Chapter 14: The Opening of a Gate
Dáin II Ironfoot hated negotiations all the polite words and feigned understanding smelled like a bag of dragon dung to him. At least among dwarves he could revert to directness when called for, but with Elves at the very same table, he had to be extra polite and chose his words carefully. It also enforced negotiations in Westron, for he did not speak the Elven tongue and of course the Elf was not to know any Khuzdul. But the worst of it was that the Elf who was only here to help with the issues concerning Mirkwood was witness to the rising tensions between himself and Thorin II.
"I do not quite see how this matter is of any concern to the Elves," Dáin pointed out, casting a scathing glance at Prince Elrohir who sat opposite of him at the table.
The Elf arched an eyebrow like he wanted to express surprise but the grey eyes gave Dáin a cool amused stare. "It was some of your people – Uzgar son of Reghan and Khazin son of Khazid who caused the latest altercation with my people in Esgaroth, Dáin." He spoke politely but the was an audible hint of steel in his voice. "Aside from the obvious fact that your people were casting false accusations around, they also peddled such accusations to the Master of lake Town who in turn tried to arrest and kill several Elves from Rivendell."
"From Rivendell?" Thorin interjected, seeing that this was a matter beyond the annoying tax issue that was becoming a sore point with the human city. "Who was it and what were those accusations about?"
"it will have been the usual about Elves and their kin..." Dáin tried to sidetrack the discussion. "my people do find the increase of traveling High Elves disconcerting."
"The travelers were Ivordaer, Celedir and Aelin," Elrohir igonored Dáin's words entirely. "and the first accusation was maybe the strangest of them all – Uzgar accused Aelin that too many Elves were at Erebor and it was through their or maybe our influence that he and other 'true dwarves' were barred from returning home. He did dismiss that as idle chatter of a drunkard, but the night after Uzgar and his friend Khazin carried word to the Master of Lake Town that the three Elves in question were smuggling gemstones to Erebor evading that tax he is imposing."
Thorin took a deep breath, the Elves were not known for their patience and he knew all three Elves in question, they had been amongst the Riders Elrohir had brought to their aid the year the dragon died. "What happened?"
"What was to be expected, the Master of Lake Town sent the guard against our people, the guard did not want to hear any reasoning, weapons were drawn and a fight ensued." Elrohir's eyes hardened. "And all because of the lies of two Iron Hills dwarves bearing a grudge that eludes me."
Dáin shook his head. "You see it, Thorin, your insistence in barring these people from returning creates bloodshed already. Maybe we can reason something out to... -"
"No," Thorin rose, speaking more sharply. "you better take care that your people stop creating such troubles between our people and any other race."
"Maybe we should leave the issue of these dwarves out of the Lake Town matter," Fíli said, his voice calm and reasonable. "for the Master of Lake Town will use any grudge, any excuse to turn on all friends of Erebor. We need to deal with Lake Town first, no matter what we decide on the issue of the Iron Hills dwarves."
"You have a point there, Fíli," Dáin grumbled. "Lake Town is a sore tooth for all of us. "
TRB
The talks had reconvened for the moment, and Dáin was glad to leave the table even if it was only for a short while. Walking down the long vaulted hallway outside the negotiations chamber he saw his own son – young Thorin – talk to Prince Fíli, both of them standing beside a column and laughing at something. He sighed, seeing them together like that rankled a little. When Dáin's own son had been born, nearly a ninety years ago, he had been the only suitable heir to the longbeard line and Dáin had decided to name him Thorin, maybe to endear the boy a little to Thorin Oakenshield. Who then would have thought that Thorin would adopt the brat his sister had borne a low-blooded dwarf? Or that Thorin himself would sire a son out of wedlock?
Dáin sighed, studying the two dwarves who had taken no notice of him closer. Young Thorin had ruddy hair of his mother and he strong beard-growth that resembled Dáin. He had recently passed into adulthood and was shaping into a fine young warrior, Dáin had every reason to be proud of him. Fíli beside him with his mane of blond hair and finely braided mustache... had Dáin not known that Fíli was only a dozen years older than Thorin, he had guessed it were more. Not only that he braids, signifying a wive and three children did belong to an older warrior, his eyes did too. They held an expression Dáin would not place with any young warrior, he had noticed it before – at the coronation when he had seen the boys for the first time in long decades, he had observed the same weight, the same gravitas with both of them. He did not hold much with his wife's constant nagging about the boys being improperly raised, impossible as Princes and all that, from what he could see they were just fine. But now that he watched Fíli laugh at one of Thorin's jokes, the laughter never truly reaching his cold blue eyes, Dáin knew he had been right in his judgment of Thorin II Oakenshield long ago and he pitied the boys.
"Lord Dáin," Fíli turned to him, "Thorin here asked to see the crypt of the Dragon Heroes, with your permission I would take him there later in the day, once the talks have ended for the day."
"I am sure he will enjoy that," Dáin indicated his permission. "but I should like to speak to you before we reconvene."
"Certainly," Fíli joined him as they walked down the long hallway.
Dáin cast a sidelong glance at Fíli. "I noticed your brother, the Crown Prince is not here," he stated the perfectly obvious.
"King Thorin sent him on an errand of utmost importance." Fíli replied smoothly. "Prince Kíli is the foremost defender of our people, as you must know."
"So I hear," Dáin's statement was guarded. "he takes much after his father in that regard." He shrewdly watched how Fíli reacted to the reminder that while Thorin was Kíli's bloodfather, Fíli himself was only an adopted nephew. But all he saw a warm smile.
"He truly does, between them I doubt even a second dragon could drive us from the Mountain." Fíli's smile widened, the younger warrior well understanding which game Lord Dáin was playing, trying to ferret out rifts inside the royal family.
Dáin took the verbal blow, a duel meant more than just some lost rounds. He shook his head at the words. "Thorin is certainly pig-headed enough to out-stubborn another dragon." he said grimly. "I shouldn't be surprised that he won't budge on the matter of the returning people from the Iron Hills."
"Why is that matter so terribly bitter with you?" Fíli asked, a tinge of honesty in his voice. "You gave them shelter when the Mountain fell, they ought to give you their full loyalty in turn."
The lad was shrewd, turning Dáin's own arguments on him. "Look, lad," Dáin purposefully dropped the pretenses of rank. "they want to go home, and I for one can understand that. I would want to go home to the Iron Hills as well, if we lost them. And to them Erebor is home."
"Whose people they easily abandoned when the Dragon came," Fíli pointed out.
"They wanted a safe haven and to feed their families. Laddie, you grew up in the long exile, you must remember what it was like – going hungry for days at an end, living on the road without a home. They wanted better for their own children – can you judge them harshly for it?"
Fíli sighed. "No," he said. "and I would understand if they had sent their spouses and children to their families in the Iron Hills and stayed themselves with our people. But they fled and abandoned oaths and friendships, while others who had no claim to such ancestry or lofty ranks stayed without even thinking of slipping away. And you have not explained why you want to be rid of them so badly."
"It has long caused strife among nobility," he said being brutally honest. "they could not say no to their relations from Erebor, not after having coveted blood ties to the Mountain for so many decades, but with all the families arriving, questions of precedence and even legacies began to arise. And now, that Erebor is free, many of the families who took their relatives in, feel there should be at least some recompense. But Thorin made it clear there won't be any restoration to families who 'betrayed' you. It is creating bad blood and disturbing the peace in my domain."
"So this is mainly about the families hoping for gold and treasure?" Fíli asked incredulously. "Nothing more but a pile of dead coin?"
"As Thorin's nephew, one raised by him, you should understand that well enough." Dáin was a bit taken aback by the shocked expression of the younger dwarrow.
Fíli's hand sank to the hilt of his sword. "I would advise you to choose your words a bit more careful, Lord Dáin Ironfoot, I will not tolerate any slights against my King."
Dáin took a step back, seeing the sudden storm of anger blaze in the blue eyes, Mahal's sweet mercy, the boy had the temper of the family after all! "It was not meant a slight," he grumbled, his anger rising. "but the honest words of a relative, boy. I have known Thorin Oakenshield a good more decades than you have – and I know that at heart he is a greedy, possessive, cold-hearted dwarrow, who adores gold, riches and possessions as much as the next miser."
"If that is truly what you think of him, than you never knew him." Fíli said in a hush, he could feel the mark on his chest churn, sometimes it burned so fiercely that he wondered if it would shine through his armor. Of the day Thorin had nearly fallen to the spell of gold he did not recall the blade that had nearly killed him, but the pain it had inflicted on Thorin, his Uncle's haunted gaze was something Fíli would never forget, and while he knew he could not heal that hurt entirely, he could help easing it. "You are speaking of yourself."
Dáin wondered how anyone could be so blind. The boy had practically been raised by Thorin – how could he not know what Thorin was like?
A loud bronze tone, like a gong being rung loudly echoed through the hall and Fíli drew his sword. "Something is wrong," he tensed, eyes hastily checking the hallway. "this is the alarm – back to the Hall!"
Dáin drew his axe, following Fíli as they raced back up the hallway, he had no doubts that this was genuine. Fíli's expression had been openly alarmed and surprised. They sprinted back towards where young Thorin was standing by the columns. When they had nearly reached him, a second gong echoed through the hall, Dáin did not know what it meant, but he could guess that it was the call for more troops.
Suddenly the wall before them exploded, heavy chunks of stone raining down on the corridor, more followig as two huge scaled paws pushed through the gap in the wall, easily crumbling two of the pillars. Dáin's eyes widened horrified when he saw the huge scaled body of a deformed lizard crawl into the hallway.
"Black Wyrm!" Thorin Oakenshield's voice thundered from the door of the hall. "get away from him!"
Dáin felt Fíli push him forward and along the still whole wall on the other side of the hall. The wyrm's tail came about smashing the bases of two more pillars, the powerful columns crashing down into the shaking hallway.
"Elrohir! The tail!" Thorin was sprinting towards the Wyrm, Orcrist shining in his hand like an angry star. The scaly head ducked and the wide jaws opened, like the creature hoped Thorin might walk right into it's mouth. The dwarven King did nothing of that sort, but used his sword against the large fangs of the creature, smashing the two largest teeth in the wyrm's mouth. The beast roared, the head rising and paws swiping Thorin against the wall.
From the corner of his eye Thorin saw Elrohir skitter past the wyrm's main body. The elven warrior had grabbed on the javelins from the wall decorations, the weapon impaled the wyrm's tail and nailed it to the ground. Again the creature screamed, the high pitched wails of pain ringing in their ears, but the pain hindered the wyrm from freeing the tail again.
Thorin jumped to his feet, racing to attack again, the paws swiping him aside. Elrohir and Fíli reaching his side, both of them following him into the next attack, Fíli taking Elrohir's example and nailing a paw in similar fashion to the floor. Thorin saw his chance as the wyrm snapped after Elrohir, who was simply too quick for the wyrm. Thorin moved between the elf and the beast, ramming Orcrist into the roof of the creature's mouth.
The black wyrm sagged forward, acidic drool running over the hard floor. Thorin yanked his sword free, turning around to check for Dáin and his son, when he heard a trip-trip-trip sound from the hole in the wall. He knew that sound – no matter how long a time ago he had last heard it. More attackers were coming.
TRB
Bilbo tightened his hand around Arrow's reins as he led the pony up the narrow path, a cool wind fell from the mountains and made him shiver. They had ridden like the wild wind, taking the shortest route towards the gates of Moria and while spring had been in the coming these last few weeks, the wind from the peaks of the Misty Mountains was still icy.
The path widened and Bilbo caught up with Kíli who was leading Snowblaze by the reins too. "Are you sure he would not have taken the Western Gate?" Bilbo inquired. "It would make sense if he went from Rivendell."
Kíli shook his head. "Elrohir knew reliably that no one in all Rivendell knows the word for the Hollin Gate. Which is ironic in it's own way, as the gate was only built during the second age to facilitate trade and friendship with the Elves in Hollin. An elf even helped to make those gates."
"Celebrimbor of Hollin," Bilbo had read about Moria in a number of books in the library of Erebor. "But if the Eastern Gate is older, how come that it's password is still known?" He knew that the Eastern Gate was the original gate of Moria, built by Durin the Deathless himself, long before the Elves returned from the shores of Valinor, even before the first sun would shine on Arda heralding the world changed forever.
"The gate was damaged, it's spell broken when Durin's Bane drove our people from Dwarrowdelf," Kíli replied. "That's how the Orcs were able to use it in the battle of Azanulbizar."
The road ahead wound around a bend and then opened to a wide Dale with a cold shimmering lake. Bilbo's heart suddenly hammered against his ribcage. This was is – Azanulbizar – the site of the greatest battle the dwarves had fought in this age, here King Thrór had fallen from Azog's blade and here Thorin had fought the pale Orc, hacking off his arm. He had heard the story so often that standing here felt like stepping into a legend.
He peered over the wide rocky vale, the stoney slopes that led towards the gaping hole in the mountainside. The grey rocks seemed unassuming and cold in the light of spring day, nothing to indicate the tale of suffering, sacrifice and courage that had transpired here so long ago. Still Bilbo stepped more gingerly as they moved along the lakeside, unable to not look at the cold slopes.
He nearly stumbled when Kíli suddenly stopped, they had reached the upper end of Mirrormere, where three simple grey stones had been hewn with the runes of Mahal, the Grey and the Shade. Bilbo's throat tightened, the three runes usually would be used to mark a grave that would be unmarked otherwise. Here they marked a mass grave. Unable to built stone cairns for the thousands, tens of thousands of fallen dwarves, the survivors had burned the bodies and sunk the ashes into the lake. No monument to commemorate their fallen King, nor the thousands that had fallen with him.
"Would you mind guarding the horses?" Kíli asked him, handing over the reins. "I should like a moment alone."
"Of course," Bilbo could have kicked himself. For him it was a grand if tragic tale that had transpired here. For Kíli it was the story of his family. Fíli's father Dari lay buried here, along with their Uncle Frérin, their great-grandfather Thrór and others. While Kíli had been only a small dwarfling when it all had happened, Bilbo had no doubt he did remember in a way, within the span of days most of his family had vanished, leaving only Thorin and Dís to take care of the children. Bilbo could only admire how Thorin had found the strength to go on from here, being the example that inspired so many of the orphans of this battle to pick up the pieces of their lives and rebuilt.
Kíli approached the water's edge, between the markstones and knelt down. He did not feel awe or calm, like the crypts in the Mountain would echo, only a heart wrenching sadness. From the pouch at his belt he took a stone, a dark stone from Erebor and weighed it in his hand. All dwarves wanted to be buried close to the bones of the Earth, to the stone of their homeland and while many would maintain that the dead of Azanulbizar rested peacefully in the Shadow of the oldest home of the dwarven nations, near the deepest of stones, in his heart he felt that Thrór and his people would have wished to be close to Erebor in death still.
"We brought them home, great-father, our people are safe again." Kíli whispered, before moving his hand over the cold unmoving water and let go of the stone, watching it sink into the deeps that held the remains of an entire dwarven army. The dark waters swirled in slow rings touching the shore, in the darkening afternoon light Kíli saw his own reflection in the deep, his own face looking at him from the water, only it was not quite his own face. It was an older, sterner face looking up at him, a few grey streaks marring his dark hair, and a scar on his forehead, giving him an older, harder expression. The waters darkened even more and blurred...
Kíli was racing along the crumbling bridge, shrill Goblin shrieks echoing from above and several grey skinned foes dropped down in front of him. He beheaded the first, kicked the next off the bridge, the third and fourth went as quickly. Kíli reached the end of the bridge where Dwalin and Boromir had been fighting, Boromir's black blade just stabbing the Goblin leader. "Are you alright?" Kíli asked, his breath flying. "I had not expected Goblins here."
Boromir laughed. "They heard of your return and decided to sent some envoys right away to greet you warmly."
Kíli felt a grim laugh rise in his throat, Dwalin grinned openly. "let's find the rest of them, and then we'll have to scorch their ugly city again to teach them some manners."
The vision faded, and again Kíli saw his own face in the waters, his breath caught in his throat. Boromir... how was this even possible? He stared at the waters like they did hold the answer, but all he saw was the light of the stars reflecting in the dark waves, placing bright sprinkles on his face. Closing his eyes, he willed the tears away that threatened to rise in his eyes, and when he opened them again, the wind was ruffling the waters of mirrormere, destroying any reflections.
TRB
Elrohir felt something cold touching his head and blinked, the dull ache in his skull slowly fading away. Opening his eyes, he found himself sitting on the rubble of a smashed corridor, and bodies – dozens of bodies of creatures lying strewn around. They looked like Goblins, if one accepted that Goblins were dark skinned and claw-footed. His gaze focused and he tried to push himself up. "Careful there," he heard a familiar voice. "you got quite the shock when you smashed that crystal of theirs."
"Thorin?" Elrohir saw Thorin approach, he had checked on other wounded in the hall. The dwarven King squatted down beside him. "do you remember what happened?" he asked.
"Aye, Goblins came from the tunnel, they carried a strange crystal, we fought... I smashed the crystal, they shrieked... everything is dark after that."
"You passed out from the shock, the magic of the destroyed crystal was too much for you." Thorin said. "You saved a lot of lives by being so swift, they could not remain here once the crystal was destroyed and had to retreat."
"You don't look like it was victory." Elrohir observed, his hand finding a solid piece of pillar to help him stand up.
Thorin rose and offered a hand, helping Elrohir to his feet. "It wasn't," he said grimly.
Looking at the dwarf Elrohir saw that Thorin's own injuries were untreated, his armor damaged and he looked pale and tired. "Fíli – your family, are they alright?" he asked.
"Fíli was injured, but he will live, Dáin was seriously injured by one of the collapsing columns..." Thorin sighed. "his son got dragged away when they retreated."
Elrohir had a thousand questions, but if he had learned one thing from Aelin it was to focus on one problem at one time. "Do you know from whence they came?" If there was any chance to find them, the young dwarf Lord could be rescued still. Taking stock of his own injuries, Elrohir concluded it was nothing too serious and nothing that would not heal swiftly enough.
"Aye, and I will go after them. I may not like Dáin but they took his son." Thorin shook his head. "and I owe him this obligation." he cast a nearly angry glance at Elrohir. "Don't you dare offer your help again, elf."
Elrohir knew Thorin well enough to know when pride would overrule Thorin's decisions, when he consciously tried to push others away, because he had resolved to do something on his own. He was a proud, stubborn and brave warrior – a great friend too. "As an elf I wouldn't dare to do so," he said calmly. "but as a friend, I will come with you either way as you seem not inclined to lead your army after the goblins."
"I cannot take them, where I need to go." Thorin told him. "Old oaths prevent me to do so. These oaths may not mentioned elves – but you have no idea what you are getting yourself into, Elrohir. And I will not lead a friend to his death."
The words elicited a smile on Elrohir's face, Thorin was maybe the most complicated and contradictory friend he had, but he would not give up this friendship for anything. "As I recall you still owe me the test against a dragon, as Kíli killed Smaug before I was here," he picked up his sword that was still sticking in a corpse and swiftly cleaned it on a dead goblin's cloak.
Thorin looked at the son of Elrond and wondered at the ironies of fate. He would usually have taken Lachanar on this journey, but that way he could leave the woodland elf to protect Fíli. Which suited him well, he wanted someone with... experience... in Fíli's vicinity, in case it became necessary. "Very well, then." he announced his decision. "see a healer and meet me here again at First Rise."
Thorin strode through the damaged halls Dwalin's troops secured the mountain, there had been fighting in many places, but the War Master had accepted Thorin's curt words that the nature of their attackers was nothing Thorin could discuss.
Lachanar had been checking several hallways for more breaches, when he heard Thorin approach. He knew the King's step at once, without even turning about. "I think the true breach we need to find lies deeper than these tunnels," he observed, trying to keep his voice steady.
Thorin stepped past him to face him. "There is only one place where the breach can have occurred – the gate. You know that as well as I do, Lachanar."
"Aye, Thorin... "
Thorin could see Lachanar wanted to speak, to ask something and he raised his hand to forestall the words. "You remember," he said evenly, he had seen the occasional moments of clarity that had occurred as the years passed. "and I will answer your questions, once I return. For now I need you to protect Fíli."
"He does not know, I take it?" Lachanar's chest tightened, Thorin's nearly callous admission of being aware of Lachanar's memory gaps hurt, but he kept a tight control on it. "Kíli does, of course."
"Exactly, and I wish for Fíli to remain free of that nightmare, it is for Kíli and me to bear that burden. But with the gate breached, danger is imminent and I need you to protect him. If it becomes necessary use this," Thorin handed Lachanar a simple blue chalcedony stone. "and you will remember it all. I trust you to protect Fíli and my family while I am gone."
There it was again – Thorin's trust in him, even with something a garbled as this. Lachanar took the crystal, closing his hand around it. He would not break Thorin's trust – they could talk about this when he returned. "I will protect them with my life." he promised.
Thorin smiled, a small smile that did not reach his eyes. "I know, Lachanar. Leave Dís to handling Dáin once he wakes up, he will not dare to give her grief."
"What about the Gate?" Lachanar asked.
"Dís will take care of that, they did not retreat through the gate directly, they used another tunnel. Until the gate is secured again, no one is to enter the ruins of Dale."
TRB
The dwarf standing in the broken hallway only an hour later would easily be mistaken for someone else than the King of the Mountain. Thorin wore a practical scale armor, suited to traveling, along with a coat, Orcrist and his pack on his back. But for the more greyed hair he looked much the dwarf who had returned to the Mountain to fight a dragon twenty years ago.
He turned around when he saw Elrohir approach, the elf too had changed from formal attire to war gear, chainmail armor, swords and bow, a dark leather brigantine over the silver rings of the armor. They did not talk as they climbed through the hole in the wall and descended into the broken gap the wyrm had clawed.
Author's note
I really have to apologize for the unbetead state of this chapter – I got the flu over easter and am writing from my bed. My voice is so gone, I can't even try to talk to my dear beta. So I apologize for not waiting with the post...