Chapter Twelve: Almost
"I had a son."
― Thráin, DOS EE
Happy New Year!
Maria was exhausted, and it hadn't been long until sleep finally took over her. Nightfall brought an unwelcome coolness, softened only by roaring the flames that licked fresh logs in the pit. Inside the hall was now quite dark. Torches about the tall columns surrounding the hearth were put out. In the light of the dancing flames, strange shadows were cast on the pillars of the house, darkening as they neared the rafters like trees of the forest.
Everything was silent. The wind didn't even whip against the shutters and the lack of bird song, a merry tune during the day, seemed ominous. It was as if time stood completely still.
She chose a spot near the fire-place, huddling for warmth on a tattered blanket one of the sheep bore on its broad back. A few books were scattered around her form, lying open as if someone had thrown them aside in a fit, while others had been stacked neatly against a pillar and sorted by size. For some reason, three delicious red apples waited on a wooden bowl near the pile, a small kindness for the night in case she woke up famished.
A muffled sound – or was it the loud roar outside? - roused Maria from her sleep. She jerked awake, sprung up like one of the dogs had bitten her and gasped, eyes wide in fear. A quick glance at the dark hall gave away nothing out of the ordinary; there was no sign of their host or of its entourage. With a groan and a scratch of her head, Maria wondered if they had retired somewhere else. Perhaps they were intimidated by her and decided to leave, stalking away like thieves in the night –
'Shit,' she mumbled as a familiar dread bubbled in her stomach, shoving a hand inside her purse. Her fingers touched dry parchment and she relaxed, though her breaths came heavy and ragged, and her shadow a small thing that danced in the walls.
A dry noise, almost sounding like a sob, echoed from the back. Maria's head shot up, and she saw a dim light coming from the large table. She stood up, gripping her wand in a tight fist.
'Þráinn,' she called, walking slowly towards the source of the noise. 'Is that you?'
There was no answer. As she got closer, Maria made out the outlines of a body shorter than hers and the old man's unruly mane, a quivering shadow looming maps and charcoal.
'Why are you crying? Oh, for Merlin's sake – Lumos,' she flicked her wand expertly and a warm light illuminated the tip, casting light in the immediate vicinity. Blinking, Þráinn turned his head to stare at her magic in silent wonderment, a single tear falling from the end of his long nose.
Maria bit her lip.
'Is this because of what happened earlier? Your conversation with that Björn person, I mean,' Maria asked, frowning at the old man's grief stricken face. He only grunted, gesturing for her to sit next to him. She did so with an uncomfortable feeling, as if there was something everyone but her was able to understand and that she should know to act upon. After a brief glance at the scattered maps on the table, Maria remembered at least one important thing and her eyes shone with interest. 'One of you mentioned Erebor?'
Þráinn's breath hitched in his throat. 'Zardûna -'
Maria's eyes fell on one of the maps, narrowing at the detailed drawing of a dragon sitting on top a mountain. Although she couldn't read the runes written on the parchment, a quick glance at the remaining maps was enough for her to understand part of what was troubling the old man's mind.
'What's this?' she demanded, pointing at the dragon glowing in red ink. 'Þráinn,' Maria called in a softer voice, painfully aware of Þráinn's shudder. 'I'm not dim-witted, this has something to do with Erebor and Þorinn,' another shudder, 'I know you can't understand me, but only an idiot wouldn't at least think something odd was going on. I did hear your conversation with that man, remember? Now tell me which one this is, Erebor or Þorinn?'
Maria stressed the words and looked intently at Þráinn, raising an eyebrow in silent inquiry. The old man huffed, his large nose wrinkled in agitation, but he made no point to answer beyond mumbling, and Maria thought he was closer to the mad shell of his former self than ever. She sighed, shoulders sagging; whatever the matter was, it certainly didn't warrant such a reaction. In no way could his situation be worse than hers now that Þráinn was no longer in the clutches of the horrible shadow in the ruins.
Maria decided it was time for a change of plan.
'Right, you stay here,' she frowned, starting to stand up, 'and I'll go back to sleep. It's not as if you're being very helpful to your cause. Or mine, for that matter,' Maria patted him on the shoulder, shaking her head.
As Maria turned, she felt a bony hand grab her arm and pull her down. Behind her Þráinn sobbed and trembled again, and if the situation was not so heartbreaking she would've smirked victoriously at such a well performed deceit.
'Zardûna -' his voice broke, but Þráinn put a fist to his chest, staring up at her with tears streaming down his cheeks. 'Þorinn,' he said, 'inùdoy.'
Maria sat down again, though now she was the one looking up, eyes glimmering with ill concealed curiosity as she considered the old man from below. From this angle, he was taller than her by one or two heads.
'Þorinn,' Maria repeated with a frown, the word rolling strangely on her tongue. 'What's that, a heart disease?'
Þráinn did the same gesture a second time and a third, but his insistence was for naught. Even when he changed language less than subtly, – or so Maria assumed – she found it increasingly difficult to understand what or who Þorinn was.
Maria pinched the bridge of her nose, waving her hand dismissively. 'Alright, moving on. What's Erebor?'
Despite their troubles to communicate, the conversation seemed to have lifted Þráinn's spirits somewhat; it was as the old man had been given a new sense of purpose that Maria could not, for the life of her, understand. With surprising swiftness for someone his age, Þráinn rummaged through the maps and shoved one into Maria's hands that had certainly seen better days, illustrating a vast area of woods, mountains and small villages scattered across old parchment. Someone had drawn a dragon flying around one of the mountains, though she couldn't translate what was written below in black ink. Maria eyes widened and slumped further on her seat, realizing how far away from home she was.
'This has to be another world,' she blurted, staring at the map blankly. Across her seat, Þráinn observed her with pity. 'But how – Þráinn,' Maria placed the map on the table and pointed at it and then at them in askance. 'Where in Merlin's most saggy Y-fronts are we?'
Þráinn pointed at a house near the vast woods, uttering 'Björn' in a firm, but respectful tone.
Maria raised her eyebrows.
'Did we come from here?' she pointed at a drawing towards the bottom of the forest, tracing an invisible line from the house with her index finger. Þráinn nodded.
'What about Erebor and Þorinn? Can you see them?'
Gulping, Þráinn sent a distressed look in Maria's direction. After a moment of hesitation, he pointed at the mountain where the dragon was drawn flying near the peak, his whole arm trembling and he whispered 'Erebor'.
Maria blinked.
'That's not reassuring. What about Þorinn? ' she insisted, overwhelmed by all the information.
Þráinn placed a fist to his chest again, but then, like Maria, traced a line on the map, this time from the house to the mountain. Something told her this gesture meant that Þorinn was most likely a person and not an ill omen or something similar. A thought started taking shape in her mind; if Maria was indeed right and Þorinn was someone the old man knew, then he was going towards a mountain where dragons inhabited. Of course, Muggles wouldn't know about dragons. Perhaps there was a city or a village where witches and wizards like her lived, and they took care of this horde of magical creatures?
On the other hand, Maria wondered if this world worked differently. She dismissed the thought at once; it would be irresponsible to leave dragons unattended. What if one decided to attack a city?
There had to be some kind of wizard-folk in this place. Magic was all around, albeit under a different guise, but it was there all the same. Only a fool wouldn't be able to feel it. It was only logical that there were people like her somewhere, even if in a shorter number. As far as Maria was concerned, the giant and the old man had something definitely magical about them that she couldn't quite pin down yet.
'Ered Luin,' Þráinn mumbled, pointing at the range of mountains on the opposite corner of the map. Maria was snapped out of her musings.
'That's the place where you asked me to take you, yes?' she tried to convey her meaning, but was met with silence. For some reason, it struck her that this wasn't due to a lack of understanding on Þráinn's part, but for something else that had to do with Erebor and Þorinn.
Then, Þráinn pointed at the other mountain, a lonely thing at the edge of the map. 'Erebor,' he uttered, his only eye boring into hers pleadingly.
Maria sighed. There was a lot that could go wrong with this plan. If she was wrong and this world worked differently, then they'd be in a lot of trouble. One witch alone couldn't take down a dragon, and she certainly didn't think it prudent to go near one without a small army of wizards backing her up. However, it seemed silly to think that dragons would be on the loose in this world.
On the other hand, if this trip proved beneficial, then she would be able to return home to her father.
'Alright,' she nodded slowly, staring at the tears of joy that had started flowing again from Þráinn's eyes. 'We can go to Erebor.'
While less unexpected this time, his strong hug was a terrible thing, and a heavy weight set itself comfortably upon Maria's shoulders when she realized that a flaw in her plan would lead the kind old man to his death. Þráinn's laughter seemed almost like sobs, muffled against Maria's shoulder as he hugged her.
Behind Þráinn she noticed a large bowl with two red apples, half-covered and shadow, and bit her lower lip.
Much later, when the day started dawning and the giant returned to his halls, Maria sat on the front porch, watching fondly as Þráinn engaged in a conversation with the tall man. She took a bite to one of the red apples. While this would usually have been a pleasurable snack, Maria found that she had some difficulty shaking off the same weight she had felt on her shoulders since the previous night. She shifted her feet guiltily, looking at the old man as he caught her stare and waved back. The hopeful twinkle in his eye fueled by a strong determination that Maria didn't understand were bothersome, in the very least.
Maria nodded in his direction, feeling relieved when the old man turned back to the giant and resumed their conversation. After a moment of silent introspection, she placed the apple on her legs and gazed at the blue autumn sky, wondering about the intricacies of unlikely friendships and the price of desperation.
Guilt and remorse, she decided, were the worst feelings.
oooOOOooo
It took them the rest of the day to plan the journey, and another to gather supplies. Grudgingly, Maria admitted only to herself that Björn was a gentle giant. Despite his rough manners and general mistrust of her magic, he promptly offered them help when they needed, going so far as to allow Þráinn to bathe and change into a loose travelers outfit that she quickly enchanted to fit his short body. Now that he was clean and well-clothed, Þráinn seemed even more determined and, if possible, more stubborn. He had a few laughs when she failed at some meager, basic task that didn't involve magic, but somehow his eyes always managed to find the mountain far away, beyond the green woods.
However, as Þráinn's spirits lifted, Maria's lowered with each passing hour. The old man had gained a sense of purpose with their trip to the mountain, while Maria felt she was only biding her time in this strange world, ill-fitted to survive in a medieval era. It was cleared now that they had made a brief stop, resting at the giant's home during their visit.
Of course, Maria didn't find any of this amusing. Her frustration only grew when she unsuccessfully tried to start a fire the Muggle way, trying not to attract unwanted attention or Björn's reproachful stare. She thought him a strange wizard and wondered why he refused to use magic in front of her when there were so many signs of its existence, but decided not to raise the subject. It wasn't as if the tall man would understand her.
Even the animals were afraid of her, though by the end of the second day a few boldly headbutted her hand when she returned from a visit to the privy. The lack of proper bathroom facilities was perhaps the most heartbreaking development of all. Maria conjectured that the animals felt she was unusually frustrated, though she didn't know what to make of it. She had managed to keep her bladder in check until they reached Björn's house, but soon they would be on the road again and she'd have to make due. The whole situation was ludicrous.
Two days rest had been enough for the pain on her leg to lessen. Maria no longer limped, but neither could she run without hurting. A simple charm (Ferula) fixed the issue in little time, though Maria almost slapped herself for not thinking about it sooner.
Grumbling to herself, Maria stalked the halls of Björn's home towards the exit. Þráinn was already waiting for her outside, no doubt thanking the giant or exchanging a few concerned words with him in the same ominous tone that seemed to have lasted throughout their stay.
As she followed the wide track to the gate, Maria saw several of Björn's animals watching her with curiosity. She waved goodbye at them, feeling sorry to leave their company so soon, and quickened her pace; the two men waited for her ahead.
'Here I am,' she said, smiling pleasantly. The old man returned her smile with a nod, patting her gently on the back. He was much cleaner and a lot smellier after a couple of baths, and the short axe strapped firmly on his back was an intimidating sight for her to behold. It was surprising to Maria that he was able to keep his balance.
However, even though Þráinn tried to hide it, Maria could feel him tense. The lines on his forehead deepened as he watched Maria take out her broom, a mix of wonderment and fear.
'Muh-REE-uh,' said Björn, bowing his head at her. Maria fumbled with the buttons of her robes awkwardly.
'Björn,' she repeated the gesture with a nervous bubbling in her stomach. The giant stared at her as if he was considering something, and then took out a small dagger from beneath his vest. Maria tensed and she could feel Þráinn's hand on her back reassuring her.
When Björn handed her the dagger without so much as a word, Maria blinked, spluttering something incomprehensible. The giant only laughed, and his words were lost in her subsequent embarrassment. There was something about her wand and broom, she knew that much. Perhaps he meant to warn her to be careful and not to lose them, or else she'd be useless. Of course.
'Thank you,' Maria mumbled. Next to her, Þráinn gave a sharp nod.
Moments later, when the dagger was safely tucked inside her purse, along with all their supplies, Maria and Þráinn soared the air again, heading towards vast forest at full speed. The wind gushed past them; it was a fine morning, and if Maria's calculations were correct, it couldn't be later than mid-morning. They still had a lot of ground to cover before reaching the mountain, though they'd certainly be there before nightfall without any stops.
'I'm not going down there,' she drawled, pointing at the track underneath. It went through the forest almost in a straight line, taking a wide turn ahead.
'Zardûna -' Þráinn tugged at Maria's middle, and he too pointed below. 'Þorinn,' he said, and Maria could've sworn she heard the old man's voice quiver.
'Brilliant,' she grumbled, lowering in the air until they stood close – but not too close – to the tree tops. 'But I'm not going down there and risk more spiders,' she added, wincing with disgust at the memory of the unusually large black creatures.
Whatever Þráinn thought he didn't try to convey, though Maria almost jumped on their shared seat as the old man bellowed the name 'Þorinn' at the trees below them, over and over again. He cried out until his voice was hoarse and then continued for hours on a row. Eventually, Maria joined him for greater effect. Þráinn held on tighter to her middle, and there was desperation in his voice.
'Wait a second –' Maria aimed the tip of her wand at her throat and said: 'Sonorus!'
Any chirping or queer noises drowned as Maria's voice echoed through the forest, calling for Þorinn, her accent strangely soft for such foreign name. It was high, angry and clear: even Maria couldn't tell where her voice came from; it seemed to issue from the forest itself, the air and the ground, vibrating strongly with each new cry. No one answered them. Shoulders sagging, she cast a non-verbal counter spell and kept flying forward.
Maria decided to diminish their speed, allowing for a more thorough search. Of whom, she wasn't sure. However, now that she was sure that Þorinn was an individual and not an ailment, it was easier for her to understand what drove the old man. She could only speculate on this person's identity.
As they neared the middle of the forest, Maria noticed with pity that the woods felt sick, not unlike the area surrounding the ruins. However, as they reached the region where two rivers joined, the sickly trees turned greener until there was a beautiful landscape below that stretched for several more miles. Maria thought she could see a village ahead in the wide lake; smoke rose far ahead over a brown smudge in the horizon, under the mountain's watch. She narrowed her eyes, trying to see dragons, but no creature appeared on the horizon.
Disappointed and with her stomach grumbling, Maria looked at the river banks below for a spot to land. Þráinn merely grunted at this, though he did not refute the decision, and soon they were on firm ground again, looking at the river below.
They set camp on a rocky cliff looming over the river. It was miserably uncomfortable, and Maria would've tripped on her ankles and fallen on the stream were it not for Þráinn's untimely interference, scooping her away from the edge of the cliff. After a sound tongue lashing from the old man, Maria decided she wouldn't do any more sight-seeing from anywhere tall enough to cause her death. Without the safety of her broom, she seemed to suffer from an odd case of vertigo.
'This isn't too bad,' Maria took another bite of a red apple and a sip of fresh water. Her legs felt sore from the ride. 'Though I could eat a whole pork -' she blinked, puzzled at Þráinn's silent glower. 'What're you doing, Þráinn? Sit down and eat.'
The old man ignored her and continued his watch, striding back and forth in their improvised camp, axe in hand. He jumped every time Maria made a sudden move or a bird chirped in the trees, and thrice he cried what seemed something a warrior would shout before charging into battle. Maria scratched her head at this behaviour, wondering if she should put up her wards. The forest seemed peaceful enough to leave them out until nightfall.
'Zardûna,' the old man nodded at her, checking the perimeter again. For some reason, he seemed more on edge here than after their escape from the ruins.
Maria sighed, rubbing her temples. She caught the moan of frustration before it left her throat and startled the old man again.
'Look, you can't expect to fly for the rest of the day without a meal. Sit down,' she pointed her wand at the spot across the fire. 'And eat something for Merlin's sake -'
Maria froze in mid-gesture.
'What -'
Before her, Þráinn climbed atop a rock near the edge of the cliff. Frightened, Maria stumbled a little through the rocky ground until she was next to Þráinn, and they both listened to the water running and frantic shouting in the distance, towards the heart of the woods following the stream upwards. Maria continued to stand there, gaping like a fish, while Þráinn's eyes widened, and he whispered: 'inùdoy'.
'Þráinn,' she started slowly, looking at the old man perched up on the rock. 'What the devil is going on?'
'Þorinn,' he uttered louder, his jaw clenching with determination. Both hands clutched the axe, and Maria noticed with a gasp that his knuckles turned white.
Breathing fast and hard, Maria stared down at the stream. The screams were louder, stronger, and it seemed that more had joined in.
'No, you twit! Where are you going?' she cried, befuddled, staring after the old man's retreating figure. 'Þráinn!'
The old man disappeared into the woods. Maria groaned, punching the air with her free hand, jaw clenched tightly in frustration. There was a heavy weight on her shoulders and right now it had nothing to do with her own fate, strangely enough. It was, however, enough for her to start pulling her own hair. What had she gotten herself into?
Maria shut her eyes tightly.
'Bloody hell,' after a moment's hesitation she grabbed her broom and dived into the maze of trees, hacking and slashing with her wand at everything that got in her way.
'Þráinn, where are you?' she shouted, frightfully aware that she was getting closer to a battle zone. 'Whoever this Þorinn is, he doesn't need you to die for him! And then what would I do? Have some sense -'
A thud and a whisper: some other living creature had stirred close by. Maria kept going forward, running pathetically in her heels, but she listened, peering around for the old man. Trees and more trees hindered her way; as she got closer, the screams turned less indistinct until they sounded like orders. However, there was still no sign of Þráinn.
Maria cursed the old man and his fast legs.
All of a sudden, a strong hand grabbed her arm. Maria jumped so violently she nearly fell on the ground, struggling to scream and curse her attacker, though she could only whimper as someone pulled her to the bushes. Had her mouth not been covered, she would've blurted an Unforgivable Curse, aiming to kill; it was fortunate that this did not happen, for her attacker was in fact a very concerned Þráinn.
Maria's eyebrows shot up.
'- running away didn't make any sense, you arse!' she blurted, managing only a few muffled words. Þráinn put a finger to his lips, and he ducked next to her. Someone shouted nearby, running in the opposite direction; beneath the bushes Maria saw black boots. A foul stench lingered in the air.
'Zardûna,' the old man whispered, pointing his axe at her broom.
Maria gritted her teeth.
A quick leap to her right and a hop later, Maria and Þráinn flew through the river upwards against the stream. As they kept going forward, the trees grew thicker and greener and the river narrowed, though still wide enough to allow a merry bunch to fill its width.
Traversing the river was not easy; she kept looking around, concerned that they might find more of the twisted creatures from the ruins. The sounds, from somewhere ahead, had grown steadily louder as they approached; unintelligible shouts of pain and the sound of blades crashing resounded in the area. Maria leaned forward on the broom and, at full speed, they soon reached a water gate blocking the main current.
It had sounded like a battle was taking place nearby, but what she saw was much worse. The sight that greeted them was one that burnt itself in Maria's conscience in a way that her first view of Hogwarts or the first time she held her wand, never had.
Her heart was gripped with terror.
It was a battle. A battle unlike she had ever seen, and a rush of nausea surged through her as a golden haired soldier in silver armour fell to the water, impaled with a black spear. The same dark creatures she had seen in the ruins rushed from the woods, most wielding swords and others bows, firing arrow after arrow at the silver soldiers on the gate. With a start, Maria pulled her wand from beneath her cloak and kept it out, although none of the creatures had noticed them yet. Her brain slowly began to register the atrocities she had witnessed.
Wondering what on earth they had walked in the middle of, she began to turn back towards where they came from, lest they were hit by an arrow, but Þráinn's shout made it impossible for her to turn around.
One of the black creatures scrambled up and aimed its bow at them; Maria, however, was too quick for it, whipping her wand like a madwoman.
'Confringo!' she screamed, and an orange, fire-like light erupted from her wand, setting the creature on fire as it exploded. The power behind her spell caught the attention of silver soldiers and creatures alike. Behind her, Þráinn yelled desperately, gripping her middle with one arm, shouting something like a war cry.
All hell had broken loose.
It suddenly struck her how awful this situation was; Maria felt dreadful, and it was bad – worse than she could ever have imagined – because people were dying, and there was little she could do to help. Her spells could turn the tide for this battle, but the soldiers would still die in pain, struck by arrows and cut with swords, defenseless against the horde of beasts coming from the forest.
With a swish of her wand, Maria managed to deflect a shower of arrows, using a cascading jinx to draw back several of the creatures. Two more appeared on her right, but before they take out their bows, Maria shouted 'Expulso!' and a burst of blue light threw them off back into the depths of the forest, knocking out more of their kind.
There was much yelling coming from below. Underneath the water gate, Maria saw hands gripping the bars but no more; she didn't have a good angle yet.
'Þorinn!' the old man cried from behind her, squirming in his seat as if he wanted to jump.
Maria flew over the gate swiftly, throwing hexes at any creature within distance. The silver soldiers – medieval Veela, she corrected, taking in their long hair for the briefest of seconds – let her be, concentrating on the oncoming beasts instead. A few turned their heads and it was their undoing, but the worse was small group beneath the gate that pointed upwards at her and Þráinn.
Someone shouted from beneath the gate, and if Maria wasn't so busy trying to prevent a short, dark haired man from being mangled, she'd have struck down the new group swarming the banks –
It was a split of a second before a well aimed arrow sank into her head. Þráinn plummeted both headfirst towards the surface of the river, shoving Maria out of the broom. The drop was greater than she had estimated, and she hit the water hard, plunging like a stone into a freezing blue, her heart beating madly as she held on to her wand tightly. She kicked towards the surface – or rather, Þráinn did – and emerged, panting, to see her broom floating nearby and a group of black creatures running towards them.
'Flipendo Tria!' she blurted, spitting water and shivering. A small tornado appeared near the banks, pushing away all that stood in its way.
'Zardûna,' the old man beckoned her to him, shielding Maria with his body. 'Þorinn!'
Maria blinked away the water. Slowly, the world became less blurry and she saw the group underneath the gate in greater detail, making out beards and long hair of numerous colours and sizes floating on barrels. They were screaming and two of them paddled in their direction, seemingly out of breath.
'Adad!' a dark haired man with a short beard shouted, but before he could reach them, the gate opened and they were all dragged by the current.
Þráinn held Maria tightly. She clutched her wand, trying to reach for her broom before someone else took it away.
Above them, the fight continued, a blur of hacking and slashing. Maria let out a whimper as more of the Veela fell into the water, the blood and filth spreading slowly as the current ran towards the gate.
Holding on to Þráinn, Maria saw the group of bearded men disappear with a scream after the gate, and reasoned they must've fallen down the waterfall.
'Hold on!' she shouted, voice hoarse from the cold. They had seconds before falling too, but Þráinn seemed to have understood her meaning, for he tried to mount the broom behind her without slipping –
- and Maria braced herself, awkwardly positioned on the Nimbus, holding to the handle as if her life depended on it –
But there was no impact, no falling into the running river, because they flew again through the air at full speed, chasing after thirteen barrels.
A few days later than I wanted, but here it is nonetheless. The next update should be after January 9th, since I'll have a very important exam to ace!
Thank you so much for your kind reviews, all the follows and faves. I'll be able to answer back to everyone in a few days :3
Happy New Year!
Þráinn is Old Norse for Thráin, Þorinn for Thorin and Björn for Beorn.
NOTE: All spells can be found in the Harry Potter Wiki; some are commonly used in the books, while others have been mentioned in the games.
Translations:
Khuzdul
Zardûna – magic lady;
Adad – father;
Inùdoy – son ;
Let me know what you think? =D
