A/N: I know it's been a long time since I last posted. I feel like an explanation is in order.
Basically what happened is school got intense, so I decided to just drop everything but school work until I finished, as it was my last semester. Then once that was over (YAY I'M DONE WITH COLLEGE), I immediately went to New York to spend Christmas with my family. And THEN I bought a video game called Dishonored and it's basically the best game in the world and I disappeared into it for a while. But I have resurfaced! Here I am. I apologize for making you wait; some of you have left me messages asking if I've abandoned this. Fear not; I will finish it.
Some of you who follow me on tumblr may have also noticed that my blog is gone. Yes, I did delete it, and yes, I am okay, nothing happened to me, I'm doing great, actually. I have been wanting to get rid of tumblr for a long time; it's a massive timesuck, and I have goals in life that don't allow for wasting time on that site, no matter how fun it is and how many friends I've made. I'm still here and on twitter as italian_hobbit, so I'm not gone. Do not despair!
Sorry, this is long, carry on.
Thorin sat slouched in his seat with one hand over his eyes. Balin was silent. The others had already gone; it had been difficult to placate all, and Thorin was not sure they had quite accomplished that task, but they had been calm enough to leave quietly. Now Thorin and Balin were alone, thinking.
"There are too many possibilities," Thorin said. "Too many, and yet at the same time, none at all."
"We must be missing something," Balin mused.
"We are clearly missing something," Thorin replied, looking up at his old friend, who was stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps Fíli did not tell us something… something important. He has been out of it nearly all day…"
"That is true," said Balin. "Perhaps we should ask him again."
Thorin rose, but as he did, the door opened, and Dís and Nála walked in. He felt the warmth leave his face as he beheld their grave faces. Fíli is dead. No. He couldn't be. That couldn't be why they were here.
"Fíli?" he breathed.
"He's alive," Dís said, reading her brother's expression. "But he's worse."
"What do you mean?" asked Balin. "How much worse?"
"He had a seizure," Nála said, her voice shaking. "A-and he's throwing up again, and the tremors have started again, too, and he's—he's hallucinating. He was so…" She trailed off and looked down at the floor, and Dís took her hand.
"By Durin," said Thorin, feeling as if a rock had dropped in his gut. "How did this happen? How could he have gotten worse?"
"I'm so sorry," Nála choked out, keeping her face down. "I'm sorry, I didn't know—I didn't mean to…"
"Hush, Nála," said Dís, pulling her in closer and wrapping an arm around her. "You are not to blame." She looked up at Thorin and Balin. "It was honey in his tea. It wasn't regular honey—Óin says it was mad honey, poisonous honey they have in the south. You know how his sweet tooth is… and Kíli had a jar of honey in one of those gift baskets from Beren. He traded it with Fíli, and Fíli took it to the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. And Nála obviously didn't know and made him another one about an hour ago with the same honey."
"Beren?" Thorin growled, looking to Balin. "We just had him here—and he had the gall to face us… that faithless rat, I ought to—"
"We will bring him to justice properly," Balin interrupted. "Though Durin knows we would all like to get our hands on the traitor."
Thorin ground his teeth and clenched his fists. Justice. He would bring justice to this Man, all right. Beren had better hope there was someone to hold him back.
"Is Fíli all right?" Balin continued.
"No," Dís replied. "No, he isn't. But I do not believe he will die."
"Do you have any idea why Beren would do such a thing?"
"I don't know," Dís replied. "I think our next step should be to arrest him and question him. We know he is responsible, but in order to properly punish him, we should know his motives."
"Well said, my lady," said Balin. "I will get Dwalin, and we will arrest the Man."
"I'm coming too," said Thorin and Dís at the same time.
Balin sighed and looked at the two of them warily. Thorin raised his eyebrows, challenging his cousin with a glare. Let him try to stop them.
"I don't know if that is a good idea," he said. "You are both very personally involved, and we must not forget that we are supposed to be discussing alliances over the next few days—it would not do well for the host and his sister to go throttling Men of high station who are our guests."
"He is no longer a guest of ours," said Dís. "And I want to look him in the eyes when he is arrested. I want to see the fear in them."
Thorin nodded curtly, feeling the warmth of pride in his chest. His sister had said exactly what he felt.
Balin looked up at the ceiling, his lips moving soundlessly, and then he sighed and looked back at Thorin and Dís.
"Very well," he said, "but please do try to be civil…"
"He wasn't very civil to my nephews, was he?" Thorin countered.
"Yes, but we are trying to prevent a war, and it will do no good to start one," Balin snapped. "Now, can the two of you promise to at least not physically assault the Man?"
"That's a tall order," Thorin muttered. Balin pressed his lips together and glared at him, and he grimaced and nodded. Then Balin looked to Dís, who looked at Thorin, her eyes saying that she did not wish to agree, but then she nodded as well. Thorin smiled at her fondly.
"I have no interest in seeing him," said Nála. "I would like to get back to Fíli and see how he is doing."
"Let us know if anything changes," Balin said. Nála nodded and left the room by herself, and Balin turned to Dís and Thorin again.
"Well," he said, "let's get Dwalin and arrest Beren."
Beren was smiling. He was not frightened or worried or even a little concerned—no, he was actually smiling. Even when Balin had told him why they had come, even when Denethor had cried out in shock and outrage, his expression had never changed. He just smiled.
Dís did not like it one bit.
Thorin was glaring at the Man with venom, his chest rising and falling slowly as he fought to remain calm. Dís glanced at him as Balin began to ask Beren questions, but her brother's gaze was fixed. She turned her eyes back to Beren.
"We know it was you," said Balin. "Your silence will not help you. Just tell us why you did it."
"What evidence do you have that it was Beren?" Denethor demanded. He had followed them, and Thorin had not stopped him.
Dís turned to Denethor.
"Answer me this," she said coldly. "Have you ever heard of mad honey?"
Denethor blinked. "Of course," he said. "Those less learned in the south use it as some kind of—well, some kind of love potion, to help with… with loving. But we do not believe such things in the White Tower. We know it only makes people sick."
"Is he included in that knowing lot?" asked Dís, nodding towards Beren.
"Well, yes, of course," said Denethor. His brow was furrowed, but realization was creeping into his expression. He cast a nervous glance at his companion.
"And it was Beren, was it not, who arranged the gift baskets for Fíli and Kíli?" Balin said grimly. "One of which—Kíli's—had mad honey in it."
"But Fíli was poisoned, not Kíli," said Denethor, watching Beren's still-smiling face in bewilderment. "What are you saying?"
"That your companion here misjudged his target," said Thorin. He turned his gaze to Beren. "He said that in his experience, the youngest has the sweetest tooth; in this case, he is wrong. Kíli gave the poisonous honey to Fíli, who consumed quite a lot of it, as you can tell."
"Beren?" Denethor breathed, staring at him wide-eyed. "Did you do this?"
Beren's expression did not change as he spoke.
"Yes," he said, looking calmly at Thorin. "Yes, it is all true. I poisoned several things in Prince Kíli's basket, as a matter of fact. It was a stroke of luck that Prince Fíli was poisoned instead, really; otherwise, picking something to eat out of his basket would have been a challenge."
Dís could feel Thorin bristle beside her without even looking. She could feel her own hands starting to shake.
"Why?" Denethor asked, his voice cracking. "Why would you do this?"
Beren moved his eyes from Thorin to Denethor placidly.
"You are asking the wrong question," he said.
"Then do tell us what the right question is," said Dís, her voice dripping with venom.
Beren eyed her, a malevolent grin twitching on his face.
"You are their mother," he assessed. "It must be hard, knowing you cannot protect them. The fools will get themselves killed, whether you are there for them or not."
Dís slapped him hard across the face, and then hands were on her, pulling her back. She did not fight against them; she had done what she wanted to do. Beren sat still, looking down, one hand pressed to his cheek. Dís looked behind her to see who was holding her. Balin, of course. Thorin and Dwalin would sooner have joined her than stopped her.
"The right question," Beren said, his voice a bit higher than before, "is not why I did this, but why did we do this?"
All eyes turned to Beren. Balin released Dís's arms. When the Man looked up and saw that he had everyone's attention, he grinned, regaining his composure.
"Now you are wondering who we are, I assume," he said. "I rather wonder that you have not guessed. I meant what I said earlier, my lords—and my lady—there are those among you who speak to the darkness in the night. Those who seem loyal to you, but they know where true power lies. Friends, family, brothers, sisters, spouses. Those who know it is wiser to side with the one who will rule all of Middle-Earth—to side with the Dark Lord."
Beren's eyes shone with an evil light as he spoke. He seemed happy, even giddy, to finally share his thoughts, and as he turned to Denethor, he looked as if he were pleading, inviting his companion to join him. Denethor looked ready to cry, his mouth moving soundlessly as he stared at his friend. Beren slumped a little, as if he were disappointed. His eyes lit on Thorin.
"You cannot trust these people, my lord," he said. "I am not the only one of us among you—I can guarantee that. We are watching. We are waiting. We will stop any uprising against our master, and you are powerless to stop us, just as you were powerless to keep your own heir from being poisoned right under your very nose in the heart of your own kingdom. You cannot stop us. You will not."
Balin's grip tightened on Dís's arm again, but all Dís could do was stare at Beren in horror. How many of his kind were among them? How many Men, Elves, Dwarves? How could this have happened?
Beren surveyed them all and smiled.
"I see I have you all speechless," he said. "Well, since I have the floor, allow me to elaborate, so you can see what you are up against. My master sent an army to this mountain eighteen years ago, as I am sure you remember. Your victory was a fluke, a stroke of luck. You cannot always depend on the wiles of a wandering wizard and his allies, and what chance do you stand against the armies of Mordor without the aid of Thranduil and his army? He will not help you again; you know this. Dale is still small and weak. Their aid will not profit you. Tell me, then, o wise king, whether it is wiser to stand against Sauron or to join him?"
"I will never stand with the filth of Mordor, or its allies," Thorin snarled. "I would sooner die, as would all my kin."
"Ah, your kin," Beren said. "You say this now, but do you know this? Dwarf-kind is not known for its unwavering loyalty to the light. Will Dáin—"
"Shut your mouth!" Dwalin growled suddenly. Beren turned to him, surprised. "You keep your lying mouth shut. I don't want to hear another word. I ought to—"
"Who says I am lying?" Beren interrupted. "I am simply here to show you what you are soon to face."
"Sauron misjudges Middle-Earth if he thinks we have not learned from history," said Balin tersely. "We will stand in alliance against him."
"And yet we are among you," Beren replied. "You cannot keep out the Great Eye; he sees all. His gaze will pierce through rock and stone, through hearts and minds, through—"
Beren's speech was cut off as an entire chair collided with his head with a sickening crack. His body slumped and slid out of the seat to the floor, blood immediately trickling down his face. All eyes turned to Denethor, who stood over him, his chest heaving and his eyes shining.
"I trusted him," he said with a wavering voice. "My father trusted him. And now I find that he is a servant of evil."
"Is he dead?" Dís asked in a hushed voice.
Dwalin bent down and held a hand under Beren's nose. He scowled.
"Still alive," he said. "Unfortunately." He stood up and lightly kicked the unconscious Man's boot.
"Take him away," Denethor said, turning his eyes from Beren to the Dwarves around him. He set down the chair. "Do what you will with him. Gondor will honor your judgment."
"Put him in prison for now," Thorin said quietly. "We will deal with him later."
Dwalin and Balin moved in at once and picked up Beren between them. As they left, Denethor lowered himself into the chair he had used to knock out his companion and dropped his head into his hands. Thorin looked uncomfortably to Dís.
"My lord?" she said softly.
"I am sorry," Denethor said into his hands. He wiped his face and looked up at her. "I am so sorry that I have brought this upon your child, my lady. I would never have expected—Beren, he helped raise me—to know that he…" He dropped his head into his hands again and choked back a sob.
Dís looked to Thorin. He looked as doubtful as she. Denethor was so close to Beren, and yet he had never even had a clue? He seemed genuinely upset, but Beren had seemed genuinely concerned for Fíli, too. Dís had been hurt too many times, lost too many people, to trust even the son of the Steward of Gondor blindly, no matter how remorseful he seemed. This alliance, should it stand, would have to be thoroughly tested. She would not let her son be hurt on her watch—not again.
"My lord, my brother and I have much to discuss," she said. "Perhaps if you wish to retire to your room, we can arrange to have some wine sent to you."
Denethor nodded and rose slowly. He trudged out of the room, accompanied by a guard, and then Dís and Thorin were alone. Thorin was staring at the closed door, looking thoughtful.
"A servant of Sauron slips into our midst and poisons our kin to show us how weak we are," he muttered. "How defenseless. How we can't even see it coming."
Without warning, Thorin took hold of a chair and threw it across the room with a shout. It clattered across the floor, and Dís jumped at the sudden outburst. Thorin stood still. There was a moment of silence.
"What are we going to do?" Dís asked.
"That depends on Fíli's recovery," Thorin replied gruffly.
"I think we should have him executed regardless," Dís said. "He is a spy in our midst and a servant of evil. Even if his intentions were not to kill, he still deserves death just for that."
"I would like to take an axe to him immediately," Thorin said, his eyes flashing. "But we should let Fíli and Kíli decide his fate. Beren meant to attack all of us, but Kíli was his target, and Fíli"—Thorin's voice cracked—"Fíli was his victim. We have raised them well. I trust they will judge wisely."
"Then is Beren to stay imprisoned until Fíli recovers?" Dís asked.
"Aye," said Thorin. "Let him fester down there. We will not rush. Surely the rat has lived in comfort his whole life; we will show him how Dwarves treat those who hurt us."
Dís nodded. "And I have yet to see the fear in his eyes."
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