Authors' Note: Welcome back! We hope that you enjoy our romp through Tolkien's world. If you recognize it, it's probably from Tolkien or Peter Jackson. If it's an non-Tolkienian idea you've seen before in fanfiction, feel free to assume it's a (most likely) subconscious allusion/tribute to the original author. Happy reading! Elle and Rhi
Homecoming
The dove-grey light of foredawn found the house of the dwarves abustle with activity. Balin spent most of the morning standing with Dwalin and Thorin, though he checked in on his kinswoman frequently; he worried a bit, that she would feel forgotten by the Fundins in the bustle, but it appeared that she had found ways to keep herself both busy and useful. Billa initially aided Dori in distributing and reorganization of the dry goods for their packs before finding herself working beside Bombur as he ensured the proper preparation of their foodstuffs. Not long before they were due to depart with their escort - Alfrid lurked on the doorstep, having been greeted by a gruff Bifur, who firmly conveyed that the oily little man was to remain outside - Balin nodded to Dwalin, and his younger brother pulled Billa aside.
"This last stretch is like to be the worst of it, lass," Dwalin said, his eyes watching the bustle of their fellow dwarves, lingering on Thorin and his heirs.
Billa followed his gaze for a moment, then nodded. "I suppose not all homecomings can be as simple as unlocking the front door and settling into your favorite chair," she agreed.
Balin frowned. "The dragon will not have left Erebor in particularly good shape, even if it no longer draws breath," he warned. "There will be much rebuilding to do, before we can really call it home."
Billa smiled. "Home-making is something with which I am familiar," she said, and settled a warm hand on Balin's arm, easing a tension Balin had not realized he carried. "I am looking forward to seeing the lot of you settled in."
Dwalin smiled. "Soon as we are in Erebor proper, lass, and we've the time, we'll arrange for the formal ceremony. Until then, we've got you this." He proffered something small, a fine little
metal bead, inscribed in dwarven runes.
"What is it?" Billa asked, examining the delicate work.
"A symbol of the House of Fundin," Balin beamed, patting her hand. "Dwalin made it while he was in the forges. It's a symbol of kinship, in the strictest sense-" he was cut off, as Billa threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly before wrapping her arms as far around Dwalin as she could, asking him to braid the bead into her hair.
"You'll need to think about who you want to chose your Kharmel, your True Name," Dwalin said fondly, his thick fingers deft as he wove a plait behind her ear, the silver bead glimmering in the light.
"I can't think of anyone better than Balin," she said immediately, and as Balin felt his chest swell with pride, Dwalin chuckled outright.
"Neither can I," he agreed. "Balin named me."
Balin beamed at the both of them, his eyes twinkling behind his beard. "I will give your name a great deal of thought," he promised.
Thorin called for the Fundin brothers then, and with a last smile amongst themselves, the trio took their places for the procession to the docks.
Balin happily ignored Alfrid's babble of words throughout the short walk to the barges provided for the dwarrowfolk, and paid scarcely more attention to the Master's speeches once they arrived. After so many weeks in their company, he knew well enough what they would say, and how he ought to respond, if required. His attention instead remained on Biliana, whose face paled steadily as they approached the open waters of the Long Lake. Her pallid face took on a touch of green when she saw the shallow fishing vessels weighed down with their provisions, and her lips had constricted to a tight white line before Dwalin helped her step into their transport. Struck again by the courage - past and present - of their clearly terrified hobbit, Balin left his place beside Thorin as the bargemen pushed off, coming to sit next to his new niece.
The Lake in the early morn was mirror-smooth, but as the dwarves set off, the disturbance from their boat caught the beams of the rising sun, turning dark water into ripples of gold. Despite the favorable conditions, Billa was unable to fully calm her shaking, and pressed closer to Balin's side; he wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder. He bade her close her eyes, and he sang lowly to her a lullaby he remembered from his own childhood. In time her deep breaths and his efforts lulled her to sleep, though her brow remained furrowed as if her dreams were troubled. As Balin held their sleeping hobbit, he turned his attention to each of the Company in turn, musing quietly that some were clearly more comfortable than others. Thorin, for his part, stood broodingly in the prow of the lead boat, staring at his approaching Mountain. Fili settled behind him, looking a touch grey from the slow rocking of the boat. Kili remained in semi-constant motion, sometimes sitting, sometimes jumping up (always giving a bashful smile in answer to the bargemen's glares) sometimes opening his mouth to pepper his uncle with questions, always thinking the better of it, and sitting down again with a sigh. Behind their king and his nephews, Dwalin stood with arms crossed, glaring at the men at the oars.
Biliana and Balin sat at the middle of the boat, with Glóin and Óin behind them, neither of whom seemed even to notice the passage of time, so engrossed each was in his own thoughts. After them came the Ri brothers, Dori pointing out recognized landmarks to Ori while Nori stood silent beside them. Last came the Ur relations, talking lowly amongst themselves.
Balin sighed as the shores slipped by, lost in his thoughts. Beside him, Billa stirred, waking from her sleep. Her gaze turned to the land before them Though her hands flew to her mouth, she could not swallow her soft cry.
"What is it, lass?" Balin turned sharply, catching sight of what had her so transfixed. "Ah." The dwarf stood still for a long moment, his face grim. "Tis the Desolation of Smaug.
"The hills and slopes around Erebor were once green, and filled with trees," he told her, gazing at the stunted trees reaching spindly arms to the grey sky. "Twas a beautiful place."
"I can tell," Billa murmured softly as their boat approached the shore at the foot of the Mountain. "Birches, and pines, yes?" Balin nodded solemnly, and the hobbit gripped the side of the boat tightly as she watched the shore draw close. "They're still trying to grow, poor things."
"Tis such a shame," Balin said. "I wish you had been able to see it as it once was. Trees with trunks so wide around that ten dwarves together could not reach round." He smiled, his face creasing and eyes going misty. "Flowers blooming everywhere in the spring, and herbs coming through in the summer. I used to bring Himla a bouquet every eventide."
"'Bout buried her in flowers, he did," Dwalin added from where he stood, a smile curving his craggy face. "She pressed every one."
Billa smiled softly, and settled her hand on the arm of the white-haired dwarf; the trio stood quietly for a moment, lost in thought "There is still life here." Billa broke the silence with a determined little nod. "When the blight of the dragon is gone, this place will thrive again."
Balin's brows lifted, feeling a faint gleam of hope lift is face. "You think so?"
Billa gazed at the barrenness again, looking not at its desolate state but past it towards the future. "I know so." With a twinkle in her eye, she nudged Balin. "I am a hobbit, after all."
It roused a chuckle from Balin, and as he opened his mouth to answer, the shallow draught of their barge rasped over a sandbar, stealing his focus.
The boats beached upon the far shore. Man and dwarf alike paused, seized with a sudden mix of fear and solemnity. Even little Biliana remained still and quiet upon the barge, perceiving the gravity of the moment.
Thorin shook himself and cleared his throat. He stepped suredly off the vessel and on to the
rocky beach, his red cloak lifting in the wind behind him. His subjects scrambled to follow, but the boatmen remained on board their barges, handing over their cargo without speaking.
Poor Billa could not fully conceal her relief upon stepping back onto solid ground. Dwalin thumped her shoulder once in solidarity before taking his place half a pace behind Thorin, fingers twitching towards his axes as he watched their surroundings warily. The others of their Company assisted in the offloading of their supplies, and soon the work was done.
The bargemen did not linger - faith in their old songs faded under the shadow of the Lonely Mountain. Almost as soon as the last pack had been handed over, they pushed off, rowing back towards Laketown and the safety isolation promised.
"Come along," Thorin ordered, beginning the trek along the old land path to meet the men who journeyed the long way round, bringing their ponies along the shore.
Once they arrived, Balin stood with Thorin as the King formally thanked the men. Their leader, a youth of maybe twenty years, lean and spare-framed, bowed from horseback.
"Twas an honor," he said proudly, though his voice trembled a little, and Balin thought he heard a bit of a squeak. The young man cleared his throat before continuing. "We look forward to the reclaiming of the Mountain," he said.
Thorin's eyes narrowed, and Balin spoke for him. "As do we, lad," he smiled kindly, and Thorin nodded stiffly, a clear dismissal.
The tension of the moment did not seem to bother the men, and they rode away in high spirits, as though a great weight had been lifted from their shoulders by the mere presence of the dwarves on the least slope of the Mountain.
Thorin rolled his shoulders. "Let us make the best use of the daylight," the king ground out, turning to stalk toward the ponies. Balin brushed off the brusqueness; the King would be under the most stress of them all, with the Mountain so close, and the dragon's dark influence tainting it still.
The Company fell into their old riding patterns from before Rivendell, Thorin riding behind Dwalin, flanked by Balin. Behind the trio, Fili rode with uncharacteristic quietness; glancing back often. Balin noticed more than once the way that Fili's eyes rarely strayed from the Mountain above. Even Kili seemed somber, riding beside his brother in quiet solemnitude.
Behind them, Óin rode hunched over on his pony; Billa and Glóin just after him, Glóin offering sparse commentary on the conversation between the remaining dwarves. Billa seemed quiet to Balin, her brow creasing in concern as she observed the sons of the Line of Durin, though she seemed equally interested in the animated discussion.
"The Master is obviously corrupt," Bofur announced to the grunted assent of the others. "He's no better than a greedy, thieving Durthurathkh!"
"Be that as it may, keep that word out of your mouth," Dori retorted testily. "You'll bring ill luck down upon us, like as not."
Bofur snorted at that, but Bombur's quiet rumble kept him from arguing.
Dori sighed fussily. "You are not wrong," he reiterated. "What on Mahal's good stone are we going to do about him?"
Bifur grunted a short phrase. "Adruf zelaf-hû."
"Tis not a bad idea," Nori replied, earning himself a snort from Glóin and an aghast expression from Dori. "Ending him." he explained to Biliana, leaving out the fully violence of Bifur's suggestion.
"And who's to say that rat Alfrid won't take his place?" Glóin wanted to know. "Be a shame to off the lazy, complacent evil and put that slimy kakhuf inbarathrag in his place."
Balin frowned at the lot of them, and his former student responded to the silent rebuke before the others. "What of the people?" Ori asked plaintively. "They are one thin season away from starvation!"
"Can't trust the Master to do right by 'em," Nori agreed. "I saw them hiding away what they could, but his spies are everywhere."
"Trade might go a long way to helping them get back on their feet," Bofur agreed.
"But what's to stop him taking that?" Nori argued.
"Adjân," Bifur offered darkly.
Ori smiled brightly at the scarred warrior. "Hope," he repeated. "They have hope now, that we have come to reclaim the Mountain."
Bofur looked remorseful, but spoke up anyway. "He meant it the other way, lad," he said heavily. "They're too hopeful now, too expectant that we're going to be fixing everything."
Dori snorted. "Not even Durin Himself would stir to aid those who'd not help themselves."
"But can we?" Ori implored. "Trade agreements of old were quite explicit that the wealth would go to the good of the town-"
"Comes back to the Master and his inability to care for any but his ownself," Glóin grunted. "The lot of them are fools if they are not ready to put in the sweat of their own backs to deposing that man."
"Not to say it shouldn't be done," Nori said, his voice strangely thoughtful, and Balin glanced back again at the tone in the thief's voice. Nori's grey eyes challenged Balin's mild disapproval for a moment, and Balin thought the dwarf might elaborate on his thought, but Kili's yelp of dismay drew all attention.
The Company crested the ridge as the sinking sun glowed red and angry in the west, casting bloody light over their the first view of the vast ruins of Dale.
The marks of the dragon were many in the valley; dragon-fire had all but melted what had been the tallest tower of Dale, from which Girion had mounted his assault of the dragon. Scorch marks remained burned into the stone buildings, marking where wooden structures once stood, and great gouges were torn out of the barren landscape.
Billa caught a soft sob, pressing her hand over her mouth, and Dori nudged his pony closer. "Dale," he told her, looking impossibly sad. "A merry town, back then."
"Why would the dragon attack this town?" Billa asked softly. "There could have been no reason to target Dale."
"A dragon needs no reason to destroy," Balin answered solemnly. "He ravaged Dale simply because it was there."
"We camp above Dale tonight," Thorin decreed, cutting through the morose conversation and starting off again, glancing back only to see if Billa and his nephews followed.
Balin caught a glimpse of Dwalin frowning, and cleared his throat. "Let's keep moving." His gaze was heavy as it caught on the white scars torn into the grey stone by the fierce claws of the dragon. "We've a fair piece to go." The dwarven Company skirted the ruins; Dwalin called up Nori, and after a few terse words, the thief dismounted and disappeared into the brush.
The moon was rising above them as they reached a clearing, and Dwalin called a halt for the evening. Balin thought he saw the king scowl at Dwalin, but it must have been a trick of the light, for Thorin was the first to dismount. Nori reappeared shortly, carrying half a dozen hares on a line.
The brilliant light of the moon was more than enough by which to set up camp, and the work was done quickly, Bombur roasting Nori's prizes before too much time had passed.
Balin thanked Billa for bringing his meal, smiling more broadly when she settled beside him, between himself and Thorin. "Are you doing all right?" he whispered conspiratorially. "Tis been a harder day than anticipated."
She gave him a weary smile. "I am doing as well as can be," she replied, just as quietly. "There is a lot of pain here; much needs a healing touch."
On her other side, Thorin's eyes narrowed in the firelight. "Biliana," he said politely. "How are you faring? You are not feeling any ill effects from your malady?"
Billa flushed, shifting in her seat to angle herself more toward Thorin. "Oh, no, none at all! I was very well cared for in Laketown; I don't believe I will see any lasting effects from it."
"Excellent," Thorin said, and gazed out at the shapes of Dale in the moonlight. "This was once a thriving center of trade," he remarked softly. "It is such a shame that all that is left is ruined husks."
Billa's eyes were focused upon Thorin. "What was it like?" she asked. "I have been to Hobbit market days, and some few in the nearby towns of Men, but none in so grand a town as this."
Thorin smiled softly. "I recall the walls and forges more than the markets," he confessed, chuckling a bit. "Twas rare that I was called forth from the Mountain, and when I did, it was to aid in forgework or patrolling. It was important to my father and my grandfather that the people of Dale knew and respected the Line of Durin."
"That is not to say that you did not get into trouble," Balin said with a fond smile. Billa settled back, looking between the two dwarves. "Was it not you and Dwalin who once spent an entire day dodging guards and drawing them into fruitless pursuits?"
"Did you really, Ruk'dad?" Kili asked, his face alight with mischief. "And you told Fili and me that princes ought to behave!"
Thorin outright laughed at that, dispelling the last of the tension Balin noticed in his face.
"However did you get away with it?" Fili wanted to know. "Amad always told us that Sigun'adad was rather strict, and his father even more so."
The king sat back, his empty plate at his side, considering his memory. "I believe we said that we were testing their response time to disturbances," he said thoughtfully. "Something about gathering information in order to make recommendations."
"Aye," Dwalin put in, not quite glaring as he shifted. "It was a grand thought - until Balin made us actually compile it into a sensible report!"
Fili laughed, throwing back his head; Balin was relieved to see the heir's mood lightened. He sometimes worried that Fili took too much on his young shoulders, and lamented once more that the lad's father had died so young; Fidûn had been an exceptional dwarf, and had eased the load of care the entire royal family bore so heavily.
"I remember some of the markets," Bofur said thoughtfully. "Bifur used to take us down into Dale on market-days."
"Id-manaru tesâk," Bifur said, almost gently. The scarred warrior's face had softened, and he gazed at his cousins fondly.
"That's right!" Dori exclaimed. "Bifur sold many toys down at the market, back then. I had almost forgotten, old friend." With a fond smile, he patted the shoulder of the warrior beside him. "Bifur and I used to trek down together, our wares sharing one cart."
"Dale was a very profitable town," Balin added. "The emissaries of kings and lords-both Mannish and Elven-would stay in the well-appointed inns as they sought our crafts, as did the few sons of Men we accepted as apprentices inside our Mountain."
"Men apprenticed in the Mountain?" Ori asked, his brown eyes wide in surprise.
"Oh yes," Dori chuckled. "Not very many, mind. But back then, the Mountain was the center of trade for all of northern Rhovanion, and much beyond besides, and the craftsmen with the most promise clamoured to be allowed to sit at our masters' feet."
"The Mountain overflowed with gold and gems," Glóin put in, smiling to himself. "I recall brokering several highly profitable contracts with the Elves of Rivendell, once upon a time." At Billa's openly curious face, he elaborated. "Elrond came searching for a jeweler to craft brooches for his sons, after their mother sailed over the sea, many years past."
"You made the broaches that the twins were wearing?" Billa gasped; Glóin smiled into his pipe. "They were exquisite!"
Glóin just inclined his head, settling back away from the fire a bit as Balin took up the thread of memories once more. "The entire region was full of life, and wealth, and of markets selling the most marvelous and beautiful things."
"Aye. Whatever good and beautiful thing that could be wished for by man or woman of any race could desire was for sale. And the toy market of Dale," Dori added with a twinkle in his eye and a smile for Bifur. "Was the wonder of more than one child's eye."
"That's what I remember, then," Bofur said, wonderingly. "The toys, at least."
"It-tesâk amahi," Bifur put in, smiling at his youngest cousin. "Ayud gal'ith hikhthuzul."
Bofur flushed. "I was a wee one!" he protested. "Bombur weren't much bigger!"
Billa gazed around the dwarves as they argued playfully amongst themselves. "How many remember the Mountain?" she asked Balin quietly.
Balin surveyed the Company for a moment. "Óin and I found our tarbu together," he said thoughtfully. "We likely have the most memories of Erebor, though Óin knows Her slopes far better than I." He gave a soft smile to the hobbit. "If you can ever get him to talk, he spent much time growing healing herbs and studying their effects."
"A dwarf, growing things?" she asked, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "And here I thought not a one of you possessed a green thumb!"
Balin chuckled, continuing. "Dori was younger than Óin or I, but still of age and beginning the practice of his Craft before we were forced to leave. Glóin, Thorin, and Dwalin were not quite adults, but they each spent some happy years living within Her great majesty." He narrowed his eyes at the happily bickering Urs and Ris. "The younger sons of Mistress Rís were born on the journey, I believe?"
"Aye," Dori beamed fondly at his younger brother, who was settled back, smoking his pipe. "Nori was the first bairn born after we - left." His expressive blue eyes shadowed for a moment, but Dori shook it off. "He gave us all hope."
Nori looked mildly uncomfortable, and blew a supremely unimpressed smoke ring at his elder brother; Dori coughed, waving it away. "Bofur was the youngest of us in the Mountain."
"Not that I really 'member the Mountain, just yet," Bofur remarked, a little morosely.
"Oblit," Bifur pointed out.
"Oh, aye, I can recall some of those early carvings I made," Bofur replied. "Only I must not have ever looked up from it to see where it was I was carvin'!" He laughed, and more than one dwarf joined in.
"Wait until the day you you see Her halls once more," Balin assured him with a smile. "And you'll find you have more memories of Her than you thought."
Thorin cleared his throat. "That day will be tomorrow." His gaze rested on each dwarf individually. "Nobility has been given many meanings over the ages of this world, but none is truer, to my mind, than loyalty, honor, and a willing heart. Such nobility each of you have shown, keeping true to vows all others shrank from." His eyes lightened with pride. "For that, you will be honored when I sit the Throne of Erebor. And you, Biliana, for making this journey alongside us." His dark blue eyes lingered on the hobbit, who pinked beneath his regard.
"We've still got a distance to go," Dwalin grunted, breaking the moment, and Balin couldn't see a reason why his brother would be so dour this evening, so filled with hope and happy memories.
Thorin gazed at Dwalin, for a beat longer than usual, but his visage slowly softened into a wry smile. "He is right. Get some sleep tonight, all of you," he said, eyes returning to their halfling. "Dwalin, take first watch."
With that, the Company settled in for the night, anticipation lingering in the air.
Progress the next day was slower than expected. Seeing their homeland so desolate was even more dispiriting than the dwarves had anticipated. Again, Balin was made grateful for Tharkûn's choice in burglar; his niece remained alert and, if not eager, more spirited and focused than her dwarrow companions. She often asked to borrow the map from Thorin, which never failed to earn a soft if increasingly bemused smile from the king. Her resolve seemed to strengthen Thorin's, and together the led the search for secret ways to approach the base of the Mountain. Seeing them together brought a curious mix of pleasure and pride to Balin's heart, and even the bleak dead landscape around them could no longer fully depress his spirits.
His brother, on the other hand, seemed more dour than his usual wont. Balin noted how Thorin's solicitous comments to their little burglar were met with a deeply furrowed brow from Dwalin, and wondered at the cause.
"Billa, lass, what's troubling you?" Dwalin rumbled, his sharp eyes catching the slight wince the hobbit was trying so hard to hide. Balin looked to their niece in alarm.
"Nothing," she replied firmly, but her features remained slightly drawn. Balin frowned.
Dwalin nudged his pony up beside her. "Lass," he said sternly.
Making a moue of submission, Billa admitted, "I've got a bit of a headache. Would it be terribly inappropriate to take my braids down for a bit?"
Dwalin's booming laugh caught the hobbit by surprise. "Not at all," he replied.
"Oh, thank goodness," Billa said, and as her red-brown hair came tumbling down around her shoulders, catching their king's eyes. Balin caught sight of Dwalin scowling at Thorin's intent gaze. The King's eyes narrowed, annoyance slipping across his face before settling on amusement, and he returned his attention to the Mountain.
Balin reached across from his pony to pat the hobbit's hand. "Not every dwarf prefers to always bind his, or her, hair." He smiled fondly at her. "It is a common habit, to be sure, but there is no shame or scandal for wearing your hair undone. Truly, my dear, should you choose to stay in Erebor for long, I daresay your newfound position and wealth will bring many a dwarrow lady to follow your lead." The conversation lapsed as the track narrowed, urging their ponies into a single file line.
The eventual widening of the path allowed Balin to ride beside Biliana once more to respond to the questioning expression she had given him. "Even forgetting any of your personal accomplishments or charms," he mused, "your possession of a significant portion of Thrór's treasure will command significant respect."
Biliana blinked, as if just recalling a startling fact. With astonishment, Balin realized she had quite forgotten her contract promised her a significant share of the treasure. He shook his head with a wry chuckle.
"I for one, my dear, think you have more than earned your thirteenth share already, even before any deeds you may yet do." he couldn't resist a sly look at Thorin, who was gazing at their hobbit with a gentle look upon his visage.
"Were it in my power," Balin continued while keeping one eye on his unamused king, "I would give you riches beyond description upon reclaiming the Mountain. But many might fairly distrust my partiality."
Billa blushed rosily.
"I have earned your esteem, enough for you to even offer me kinship," she answered. "And - I hope - the trust and friendship of all this Company. That is rich enough reward for any hobbit."
"Well said!" cheered Fili. "Though, truly, ought to consider greater marks of appreciation for our most excellent burglar, for we shall all soon have more than we ought know how to use."
"Speak for yourself!" laughed Kili. "I know exactly how I plan on using my share of the gold!"
"Really?" asked the elder brother indulgently. "And what would that be?"
"Melt it down to make a herd of oliphants, of course!"
"A herd of golden oliphaunts?" Billa repeated, her eyes merry.
"Yes! With eyes of great gemstones!" Kili enthused, grinning. "Life-like in look and size, of course. We could get teams of goats to drag them around, and I would ride on top!"
"That would hardly be an efficient means of travel," Balin said, fighting a laugh. Kili shrugged.
"I'll be a prince in the greatest of the Dwarrowholds; I think a little inefficiency will be acceptable." he sniffed with pretend haughtiness. His demeanor soon broke, and all the Company gave themselves over to laughter.
Unfortunately, the grimness of the land and task before them did not allow their merriment to linger. No autumn leaves danced in the mountain-winds; the few stunted trees clinging to life had not yet released their small crumbled leaves. No birds nested in their thin branches, no creatures large or small wandered beneath their shade. Nothing of emerald hue could be seen anywhere.
Little by little, the Company's cautious path took them through the Mountain's foothills, and slowly hints of the dwarven kingdom before them began to appear. Very slowly, Balin realized, as if Thorin were purposely slowing their approach. Though whether that be dread of pain or fear of discovery, the old warrior did not know.
For the dwarrowfolk of old had chosen their stronghold with care. There was a point beneath the Mountain at which all paths transversable by man, elf, beast, or dwarf became visible to the watchful vigil of the Gates. Balin might doubt the vigilance of a beast long secure in its stolen lair, but the approach, as the dwarves called the spot, remained a perilous landmark on their Quest.
Inevitably, they came to the approach, where they must see the Gates and risk being seen. Even so, the fateful spot crept closer and closer, even as the mists of the cold autumn lake-air mixed with a foul-scented steam sludging down from the Mountain to conceal the path. Such conditions might serve them, as well, to avoid detection if the Worm kept guard, but it was not pleasant. Biliana shivered in her coat, and everyone sought to cover their noses against the smell.
Another hour passed, and the mist receded, though the steam remained. But it had thinned, like that from a kettle now removed from the stovetop. It had cleared away almost entirely just as the glorious sight of the Mountain Gates welcomed the dwarrowfolk home.
At that moment, all other thought flew from their minds. If the dragon was spying from the high perches the dwarrow did not note him, so lost were the dwarves of Thorin's Company in the longed-for vision of their stolen home.
But they dared not linger long within sight of Erebor's front doors, but visible they need be to seek the hidden path up to the secret door promised by the old king's dismounted from their ponies, attempting to remain inconspicuous, though such a term is rarely justly applied to Mahal's children. They fanned out along the northern ridges of the approach, seeking a side path up. Kili paused, mouth agape, staring at one of the titanic statues framing the Gates. Balin took a step towards the prince, to refocus his attention before his uncle noticed his distraction, the lad spun around, eyes alight.
"I found it!" he hissed, audible and yet not loud. "I found it!" He turned back to the statue, pointed wildly with one finger.
Indeed, Balin realized with wide eyes, he had. The geometric patterns along the statue's base disguised a steep stairway, leading up, up all the way to the guard's stone helm, where a path, now that Balin looked to see it, led off towards the mountain-face.
"You have keen eyes," Thorin praised his younger nephew, squeezing the lad's shoulder. Then he frowned. "We will not be able to take the ponies that way; Bombur, take them around back behind the Mountain and wait for our summons to the Gate."
The largest dwarf nodded, not hiding his relief at avoiding the climb before them. The others went for their packs, though Thorin took Billa's before she could..
"The path ahead will be difficult enough for you, little burglar," the king told her in a gentle tone, "without carrying your weight again upon your back."
Biliana blushed, but did not argue, and Balin thought she looked pleased. Dwalin crossed his arms but did not argue.
The climb took some time, and the numerous pauses were not wholly for Billa's sake. Still, they reached the top of the statue before the sun was more than halfway through her daily descent, and the moon could just be seen over the horizon.
There, they found what looked like rough steps curving upwards along the southern ridge. On they trudged, clinging to the rocky wall when the path grew narrow with narry an inch between the edges of boots and a drop into the valley below. Finally, the path opened up again, transitioning smoothly into an open bay, with patches of grass and moss for a floor and the sky for a roof. At the opposite end was a flat wall, smoother than the stone-face around it, and straight for several feet taller than the largest among them. Otherwise, there was nothing. Still, in his heart, Balin did not doubt they had found the keyhole.
Nori went to search, Dwalin following - most likely to break down the door with his own stubbornness - but Biliana stopped them.
"The map was vague about many things, but the moment of the door's appearance was not one of them!" she reminded her dwarrow. "Be patient, and wait. When the last light draws near, we will all need to be alert."
Thorin nodded, silently commanding his subjects to follow her instructions. Patience does not come naturally to dwarves save in crafting, and the added anxiety of the situation lead several to pace the small landing (which Billa soon named the doorstep). Some, however, remained tranquil: Ori worked on his manuscript; Bofur took a nap. Billa talked quietly with Thorin, leaning against the rock-face nearest the path they had taken up. Balin kept his eyes, as much as possible, tracing the progress of the heavenly bodies above them.
The Sun was fiery red, her hue bleeding onto the pale of the Moon. Closer and closer they came to each other, the Sun bowing to meet the Moon's reaching. Their dance continued until finally their lights mingled and they appeared almost to embrace. Little could distract Fudin's oldest son from the beautiful sight, save the vision of the mingled light dancing in his niece's hair.
Biliana rose suddenly, the fluid motion jarring in the stillness. She turned her gaze to the mountain face, the light of the sun and moon still caught in her hair like flaming gems. She pointed with excited energy, breaking Balin's attention from the striking sight of her flowing hair. He followed her finger to a small bird knocking a snail against the stone. Suddenly, he understood.
"Is that…" he heard himself ask.
"A thrush." his niece answered, a smile splitting her face. "Thorin! Hurry, hurry!"
Even as she spoke, a thin shaft of light traveled down, down the mountain face, coming to rest three feet above the ground. Their king came to the stone, key in hand. He pressed the key against the light-spot, and in it slide, finding its home in an invisible lock. Breath caught and hearts paused. Thorin turned his hand.
The sounds of heavy tumblers shifting brought a slow, hopeful grin to Balin's lips, even as tears began to stream down his face. Thorin released the key, and brought both hands up to press against the door. A moment, a groan, and the door gave way. And the dwarrow of Durin's folk looked back into their Mountain home for the first time since the coming of Smaug.
Thorin took a stumbling step into the corridor before them. There was no pride weighing down his form; even from behind, Balin could see the raw grief, longing, and relief warring within white-haired advisor followed his king inside, the other dwarrow close behind. Only Biliana remained outside on the doorstep, watching the silent procession with teary gaze.
Hands pressed against well-remembered stone. Shoulders bumped in solidarity, and no face remained dry. No words were spoken for many minutes, the sheer emotion of the moment robbing them of any voice.
Slowly, Biliana followed them in, coming to press her hand in the crook of Thorin's arm, where he stood before the sole carving in the passageway. He covered her hand with one of his, and his visage lightened as he gazed down upon her.
Voice returned to the dwarrowfolk, and tearful exclamations and sharp barks of incredulous laughter filled in the corridor in turn, though always more softly than was the wont of dwarven expression. Eyes glanced down into the shadows often, and ears remained alert for any sound in the depths below.
Balin came to where his king and niece stood together, eyes filling afresh with tears as he noted the carving before them.
"What is it?" Biliana asked in low tones, and Thorin stiffened. She opened her mouth again, most likely to apologize for Thorin's sudden upset, when Glóin answered her.
"The Arkenstone, lass. The greatest single gift the Mountain ever gave," His awe-filled tone faded into scorn. "And the refuge of a thousand cowards."
"It was seen as the crown jewel in the King's treasury," Balin explained. "And was a symbol of the King, much like his Raven Crown or Durin's crest, but after the fall - the King tried to rally the Seven Families around him, make them stand by their oaths, to help him take back Erebor. And they used the Arkenstone to justify their refusal."
Dear Billa started. "A dwarf refusing an oath? What -"
"They said they weren't refusing any oath," Dwalin grumbled. "Hid behind words, the filthy cowards."
"Upon our beards and our blades, our honor and our love," Glóin intoned, "we swear, for ourselves and all our kin, living and yet to live, undying fealty to the King Under the Mountain, he who holds in his crafty hands the Arkenstone; may our cheeks be smooth and our hands weak if we fail in our oaths to any son of the line of Thráin, heir of Durin First-Formed, who sits upon his carven throne. His face contorted as he finished. "Bah. They said it didn't apply, as Thrór neither possessed the Arkenstone nor sat upon the throne of the king. Said the same to Thráin, and..." he paused.
"And to me," Thorin said quietly but not softly. "When I came before them not one month before our journey together began."
Biliana met his eyes with a sure gaze.
"And that's why I'm here, isn't it?"
Translations:
Adjân: hope
Adruf zelaf-hû: Pidgin. Sentence: Adruf hû mahadrulni ahu zelaf; "kill him in his bed"
Amad: mother
Durthurathkh: Dourhands
Id-manaru tesâk: Market of toys
Kakhuf inbarathrag: goat-excrement
Kharmel: True Name; the inner name that is kept secret from all but close kin and closer friends
Oblit: art/skill/ability of the wood
Ruk'dad: Uncle, informal
Sigun'adad: grandfather, formal
Tarbu: Craft