27 November TA 2942
Comfrey stamped her feet quietly as she followed Grómi across Erebor's battlements. Each breath puffed out from the nostrils of the guards they passed, and Comfrey had taken to holding her coat over the lower half of her face to avoid betraying her presence with her own exhales. A brownie could shield much, but air was not within her abilities. She suspected no brownie had ever been able to do that.
Grómi paused, his gloved hands swiping across the balustrade, sending snow falling far below onto the ground. Her dwarf, one she held in esteem much as an elder brother, peered into the night, seemingly impervious to the snow that fell upon his blond braids and full beard.
Dwarves were blessed, she decided with a spurt of envy, puffing warmth onto her own frozen digits.
Movement teased the corner of her eye. Comfrey inched between Grómi and the guard next to him for a better vantage point. What was…? Her eyes widened, for gliding up the sloped incline leading to Erebor's doors were two Nazgûl. Bouncing on her feet to keep life in her limbs, she nibbled on her thumbnail. The three already plaguing Erebor had been conspicuous in their absence of late, something that had bothered Angelica quite a bit. Were these additions or had two departed for some nefarious purpose, only returning now?
The ghastly pair drew near, keeping to the shadows thrown by the mountain. The first whiff of unease reached the ramparts, brushing Grómi and the guards on duty. Comfrey eased away as Grómi's muscles bunched and the line of dwarves to either side of him suddenly took up a lot more space.
All-Father roast them. Why did the creatures persist in plaguing the brownies' dwarves? Her thumbnail disappeared between white teeth a second time. Thorin had forbidden them from following the creatures, but if they were moving in and out of Erebor, more than simple observation was afoot. They were reporting to their master, possibly putting plans into action.
Comfrey grunted, unmindful of being heard as she tossed her long braid over her shoulder and left Grómi's side at a jog. Orders or not, she wanted to know what these two were up to.
OoOoOo
Nutmeg was crossing one of the three bridges above the First Hall at Erebor's gates, her feet swift and sure and her needles in hand as she knitted the hundredth or so red stocking of the day. Each must have the name of its recipient upon the cuff – Angelica was adamant on the point – but with none of the brownies able to read, it was a slow process of Angelica sketching each dwarf in the mountain, Pepper showing the page to her host-family, and the dwarves finally writing down the runes needed. To hasten things, Nutmeg, Clove, Hyssop, and Angelica had taken on the task of creating the stockings. It was Pepper's sad task to embroider the names across each cuff under her host-family's direction.
It was happenstance that her gaze wandered off the side of the bridge to the floor below, happenstance that she saw Comfrey trailing two of the Nazgûl in her heaviest coat. Nutmeg's steps faltered, and she inched closer to the bridge's edge, leery for it had no railings. Her knitting needles continued to fly as she watched the trio progress beneath her perch.
What was Comfrey doing? Thorin had ordered… She inhaled sharply as three more of the fell creatures emerged from a side passageway.
Five of them. Comfrey must have seen the two newcomers enter and followed. Needles accelerated until they clacked at a frenetic pace. Below, the five creatures walked in formation, one at their helm. Their path was set. They had a destination.
Thorin.
Nutmeg dropped her needles and ran.
OoOoOo
A hint of familiar dread and despair brushed by. Clove saw the way Fíli stiffened, and she hesitated. After that day Ríkin had brought the brownies' ideas to Kíli, she'd begun to take hold of his hand at night, to touch him when she was near. She'd feared to do more, but now…
She clutched fistfuls of her skirts, tempted to kiss the strong line of his jaw. That would be admitting she lingered to watch him without informing him. Truly, it was an embarrassing impulse, but she hadn't been able to deny herself. Tearing herself away, Clove rushed from the room, thankful for Fíli's habit of leaving the door open for her. Her steps faltered. What she saw made her want to barricade herself and Fíli inside his chambers.
Five Nazgûl stalked towards the king's study, the malice pouring off of them more potent than anything she'd felt heretofore. Beyond them, Comfrey followed on tip-toes, and Nutmeg was swiftly catching up from behind her. Was Angelica still watching over the king?
Hands clutching the needles and stocking she'd been working upon, she dared to dart into the hallway ahead of them, heart in throat as she bolted for the king's study. They had to protect the king, for there was not a shred of doubt in her mind that this time, they meant to see him dead.
OoOoOo
Cicely was exiting Balin and Dwalin's quarters when she saw them – a handful of Nazgûl prowling down her dwarves' Halls as if they owned them. Her hands tightened about the silverware she'd removed from Balin's kitchens to polish this day.
The creatures passed without any awareness of her presence. The despair and horror pouring off of them brushed by with a strange ripple to her sense of place, but she sniffed. She'd lost all of her children but one, and that one looked as likely to die on her as the others. She'd endured a marriage foisted upon her by an echnari with too much time on her hands, a marriage both loveless and cruel. These things? She feared them not at all. What could they do? Kill her? She snorted to herself as she watched them. Death held no terror for her. She rather thought of it as the only shining adventure left to her.
She felt a brief pang of pity for her daughter. Perhaps Hyssop's fragile state was Cicely's fault. But how could her daughter forget so quickly the lessons of Faerie? Security lay in authority and power, and her daughter's choice of host-family had neither.
Following the Nazgûl with her yes, it quickly grew apparent where they were headed. They seek Thorin's life again.
No. No, she'd not have it. She'd not see the young prices robbed of the dwarf who stood as a father to them. She'd not have her Balin grief-stricken by the loss of one of his dearest friends. There was not much good in the worlds that she could see, but in Balin, she'd found a gem worthy of her service.
Over my dead body. They could not have Thorin, and that was that.
Cicely set the spoons down next to Balin's door. It wouldn't do to have them jangling about, betraying her presence. Firming her chin, nose in the air, she hurried after the creatures.
OoOoOo
Angelica perched upon a side table, legs swishing beneath her skirts as they dangled off the edge. Her eyes danced upon the king's features instead of watching the umpteenth stocking taking shape between her needles. Such a mixture of contradictions, the king. Stubborn and blind, yet generous and perceptive. It is time to open your eyes, my king. If he didn't rescind his decree soon, Angelica wasn't certain she'd be able to contain her impatience.
With a silent sigh, she grimaced at the stocking in her hands. Suggesting stockings for each dwarf in Erebor had not been her finest idea. Oh, she well suspected they'd be received with gladness, but creating the dratted things was a monumental feat for seven brownies.
Six brownies, she corrected herself. Cicely viewed the entire venture as a waste of time and had opted not to assist. Truly, Angelica wondered if Cicely would ever recover from her past and embrace life again. She'd hoped… Hopes and dreams and puppy-dog tails. It had been less than a year. Cicely might yet surprise them, she thought.
Angelica supposed the brownies could have recruited Clove's two weaver brothers, Steinur and Stígur, to the cause, but that would be bending Thorin's command more than any of them were comfortable with. Too, the brothers were already being run ragged creating red, gold, and green fabrics for the hats, dresses, tunics and linens suddenly demanded by a mountain full of dwarves who'd caught Yule-fever.
Thorin's head whipped up a split-second before she felt it – the dreaded Nazgûl oppression, a thick, cloying sensation she'd not felt in months. She set her needles and stocking down upon the table, allowing them to pop into view as she padded on bare feet to the king's side. Her fingers brushed his hand, alerting him to her presence.
Thorin's eyes jerked in her direction, then returned to his desk.
The door opened, and both king and brownie startled. Dori, Angelica identified as the fussy dwarf hurried into the room. What he said to his king, she didn't know, but his fingers flew. Thorin set his quill down and stood, grabbing his heavy coat and throwing it over his shoulders. Orcrist was strapped to his waist. They managed three steps towards the door, unaware that three additional brownies – four, she corrected with a gasp of surprise as Cicely joined them – surged into the room to surround the king. Nutmeg, she noticed, tried to shield Dori, too.
Then, the Nazgûl unleashed their full, combined fury, and Angelica's sense of place shattered like dropped glass.
OoOoOo
Pepper and Hyssop padded down one of Erebor's little-used byways. Hyssop's needles whirled without pause, but Pepper was having to pay close attention to each pass of her embroidery needle. If she was remembering aright, the stocking in her hand would be Ori's, and she wanted to take special care for him. Any member of Thorin's Company deserved that treatment.
Hyssop muttered under her breath as a completed stocking was shoved in her work apron's bulging pocket. Without pause, the younger brownie began another one. From Hyssop's expression, Pepper deduced the younger brownie was as heartily sick of stockings as she. Pepper scrunched her nose, hefting the one she was working on in demonstration with a sad shake of her head. Hyssop's lips twitched.
She's improving, Pepper decided. The knowledge that Nyri and Nyrar held her in such esteem had been the boost Hyssop needed. Though the brownie was still weaker than Pepper liked, the improvement was a blessing.
A nightmarish sledgehammer of black emotions slammed into her with no warning. She fell to her knees, cognizant that Hyssop fared no better beside her. Pepper gasped for breath, shaking her head in an attempt to dispel the onslaught as her sense of place shivered in response to the walloping hit. By the All-Father. One hand lifted to the two, intertwined braids dangling from her right temple, the courtship and betrothal braids Ríkin plaited into her hair with silent intensity each morning, his determination overcoming the limitation of not being able to see what he was doing. The tangible reminder of her dwarf stabilized her, allowing her to breathe freely. Her head craned about towards the inhabited sections of Erebor where the emotional flood originated. Thorin.
Pepper reached for Hyssop, and the younger brownie jerked, the whites of her eyes showing. "Thorin," Hyssop whispered, echoing her surmise. The young brownie's petrified eyes turned her way. "We have to help him."
Pepper latched on to Hyssop's arm as the other brownie made to stand. No. She couldn't allow Hyssop to rush to Thorin's rescue. Not only did she doubt they could reach Thorin in time to be of any help, but Hyssop's face had bled of all color, leaving her as white as marble. She won't survive a direct assault. Pepper wasn't certain she could withstand such a thing, not if place was disturbed from so far away. While the brownies had been immune to previous attacks, Pepper feared this would prove to be altogether different. Oh, Angelica, be careful.
How? How could the Nazgûl be so strong that she could feel the fury of their attack from so far away? None of the previous assaults had carried a fraction of this assault's efficacy.
Foolish question. They had, and that was the end it. "No."
"No?" Hyssop wrenched her arm free. "It's our duty." Hyssop's lips parted to say more, but movement in the dark spurred Pepper to clap a hand over Hyssop's lips with a whispered, "Shh."
Hyssop followed her gaze, her thin frame quivering. Pepper didn't feel much steadier herself. Ríkin, you'd better be safe, too. Her eyes scrutinized the darkness in the pitch-black passages stretching before them. Was the emotional upheaval causing her to imagine things?
"I don't see anything," Hyssop whispered.
Nor did Pepper. She was about to apologize for her jitters when a number of dark-skinned, foul-looking creatures came out of the darkness…from within Erebor. Six. Nine. A dozen. Pepper stopped counting. Could these be the dreaded orcs? How could they have gained entrance into the dwarves' kingdom? Thorin never allowed either door into Erebor to be left undefended.
The two brownies shared big-eyed glances before slinking across gritty stone floor out of the orcs' path. Pepper tucked her body against one wall, squeezing between stone molding. To her left, Hyssop did the same.
Pepper held her breath as the first creatures hurried by, one coming so close the wind of his passage brushed her. Angelica had feared their ignorance of the Nazgûl's actions would return to haunt them. Pepper watched the mob of orcs pass and suspected their worst fears were coming to pass.
OoOoOo
Thorin staggered as darkness crashed into him with all the force of a collapsing mountain. Dori fell to his knees at his side, but Thorin could not lift a finger to aid his friend as he struggled to endure the assault. A shadow stole across the room until it swallowed every inch of the study from wall to wall. Both sight and hearing faded, leeched away. Thorin found himself in a void, unable to do aught but stand as the vile avalanche of terror, despair, and malice pounded down upon him.
"Die," he heard crooned in a grating, breathy voice.
Thorin faltered, unable to halt the barrage from overtaking his mind, robbing him of thought and strength. He feared in his soul. Alone. Helpless. How to fight such a thing? Somehow, Orcrist's hilt was in his hand, and the knowledge bolstered him. Gentle hands suddenly pressed against him, and small bodies surrounded him. A burst of scents filled the air: clove, nutmeg, and unfamiliar, spicy greens. Mahal. A thread of coherence returned. He was on his knees, he knew that. Air rasped into and out of his lungs beyond his control, his heart hammering madly.
The scent of his favored beer came to him. Why would…? Fíli and Kíli came to mind – he'd shared a pint of the malt beer with his sister-sons just the night before amid much laughter. With the memory, the darkness eased back a hair. The danger remained, Thorin recognized it in the strain upon his body, but his mind began to once more be his own and not a craven thing outside his control.
Besieged, he could only wait, clinging to memories the scents had brought to mind. Of one thing he was convinced before the attack ended – he owed Eru and Mahal an apology. He'd not have survived this had they not given him these brownies.
It ended as abruptly as it had started. Thorin toppled forward on all fours. An invisible, slender body slumped against him before falling to his side as Thorin struggled to breathe, his chest aching from all he'd endured. Sight slowly returned, bringing with it first a view of his hands curled against the carpet-covered floor.
Then he saw Dori splayed upon the ground at his side. Thorin stiffened. Dori was not moving.
OoOoOo
Tova had been approaching the king's study, determined to speak with him about their brownies, when it struck – a wave of darkness so encompassing that she staggered, slumping against the nearest wall. Her knees weakened, and the inexplicable horror set her heart to thumping. The Nazgûl, a distant part of her mind provided as she slid inexorably to the floor. Her son had warned them, hadn't he, how serious a matter their presence was? But he'd failed to convey just how terrible a brush with them might be.
The instinctive knowledge of danger escalated, and Tova's hand dropped to the hilt of her long knife. The blade was a gift from her Dalkin upon the eve before their marriage. His face filled her mind, heartening her. Her grumpy lover would be wroth with this event, she was sure. Images of the coddling she could expect should she survive curved her lips into a weak smile.
The cloying morass persisted until she longed to scream. Tova inched closer to the wall, the joyous peal of the bells in her beard sudden pinpricks of light that countered the dark. Tova forced her mind away from the emotions ravaging her, bringing to mind the faces of her loved ones, immersing herself in the joy they brought.
Time lost meaning. There was only the battle to endure, and endure she was determined to do. These creatures would not win. She wouldn't allow them any victory.
The feelings faded as abruptly as they'd come, leaving her wet with perspiration and trembling as if she'd run across Arda. Tova took her first deep breath. A dozen yards ahead, a door banged open. Prince Fíli burst from a room, stumbling towards... The king. Strength returned to Tova's wobbly legs. Climbing to her feet, she followed Fíli, her steps accelerating as her fear grew. Not once did her hand loosen its grip upon her long knife. If the Nazgûl thought they could take Erebor's king, evil sorcery or not, they had another thing coming.
OoOoOo
Grómi ordered the barracks emptied as soon as the fearful attack reached him. Eru, Mahal, and all the Valar. What sorcery was this? His lips flattened as he witnessed the vile magic's spread by the effect it had upon his people. The tainted feeling of evil caused Grómi's flesh to recoil, but he stood firm, lifting his voice to command additional warriors into position around Erebor's gates.
Well did he know the source of the attack came from the royal wing, likely an assault upon their king and his nephews. Dwalin's protocols regulated his response, even though the captain had departed Erebor with Prince Kíli early in the day and had yet to return. Grómi would guard this position in case of a simultaneous, external invasion. He trusted that Ríkin even now led another contingent of guards to the king.
OoOoOo
A diversion.
That's what the Nazgûl assault was. Oh, Pepper little doubted that the monsters intended to see Thorin and his heirs dead, but as hallway after hallway revealed to be abandoned, the truth became clear. The attack had sent families into the safety of their homes and the warriors towards the perceived danger. The orcs progressed swiftly, their passage unhindered and unnoticed. The Nazgûl had planned this perfectly.
Pepper and Hyssop followed the orcs on silent feet, utilizing every skill their decades in Faerie had taught them. The orcs never slowed. They knew exactly where they were headed, and at first, she frantically searched for a clue as to what they were about. The Nazgûl wouldn't cause the dwarves to rally to Thorin's side if they intended the orcs to kill him. So who…?
Pepper almost tripped. Hadn't the brownies noticed? Hadn't they wondered before? Turning fearful eyes upon Hyssop, Pepper mouthed, "Bofur."
OoOoOo
Fíli tore down the hall. The strength of the attack he'd just felt had spread far – a contingent of armed guards even now clattered in the distance, rushing down the long hallway towards him with Ríkin at their helm.
He didn't bother to wait for them, and he barely registered Ríkin's dam, Tova, running right behind him. Uncle. Fear ruled him, fear that the prophecy from Earth Realm might be coming true, that destiny would have its way and steal his uncle now after he'd survived his doom on the battlefield a year before. Fíli crashed through the study door, unmindful that wood splintered as the door collided with the adjacent wall.
Alive. His knees weakened. "Uncle," he managed, relief loosening the sword he didn't remember drawing from his grip. It clattered to the floor. His gaze took in the way Thorin panted, his posture betraying horrible weakness. And to his side…
Mahal, no. "Dori."
OoOoOo
Thorin's head reared up as his nephew burst through the door, barely noticing the matron, Tova, behind him. Thorin almost melted with the strength of his relief. For a moment, he'd feared the Ringwraths had next targeted his—
Kíli. Mahal, not him. Fear surged anew. "Kíli."
Fíli shook his head as he hurried to Dori's side and pressed fingers to his throat. Fíli discovered what Thorin already had, and his shoulders slumped with relief. Dori hadn't been slain. "He left this morning," his nephew said. "Dwalin and Nori are with him."
Relief turned Thorin's words harsh. "Without informing me?"
The barest smile ghosted across his heir's lips. "He intended you not to be aware of his departure." Fíli must have read the incredulousness upon his face, for he continued, "A young dwarrowdam captured his attention." Fíli's eyes sidled to the matron with a deeper trace of amusement. "He's in search of a suitable gift to gain her attention. One of the men of Dale has a reputation for carving trinket boxes."
"There was no craftsman in Erebor suitable?" The words emerged automatically. Little did he care who crafted the cursed thing.
"The point was to keep this from you, Uncle." Fíli's lips flattened. "For which I am grateful."
Agreed.
Then Fíli signed, *Brownies were here?*
Regret burned in Thorin's breast. He'd not have wished the brownies – especially their youngling, should she be here – to suffer in his place. It sat ill with him that he'd had no choice in the matter. He could not have ordered the brownies away with the Nazgûl bearing down upon him. And…Erebor needed its king. Now more than ever with the Dark Lord returned. Fíli would lead in Thorin's stead if it came to that, and lead well, Thorin was sure, but he'd not wish the burden of kingship to pass to Fíli during these perilous times.
Ríkin and a host of bearded dwarves burst into the room just as Thorin thought he detected a low sound. "My king—"
Thorin's hand flashed. "Make the hallway secure."
"Done," Ríkin growled. Thorin heard the junior captain bark his orders. Heavily booted feet took up position at the ruined door, some inside the room but most in the hallway. "How can we assist?"
Knowing the news was not going to be well received, Thorin directed to both his heir and the gray-haired warrior, *Brownies defended me. At least one collapsed at my feet. I know not if they live.* Mahal, but he felt helpless. Ríkin's swift inhale reminded him of the closeness the warrior had developed with the brownie, Pepper. Before I intervened. Guilt gnawed at his gut. The brownie might be among the fallen, and Ríkin never would have known why she'd vanished from his life.
Thorin reached out, then froze. To search the brownies for injuries would betray them, yet…
A sound broke the silence. Thorin was not the only dwarf to reach for his weapon. Something dragged against the floor. Ríkin eased closer, his steps careful, and placed himself between the noise and Fíli. A quick glance from son to mother, and Tova sidled to Ríkin's side, her posture one of confidence as she held her long knife at the ready.
Thorin listened more intently, knowing the others did the same by their postures.
The soft rasp returned, inching ever nearer to Thorin's heir. Muscles along Thorin's spine tightened in growing increments. Some Nazgûl trick? Or one of the brownies? Tova signed, *Clove?* an instant before a weak sob reached them. So low it only tickled the ears, a female moaned, "Fíli."
In a flash, Fíli was past the two protectors, hands sweeping the floor in search of the source of that cry. Thorin bit back words of protest. If a Nazgûl remained, the damage was done. Fíli dropped to a seat upon the floor and drew the invisible brownie to him. The expression that crossed Fíli's face caused Thorin's belly to twist with dismay.
"Fíli?" Thorin asked softly, his gaze flicking around the room.
"Alive," Fíli said shortly. Then in a harder voice, "I will not allow her to die, Uncle. Not even to keep their existence from the Dark Lord. Mahal. She's freezing." Angry, pale eyes burned up at him as his blond nephew ran one hand across the brownie in search of answers. "This is my brownie."
"Yours?" Thorin asked, taken aback by Fíli's hard tone.
"She protected me before, Uncle. She watched out for Kíli, too." Fíli's grip turned sheltering and…he pressed a kiss to the female's forehead?
What in Durin's…? No, he had no time for that now. Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose. And no, his people could not turn their backs upon these stubborn, aggravating, and… His irritated gave way, and he tacked on, and frustratingly generous people. His gaze turned to Tova, meeting the challenging look upon her face. Rikin appeared a split-second from joining Thorin's heir, his good eye scanning the floor with fury and alarm.
Thorin growled audibly and raked a hand through his hair.
"Gone," the brownie rasped, and Thorin froze.
Fíli's hand paused. "What was that?"
"The creatures. They left. Think the attack drained them," she said, and that fast, Ríkin and Tova were on the ground, scouring every inch for sign of brownies.
"You are certain?" Thorin demanded. There could be no room for error.
"Y-yes, Thorin," she said, teeth beginning to chatter.
Ríkin barked over his shoulder, "Ormur, Hlein, Nipar, hurry. We may have Helpers in need of aid."
Thorin scowled at Ríkin, but every guard to hear Ríkin's command bristled with outrage, concern and anger growing among them. Mahal. It was too late to halt this. "Do as he says."
The three rushed over, fanning out to spread the search radius.
Fíli spoke over the grumbles filling the room, "She's truly freezing, Uncle. As if she's been outside the mountain."
"I'm fairly certain you hold the brownie, Clove, my prince," Tova said.
"Clove?" Fíli pounced, his grip upon the brownie tightening and his pale eyes intent.
"Yes," the invisible female chattered, her voice so distorted the word was scarcely identifiable.
Thorin bent down to lend his aid in searching the floor. Tova exclaimed, clearly having found a brownie. "Not our Pepper," she told her son.
"Pepper isn't h-here," Clove managed.
"Not here?" Ríkin demanded.
"Safe," Clove said. "She and Hyssop…at the house."
Thorin's eyes narrowed. The statement meant something to Ríkin, and unless he was mistaken, his junior captain sported a new bracelet about his wrist. "You disobey me?" he growled.
Ríkin's eye focused upon him, his posture rigid. "Nay, my king. Nor did my lassie."
"He s-s-stumbled upon her," Clove offered. "Acc— Accident."
Thorin dismissed it with a growl. He'd question the dwarves and brownies both later. For now, he finished searching the room. "I can find no others."
"Aye, there's no more of them, my king," one of the other warriors said.
Thorin's relief was short-lived as he squatted by Tova. The dwarrowdam's alarm had him reaching out to touch the brownie. As Fíli had said, the little female was ice cold. "By Durin," he breathed. "What could have happened?"
Tova swallowed. "Withdrawing," she labeled, and Thorin cursed silently, recognizing the term from Angelica's instruction.
"What is that?" Fíli asked, agitated.
"'tis dangerous?" Ríkin turned to his mother.
Tova nodded shortly. "Your Pepper told me," she addressed to her son, "brownies must have a sense of place. Without it, they Withdraw." Her gaze slid to Thorin's. "And die."
"Y-you have C-Cicely. The others fled for their…families," Clove's voice came again. "Sh-she doesn't look good, Thorin. Please, you must send for Balin."
Rikin did not wait. "Ormur," he barked. "Find Balin. Quickly."
"Aye," the red-headed dwarf said before racing from the room.
OoOoOo
Bilbo sat upon his chair, inkpot tipped over upon the desk's surface and parchment ruined. A female no bigger than he shuddered and clenched him about the middle, her face buried in his neck and feet tucked up on his thigh.
The suddenness of her appearance held him frozen for a few seconds, but he cleared his throat, put the quill down, and gingerly closed his arms around her. That it was a brownie was without doubt, but why would one seek him out?
"There, there," he said, wracking his brain for distant memories of what his mother might say when he'd been distraught. "Chin up. All will work itself out." As she continued to shake, he frowned. That had not worked very well, had it?
OoOoOo
The battlements were in an uproar, and that was no exaggeration. Grómi had been sharing an observation with the guards closest to himself when the door onto the catwalk had blown open of its own accord, and an invisible force had shoved its way past dwarf after dwarf before throwing itself into his embrace like a dwarfling seeking its mother's lap. He'd been stunned, he had, but he'd quickly realized there was only one explanation – the Helpers had returned as hoped with the Yule celebration, and one now ran to him for protection.
Had the Helper felt the attack upon their king? A deeper scowl. Or had she been the focus of the attack?
He held the cold female to him, worry compressing his brows. Grómi drew off his cloak, wrapping it around her. "Helper," he said shortly to his warriors. Bushy brows all around flew high, and a handful of the dwarves closest to him offered up their own cloaks. Grómi added it to the barrier between the trembling lass and the freezing air.
Once he was satisfied she was covered, he raised his voice. "Alright lads, stop the chatter. Ye remember our king's decree." A motley group, his fellows, but they all nodded their bearded heads. Almost in unison, it was. Perhaps, he thought wryly, they'd been spending a mite too much time together.
He'd pondered these last months about the Helper who'd tended to them before vanishing all mysterious-like. He'd thought long on the matter and realized the only reason the king could have to quiet all talk about the Helpers was for safety. Erebor's or the Helper's, Grómi hadn't yet worked out, but he trusted the king.
For this reason, he silently signaled his troops back to business. No gawking at the knowledge a Helper shared the wall with them. No craning their necks to watch him carrying an armful of cloak-covered nothing.
Grómi manned his station, eyes narrowed and arms full of a quaking lassie, and waited for word of his king.
OoOoOo
Húni paced before the hearth he'd stoked higher as his wife, Sigga, held their Helper to her side. "Does she need more blankets, my treasure?"
Sigga hummed under her breath, her round face breaking into a beautiful smile as their son, Hori, materialized with a blanket ere she could answer. Sigga accepted the blanket and tugged it around their Helper.
"I knew she hadn't left us," Hori said, his strong features set into disapproval.
Aye, so the warrior-in-training had told him all along. Sigga hid a smirk at his beseeching look, informing him he was on his own. Though he was relieved their Helper was safe, Húni recognized he'd be eating crow this night.
His son's lips twitched, his already-full beard shaking with the effort not to laugh.
Húni looked at him sourly. Aye. Crow was definitely on the menu this night.
OoOoOo
"How about you? Who should we summon for you?" Fíli murmured into his brownie's ear with reluctance. He did not care for the thought that his brownie was somehow linked to other dwarves, but if this Withdrawing was a danger to her, by Durin he'd swallow his jealousy and pride and haul the dwarves needed to his lady's side.
Clove shivered, and he hugged her tighter, worried about the cold that still dominated her body. What had the Nazgûl done to her? What had they done to any of the brownies?
She sighed softly, fingers plucking at the sleeve of his tunic. "I disobeyed Yew."
Thorin's head whipped around, and he knelt beside them, face grave. "Your eldest," he said.
Fíli felt Clove's head nod yes where it rested against his chest. "She forbade us all from choosing any royalty for host-family. Since you are our rulers, it was only fair we take turns looking after you."
Thorin seated himself beside them with a low grunt. Fíli frowned, for his uncle's face was drawn with exhaustion. Thorin had waged a difficult war against the enemy this day, Fíli thought. "Show yourself," Thorin said with impatience. "I cannot talk to one hiding."
A part of Fíli went very still inside. Fierce anticipation filled him at the thought that he might finally catch a glimpse of the brownie who'd captured his affections.
Soft, sable curls popped into sight, spilling over his chest. Pale ears, long and pointed, extended to her temples. The body he held was slender – no surprise there – and wearing a simple woolen dress topped with a serviceable apron. Its tie, a large bow that rested upon the small of her back, made him want to smile. She hugged Fíli tighter, and he realized she was nervous.
The right side of his mouth hiked upwards. Nervousness was good, wasn't it? A sign she cared about his opinion.
"How did you disobey?" Thorin asked.
Small fingers again plucked at Fíli's sleeve, and a horrible suspicion reared its head. "You bonded with Kíli," he said, his voice suddenly tight.
Clove jerked back, and the most beautiful brown eyes he'd ever beheld stared up at him. Mahal, but she was exquisite. A heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, and full lips had never combined in such a perfect way before, he was sure. The tips of her ears and her cheeks flushed a bright red as she blurted, "Are you daft?"
Fíli's hands twisted about the fabric of her dress as her meaning hit him. She looked away in a hurry, but Fíli stared at the crown of her head, elated.
"He is my heir," Thorin said, his voice heavy with disapproval. Fíli turned to find Thorin's face devoid of any amusement as he stared first at Clove, then Fíli, a warning in his gray eyes.
Fíli's hands clenched about the fistfuls of fabric he held.
"I know," Clove said, the sorrow in her voice igniting a spark of anger in him.
"He will wed a dwarrowmaid and sire the future king of Erebor."
"I know," she said again.
Thorin weighed her words, nodding slowly.
Fíli slowly released the fabric he'd bunched and rubbed Clove's back, his mind racing. Thorin was wrong. A dwarf fixed his attentions on a female but once in his life. There was no dwarrowmaid in Fíli's future. Whether Thorin liked it or not, it was too late.
OoOoOo
Pepper plastered herself against a stone wall as an orc hefted the unconscious Bofur over his shoulder and past her, departing the home Bofur shared with his cousin, Bifur. Bifur…didn't look very good. The clubbing over the head both had taken had left Bifur splayed upon his belly on the floor, the ax blade embedded in his forehead escaping collision with the ground by bare inches. He's breathing, she assured herself, hands fidgeting with her embroidery needle.
The orcs filed out of the home, and one hesitated, sneering at Bifur. Pepper froze, hand fisting about the needle. Should she…?
Hyssop darted from the room, creating a ruckus in a bedroom, and the orcs rushed off. Not willing to risk discovery. By the All-Father. Hyssop's quick thinking had likely saved Bifur's life.
Pepper tiptoed to the door. The orcs were jogging away. Hyssop moved to pass her, but Pepper stopped her. At Hyssop's questioning look, Pepper asked in a whisper, "What do you believe the chances are that these orcs don't have a way out of the mountain?"
Hyssop's head whipped in the direction of Erebor's main gates, then back around. "None," she said at last.
That was Pepper's conclusion, too. "It's snowing out there," she growled. Eyes alighting on the fallen coat tree, she grabbed one of thick fur and bundled it under one arm. Her gaze landed upon Bifur. "Stay with him, Hyssop."
"No."
Pepper's glare collided with Hyssop's, neither relenting. "Hyssop—"
"I'm coming with you."
"Hyssop," Pepper tried again.
The other brownie snatched a second fur coat from the floor. "You are wasting time." Without another word, Hyssop raced off after the orcs.
Pepper growled aloud, then stamped one foot. "Pig-headed, obstinate, willful…" A veritable litany of appropriate descriptors flooded her mind.
Then a new thought interrupted her silent tirade. She snipped a length of red yarn from her work apron and tied it around Bifur's wrist. Then, frantically hurrying through the cousins' house, she tore the place apart in search off… Perfect! Snatching Bofur's battered hat from his clothes chest, she forced a hole into it using her needle and tied it to the yarn ribbon. With any luck, someone would figure out their Helpers were following Bofur.
Pepper then bolted from the house after Hyssop.
She had no excuse but panic for her failure to realize another key step she should have taken. As it was, her brain did not speak up with the obvious until she and Hyssop had followed the orcs out of the main passageways and into Erebor's pitch-black bowels. Fool. The dwarves would search Erebor for Bofur at some point, and she knew Ríkin would come for her, too, especially when he heard about the yarn around Bifur's wrist. What an intelligent brownie would have done from the start, she berated herself with a huff, was to leave markers so that the dwarves could follow.
Her hands delved into her heavily-laden apron pockets, and inspiration struck. Pepper wasn't at all sure how well the orcs could see in the dark. The sputtering torches they carried seemed to say not perfectly, but she hated to take risks with Bofur's life on the line. With a hand to Hyssop's arm to warn her, Pepper lagged behind until the orcs were a distance ahead of her. Then she dropped one of the completed stockings in the center of the road they traversed.
Let this work. Please, All-Father. Eru. Let this work.
And so it went. At every major intersection, a stocking was deposited to mark their route. Their progress took them higher and higher into the mountain's spire until Pepper knew that without those stockings, she'd be hopelessly lost. It was a good half hour later that both brownies ran out of the bright red markers. From that point on, the two resorted to snipping more yarn, tying little bows and placing them in places they hoped the dwarves would find.
Pepper's thighs and calves burned from the strenuous climb up the hundreds upon hundreds of stairs they scaled. Their journey spanned an hour. Two. More. It seemed they would never halt when suddenly, their destination came into view.
"Oh, no," Hyssop whispered into her ear.
Oh no was right. The orcs had bored a tunnel into the mountain from outside, creating for themselves an access point the dwarves knew nothing about.
We should have been following the Nazgûl. Pepper slicked a sweat-dampened curl behind one ear, her heart sinking. We should have convinced Thorin.
The wind moaned down the new shaft, bringing with it winter's cold, biting chill. Pepper hugged the fur coat to her chest. The orcs never hesitated. With much growling in their grating tongue, they filed through the narrow, rough-hewn passage in single-file.
Taking Bofur with them.
All-Father save us. With so much of Erebor uninhabited, years could pass before the dwarves discovered this tunnel. If they didn't find the stockings, if she hadn't placed the first one soon enough… The ramifications bit deeper than the frigid air. The orcs had discovered a chink in the dwarves' defenses, and Pepper had no idea what to do about it.
The brownies huddled together as the last of the orcs vanished into the tunnel. Pepper looked at Hyssop's shadow, wishing she could see her eyes. Wishing there was a way to order her back. But with the orcs' departure went their only light source. Attempting to navigate Erebor's stairs and bridges without light would be pure suicide.
Hyssop's hand groped for and found her own. Pepper hung her head. Then with a bracing inhale, she donned the coat, snorting sadly to feel it brushing the floor to either side of her. It was heavier than anything she'd ever worn before. Firming her shoulders, she headed for the crude tunnel's faint glow. If she and Hyssop could but gain one private minute with Bofur, the two of them could cloak him and steal him back.
A new worry. With the snowy conditions outside, the orcs' tracks would be covered swiftly. Wouldn't they? Her hand lifted to her betrothal braid. She just didn't know. Faerie had no winter. The echnari had never tolerated it but in small areas for their perverse amusement, and Pepper had never been misfortunate enough to be a victim of one of those games.
She took one hesitant step forward, then two.
Ríkin, Pepper thought with a touch of hysteria, was not going to be pleased.