A/N: The quotes from Khuzdul translation of "I See Fire" (executed by the Dwarrow Schollar, find him online, the bloke is brill!) given in Italics will signify the beginning and the end of dream sequences.


Ra nî lomil tamhari, akhsigabi azâgê... / And if the night is burning, I will cover my eyes...


Wren found herself standing in the same hall where she saw the colossal statue of the dead King, but this time a long table was in its center, surrounded by tall chairs, quite obviously intended for a council, and instead of the statue she saw a throne and behind it a large tapestry on the wall, dark blue, with an immense family tree embroidered on it. She froze in the doors, once again feeling she was intruding. The room was lit by flickering light of torches on the walls, but this time it was not cold and its air was not stale as during her actual visit. Wren felt warm, and strangely enough she caught the smell of her favourite lilacs in the air, as if summer breeze had brought their fragrance in a light rush from bushes by the road.

By the wall in the shadows there stood a Dwarf, she could hardly see him, just his wide powerful silhouette, and then she stepped inside. She felt strangely calm and joyous, as if meeting an old friend, perhaps because she quite clearly saw it was nothing but a dream.

He turned to her and stepped into the light. He was clad in a thin, dark blue tunic and linen trousers, barefoot, his hair scattered on his shoulders, and he gave her an irritated yet uncertain look.

"What are you doing in my halls, naith?" The word was unfamiliar, and Wren shortly wondered if it were even possible to speak an unknown language in one's own dream.

She felt like quipping back and asking him what he was doing in her dream, but then she bowed to him and answered politely, "Forgive me, my lord, I did not want to intrude..."

"I do not remember this room..." He interrupted her, though probably not speaking to her, and slowly turned around, his bright blue eyes roaming the hall, and that was when she recognised him. Her breathing hitched, and she made a small step back.

The profile was noble, the nose long and prominent, he was frowning, and a wrinkle lay between his thick black brows. He had a surprisingly soft line of lips, and she could not remember it being portrayed such in stone. She felt it was almost amusing that her mind created such fantasy, giving him certain softness of features. The beard was thick and black, but there was plenty of silver in his hair, especially in the soft waves above his forehead, and she tried to remember how old he was when he fell. According to the war stories, around two hundred, she thought. Mature age, but not yet old for a Khazad.

Right now, in her dream, he seemed tall for a Dwarf, perhaps an inch taller than her, she remembered the words of the old Dwarf in Erebor. She suppressed a smile. She indeed always found men with larger, more imposing build more attractive, but most Men were compared to her, she was very small. She wondered what sort of vanity resided in her to make a Dwarf in her dream still taller than her.

And suddenly, and as it always were to be in a dream, without much continuity, he was standing in front of her, his glare burning and apprehensive, "Where am I, girl?"

"Erebor, my King," she did not know where the moniker came from, but he froze, searching her face for some answers, and then he swayed back from her.

"But I am not… Why am I in Erebor? Am I not to enter Itdendum?" Torturous pain splashed into the lines of his face, bewilderment and terror, so unbecoming his noble features, made Wren stretch her hand to him, in an impulsive desire to console, "Have I not fought with honour?.." He was looking into her face, but she had no answers for him. And again, it was just a dream.

She was going to tell him so, when he shifted his eyes on the tapestry behind them, and murmured, "Radm khama amnas yud ni Itdendum..."


Ra adjini tada zasaziliki e... / I'll hope you'll remember me…


Wren sat up on her bed sharply, hot tears running down her face, her body quaking, breathing laboured. She pulled her blanket to her chin and let herself cry. It was just a dream, she repeated to herself, but the piercing pity she felt for him, so lost and so confused, as if almost abased, made her rock on her bed, her arms wrapped around her knees. Once her sobs subsided, she had her decision.

The next three days she worked in the infirmary, but her mind had been set, and once she was even asked by the Chief Healer whether something was ailing her. She apologised for being distracted and brought her mind back onto her everyday responsibilities.

The morning of the fourth day came, she put on her healer's robe, and walked to the inn known to accommodate the richest merchants coming to the city. The Khazad from Erebor would often have ale with their relatives coming from the Iron Hills in its common room, and she entered the big hall, clenching her fists, but her head set proudly.

The room was full of people of all races, loudly talking, loud coarse laughter was heard from the corner occupied by Northmen. Wren came up to the innkeeper, a red cheeked jolly man, who immediately bowed to her. Healers were a respectable profession, and she once again praised herself for the good sense of wearing her robe.

"What can I do you for, honourable healer?" Wren took a deep breath in and decided to trust the innkeeper's discretion.

"I am looking for a trustworthy Khazad to discuss a sensitive matter," her voice wavered, but she quickly gathered her courage, "Could I rely on your judgement, kind sir?" The innkeeper gave her a long attentive look, but she knew one could hardly suspect her in lewdness or trickery when judging by her looks.

"There, in the corner," the innkeeper discreetly pointed at two Dwarves sitting at a table and loudly guffawing at some joke, "Most would not talk to you, but those are jolly fellows. Try talking to them." She thanked him wholeheartedly and turned around. "And, fair maiden?" She gave him a look over her shoulder. "Worry not, I will keep an eye on you." She smiled to him and gratefully nodded. It was a nice sentiment, but unlike the man she did not share the prejudice against the Khazad most Men still carried in their hearts. Besides, she knew one could hardly summon it from her small frame and modest healer's robe, but she could take care of herself. She had been living on the road for many years.

She approached the table in the corner and timidly smiled to the two Dwarves that stopped talking and looked at her. She had always admired the complicated dos and the beard and moustache braids of the Khazad, but the hair of the first one was bordering to almost ridiculous. More than anything he reminded her of a sea star, three tall ridges of his hair standing upright on his head. He was also a ginger like her, his beard was braided into three plaits, with long beads on their ends. He had lively sparkling eyes and gave her a slightly mischievous, benevolent look. The second one looked even friendlier, he was wearing a strange two eared hat that was sitting askew on his head, his moustache was long and dark, and while she was gathering her will to speak, he gave her a wink with his laughing hazel eye.

"Good day, honourable Dwarves, I apologise for disturbing you..." She had to clear her throat from acute abashment, but they gave her encouraging smiles, and then the one in the hat pushed a stool towards her.

"No disturbance, lass, do sit down. What can we help you with?" She smiled to him gratefully and sat down.

"My name is Wren of Enedwaith, kind sirs, and I have a question to ask."