Chapter Six: Secrets

Morl sat outside the den, his great yellow eyes staring out over the landscape as the sun rose above the horizon, its rays painting the clouds pink against an orange sky. Below, he could just imagine the people of Dale rising with the sunlight, how they would sit up with bleary eyes and stretch their arms above their heads. Behind him, his wife was slowly waking and he soon felt her hands in his mane. Unlike her husband, Nimya chose to wake up Furless. She sighed contently as Morl leaned his head into hers, his whiskers tickling her face and making her laugh softly. Birds flew over them, heralding the morning and Morl could look down and see his kin move out from their dens and slide down the mountain to hunt and bathe. Many others had woken up Furless and he knew most would be going to Dale to explore and have fun. Some of the males remained inside to nurse their wounds from the Succession last night and Morl looked over his shoulder to see if any of his children had woken up yet. His sons, Mordecai and Mellion, would no doubt wish to sleep in as they had both lost their battles last night but there was some hope for his daughter who had duties to perform with her mate as he had won the Succession and asked for her hand in union. Morl turned his head back to face the now blue sky and shook his head.

The den where he had made love to his wife, the den where all three of his children were born, would be given over to his daughter and her new mate as they prepared to share their lives with each other. He growled softly at the thought, of his little girl now a young woman. His little lioness. Nimya smiled as she put her hand over her husband's paw.

"You did us proud, Morl."

The great lion huffed and lowered his head onto his paws, nosing her hand off and shutting his eyes. Nimya rolled her eyes and stood up, gathering her straw-coloured hair and tying it into a knot under her skull. She moved her hands down and tied a new knot maybe an inch away and continued all the way down until she ran out of hair. Morl had watched her do this and felt a certain heat rise up in him as the end of her hair touched the backs of her thighs, the pale material of her dress enticing him for a closer look. Nimya had travelled to Dale some days ago to prepare for the Succession; all women were required to look their best for their men as they fought to see who would become the next King over the Mountain. For nearly 400 years, Morl had been King and watched the birth of the Dwarf King's son and grandchildren. Now and with any luck, when his daughter ruled as Queen, she would further guard and protect Durin's Heirs. Since the first of their kind, there was always a lion looking over Durin's people whether in secret or out in the open. Morl recalled the stories told to him as a young cub, how each line was etched into his memory of the time when Durin the Deathless still walked Middle-Earth.

The lions traced their ancestry to the great black lion and mount of Durin himself, Leo. They were so named "Leolings" by the dwarves who cared to remember them for after generations the lions faded into myth. Dwarves did not live as long as the Leolings and it was said that when Durin died, Leo felt such a great pain that nothing could ever mend his heart. He decreed that his people distance themselves from the dwarves to avoid such heartbreak but they were charged with protecting them. And they did so. Leo's family kept the tradition and with the growing number of dwarves, they too multiplied. When Erebor became the stronghold of Durin's children, the lions made secret holes in the mountain that were carved deep inside but still far from the kingdom within.

But as time went on, the right to rule became a very blurred line with so many children being born to the queen. Whether the Leolings chose to give birth Furless or stay lions, there were simply too many of them that could claim the right so Succession was created. When the current King would become advanced in years, he would choose a night where all eligible males would fight for the chance to rule. It wasn't a fight to the death but a fight to submission. Needless death was not celebrated.

Morl had led his people about halfway in between Erebor and the Iron Hills for the fights to take place and once a single winner had emerged, Morl fought him. Both Mordecai and Mellion had fought well and impressed more than a few admirers but were beaten by older lions. Those two lions had gone on to fight a final match where the winner would fight Morl and as the old king thought about it, he was not entirely upset that he had lost. The new King over the Mountain was a lion by the name of Fell, a childhood friend of the brothers who Morl considered to be Leo's true descendent. He was a fierce fighter but also a compassionate soul who had won the heart of Morl's daughter when they were young. Though his fur was the same golden hue, Morl saw Leo's determination and kindness in Fell's eyes. In truth, the lion had long possessed Morl's blessing but hearing him pronounce his proposal aloud was a tiny bit of a shock. Morl was fiercely protective of his youngest and only daughter and by extension, so were his sons. The three of them were always together, they all hunted as one and went to Dale as a pack, it was rare to see them apart. But that was going to change with his little girl, his little Nemea being a wife, Queen, and a mother presumably.

Nimya sat down again, smoothing out the white silk dress that ended just above her knees, a golden sash was tied about her waist and last night, she had ripped off the sleeves. Morl reached out and put his head on her shoulder, hearing the sounds of their children waking up. Mordecai had been the first to rise and he stepped out and yawned loudly, licking his lips and nudging his father with his foot. A nasty scar ran across his face and there were several mean-looking tooth marks on his left shoulder. He wore a loose fitting, sleeveless, white shirt with leather straps crisscrossing his chest, and he had ripped brown pants to his knees and no shoes. His arms were covered in white scars and his legs were marked with a few cuts and scrapes. His green eyes were warm with mirth as his mother worked to sort out his mane of golden hair. Moments later, another figure stumbled into view and Mordecai snorted. Mellion was leaner compared to his older brother and he put a little more effort into his appearance with a faded grey shirt that wasn't ripped in any places and long black pants that disappeared into dark fur-lined boots. His yellowy hair was tied in a sloppy braid that hung over his shoulder but a few rebellious strands stuck out at odd angles. What Mordecai was laughing at was the bruise on his brother's face shaped exactly like a lion's paw.

"Quiet down, you idiot." Mellion hissed, swatting Mordecai's head and squeezing between his mother and brother.

"I shiver to think what you might do to me should I refuse." Mordecai said laughingly and Mellion growled and shoved him farther away.

"Now, now, you are injured. Why not go back to sleep?" Nimya wondered, fixing their hair idly as Morl snorted.

"We want to see Fell, of course." Mordecai said in a matter-of-factly voice. "He's going to become our brother soon and we have to make sure that he won't so anything stupid."

Morl laughed and stood up, touching his forehead to each of his sons before he walked into the den and searched for Nemea. She was huddled in the far corner of the cave and sitting tight against the wall, her tail swinging back and forth nervously. Morl cocked his head to one side curiously.

"Is something wrong?" he asked as he sat down before her. Lions could of course commune with each other but to anyone else, it was a complicated language of snarls and raspy growls.

"No…well, I don't think so."

"Speak." Nemea sighed deeply and nuzzled into her father's neck like she did as a child, her words coming out in a rush.

"Fell and I…I'm going to be his – and he's going to be my…How will I…and it's just so…scary."

Morl chuckled and stood up, urging Nemea to follow him out into the sun. The light stung her eyes for a second and she looked down and watched her friends – her soon-to-be subjects – run towards Dale. As it was the closet city to Erebor, the lions preferred to explore and learn new things from all the races that gathered there. You wouldn't exactly see a Leoling to go skipping about Greenwood the Great but it wasn't totally uncommon. Nemea still had a hard time choosing what was more fun: teasing Elves or teasing Dwarves. Both included various pranks like running through the forest naked or perhaps sending them on wild goose chases as no one had properly seen a lion. A popular story among the children was "The Boy Who Cried Lion".

Her brothers and mother had already escaped to the land below and melted into the crowd as several dwarf vendors came out of the mountain to sell their wares. Nemea wanted to join them, anything to escape the nervous excitement in her chest, anything to find something familiar in the city. Fell was just coming out of his den, his body proudly showing off battle scars from the previous night. He stuck his claws into the rock and started to scale the mountain, his eyes fixed on Nemea. Morl chuckled at the youth's eagerness and nodded his head as Nemea looked away from her mate with a bashful turn of her head.

"Do not worry. You are my daughter and therefore will have the knowledge needed to balance all your duties." The two of them spared a moment to watch the children of Thrain walk out, their arrival signified by deep blue banners and the sound of drums. Nemea chuckled nervously, staring down at her charge and avoiding the critical look of her father.

"You put too much faith in me, Father" Morl lifted a paw and placed it over hers, leaning into the lick her face affectionately.

"That is because you are worthy of praise."

Nemea felt sick as she looked upon the elven city, it was as if her stomach was trying to claw its way out of her throat. The lioness kept her mouth shut and her eyes forward as she walked beside Bilbo, the two of them trailing behind Gandalf feelings of both anxiety and awe. None of the dwarves appeared to be very happy with the turn their journey had taken but none felt like voicing their concerns. Even to one who hated Elves, the sight of a place so fair struck them silent. Once they all walked onto the pavilion, Nemea watched an elf in dark robes glide down to meet them, Gandalf identified him as Lindir. She looked around them, wondering if any of the Elves could hear her blood pumping through her veins or sense the dread in her body, her hands were locked around her elbows and she had a hard time focusing on what Gandalf was saying. She felt like running or finding a place to hide, and then thought of sleep, wondering if it would be filled with pleasant or a nightmare crouched on the edge of her consciousness.

Bilbo, watching the varying emotions flicker across his friend's face, carefully put his hand into hers and squeezed it. Nemea blinked and looked down at him, attempting to smile as the horn from earlier rang out in the air and the sound of horse hooves thundered in their ears. Thorin barked something out in Khuzdul and then ordered for everyone to close ranks, somewhere in the moving around of things Gandalf had pulled her out to stand beside him. His hand was on her shoulder and Nemea saw an apology in his eyes and needn't be spoken aloud. She inclined her head tiredly, searching the faces of the riders for Lord Elrond's and then sighing quietly when he broke formation to greet them. Hearing the flow of Elvish pass between them, Nemea bowed her head slightly when Elrond turned to her with soft eyes.

"Long has it been since you were last in these halls, Nemea daughter of Nimya."

Bilbo watched as Nemea's face softened at the mention of her mother's name, a name Bilbo had never heard her speak of before.

"Perhaps I can convince you to grant the same kindness you showed me when I was here. My friends and I are tired from our journey." She looked to Thorin and he took her silent invitation and stood before Elrond with a frown on his face, Nemea stared anxiously between the Elf and Dwarf, her fingers digging into her skin. Elrond nodded serenely as he recognized Thorin for who he was.

"Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain."

"I do not believe we have met." Thorin replied evenly, sparing Nemea a glance.

He could see how tired she was and while a part of him assumed it was due to the Change, he felt as though she was hiding a great pain. Her shoulders were hunched over and she was hugging her arms close to her body, her head was bowed and there was something so vulnerable about her, so different from the proud woman she had proven to be earlier in their quest. It was unsettling.

"You have your grandfather's bearing, I knew Thrór when he ruled under the Mountain." The elf lord's eyes looked to Nemea for a second and she just barely managed a small shake of her head. The dwarf prince didn't seem to notice that as he continued to say whatever was on his mind, remarking that Thrór never mentioned Elrond to him before. Nemea breathed through her nose and shut her eyes, Thrór kept many other things hidden from you, Thorin Oakenshield.

The Company of Thorin Oakenshield was led further into Rivendell where food and drink awaited them. Gandalf, Thorin, and Nemea were granted the privilege to dine with Elrond at a table of their own as everyone else sat around a long table. Nemea was tempted to laugh as the dwarves found difficulty in enjoying the Elves particular tastes. Elves were very close to nature, so much so that partaking in the eating of meat caused them much distress, and that fact was an excellent teasing point to make. She would have to remember to go hunting later tonight and bring something back for the dwarves or perhaps Gandalf had arranged something to be brought for them as it appeared that Rivendell was indeed their destination all along. As Lord Elrond explained the origins of Thorin and Gandalf's swords, she ate quietly and stared down the hall at trees blowing in the breeze, fireflies flickered in between the leaves almost coaxing her out to play. The wind seemed to be whispering about something that was lost, it tugged on her hair and begged for her to follow. Nemea turned her attention back to the conversation at hand as it had suddenly become about her, Elrond had asked why she was travelling with dwarves.

"I needed to get out." She said simply, hoping Elrond would ignore the way her eyes gazed past him. He raised an eyebrow and glanced over his shoulder, a silence passed over their heads and Elrond looked back to her.

"I can see your mind is occupied with other things. I would like to speak with you again but please, go and see them."

Thorin secured Orcrist to his side and watched Nemea bite her lip anxiously, standing up and awkwardly bowing herself out of their presence. Once again he saw how suddenly awkward and uncomfortable she had become, like her courage was reduced to nothing but a mewing kitten. In any case, Nemea had ran down the hall and disappeared behind the trees.

Running down stairs that were slowing being conquered by moss, she stopped before a quiet pool of water, the only sound heard was the way the waterfall tumbled down stony ledge. Nearest to the water's edge and under a tall willow tree were four small mounds of dirt. Nemea looked around to make sure no one else was around before slowly sinking to her knees, her hands moving over the mounds as if they were sleeping babes. The wild woman put a hand over her mouth as her eyes filled with tears, a few drops slipping off her cheek on landing on her knees. She tried to take a deep breath into her lungs but her throat tightened and she choked on a dry sob. But that sobbing soon turned into apology after apology, and Nemea rocked back and forth with each of them. An apology that they died so young, that they died without names, she begged for forgiveness that she hadn't the foresight to stop their deaths in the first place. Her fingers dug into the earth, wiggling around in search of flesh but finding nothing but the coolness of a smooth bone.

Nemea put both hand over her mouth and blinked heavy tears from her eyelashes, trying to ignore the old ache in her heart. She hoped no one had followed her; Nemea wasn't sure if she could face anyone or even begin to explain the pain she was going through. She started coughing, trying to dislodge the painful knot in her throat. She knew there was at least one dwarf who could under losing their entire family…she also knew that she was partly to blame for his loss too. Nemea moaned and leaned forward until her forehead met the cool earth. If only she had guarded him better, if only she had taken him with her over the mountains that way Bilbo would've grown up with both a lioness and a dwarf for caregivers. Nemea's shoulders started to shake, her father had been wrong; she wasn't able to balance her duties at all. She failed him.

Along with her apologies to her nameless children, her thoughts naturally flew to Fell and her family. When the dragon had arrived and attacked Dale, a large majority of her kin died there. They had gone Furless and died defenseless. The few that remained on the Mountain had tried to take down the dragon alone, Nemea remembered Morl and Nimya facing a streak of orange flames and disappearing in a puff of black ash. Her brothers learned not to attack the drake head on and tried circling around him but Mellion was speared on Smaug's tail and Mordecai was crushed under one massive foot. More were burned, some eaten before her very eyes. And Fell.

Nemea pushed herself onto her feet and stumbled to a bush, feeling her throat burn and vomiting into the grass. Fell told her to run. She didn't want to run, Nemea had never backed down from a challenge and this wouldn't be any different. If this was to be the end, she at least wanted to die knowing she had tried, that the two of them had fought as hard as they could. But his word had been final and when she started to run, she heard Fell's roar rip through the sky until it was abruptly cut short.

The Elvenking's domain passed in a daze, a thousand dying gasps echoed in her head, the images of burnt corpses flashed before her eyes one after the other. She remembered very little of passing through Greenwood except the colours of the leaves and the soft ground beneath her feet because she was suddenly crossing the Misty Mountains. After numerous attacks by goblins, Nemea quite literally tumbled into the Valley of Imladris where the Elves tried to counsel her, tried getting her to relax so they could heal her injuries and make sure the pregnancies went well but it was all in vain. The trauma of so much death, the stress of fleeing, and the wounds caused by her fights in the mountains proved too much for her newborns to bare and arrived in Middle-Earth as freshly made corpses.

The lioness and former Queen fell onto her side and clutched her stomach – one of the elves had the audacity to inform her that she would still be able to bear children. Yes, she could understand that Elves lived through many joys and perils in their long lives but her people lasted 400 years, witnessing the birth of so many and watching as they died peacefully for old age or finally succumbing to old wounds. Nemea never remembered death as something so violent before but the dragon had changed all of that, it was now a fear she held close to her heart. The fear of death, the fear of fire, and the fear that she could nothing so stop what could happen. Nemea rolled onto her back and stared up at the sky which was dark with stars and a glistening moon, so much like a pearl wrapped in darkness.

"Hello?" Nemea bolted upwards and wiped the tears from her eyes. A young boy was perched at the top of the stairs. "Are you alright, Miss?"

"I'm fine." She called to him, slowly climbing to her feet and walking towards the small staircase.

"You don't sound "fine'." Nemea laughed and shook her head as the boy came down to meet her. He appeared to be on the cusp of manhood, his face was not as chubby as a child's and his grey eyes possessed some kind of wisdom in them. They sat down at the same time; the boy gathered his longish brown hair and tied it in a short ponytail at the base of his skull. He looked at the four little graves.

"I've always wondered who they belonged to, I hope you don't mind but, I put flowers there." He pointed and Nemea saw that there were several white flowers at the head of the graves.

"Thank you…I've always wondered if anyone ever cared for them."

The boy gave her a small smile and looked down, twisting his hands together and sighing deeply. The two of them sat in silence for a very long time, listening to soft notes being played by a flute and a voice that rose above the song to touch the heavens. The boy turned his head so he could listen better and Nemea saw a familiar look in his eyes, a look of admiration and childish love. But then there sounds of rough voices taking to the air, the rumbling of a pot being struck so many times in succession, and the sound of violins.

"There was someone looking for you?" the boy said after a while.

"Oh?"

"A Hobbit, I think."

Bilbo. Nemea supposed that he deserved some kind of explanation but perhaps later, she needed to think on what she should say and make sure that she had the strength to say it without breaking down. With that in mind, she stood up and pulled the boy up with her, asking if they could take the long way back to the dwarves and the boy agreed. Nemea didn't spent much time in Rivendell, maybe five days, and she was amazed at how bright the Last Homely House was at night. Somehow the Elves had managed to persuade the sunlight to live up in the ceilings of all the rooms. The boy asked if Nemea wanted to freshen up before meeting with everyone and Nemea thought that would be a good idea. As they crossed over a slow stream, Nemea jumped off the bridge they were standing on and dove beneath the water. The boy was laughing so hard that Nemea took one look at him and pulled him into the water with her.

Climbing back on, she fished him out and laughed as he shook out his damp hair. So their initial path was changed to give them enough time to dry off, in that time the boy introduced himself as Estel. He told her that he was living in Rivendell with his mother and that the Elves were training him, he had never left the elven sanctuary before so he was very jealous of the company of dwarves and their hobbit. Estel told Nemea that Gandalf, Thorin, and Bilbo followed Lord Elrond to his study were they discussed something about a map, the boy confessed that he might have been eavesdropping on them. Estel led Nemea up some more stairs (she had been complaining that Rivendell possessed too many stairs), and he had pointed ahead of them to where Lord Elrond was speaking with a woman with white-blond hair. Gandalf and Thorin were standing nearby as Bilbo walked away to a large balcony where Nemea could smell the dwarves and the scent of burning lettuce.

"Estel!" the woman cried when she saw them, gathering up her skirts so she could run. "Where have you been?"

"I was with Nemea. Nemea, this is my mother Gilraen."

The wild woman smiled and bowed her head. "Sorry if I kept him from you, I may have pushed him into a tiny river."

Gilraen released a sigh and ran her fingers through Estel's hair, the boy rolled his eyes and pushed her hands away.

"Mother, I'm fifteen."

"And not yet a man, so don't fuss." She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his head. "I hope you don't mind but it is late and someone has a training lesson with Glorfindel tomorrow." Estel said something harsh in Elvish and Gilraen slapped the back of his head with a reproachful look. Nemea bid the two of them goodnight and joined up with Gandalf as Elrond walked away, Thorin appeared to be heading back to the others.

"Well?" she prodded the wizard for an answer, spying the unimpressed look on Thorin's face.

"We shall be staying in Rivendell for fourteen days until the moon runes on Thorin's map can be read." Gandalf and Nemea started walking towards the dwarves and the woman watched Bombur break a table under his weight.

"Moon runes?" she queried.

"Yes, they are a special type of runes that can only be read under the light of a moon that was the same shape and season that they were written on."

"Surely a wizard of your skill could've figured that out. Seeking to change the dwarf's opinion of the Elves?" Nemea smirked, listening to Gandalf's laughter.

On the first morning of their stay in Rivendell, the dwarves woke up to the smell of meat cooking. They all looked at the center of their sleeping area to find Bilbo and Nemea sitting around a large pot, the hobbit was chopping up potatoes and carrots and celery and dropping them into the mixture as Nemea was skinning and deboning rabbits. Someone had tied her hair in a neat bun behind her head and she looked up at the dwarves with a smirk.

"I was beginning to wonder if you had all died in your sleep." She looked over at Bombur and beckoned him over, gesturing to a few small bowls beside her. "Bilbo wanted your opinion on which herbs to put in it."

Bombur stuck a delicate finger into the stew and ran his tongue over his lips with a dreamy smile. Bilbo and Nemea exchanged looks as Bombur plucked a few leaves of basil and sprinkled them over the stew, searching for a spoon to stir with. Nemea, without looking away from her work, picked up a large wooden spoon and put it into Bombur's hands. The dwarves counted maybe six dead rabbits in her lap and most felt a little uneasy as she cleaned the meat with her bare hands. Once she was finished, she reached behind to grab a bowl of water and washed her hands. After making a few more suggestions to Bilbo, Bombur moved to a pile of unused vegetables and started munching on them quietly. Bilbo got up and gathered some more small bowls and started handing them out to the dwarves but he did ask Kili to give a bowl to Thorin for him. Nemea rolled her eyes at Bilbo and stood up, stretching her arms above her head and scratching a small scar on her elbow. Her fight with the wargs and orcs yesterday didn't leave any lasting marks on her except for a dull ache in her joints; Oin was the first to point out that Nemea's shoulder was completely healed from where the troll had slammed her into the ground.

"The Change healed it. My bones have to break to become a lion."

"Doesn't it hurt?" Ori asked timidly, he was holding a giant book and his quill was ready to write.

"When I was younger, yes, but now the Change is second nature. I could shift again for you, if you like." She grinned and the dwarves could see her canines growing in anticipation. Bilbo huffed and slapped the back of her head.

"There will be none of that, Nim," the hobbit scolded her gently. "There are no orcs or wargs or rabbits for you to hunt."

"Not true, Little One. I find that hobbits themselves are very much like rabbits."

Bilbo fumbled with the buttons on his jacket, cautiously staring down the hall and weighing the risk. Nemea slowly got to her feet and Bilbo groaned, perhaps seeing into the future and knowing that he would be teased about this moment for a very long time – he jumped to his feet and started to run. Nemea had the decency to give him ten whole seconds before she sped off after him.

By the end of their stay in Rivendell, Nemea was still making morning trips to visit the graves of her children but this time Bilbo came and kept her company. It was Bilbo who managed to make her smile and be merry with everyone else although her strange behaviour did not go unnoticed. Thorin was still puzzled over her actions and he intended to speak to her about it, but he found she was always doing something with someone else whether it was her lessons with Ori (he was slowly teaching her how to read and write – but not in Khuzdul), or supervising her hobbit while he sparred with the prince's nephews. Fili and Kili were quite aware of Nemea's pain as they had seen similar looks on their mother's face when Uncle Frerin popped up in conversations or their father. They did little things to make her happy and most of time it was unconscious, anything the brothers did seemed to make her smile and one day when they asked, Nemea said in a sad voice:

"I imagine my children would've acted the same."

So it came to be that through the efforts of the boys, the company came to know of the graves located in a grove near one of the various waterfalls, and the dwarves asked their questions with empathy on their tongues.

Surprisingly, it was Kili who first went down to see the graves by himself and soon after he brought down his brother where the two sat there, staring, for a long time perhaps picturing what Nemea's children would've been like. She told them that three of them were boys and her youngest was a tiny baby girl. At some point before the fourteenth day, each of the dwarves took time to see the graves for themselves most choosing not to speak but to observe and understand. This was the hardness they first saw, a private pain that was now shared among the others. Of the dwarves, Ori was the only one to offer a sort of prayer in Khuzdul, his soft voice lingering long in the trees planted by the Elves having only heard the merriment of the fair folk. Bombur spoke quietly to graves, informing Nemea's dead children that their mother was very kind and scary but in a good way.

On one of the occasions that Nemea dwelt alone in the grove after Bilbo was called for more training, Thorin came down alone and stood behind her. Neither of them spoke for a very long time and they could hear the trees replaying Ori's song in distorted moans. A warm hand, worn with work and time, fell on Nemea's shoulder and she sighed deeply. There are some things, some careful and quiet things, which people cannot say aloud and are best conveyed in action instead of voice. Thorin knew that nothing he could possibly say would lift the burden of loss carried over for six decades but he at least wanted her to know that he wasn't blind to her pain. Returning to Erebor would be hard for him as well and he dreaded to think on it. And so they stood as kindred spirits.