Author's Note:
My duckies!
I am back! After many turbulent changes in my life, I have settled into a new job/career/vocation - and I'm back to writing FF. At the moment it seems that I will have time to regularly update only one story, but I hope it'll be a good one ;) I'm hoping to post a new chapter at least once a week.
Some of my other stories might get updates since I tend to be fussy if I have unfinished stories (which basically means I'm fussy all the times, since there are so many of them :D) If you want to read more of my writing (independent fiction and Potterverse FF) you can find my stories on Wattpad. The name is kkolmakov/Katya Kolmakov. I'm much more industrious and meticulous there, so no hiatus victims there :)
And now, to Middle Earth!
With willing heart,
Katya Kolmakov
It was in the grey early hours of morning that their company had finally reached Imladris. The cold Autumn light of dawn was chasing the stars away; and gentle breeze rustled in the leaves of the trees and stopped on a ridge, on the elevated path among the slopes overlooking the valley; and Wren saw her young companions gawk at the landscape in front of them.
"I have never seen so much foliage, so lush and lively; or water running so freely, in my whole life," Lothiriel muttered; and Wren threw the girl an affectionate look.
Indeed, compared to the grey and solemn shores of Dol Amroth, the opulence and the grace of Rivendell would be most stunning. Thanks to the skill and the gifts of the Elven architects, the dwelling was both similar to what Men built - and so far and incomparable in beauty and wonder.
Wren, on the other hand, felt longing for the halls and caverns of Erebor. In her years as the wife of King Thorin, Wren had grown to appreciate the dwellings of the Khazad. She had always felt such was her own personal choice, not brought upon her by necessity of her situation, but by her admiration towards the Dwarves' resilience and their stubborn practicality, so aptly reflected in their architecture. Presently, gazing on the filigree arches and bridges of the Elven houses, Wren craved to once again find herself in the safety of her dim halls, with their angular patterns and sturdy columns.
"Wren, could I have a moment?" Wren felt her husband softly touch her shoulder; and she pressed her lips in irritation. After their conversation the previous night, Wren felt regretful to have disclosed her secret of expecting another child, of which she now had no doubt.
She stepped aside, and Thorin stopped in front of her, leaning forward, his face just a few inches away from hers. She felt an urge to move away, she was still irked; but he clearly was just trying to speak discreetly.
"How do you want to act now, my heart?" he asked quietly. His humility and seeming obedience did not deceive her. He was just trying to pacify her.
"I am certain you have already devised a plan in your mind, my lord. Let us just hear it," she grumbled back. Thorin gave her a small smile, as if praising her for her perceptiveness, but she was in no mood for compliments.
"Both the Gondorian and the Princess will want to speak to the Elf," Thorin said. "I say, you have to join Lady Lothiriel in that conversation. It surely was your magic that brought us back."
"And you are intending to just stand back? Are you not rushing to enjoy your moment of fame and to gallivant your youthfulness in front of your old allies?" Wren's tone was venomous. Thorin tilted his head, giving her a soft look. She huffed a breath, and shook her head. "You are right, I am being unreasonably hostile."
"I never said that," he interjected, but she shook her head again.
"We need to put our personal aggravations aside. For now," she added pointedly, and he gave her his usual tilted nod. "I will go with Lothiriel and will speak to Lord Elrond, but may I remind you that you have been brought back to life as well. There must be a purpose to it as well. I say, we both speak to him and hear what he has to say."
He nodded again. "Wren..." She knew this tone - the warm, cajoling baritone, diving low, wrapping around her name. Thorin, son of Thrain was never good at waiting - he clearly wished to solve their disagreement now. She did not think it was that easy to solve.
"We will speak later, Thorin," she said firmly. "Let us return to the world of the living first."
She turned away from him and started marching down the path. Behind her, she heard a rumbly grunt, signalling that her royal husband was not pleased, but then he just followed her in silence.
They stepped onto the round square, and Wren looked around, drinking the familiar view with her eyes. Last time she had visited the place had been more than three dozens years ago. It had been an early Spring then. She had entered through these very gates, on a pony, in the company of three of her children. They had been returning from her last long journey - to visit relations in Ered Luin and Master Baggins. Fruit trees had been in bloom; and her heart had been joyful and proud.
It was now the twenty fifth day of the second moon of Autumn, or the nineteenth day of the month of Quellë in the Reckoning of Rivendell. Yellow and burgundy coloured the trees of the valley; and Wren's heart was heavy. For the first time in her life she saw in Autumn - her most favourite season - a touch of goodbye, a foreboding of partings, a shadow of what was to come. She looked down at the paved path they were taking and saw a fallen leaf of a rowan tree - bright and red, the colour of blood, of fire.
"Welcome to the Last Homely House," a silver voice rang in the courtyard; and Wren looked up. A male Elf was standing in front of them, dressed in the traditional Rivendell fashion, including a long and swan-necked dark blue doublet. Two guards had stopped behind him, and Wren saw their attentive eyes in the cuts of the helmets. "I am Gilrandir, the Gatekeeper of Imladris. I welcome you to the House of Lord Elrond."
"Le fael, hir vuin. Guren glassui," Wren thanked and gave the Elf a small bow, old ceremonial habits returning quickly. Thorin joined her, regal but courteous. Aglahad and Lothiriel seemed uncertain how to proceed; while the Gondorian gave the Elf an haughty look over.
"How shall I announce you to my Lord Elrond?" the Elf asked; and his eyes ran their admittedly colourful company.
"Tell your master that Boromir, son of Denethor, the High Warden of the White Tower, Steward-prince of Gondor, is here to seek his audience." The Gondorian's tone was demanding. The Elf gave him a polite nod.
"And what shall I say about your companions?" Gilrandir asked, and then looked at Wren. "Man esselya ná, hiril vuin?" he addressed her, and she opened her mouth to answer - still unsure what names she was to give him - when another figure appeared.
"Nan Aear a Geil! I do not think any introductions will be required here."
Wren knew this voice!
"Greetings, my Lord Legolas!" she said; and her eyes met the bright blue ones of the Mirkwood prince.
Indeed, Wren could never have imagined that such shock could be etched on the cold noble face of the Sinda! She quickly wondered if her husband was presently doing a happy jig in his mind. Surely, the boggled eyes and the slacking jaw of the Elf were exactly the expression Thorin had hoped to see on the faces of all their friends and acquaintances were they to encounter Thorin and Wren these days.
"Well met, Filegethiel Eleirandir," Legolas muttered in astonishment, and Wren softly laughed at the old moniker. She had not been called the 'dreamwanderer' for decades. The moniker had been given to her by King Thranduil, and had been mostly used by the latter when he was in the mood to annoy Wren's husband. It had always seemed to Wren that the history she had shared with the Elvenking had been just another trifle aggravation the two kings had enjoyed to bicker about. "Are my eyes deceiving me?"
"They are not," Thorin answered; and the Mirkwood prince shook off his stupor and looked at the Dwarf. Bows were exchanged; and the Elf shook his head.
"So many pressing matters are to be discussed today, so many exigent measures are to be taken - and yet I feel your… visit will not be outshone," the Elf drew out. He turned to the Gatekeeper and explained that while the visitors were to be shown inside and welcomed, Lord Elrond was to be summoned as quickly as possible.
"You will be provided with shelter and food." Gilrandir gestured, inviting them to follow him. One of the guards quickly disappeared. "But I wonder how soon Lord Elrond will be able to see you. The council is to start in just two hours."
"Council?" Wren asked. They were now walking after the Elf, Thorin near her, in his usual confident manner. The Gondorian followed, his face aloof; while Lothiriel and Aglahad walked exchanging unsure looks. Wren could understand their confusion, as well as the Gondorian's displeasure. Both Boromir and Lothiriel were used to being treated with respect and to being in the centre of everyone's attention. At the moment they were pushed at the background and as if taken for Wren and Thorin's coterie.
"Yes, my lady," Gilrandir answered. "Lord Elrond is currently accepting many distinguished guests from all over Arda; and a council is to be held this morning. Some of your compatriots are among them," the Elf addressed Thorin with a respectful nod. "Am I to understand my lord is a Dwarf from the Kingdom of Erebor? I seem to notice a familiar semblance with some of our guests."
"Which guests?" Wren asked, interrupting greedily, her heart suddenly thrashing in her throat.
"Your son Dain is here," Legolas answered from behind Wren, and she whipped her head. She saw how intently the Elf was peering into her face. "And your daughter. They are accompanied by several warriors from the Lonely Mountain."
"Dain and Unna..." Wren breathed out, and looked at her husband. Their eyes met, and she saw the excitement, agitation, hope, and shock all mixed in his cerulean irises - and she knew the same emotions splashed in her eyes. Their children were there! They would see them!
"M'imnu Durin..." he mouthed. In Durin's name. "Ushaktul, our children are here!"
Wren felt her lips tremble, and she stretched her hand to him. His fingers grasped hers, and he squeezed them tightly.
"Where are they?!" Wren asked the Mirkwood prince. "I need to see them immediately!"
That was the moment when the Steward of Gondor seemed to have lost his patience. "Surely, it is no time to play with infants!" he barked, and sped up, catching up with the head of their bizarre small procession. "I need to see the master of this House!" he demanded of the Gatekeeper. "Council or not, my mission here..."
He did not get a chance to finish his irritated shout, since a booming voice rolled through the halls in front of them.
"Where are they?! Is it true?!" Loud steps drummed in the passage ahead of them; and around the corner there appeared a tall figure, disheveled and as if flapping large grey wings.
"Tharkun!" Thorin exclaimed.
"Gandalf!" Wren cried out, and the two of them rushed ahead, without releasing each other's hands.
"Is it true about our children?" Wren shouted; "How are you here?" Thorin asked at the same time.
"Thorin!" The Wizard froze a few steps away from them; and they stopped in their tracks as well. The Princess and her squire had to dig their heels into the ground as well, being in danger of trampling over Wren and Thorin; while Gilrandir just lingered by the wall, without participating in this ridiculous game of grandmother's steps, which Wren children used to be so fond of.
"Valar be merciful, Thorin and Lady Wren! Can this be true?" The Wizard flailed his hands, in his usual manner; and Wren could not hold back a smile. In the madness and confusion of the latest events a familiar face was a welcomed and heartwarming sight.
"Can it?" Legolas suddenly asked. "Are these people truly the King Under the Mountain and his Queen?"
Wren felt a heavy look at the side of her face, and she knew it was the Gondorian's gaze. Aglahad gasped in shock behind her.
The Wizard stepped forward, and his hands lay on Wren and Thorin's shoulders. She met the studying look of his sharp grey eyes directly; and he scrutinized their faces for a few moments.
"Well, stranger things have happened," the old man muttered, and Thorin laughed suddenly.
"Indeed. Shall we just agree that it is once again one of Lady Wren's tricks and accept that the two of us are back?" he asked; and the Wizard's face lit up with an impish grin.
"Is it? One of Lady Wren's tricks?" He shifted his eyes at her, and on some childish impulse she shrugged.
"We know as little as you, or perhaps even less, Mithrandir," she said. "And now tell me where my children are."
"Oh I have quite forgotten! The council! They are preparing for the council no doubt." The Wizard's eyes lingered on them for a few more seconds, and then he released Wren, and patted Thorin's shoulder. "It is good to see you, old friend."
The Dwarf returned the smile. "And I am joyous to see you, khuzdbâha."
Once again it was the Gondorian who brought everyone's mind onto the question of the present. "Will these empty niceties end already?" he growled.
"I cannot argue with our friend here," Thorin said, and Wren nodded. "We all have things to explain and to hear explained."
"Then perhaps a small council before the main council is due," Gandalf muttered; and followed by all of them he headed along the passage.
