Chapter 8: To come out of shadow

Kili saw Bolg's anticipatory grin and knew he was facing death, the huge Orc had as good as bested him and he understood what Thorin must have felt about Azog. With a growl he drew his dagger, the only weapon left to him, he would fight as long as he drew breath. The Orc advanced and Kili ducked under the heavy blade, rolling over the hard floor of the waterworks to evade another attack.

A blinding light from above them left him blinking and with colourful specks obscuring his vision while Bolg stumbled backwards, his arms raised to shield himself from the radiance. In the sudden brightness Kili only saw a shadowy figure jumping with an unnatural ease off the catwalk, the sword he had lost only moments before in hand, the hilt of the sword shone blindingly bright. The fighter advanced on Bolg. The Orc reacted, in spite of his fear of the light and raised his saber with a howl, charging his new opponent. His attack was blocked with a casual ease that seemed impossible. Kili's face fell, he had never seen someone fight like this, this fighter was faster than the Orc, always one step ahead of any possible attack and a swordsman beyond compare. He had disarmed Bolg in the third attack and pushed him backwards, until the Orc stumbled into one of the waterchannels, roaring with anger. Two more attacks sliced Bolg's chest, and a last would have beheaded him, if the huge Orc had not taken his last wits together and dived into the waters, letting the rushing channels carry him out of the reach of his attacker.

Still staring wide-eyed at the fighter that had just saved his life, Kili scrambled back to his feet. His sight was slowly evening out and he could actually see more than shapes and shadows in the light of the sword. Not five paces away, bedside the rushing channels stood an elven warrior, his long red hair like a flame in the light the sword cast. The last time Kili had seen this warrior had been after the battle the previous autumn. "You have my thanks… had you not intervened, I'd be dead," he managed to find his voice again.

"Are you injured?" The elf asked, ignoring the thanks entirely, Kili was not sure if it was simply because he felt that they had pressing matters at hand or because he felt it beneath his honor to accept thanks for chasing off a single Orc.

"None that I can't deal with," he replied, looking to the tunnel, where his people were hiding. "I need to get my people out of here before more orcs come."

"Fion should be with your people, I doubt that many more of these creatures will come here soon," The elf's keen eyes went to the tunnel, as if to confirm what he had said.

He had been right, with Ánar and Bilbo, Fion was among the first to come out and led the exhausted captives into the water halls. "Kili, what in the world brought you down into this orc hole?" Fion asked, the blond warrior sported some fresh scars and scratches that bespoke his adventures in the last weeks, but he greeted Kili with a happy grin.

"I could ask you the same, Fion," Kili replied, glad to see his cousin was still alive and obviously still happy to wander the world with a strange ancient elf. "we came down here to free our people from the Orc dens. You know how they are – they will always drag captives down into their caves and have them work in the deeps until they die from exhaustion and lack of sunlight."

Fion raised his hands in a helpless gesture. "I got captured much the same way, when I was scouting a cave in the mountains. If Rú had not come for me…"

"I do not leave a friend in the hands of these things," Rú cut off the praise. "Orcs will be Orcs no matter how many ages they live. Kili, you hopefully do not intend of having these people use the watertunnels to get out of the this mountain?" The Elf's eyes surveyed the group of captives, standing close together, fearfully gazing at the warriors.

"It is the only way… Russandol," Kili hoped that what he knew of the legendary elf had been correct enough and that using this name would not cause offence. "The tunnels will carry us far enough east to safely lead these people down to Anduin valley."

"Surprising as I find it that you assume all of your people can swim," an arched eyebrow underlined these words, "many of these people are exhausted and some of these children will drown."

Kili had to crane his neck to look up to the elf, he was one of the tallest of his kind he had ever met. He pushed aside the awe he still felt towards the legend. "It is the only viable way out of this mountain I know of and that we can reach," he explained. "and the waterlevel in the tunnels can be slightly lowered, by making use of the old water locks here. It will not be much, but if the strongest of us, help the weakest, it can work. Your aid would be much appreciated and I humbly request your assistance in saving these people." Thorin may skin him for this, but sometimes a well worded plea got further than a rude demand.

There was something akin to wry amusement in Russandrol's expression. "A courteous dwarf… the world truly has changed." He turned his gaze to his companion. "Fion, the support beams you hacked away up there, take some of the strongest people and bring them here." He pointed at Ánar. "Take some others still able to defend themselves and go back to the tunnel at the utter left, you will find more broken wood and… a number of old bones there. Bring it all here as well. The rest of you gather up the bones of the deep watchers still lying between the channels."

Ánar cast a questioning glance at Kili, the young dwarf's brows furrowed and his shoulder's squared, ready to question the elf's authority but Kili raised his hand. Do as he says his fingers told Ánar. This is not a time for pride or indignation.

"What are you planning on doing with the wood and bones?" he asked when the others spread out, it was annoying to having to look up to the towering elf like this, but Kili wanted answers.

"Making rafts for those who cannot swim the entire length of the distance," Russandol replied. "the tunnels are broad and the waters deep, but that way those too weak to swim will have a chance."

"But bones?" Kili asked. "I…"

"It is grisly I know. Giant bones and the bones of the deep watchers swim like wood, it will safe some of your people's lives."

Soon enough the material was brought back to them, broken support beams, other wood and large pale bones. Kili and Russandol were the ones to do the main work on them, always using some of the stronger beams for the frame of the float and then using the lighter wood and the bones for the flat surface.

Kili forced himself not to think of the material they were using, but focused entirely on the work like he would in the forge, and he was surprised that he and the elf worked well together. He had never imagined that an elf would be able to perform such a ghastly task, like combining several giant bones to a raft by carving a smaller bone into splinters serving as nails. But Russandol did it with a coldness and skill that left the young dwarf baffled. They worked undisrupted for hours, no Orcs came for them, nor did anything else move inside this mountain.

"Why did you not lead them through the ancient sanctum?" Russandol asked, as they began the last of the makeshift vessels. "I doubt the Orcs would have dared to follow you into those chambers, let alone through them."

"If I still knew how to open the doors, or where they are, I might have." Kili replied. "Knowledge of these gates and their secrets was lost when Durin IV was slain in the Battle of the Burning Deeps." He saw the eyebrows of the elf rise slightly, the question evident on the proud face. "Mount Gundabad fell to the Orcs during the first half of the second age, when more and more of the surviving orcs from Angband flooded from the north into the Misty Mountains. After one attempt of retaking the sanctum killed Durin III's eldest son Frévan and many of his armies, Durin III decided to abandon any attempts of retaking this mountain and consolidate the defenses of Moria instead. A wise decision, given what happened in Eregion later."

"You had no allies to support your war?" Russandol's voice had taken a slight edge, as he used the hilt of his dagger to hammer several splinters into their construction like nails. "I was told the Elves were still strong in that time."

Kili bit his lip to not give an answer like Thorin would have. The dwarves had rarely seen aid from the elves when things got dire. And if they had it had usually been brave individuals, who had gone out of their way to aid them. But this elf did not deserve that ire. "The only alliance of your people and mine that truly worked was… long ago." He said, knowing the elf would know what he was referring to. "And I am surprised you know of this place, or the inner workings of Mount Gundabad." He added, to change the topic.

"I came here three times," Russandol replied. "the first time by invitation of Prince Azaghâl, the second time to seal the alliance with him and the third… to bring his body home to rest beside his ancestors."

"I… I forgot you were the one who recovered his body from that battlefield," Kili whispered, recalling one of the many stories he had been taught, things the House of Durin had sworn to never forgot. And the story of the brave Noldor King who had risked so much to prevent the Orcs from getting and robbing the body of his fallen ally, a Dwarven King, was one he had always liked.

The last raft was done, they were not enough for all of them to use, but for the children and the most exhausted of the captives, along with the wounded. All the others would swim, the warriors who would have to swim as well discarded their armor, bundling it up and tying the bundles into the huge skull of a deep watcher. There was no guarantee the strange vessel would make it out with them, but it was the best chance for them to get their armor out at all. Pushing the rafts into the main channel the swimmers followed, the waters sucking them quickly into the darkness of the long drain tunnel.

TRB

Lachanar had never liked guard duty, at least not when he was forbidden to tackle the dangers he spotted and he truly had never envied the Royal Guard their task. A palace guard must be able to ignore all that was happening around him, ignore what he saw and heard, pretend to never having been witness to Royal troubles, clashes or private moments. Lachanar knew he could have never done that, he was a warrior, and when he stood guard somewhere he would go for whatever trouble presented itself. Unfortunately this time he was damned to stand atop a flight of stairs and to ignore the noises ringing up to them.

The low chanting in a language he did not understand, he could ignore, knowing Thorin was working some kind of ancient seal on the door. But Thorin's voice grew strained with time and sounds like claws scratching the floor and swishing sounds in the air filled the silence eerily. He focused his gaze on the tunnel leading out of here, trying to distract himself, from Thorin's voice that was echoing pain by now.

The tunnel was built on a quadratic shaft and fully stone, even walls and floor, simple dwarven make if he had ever seen any. So this place had been built by dwarves and sealed on the order of Durin's House, which would make sense. The other door he had seen, high up in the Ered Mithrin had also been in an ancient Dwarven complex. He well recalled his own journey up North. It all had begun with the envoy from Lothlorien who had come to King Thranduil's court shortly past the spring festival.

Lachanar had expected trouble at once. If Lord Celeborn went to the level of rudeness of sending a Noldor with his missive, it meant he was highly displeased about something. Displeased had been an understatement, to say the least. Lothlorien had suffered three different attacks by a winged wyrm coming from the Ered Mithrin and Celeborn reminded the King of Mirkwood quite sharply of his duties regarding the Northern borders.

Not that his anger had truly reached the King. "Lachanar, I entrust this task to you," the Woodland King had said with a laugh. "Your watchful presence really begins to get to my poor courtiers and I can see you long for a greater problem than just the southern borders to challenge you."

He too had laughed, back then it had been a standing joke between the King and himself, that Lachanar was not an elf of peace, that he got restless when forced to attend the court too often and that he detested the constant celebratory mood of many woodelves. The very same day he had saddled his horse and ridden North to assess what they were dealing with and whence it came. He had not expected to see a young dwarf Prince tackle a small drake on the heather, nor that they would descend into one of the old dragon burial grounds… or that their wild adventure would stretch for two years and they'd become fast friends.

Thorin's voice grew silent and a slow deep cracking rang out from the deep, along with a low hiss that made Lachanar's skin crawl. All in him screamed to leave this useless watch post and race to Thorin's side to aid him… and that was exactly what Thorin had forbidden him to do.

Lachanar had never felt more helpless since the day the dragon had come. Being forced to withdraw the troops had felt just as bad, because then like now he knew he could do something, and was forbidden from acting on it.

"Steady," Bofur said softly. "Thorin knows what he is doing, you have to trust him to do this and to call for us when he needs us." There was an unshakeable trust in the dwarf's voice.

A loud crack echoed through the dark, followed by a sound like stone slowly clattering on stone. Lachanar frowned, he had heard this before… in a cave in the north, where had it been? His memory of it was hazy, only vaguely could he recall the cave, there had been bones… and something else… a deep voice whispering, speaking… His hands shot up to his temples, trying to fight off the pain shooting through his head.

"Lachanar, what is it? Is something here?" Bofur reached for his arm, steadying him.

The elf inhaled slowly, struggling against the pain. … a large hall, walls glistening silvery in the light of pale lamps, a voice speaking… echoes carrying through the hall… 'He must forget, Thorin, forget that he was in danger, forget that he was saved, and forget that he even knows this danger exists.'

"Lachanar!" The call echoed into the dark hall, it was all the elven warrior needed to push past the pain in his head and race down the stairs. Down at the foot of the stairwell he saw the door had closed and Thorin was embroiled into fighting snakelike creature, with a double head and a spiked tail, a dancing snake.

Stopping on the middle of the stairs, Lachanar bent his bow and nailed the spiked tail with two arrows to the ground, before launching into attack, Bofur had taken the cue as well, his mining pick a formidable weapon. Thorin's sword had cost the snake the lethal fangs but each time the heads thrust at him, Thorin was in danger of being pushed off the platform.

Using the moment the snake thrust forward to race up the creature's slim back Lachanar reached the heads moments before they could rise and rammed his blade into the snake's neck. The creature hissed and twisted, forcing the elf to jump off, while Thorin buried Orcrist in its mouth.

"Thorin, are you injured?" Lachanar sheathed his sword his keen ears telling him that there were no more enemies close by.

"Only bruises." Thorin replied curtly. "let us leave this place." Their eyes met, and for one moment Lachanar was tempted to speak, to ask about the memory that had invaded his mind, the bits and pieces that seemed missing in his head. But he did not. Thorin was his friend, and he would have to trust him on that.

TRB

The dark waters swirled faster as they pressed forward towards the tunnel's mouth. Kili did not know how many hours they had been swimming, it had been miles and miles underground until the tunnel finally reached the surface where it could spill into Langwell River. His arms were leaden and Kili had a hard time to keep going, it was like the waters were trying to pull him under and drown him, a cold seeping from the black flood, penetrating his skin and eating into his bones.

He was by now fairly far behind the rafts, one of the last swimmers, his lungs ached and burned as the rushing waters spat him out of the tunnel's mouth and into the icy river, ahead he could see where the rafts were landing on the sandy shore of Langwell River. He pushed forward, his last strength getting him to the shore. He just wanted to collapse, to drop and not move, but he could not, others were worse off and he had to see they were taken care off. When he pushed himself to his feet, a dizzy feeling began to manifest in his bones, the world blurred and only a moment later all became black around him.

TRB

When he awoke again, he lay by the side of a fire, feeling the warmth of flames tickle on his skin. The echoes of steps were around him, of voices and shadows of other people huddled by the fire… or was it other fires? He blinked slowly, forcing his eyes fully open. He could see several fires, burning along the shoreline, and the spring sun warmed them from above. "Kili… no, do not try to move." He heard Fion's voice.

"The others?" Kili forced himself to ask.

"They are fine and taken care off. Getting warm by the fires, others are searching for food…" Fion told him, the blond dwarf had sat a bit away and was now beside him. "Rú, he's coming around." He informed the elven warrior.

"Good," Russandol quickly checked on Kili, preventing him from fully sitting up. "Careful, Kili, the waters came close to killing you."

Kili made a face and sat up, using his arms to support himself. "Nonsense. I can swim, better than most dwarves actually. I got a bit tired, that's all."

Russandol's eyes narrowed. "You don't know…" he said, surprise echoing in his voice. "Tell me, Kili, son of Thorin, when did you manifest the flame? Even for your house you are very young to already have it so pronouncedly."

Kili raised his hand, pushing some wet locks out of his face. "A year ago… last spring," he said. "it felt natural… even though I was upset at the time. Why? I have not been working in a forge since last autumn."

"With a dragon and a battle no one will have had the time to warn you," Russandol observed. "but you are new to the flame, the fire has just found you and young as you are, it has manifested inside you. Until you reach your balance and your full control over your talent, you have to be careful where it comes to the warring elements – water and even more so the great sea, will sap your strength much more quickly and you will find that danger of drowning is lesser than the danger of dying from sheer exhaustion when submerged."

Digesting this information Kili managed to sit up properly, ignoring the tired feeling in his bones. "How do you even know I have the flame?" he asked.

"Do you think another spellsmith cannot sense the echo in you?" Russandol asked back directly. "With your bloodline I would call it unsurprising, but that would be disrespecting the gift in itself."

Again Kili was reminded that this elf had probably known more of his ancestors than he had even heard of, and that he was a legend of all the arcane smiths, the legend of their craft, only overshadowed by his noble father.

The elf must have sensed that the topic was one that had Kili uncomfortable. "Your sword – how did it come to you? It cannot have been in Smaug's hoard." He said, pointing to the sheathed blade lying beside the fire.

"Found it in a troll hoard, the very same that held Orcrist and Glamdring." Kili told him, glad to be getting into another topic. "I cannot even begin to guess how they ended up there and I had hoped to ask the elves in Rivendell to identify the blade…"

He stopped, his mind racing back to the cave, the blade shining in Russandol's hand, the ease with which he had wielded it, the familiarity. And suddenly Kili laughed. "Send me back to the forge and call me an apprentice," his sides shook with mirth. "What an arcane smith am I am aspiring to be, if I do not see the most obvious of signs?"

He took the sword, his eyes finding the star engraved on the guard, shimmering softly in the darkness. He looked at Russandol. "I should have guessed it was from your House, but now I know it must be yours." He handed it to the Elf, returning it to Russandol. "For the very life of me I would never have guessed that I was holding Elenlanta, the fallen star."

The elf took it, the hilt shining the moment his fingers touched it. "You could have kept it; I forfeited my right to wield it long ago."

"No," Kili said firmly. "it belongs to you, and to none other." He knew the elf would not accept his words; his judgment of his situation, Kili was too young, too far removed from the conflicts of this warrior to be able to voice a meaningful judgment on his path, so he decided to break the tension with humor. "And… you do not think that a blade made for an Elf of your stature would fit any dwarf? I will make my own sword when the time comes."

Author's Notes

Harrylee94 was her marvelous self again, helping and inspiring me. I suggest you check out her profile for her own amazing stories. :D