving you, Your Highness." He didn't miss the way Fíli winced at the title. "Please, Bilbo, we are friends. Call me Fíli."
Bilbo ducked his head in acknowledgement. "Fíli. I will miss you dearly." He wrapped his arms around the dwarf's chest in a brotherly embrace, smiling when Fíli returned the gesture.
"I will miss you too, Bilbo. You simply must come and visit us sometime."
Bilbo blinked hard as he pulled back. "You can count on it. I wouldn't miss the wedding, at the very least." He winked toward Kíli and Ryn, who were conversing softly a few feet away.
Fíli laughed. "Good! We will be most pleased to have you! Safe travels, Master Hobbit, and I hope you find your home and hearth as warm and welcoming as you left it."
It was Bilbo's turn to laugh. "Cold and dusty is the more likely way of it, but it shall be warm and welcoming again soon after I return. And of course, you are always welcome to visit it, as well."
They parted with a firm hug, and then Fíli addressed the entire guard.
"My friends! Thank you for volunteering for this mission. Mahal's blessing be upon you, and may His Hammer protect you from all evil on the way, until you return again safe to these Halls. Keep one another alive and well, and bring home Erebor's princess!"
The guard, as well as the small crowd of well-wishers gathered around, cheered.
Fíli kissed his brother's brow in a King's blessing, then embraced him one last time before Kíli mounted his pony. Kíli led the small Company down the main road out of Erebor, headed south toward Laketown. Bilbo rode just behind him, young Telchar beside him, followed by Ryn and Raela, then the remaining dwarves; cantering out of the city as the King waved goodbye.
They were heralded again in Dale, rode through the streets with a small crowd cheering them on from the sides of the road and upstairs windows. After a brief greeting from Bard and his family, they rode on. From there, the ride to Laketown was swift, and they reached the small wooden town just before dinnertime. It was still a small place; but under the new leadership of Haresh, son of Marc, and the help of Thranduil, Bard, and Fíli combined, the little town was getting a new chance at life. New men were arriving every day to help rebuild, homes and businesses popping up on the shore of the Lake, and merchants getting word that Esgaroth and Dale were becoming centers of trade again, after the death of the dragon.
Someone had managed to finagle the massive skull of Smaug out of the wreckage of old Laketown, and set it upon a platform outside of town as a memorial to the citizens of Esgaroth that had died that night. Kíli shivered as they rode by it, uncertain how he felt about such a memorial.
But they did not linger in Laketown, instead pressing on west, along the river, until they reached Thranduil's Halls at nightfall. The Elvenking greeted them with considerably more goodwill than he had the last time they entered the forest, feasting and housing them for the night.
It was a cheery evening, despite the discomfort of about half the dwarves—Dain's men as well as Ibón were exceedingly uncomfortable with elves in general, and Gloin still had not forgiven the less than cordial hospitality they had received a few months before.
Ryn, Kíli, and Bilbo, however, all had a grand time. They talked and laughed with Legolas, Tauriel, and the elven princess Nireth, whom Ryn had healed of horrifying dragon fire burns in Laketown, prompting the start of an odd but deep friendship.
The lithe little elf drew Ryn aside later that evening, before everyone retired, and handed her a small book, just large enough to fit comfortably in a pocket.
"Wha…? What's this?" Ryn asked, delighted.
Nireth smiled. "It is a translation book. Orð to Westron. I don't know why, but I felt like you might need it before the end of this journey."
Ryn thumbed through the small, leather-bound journal, Nireth's steady handwriting on each page filling it with words from her ancestral language and what they meant in the common tongue. "You made this?"
Nireth inclined her head. "I did."
It was an incredibly valuable gift, and a personal one too; Ryn hugged her friend tightly.
"I have no idea why I would need this on this mission," she murmured into the elleth's flaxen hair. "But it is a beautiful gift nonetheless, and I thank you for it."
Nireth laughed, the sound one of joy personified. "You are welcome, mellon nin. I hope it serves you well."
"It will," Ryn whispered. "If I need it, it will."
The next day was rather uneventful, as travelling went. The company left at dawn and travelled until sunset, accompanied by an honor guard of the Elvenking's halls—six elves, all warriors fierce, including Legolas and Tauriel—charged with seeing them safely through the Mirkwood. Kíli couldn't pretend, much as he wanted to, that he wasn't glad to have them along. The air of Mirkwood was still oppressive and heavy, and he remembered his last trip through its angry boughs far too well.
Thranduil's dungeons, boring and elf-ridden as they were, had been a welcome relief.
He looked around to be sure his Company were holding up against the foul air of the forest. The elves looked merely wary; either it didn't affect them the way it did him and his people, or they were just adapted to it and knew of ways to handle it. Telchar was alert, his eyes roving about the place as though it might try to swallow him whole.
Kíli knew the feeling.
Farin was wide-eyed, working desperately to control what Kíli guessed was a deep, primal fear. This place had a way of bringing that out of a person. Ibón was more snappish than usual, which, combined with Gloin's rapidly-deteriorating temper, looked like it may cause some trouble soon if they didn't get themselves together.
Bilbo was blinking rapidly, focusing intently on the path before him; while Ryn stared into the distance. He knew that look; she was fighting demons he could not touch, memories and places and experiences he could never share. He remembered how deeply this place had affected her before, and looking back, wondered if there had been anything he should've done differently to help her.
What better way to find out than to try again?
So he rode to catch up with her, startling her out of her reverie. She favored him with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and he took her cold hand in his and kissed it gently.
"Can you do something for me?" he asked, knowing he'd get further with her if she thought it was him she was benefitting. Unsurprisingly, her face turned earnest. "Anything."
"Tell me a good memory, from before you left home? Any good memory will do," he gestured vaguely to the forest around them. "Just to get my mind off all this."
Bilbo rode up the few feet to close the gap between them. "Yes, Ryn, do! A happy story would not go amiss in this place."
She got that faraway look again, but this time, she seemed to be searching for something. She must've found it, because a moment later, she grinned.
"Well. There was this one time my little brother Talos and I found an almost-empty inkwell in my mother's desk. I was old enough to know better, though he was not; but Dalos—our mother's husband—was sleeping soundly, and Mother was at the market, and we were bored."
Kíli laughed out loud. How many of his and Fíli's stories started almost exactly that way?
"What did you do?" Bilbo asked, aghast.
"We dipped the ends of his beard in the inkwell, then dyed his eyebrows black. It was especially funny since he had hair as red as Gloin's…"
Their laughter—and that of some of the elves—rang through the forest, seeming to lighten the air, if only slightly.
The rest of the day passed quickly, with Kíli regaling them all of stories that included unsuspecting (and suspecting) adult dwarfs becoming the butt of their many creative pranks; Bilbo sharing stories of his childhood in the Shire, and Farin—the least reserved of the foreign dwarves—telling of life in the Iron Hills. Legolas and Tauriel spoke, too, surprising Kíli with their stories of pranking Thranduil (The Elvenking, of all people!) as children.
They reached the southern offshoot of the Forest River—a slow-moving, lethargic brook with dark water—just before dusk that night. Crossing it took quite a bit of maneuvering, for the water of it was enchanted and would instantly put to sleep anyone who touched it.
Luckily, there were no mishaps, and everyone ended up on the opposite side awake and healthy.
They set up camp and settled down for the night, with double watches set up. Kíli checked in with his men to be sure everyone was all right, then he and Tauriel watched the sparse starlight that could be seen barely through the thick canopy of trees above their heads. Ryn joined them after a while, but everyone was exhausted and those who were not on watch fell asleep rather quickly.
Ryn awoke a few hours later with a heavy feeling in her chest she recognized. It made her skin bristle, her hair stand on end, and her heart beat faster. She knew this feeling, this instinct; it had saved her life countless times on the road.
Something was wrong. Danger was near.
She reached over and shook Kíli firmly, hissing his name. He awoke instantly.
"What is it?" he whispered.
"I don't know." She squeezed his hand.
There was an unearthly scream she recognized, and then the spiders were coming.
The watch shouted a warning, and Ryn just had time to grab her daggers—her throwing knives still attached to her belt already—before the fastest of the spiders were upon them.
The camp was filled with shouts of dismay and battle cries as Ryn tackled the first spider she saw, ramming her dagger hilt-deep into one of its eyes, then stabbing its ugly maw when it screamed at her. Battle was a blur of motion she'd not yet forgotten; stab, whirl, parry, block, swing, and pivot.
Moments later, she stifled a scream of surprise as one of the spiders got its bristly leg around her waist.
"Kíli!"
But Farin was there; his battleaxes swinging in a lethal arc that chopped the thing's head clean off. Ryn barely had time to call thanks to him before she was spinning again, taking out eyes and legs with sharp, long daggers.
She heard a shout beside her, and Bilbo's curly head entered her periphery, his sword piercing the spider's exoskeleton with a nasty crunch. She pulled him out of the way of the creature's death throes, slapping his back encouragingly before jumping into the tree beside them and scurrying up.
Above the battle, she could see better who needed help. The elves were graceful, the dwarves fierce; each one giving the spiders more trouble than Ryn figured they were used to seeing from their prey. A grim smile graced her face as Kíli disemboweled one of them in three efficient strokes. One of her throwing knives found an eye of another, and she leapt from the tree onto the back of one harrowing Gloin just below her branch, stabbing it in the skull with her knives.
Within minutes, it was over.
"Everyone all right?" Kíli called, panting. A quick once over showed Ryn that everyone was there, and only a little worse for wear.
The elves were barely breathing hard.
Bilbo was wiping Sting off a few feet away; Ryn walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. The poor hobbit was trembling.
"Just like old times, eh?" he joked tightly.
She smiled. "Indeed it is. And not three days out of Erebor, even. Are you all right?"
"Of course. Just the adrenaline, is all it is."
Ryn patted his back. "If you need anything, let me know. I'll be over with Kíli."
He winked at her, the cheeky bastard. "Yes, you go make sure your man made it out of that in one piece."
She stuck her tongue out at him—because she wasn't a princess yet—and bounced off the other direction.
Kíli was fine, of course, and he checked her over cursorily, without too much fuss, which she appreciated.
It took a long time, though, for everyone to settle back down—Telchar never did—and the rest of the night's slumber was fitful and restless for all of them, full of dark dangers and nameless fears. They welcomed the dawn, hazy and dim as it was in this forest, with relief.
The quest to Ered Luin had well and truly begun.
They left the Mirkwood at the end of that afternoon, and the elves stayed with them one more night, just on the borders of their territory. With fond farewells all around—even Gloin and Ibón were more friendly than they'd been the previous couple of days—the elves departed to their own halls, and Kíli's company pressed forward, headed west.
Ryn smiled with anticipation—she knew where they would next stop.
And she was not disappointed. It was mere hours on horseback, before they heard a loud, horrifying roar somewhere behind them and to their left. Telchar and Farin were immediately on alert, though Ryn shared a somewhat secret smile with Kíli.
The roar came again, closer this time.
"Run!" Telchar shouted, pulling his steed back to urge Raela in front of him.
Ryn found herself running along near the back of the group, not really frightened. As horrific as the roaring sounded, she knew Beorn would never hurt her or her friends.
Still, no need to tempt the Bear.
So they raced to Beorn's house and ended up entering much the same way they had the first time, with a giant roaring Bear on their heels, breathing hard and hearts pounding. Ryn couldn't help but giggle—from both nerves and genuine amusement—when they bolted the heavy wooden door to the sound of scuffling and bear sounds outside.
It wasn't a few seconds before Bilbo joined her, then Kíli, laughing heartily. Even Gloin chuckled behind his beard.
Telchar, Farin, Raela, and Ibón looked at them as though they'd lost their minds, which only made Ryn laugh harder. She bent over, tears in her eyes from laughing so hard, her belly sore.
When they finally gathered their composure, Kíli addressed the newer members of their party. "Sorry, it's just…we've been here, done this before." When they continued to stare, completely confused, he clarified, "that is exactly the manner in which we entered Beorn's home the first time—on our way to Erebor not six months ago."
Raela and Farin relaxed, smiling as they made the connection; though Telchar and Ibón still weren't amused. Ibón sniffed. "Yes well, it's hardly funny. We could've been killed!"
Ryn snorted. "No, Master Ibón, Beorn will not kill us. He saved us all at the Battle of Five Armies; and anyway, Skinchangers don't kill Eiri."
Ibón stared hard at the girl, unimpressed. "Is that so?"
She nodded, but didn't engage his challenge, choosing instead to dump her gear in a corner filled with straw.
She had just settled down to relax a bit, talking softly to Raela, when there was a thumping on the door—very much Man and not Bear this time. Ryn dashed to the door and pulled it open with a grin, throwing herself at the giant hairy man who stood on the threshold.
"Beorn!"
He chuckled, his deep, chesty laugh vibrating through her cheek. "By the Valar, Lady Deorynn, you certainly seem happy to see me."
"I am! I never got to thank you properly after the battle; there was so much to be done…"
Kíli had joined her and bowed deeply to the Bear-Man. "Nor did I, good sir. You saved my life, Ryn tells me, though I was hardly in a position to remember. You have my most sincere thanks, and certainly I owe you a blood debt."
Beorn laid his hand on the young prince's shoulder. "Hardly, lad. I was happy to help. Even if it was dwarves." A grin crinkled the skin around his eyes. "You should have seen this lady here, no orc could get within five hundred paces of her, she was stealing so much energy from her surroundings that they were killed instantly."
He looked proud, though Ryn looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Beorn…"
"I was lucky to be friend and not foe in that moment, I tell you, or I'd not be standing here, and that's a fact."
Kíli squeezed Ryn's shoulder, muttering in her ear, "You didn't tell me that."
She ducked her head. "I didn't want you to know. It's not the kind of thing you brag about at the dinner table."
But Beorn was still talking, greeting Gloin and Bilbo, getting introduced to the others, and setting up food for dinner. It was cold fare—cheeses, fruits, vegetables, and preserved meats—but delicious, and Beorn promised something hot for breakfast.
"For tonight, though," he growled menacingly, "I have a pack of orcs to see to."
"Need any help?" Ryn grinned wickedly. Beorn laughed. "No, my lady, I can handle it, thank you. You should all take your rest; enjoy a soft bed beneath your backs, for you have a long journey ahead of you."
"That we do," Gloin agreed.
Ryn found Kíli a couple of hours later, in the back chamber where she had first agreed to give a real effort to a relationship between the two of them. She smiled when she saw him standing beside the window, as he had that warm day in late August when she sought him out.
He knew what he was doing, too; he turned to meet her eyes and smiled wickedly.
"Hello, idúzhib," he whispered.
She shut the door behind her. "Kíli."
He was in front of her in two steps, smiling as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and fingered one of the braids, woven with tooled leather instead of mithril and diamonds while they travelled.
"You remember," she whispered. It wasn't a question.
He pressed his lips to hers in response, the kind of kiss that asked for more. She giggled into his mouth, tickling his neck teasingly with her fingers. He scrunched his shoulders and pulled back, laughing.
"Ryn, what?"
She hugged him. "We can't do anything like that on this trip, my love. That's why Raela is here—she could walk in at any moment, and if she found us doing anything more than kissing, there would be hell to pay." Her eyes turned troubled. "Gossip is one thing, and you know I'm more than happy to fly in the face of so-called 'propriety,' but that kind of thing could get us in real trouble, and I don't want to ruin..." she gestured to the two of them, "...this."
Kíli nuzzled her nose, smiling. "You couldn't. But I promise to behave. At least for now."
She settled into his arms as they sat down by the window, watching the snow fall softly outside. "Will it be a storm, do you think?" she asked. Kíli shook his head. "Maybe an inch or two before it moves on."
"Mmmm. Hey, Kíli?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think there are other Eiri descendants out there?"
Kíli paused, thoughtful. "Well…perhaps. It would make sense for there to be. Why?"
She pulled the leather-bound book from her armor. "Because Nireth made me this and said she had a feeling I might need it on this journey." Kíli flipped through it lazily, impressed by the workmanship. Ryn continued, "But I don't know. Why would I need an Orð-Westron translation book?"
Kíli was mystified. "I don't know either. But all will be revealed in time; for now, just enjoy it as a lovely gift. And it is a lovely gift."
That drew a smile from her. "Yes. It is. A lot of people are giving me lovely gifts these days." She fingered the braids woven with leather—Kíli's crest tooled decoratively into the tanned strip, as well as her own personal mark.
Kíli smiled and nuzzled her sweet-smelling hair, and they fell into a comfortable, tender silence.
He wandered far and wide, through the deepest and highest places of Arda; watching his work with satisfaction at times, cursing his failure at others. Deceit, pain, betrayal, and hatred were alive and well in many of the beings of Middle Earth, thanks to his lackeys and slaves; but triumph and joy and kindness abounded, too. He growled; he would swiftly bring the day when none of those things existed anymore. But he had some setbacks to deal with first: the whole fiasco with the dragon and the orc army had been rather embarrassing—he hadn't expected to lose that battle. It had also been quite the blow to his bigger plan.
But now, something very interesting had happened.
Two wandered together, both strong spirits, full of light and love and everything he despised. But they both had weaknesses they were unaware of; weaknesses he would happily exploit.
Morgul poison. The Blood of the Healers.
It was time to enlist the help of his Servant.
