Chapter 14

A Long-Awaited Arrival

In the days that followed I did a lot of reading. There was little else to do for me. I did not quite dare to approach the elves and they in turn assumed I was with the dwarves – which, truth be told, I suppose I was – and they avoided me as they did them. Of course, it wasn't quite out of the realm of possibility that the dwarves, having kind of claimed Harry and me as their own, had a hand in keeping the elves away from me. Either way, the result was the same and I did not see much of them.

Harry had accepted this new reality with an ease I could only marvel at. He'd become good friends with Alfur and Halnor. The two dwarves constantly complained about having too much time on their hands, so Thráin, in an effort to remedy that situation, had assigned them to babysitting duty, a task they took to with entirely too much enthusiasm. But both the dwarves and Harry were happy, so I wasn't complaining.

Thráin was just about as subtle as a brick to the head, but he at least made sure I wasn't left on my own. Mostly he was there himself, ready to strike up a conversation when I wanted or needed it. And if he wasn't there, then Bofur generally was. In a rather unsubtle way, the dwarves were babysitting me as much as my son. If I had been any less out of my depth, I would have found that insulting. But they were friendly and sympathetic without crossing over into the territory of the pity that I could not have tolerated. Thráin patiently explained his world. I learned that he had travelled much and therefore knew a lot. Bofur was less well-travelled, but he had an impressive repertoire of songs and stories that gave breath and shape to a world I otherwise only knew from the pages of a book. If I was to speak of this in terms of a drawing, then Thráin would draw the lines, the scene, while Bofur coloured it in.

Glóin and Gimli I did not see much of. I knew Halnor and Alfur had attempted to involve Gimli in their games, but they generally failed and other than at mealtimes, father and son did disappearing acts during the day. It was quite obvious that they did not want to be in Rivendell.

And so I found myself with plenty of time to read. It took me only days to finish the Lord of the Rings. I vaguely remembered the story from years ago, but was surprised by the complexity of Tolkien's world, rich with detail that I was sure I could never remember. And I hadn't even started on the appendices in the back of the book. Neither could I bring myself to do that yet. There was too much information in my head already and with no clear purpose, it just swirled around uselessly.

That was my problem in those early days of October. I had renewed my acquaintance with the book, but it didn't mean anything yet. I had met almost none of the people who populated its pages – Elrond and Gimli being the exceptions – and those I had, I knew not very well. So if there was a death of a character in the book, that was unfortunate, but it meant nothing to me. Somewhere in the back of my head I knew that this might very well change in the future, but for the time being I was detached and certainly more interested in my own troubles.

So, not ready for a reread yet, I turned to Bilbo Baggins's book. I had promised myself I would get to read it as a treat for finishing the dense volume that was my reason for being in this world. After all, now that the first shock had subsided, I found that my interest in Kate Andrews had not quite gone. And reading about her and her adventures only fanned the flames of my interest once again.

Of course, Bilbo mainly focussed on his own view of the quest, but Kate certainly popped up several times. He didn't know what to make of her at first and their interactions were limited, but something of a reluctant friendship had come into existence later on.

But Bilbo didn't just write. He was also an artist of some talent. He had drawn the objects that held some meaning to the quest, like swords and maps and even a key, the views on the road and the people he shared aforementioned road with. And this for the first time put faces to the people Kate had written about. With each page I read, the story came more to life and it felt less and less like the fabrications of a deluded psychopath.

Little did I know, I was only hours away from meeting one of the main characters in person…

Cathy

The streets were entirely too crowded for Cathy's taste. After the meeting with what her mother had always called the bigwigs of their region, the preparations for war had started in earnest. Food was brought into the Mountain in case of a siege, the smiths were working day and night on armour and weapons and there were warriors bloody everywhere, blocking the streets and generally getting in the way. The news that there were Easterling scouts in the area had been a wake-up call for most of those in attendance at Thoren's Council, which scholars and scribes for some reason were already calling the Council of the East. When Duria had told her this, Cathy had scoffed. She was of the opinion that such a name was only appropriate if there was a corresponding Council of the West.

And now, though the bigwigs themselves had left, there had been a steady influx of warriors ever since. There were men of the Lake who were in desperate need of some training. Even Cathy's untrained eye could see that they couldn't even defend themselves from an angry bull, never mind an army's worth of highly trained Easterlings. There were some men from Dale too, but they mainly focussed their efforts on the defence of their own city. There were elves too, mostly archers. Dwarves were no talented shooters and in this area elves certainly had the advantage and Thoren was lucky he had managed to negotiate their presence. In return he'd had to send a group of dwarvish builders to Thranduil's halls to make them ready for war, because, as Cathy herself had seen with her own eyes, his defence works were shabby at best. The arrogant pointy-ears had always assumed they would not be attacked in their own halls, which of course meant absolutely nothing to Sauron. He'd only laugh at it before razing it to the ground. That the elves had ever thought otherwise was only testimony to their unending arrogance.

Of course, not all elves were like Thranduil and most of the ones currently lodging under the Mountain were more or less decent. They were polite, they pulled their weight and they didn't seem to think dwarves were worth less than the dirt under their elegant boots.

And there were quite a number of elves in this part of the city. Normally Cathy did not come here, but it was a shortcut to the gates and the eastern part of the Mountain and that was where she needed to go.

'Good afternoon, my lady.' One of the elves hailed her from across the street and it was clear from his gestures that he meant for her to halt and talk to him.

'Likewise, Master Elf,' she said. She was slightly annoyed at the delay, but she had been raised with manners. 'How may I help you on this fine day?'

He smiled pleasantly. 'Is it?' he asked. 'I have not felt the sun on my face for days.'

'Aye, the sun is out.' Cathy told herself that moaning about the different values of elves and dwarves would do no one any good, least of all her. She would only be subjected to a long and boring lecture about the benefits of fresh air and sunlight and the effect on the health of body and spirit of being confined to underground quarters. She'd heard it so often in the past days that she could give the speech as well as any of the elves. 'And I am on my way to the gates. If you have time, you could walk with me and see for yourself.'

'If the lady does not object to my presence, I would be glad of the opportunity.' The elf was courteous enough, but, as with all his fellows, Cathy could not help but feel uneasy. Even if they were sincere, elvish manners always felt somewhat fake. They did not feel real. The long-winded sentences certainly did not help.

Still, they seemed to think she was more agreeable than most of her people, probably because she did not look much like other dwarves. That was her mother's legacy of course, but despite her looks, Cathy was a dwarf at heart and she had no patience for the poetic use of language that elves liked to use. Speak plainly or do not speak at all. She'd heard her father say that on one occasion when he was especially vexed by an elvish envoy and she rather liked it.

'If the lady objected, she would not have offered,' she said, making sarcastic use of the third person. 'And my name is Cathy, daughter of Thorin, at your service.'

The elf frowned. 'I know who you are,' he said.

'Then you might do me the courtesy of addressing me by my name,' she said. 'And you may tell me yours.'

'Aerandir, at your service, Lady Cathy,' the elf said.

That was not exactly what she had meant. 'Without the lady bit.' She was a tiny bit irritated by now. She had a goal in mind and being waylaid by a verbose elf had not been part of the plan. 'We are not in throne room or the council chambers that you need to remind me of my title. My memory isn't going; I know what I am.'

To her surprise the elf laughed. 'My uncle did not say too much about the legendary bluntness of dwarves,' he said. 'Though it appears that he was wrong about many other things.'

Her curiosity reared its ugly head when he made mention of an uncle, but her irritation won out and she decided to save the matter for another day. 'What did you wish to talk about, Aerandir?' she asked. 'I haven't got the time of day to sit around to listen to the verbosity of the elves till nightfall.'

'Fair enough,' said the elf, all business now. Well, at least that eternal cheer had gone for a bit. 'A small party of elves has scouted out the area to the southeast to Erebor and has found another group of scouts about fifteen miles away. These scouts were tracked down and dealt with. But it was felt among our number that it would be good to share this news with our dwarvish allies.'

'You ought to have reported this to my brother,' Cathy said bluntly. 'Or my cousin Fíli.' She had no mind for military matters. Politics she understood well enough – not that anyone would let her anywhere near such a gathering – but war was quite a different cup of tea. She knew that scouts nearby were bad news, but if this news had been given to Thoren instead of her, he would have been able to tell what it meant given from the location, the number of scouts and the time they were found. To his youngest sister, it was meaningless.

'He would not be found,' the elf said. 'And it was felt this news was urgent and needed to be relayed as soon as possible.'

'You just did,' Cathy told him. Well, she was in search of Thoren anyway. And if he had any questions, she had the elf's name, so she could send him in the general direction of better answers. The alternative was that Aerandir followed her in search of her brother, but that meant that she would have to stand his presence for a while longer, not a prospect she relished. Then again, it couldn't be helped.

Aerandir was not done. 'The scouts were not men of the East,' he said, in a tone that made it clear that he thought she did not understand the severity of the matter. True enough, she didn't, not entirely. But she wasn't a foolish child either and the words rubbed her the wrong way.

'Pray tell where they did hail from, if you would be so kind, Master Aerandir, or would you rather put up an inscription with the news?' she said when he did not immediately tell her who the scouts had been rather than who they hadn't been.

Really, she did have manners, but maybe not at the moment. And she knew she was snappier than she ought to be. True, the elf got on her nerves, but they had done that before. It was no reason to go all Jackishly rude on him. It was because she had been feeling slightly ill this morning, she decided. Dwarves did not as a rule get ill and the fact that she had been unwell for a couple hours had vexed her. Her more mannish weaknesses did not bother her as much as her twin brother, who had turned moping about it into a form of art, but she didn't like them either. And on top of that she was anxious about news of Elvaethor, which was what she hoped to find when she got down to the gates.

Aerandir fortunately refrained from commenting and answered the question. 'They were orcs of Mordor, which, as you might understand, is a worrying development that our leaders did not foresee.'

'Your leaders didn't, perhaps,' Cathy allowed, though the Maker only knew why. 'But it was an envoy of Mordor who came to these gates and left unsatisfied. It would be folly to think Sauron would stand for that. Of course he's going to get involved himself. Or he's going to involve his personal army more like.'

That said, the presence of orcs was new and if only for that reason extremely alarming. And Thoren would want to know. She'd better find him and find him quickly, him or their cousin Fíli, who had done more than his fair share of actual preparations while Thoren was up to his eyeballs in bigwigs. Yes, Cathy decided, she really liked that word. It sounded pompous and slightly ridiculous. And that was certainly a description that fit most of their recently departed guests.

'Then dwarves must be possessed of extraordinary skills, if they could divine all of this before it happened.' Aerandir sounded mocking now.

'It's a very extraordinary skill,' Cathy agreed, before adding: 'It is called common sense, Master Elf.'

Was it any wonder that her parents were always on the verge of losing their tempers with the elves? Apart from Elvaethor, who was more dwarf than elf in character anyway, she had never actually met any of the Firstborn who didn't give her chills or the urge to punch them in the face. Or maybe that was just the Mirkwood elves. Word had it that their western cousins were actually more or less decent.

Well, at least she had shut him up now and they made good time now that she didn't have to make polite conversation anymore. She took a few shortcuts with lower ceilings. It was the quicker route, but it also meant that Aerandir had to duck in order to avoid banging his head on the ceiling. And if she took some satisfaction out of the fact, well, there was no one around to take her to task for it.

Thoren wasn't at the gates, where he was supposed to be checking the food that came into the Mountain. Cathy silently groaned. Of course he wasn't. It would be one of his restless days. He had them sometimes. He would wake, find that he lacked the patience to just do what he was supposed to be doing and then just move around from one thing to another. Trying to find him on a day like that was trying to catch smoke. No wonder the elf had been unable to locate him; his own siblings found that hard enough as it was. At least they knew his regular haunts. The elf was not so blessed.

'Don't tell me, it's one of his days,' she said to Fíli when she joined him at the gates. Her brother should have been there too, but well, clearly he had other things to do.

Fíli knew what she meant immediately. 'Not exactly. There's been news that the patrols are returning. He's ridden out to meet them.'

Thank the Maker. At last. It had been more than two weeks since the patrols had left. Most of them had returned within two days. There had been no losses, only minor injuries. But when Jack's group came back, it returned without Elvaethor. And Jack's face had fallen when he had learned that the elf had not come back on his own. He had barely rested long enough to report that Elvaethor had decided to hunt down two Easterling spies on his own – and what in Durin's name had Jack been thinking, letting Elvaethor go alone? – before he had been back on the horse to find their friend. He had taken a fair few of the guard with him, which meant he anticipated trouble.

Cathy didn't like it. She liked it even less that ever since there had been no news. Well, there had been no news until this morning when Nuri had come back, telling them that they were near. Of course, he had vanished into thin air after, leaving Cathy with no one to ask her questions of. Was Elvaethor still alive, had they found him, had Jack come back unscathed, what had happened? It was utterly frustrating. It was even more so because she couldn't ask any of these of Fíli while the elf was still breathing down her neck.

'Good,' she said. 'Fíli, this is Aerandir. He's got some news you need to hear.' She might as well get it over with. The sooner Mr Elf had said what he wanted to say, he could go and get lost while she pressed her cousin for details.

Aerandir seemed a bit ruffled, but gave Fíli the same news he had given her. Fíli unsurprisingly asked for more details and the elf, to his credit, answered them all promptly and without the long-windedness that appeared to be second nature to his kind. Maybe it was the kind of warriors among themselves thing that Cathy had observed a few times before. There didn't appear to be any need for unnecessary pleasantries in such situations, but she was a lady and people insisted on being courteous to her. Cathy would much rather have that they didn't, without much success to date.

Unfortunately, when he was finished – and Fíli had responded with just as much surprise as Cathy herself had, which left the elf ever so upset – he did not leave. Subtle attempts to tell him he might be needed elsewhere were ignored and Cathy did not have the patience to delay any longer.

'What news?' she asked. 'Jack? Elvaethor? Flói?'

Fíli smiled at the disorganised manner in which she presented her queries, but he understood her anyway. 'All alive,' he assured her.

Cathy frowned. Alive was not the same thing as unharmed. 'And uninjured?' she demanded.

'Flói is,' Fíli replied, which rather implied that the other two objects of her concern were not. 'Jack sustained some mild injuries, I am told.'

Jack always sustained mild injuries in skirmishes. It was because he was so bloody reckless. If Flói had not been there to watch his back all these years, they would have had to bury him many years ago. Cathy knew this. It was also the reason why she always worried about her twin when he was away. It was also why she thanked the Maker each and every day for the presence of Flói.

But she had not yet heard what she wanted to hear and so she pressed on relentlessly. 'And Elvaethor?'

She could feel the elf behind her perk up in interest at that name. It was not unlikely that he knew her elvish friend as well, and had known him longer than Cathy too. Then again, Elvaethor had never spoken of this Aerandir. Cathy had a good head for names; she would have remembered if he had.

'All I know is that he did not fare so well.' Fíli did not look pleased. 'He is not in mortal danger, I was told, but neither is he well. Nuri would not say more.'

Nuri would never say more. If he spoke twenty words altogether on any given day that was much. She had known him for years and years and though he always smiled at her and was frequently found in the same company as she was, he had seldom said more to her than good day. No one expected lengthy reports from him. So why in Durin's name had Jack thought it was a good idea to send the most taciturn dwarf in all of Erebor ahead as a messenger?

She kept her displeasure about this to herself. She would not speak ill of one of her own where an elf could hear.

'I see,' she said.

Fíli had known her all her life, so he could tell that she was getting increasingly impatient. 'You are welcome to wait here if that is your wish. They could arrive at any moment.' He looked at the elf, noted with visible displeasure that he had still not gone and added: 'And you may do so as well, Master Elf.'

Aerandir either did not see the opposite actual meaning of Fíli's words or simply ignored it. 'It would be my pleasure.'

The feeling was not mutual.

Fortunately they were not made to wait for very long. Before it could even get truly awkward, Cathy could see shapes on the road, which turned into ponies and riders the closer they came and the clearer Cathy could see them.

'I don't see Elvaethor,' she said, squinting in the vain hope that would make her notice something she had missed before.

Aerandir hurried to her aid. 'He is there. I believe he shares a horse with your brother.' Heightened elven senses were good for something then.

The news was both a relief and a new cause for anxiety. If Elvaethor was not strong enough to sit on his own horse, something very bad must have happened to him. Cathy did not like it one bit. She almost proposed to fetch a healer, but she needed to see with her own eyes first and so she stayed where she was.

Her patience was rewarded. Soon enough she could make out the familiar shapes of her kith and kin for herself. Dwalin was there, Lufur too, in conversation with her oldest brother, whose forehead had wrinkled into a deep frown. Yes, she could make out Flói as well. And Jack towered over everyone on his horse. Ponies were simply too small for him. And on Jack's shoulder rested Elvaethor's head. It appeared that her elvish friend was not even making an effort to sit on his own or pretend he did not need to support. Dread settled in her stomach.

'Find me a healer,' she told one of the guards at the gate. 'And quick.'

He nodded and moved back into the Mountain as Cathy finally found her well of patience exhausted. She ran at the approaching group. 'Elvaethor!' she called out and felt a stab of fear when he did not respond. He was still alive, wasn't he? Nuri could not have been so wrong, could he?

'Alive,' Jack said curtly, rolling his eyes at her when she was close enough to see. 'But sleeping.'

'Not anymore, Master Jack,' said the familiar voice of the elf. 'You have been remiss in your duty, my friend. You ought to have woken me so we could save your sister the worry.'

She was walking next to the horse now the last short distance towards the gates. She could see that Elvaethor was positively slumping against her brother. Though it was hard to see immediately what injuries he had sustained, the blood on his clothes was more than enough of a giveaway that something bad had indeed befallen him.

'I have worried for you for well over a fortnight now,' she replied. You could have saved me the worry if you had stayed where you were supposed to be. What was it with her nearest and dearest forever running off into danger, always going places she was not allowed to follow? She hated staying back, having to resign herself to waiting for news. And on occasions such as these, when bad things happened to them – because they shouldn't go thinking for one moment that she didn't see the awkward way Jack moved his right arm and the still healing wound across his forehead – she felt both angry and powerless.

'I shall endeavour not to subject you to such fear again,' Elvaethor said, but his voice lacked the decisiveness she was used to and he was having trouble even so much as lifting his head. At least he was aware of it, because he added: 'Do forgive me, my little lady. I am not as well as I would have liked to be.'

She could see that for herself well enough and so, in spite of her questions, she stood back and let the healers gently carry her oldest friend into the Mountain. Of course this did not mean that she would not ask her questions of another and Thoren was closest.

'What happened?' she demanded. He would have found out every detail he could the moment he met with the home comers and Cathy knew this. And he would be more inclined to answer her than any of the others.

Even before he replied, she could tell it was not going to be good news; his face was almost grey. 'It's worse than I expected,' he said, before brushing past her through the gates.

Cathy felt suddenly quite cold.

Thráin

It was a tedious business waiting for the wizards. There was entirely too much time and not enough work to fill it with, Thráin found. On the other hand there was far too little time and he was wasting it with waiting. In Rivendell all was quiet and peaceful, but Thráin knew that on the other side of the Misty Mountains, matters were not so calm. His brother was fighting for an alliance to ward off whatever attackers would come to the gates of the Lonely Mountain and here Thráin was, spending his days in idleness. It was more than he could bear quietly. Having a go at one of his friends at the training grounds from time to time helped some, but they were his friends and so he could not hurt them or lose control. All his impatience and rage kept building up and he knew that sooner rather than later something had to give. And he'd rather have a good long shout at the wizard than anyone else if at all possible.

'Afternoon,' Beth said when she sat down on the other side of the table. They were in their living quarters, kindly provided by the elves, though Thráin was sure they did not have kindness on their minds when they had given the dwarvish delegation separate quarters. 'Do you mind if I join you?'

The table was empty and all Thráin had to hand was a book, so he made the well-known help yourself gesture and clearly this one extended across worlds, for she nodded in thanks and put down her documents. She had brought them with her from the other world and she had been working on them these past three days. He did not see the point in it; she was not home and she had admitted herself that, knowing what she knew now, she could never publish them.

'Why?' he asked brusquely.

It got her attention. 'Why what?' she asked.

'Why bother with it?' he clarified. 'You said they are of no more use, so why?'

She shrugged. 'To keep busy,' she replied. 'I have read The Lord of the Rings twice cover to cover, I have read Mr Baggins's book. Until Gandalf arrives, there is not much else I can do. And I have had a look at the library, but there is nothing there that I can find that I'm able to read.'

'All books are written in Sindarin,' he understood. 'Elves do not care much for the Common Tongue and visitors are a rarity in this place.'

Beth frowned at the book. 'You understand the language, though,' she observed.

She was prying. Thráin knew this and he did not like it much. Beth Andrews may be his kin, and that entitled her to his aid, but he knew next to nothing about her and dwarves did not part with their secrets easily. But so far she had given him little cause to mistrust her and she did look lost and forlorn. Maybe a small measure of trust was in order.

'I had an elvish tutor,' he replied. 'A friend of my mother's called Elvaethor. You may have come across him in my mother's letters.' That vexed him too, that she had his mother's writings and yet still understood so little.

Beth nodded. 'She didn't appear to like him much, but I suppose such things can change over time.' She looked at him, pondering, for a moment, before she clearly remembered that dwarves valued straight talk and said: 'Look, I know that I am a novice in all this. You don't want me to be here and I don't want me to be here either. It is obvious, really. But I am trying to get to know you, because I think it is safe to say you are the only real friend that I have in this place.'

He nodded. And he supposed that she was right. And he had been distant, emotionally anyway. And he had resented her for keeping him here, but truth be told, he would have waited for news even if she hadn't arrived. But then it had been by his own choice and should he change his mind, there was no one to stop him from leaving. Beth's arrival had made his stay in Rivendell a duty instead of a choice, but he also knew it was not her he ought to resent for it. She hadn't been given a choice in this any more than he had.

'Dwarves do not talk easily to outsiders,' he told her bluntly. 'Our actions and words are often misinterpreted by those belonging to the races of men and elves. And I do not know you very well.'

'I see,' said Beth. 'I didn't mean to offend you.'

She'd misinterpreted him, though the tone of voice wouldn't have helped her. On the other hand it was a prime example of the misunderstandings that so often occurred. 'I did not mean to tell you off,' he said. 'I was merely stating a fact.'

'I see,' she said again. She thought again for a moment. 'I've got two siblings,' she said suddenly. 'Mary's the eldest. She's married to this lovely guy called Terrance and they have two kids: Thomas and Lily. Then there's Peter, who's always running off to distant places. He's been all over the world really, hardly ever home, but he always remembers everyone's birthdays. And then there's me, not married obviously.' She seemed a tiny bit self-conscious about that, as if she was aware that it was not the done thing in this world.

Thráin frowned. 'Why are you telling me this?'

'Because you said you barely knew me.' Beth said this as if it should have been perfectly clear. 'I am changing that.'

For just a moment there he could have been fooled into thinking he had his youngest sister in front of him. Cathy might have done that, though she would have done it with more mischief. And she would have smiled.

Beth was not Cathy, but neither was she entirely a stranger. She was kin. It was the very reason why Thráin had allowed her to stay with him and his kin, when normally he would never have consented to sharing quarters with a mannish lass and her equally mannish son. And her words – you are the only real friend that I have in this place – had hit home. He had not treated her as one ought to treat relatives, with barely concealed wariness and emotional distance. It was not the dwarvish thing to do.

And so he repaid her in kind. 'I have four siblings, three of which are younger in age,' he offered.

Talking was slightly easier after that. He knew she didn't know what to make of him and he certainly did not know what to make of her. They did not understand each other's cultures, but he refrained from responding with biting sneers when she asked about why on earth there had even been a conflict with the elves and men eighty years ago. Wouldn't it have been simpler just to give them the gold and get them gone, she asked. Instead of flying off the handle, he explained his parents' reasoning as best he could. And when her turn came he could see she tried not to respond likewise when he asked about Harry's father. It surprised him even more that she answered the question – which did not make him think kinder of the world she came from – instead of evading it as she had before.

Eventually he asked the question that had been on his mind for some days now. 'What do you believe you are here for?' he asked. 'I am aware of the knowledge contained in your book, but beyond that, I know nothing.'

She understood what he was asking without him having to spell it out for her. 'There is not much about the war in the east,' she replied, almost apologetically. 'And the little that is written down, mostly in the appendices, not even the main story, might not be much use. You know, since Dáin is not the King under the Mountain and from what you said, I think your brother is doing things differently anyway.'

Thráin nodded. He had suspected as much. His father and mother had changed the ending of the previous book. Of course it was bound to have consequences, such as rendering the following book completely useless, at least in regards to his homeland. But Gandalf would not have brought her here at all if he did not believe that there was something in this book of Beth's that could be of use in the troubling times ahead.

'Then what are you here for?'

Beth bit her lip. 'There is going to be a quest,' she said. 'To destroy the One Ring.'

He audibly groaned as at long last the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. 'Bilbo's Ring,' he understood. 'Durin's beard, it could not have been one of the Seven he had found, could it? Or some stupid elven trinket of some sort.'

His cousin appeared to be confused. 'How in the world did you know that?'

Thráin shrugged. 'I knew Mr Baggins was in the possession of a magic Ring of some kind; he used it to great effect during the quest on which he accompanied my parents. And I thought it was unusual for an envoy of Sauron to take such an interest in what he claimed was the least of rings when he came to the gates of Erebor.' He had not mentioned the tale before, but Beth did not ask for clarification, which led Thráin to believe it was written in her book. 'But if it is the One that Bilbo found all these years ago and the Enemy has somehow learned of this, and how he managed to do so at all is a matter that troubles me, that would explain a thing or two.'

'Sauron got his hands on Gollum,' Beth replied. 'He told him.'

'That creature.' Thráin still had vivid memories of the trip he had taken with Strider. Gollum had spent most of the time tied up in a sack, allowing in just enough air for him to breathe but nothing else, but that had not stopped him from moaning and wailing all those long weeks. Thráin had been glad to be rid of him.

'You've met him?' Beth asked.

He snorted. 'I hunted him down and brought him to the halls of the elves, in the company and at the behest of a good friend of mine, a Ranger who goes by the name of Strider.' He would not have divulged this information to her prior to this day, but he felt that if she was meant to do the same work his mother had once been hired for, she had better be in the possession of all the facts. 'Naturally, the elves have since managed to lose the wretched creature.'

'This…' She fell silent. 'This is not quite like it was in the book.' She seemed to feel a little lost.

Was this how amad felt when her book became less than reliable? Thráin could not help but wonder. His mother had described it like skating on thin ice, having to test each and every patch thoroughly and even then you couldn't be sure it would bear your weight. Gambles did not always pay off and what seemed to be reliable information was often twisted and different, whilst being more or less true to the book at the same time.

'My mother's writings suggest that it was like that for her as well,' he remarked.

Beth managed a smile, but it did not reach her eyes. 'I don't think that really matters,' she said. 'The book is more about the quest and if Gollum did escape, then that's how it is in the book as well. I don't really think it changes anything, not really.' But she had gone pale, so there was something that was bothering her.

'You fear this quest?' he asked, not doubting for a moment that Gandalf would wish her to be on it. If he had expected such a thing of Thráin's own mother, he would expect it of Beth and he would not take no for an answer.

'You would, if you knew what I did.' She had her arms wrapped around her torso, as if bracing herself for a fight and the gesture was so like his mother, Thráin found it hard to look at her for a minute. 'There's going to be so much fighting and danger and orcs and nine creepy ghosts in black robes.' She stopped there, took a deep breath and controlled herself. 'I cannot fight, I haven't gone camping in years and I'll admit I am scared.' She took another deep breath. 'And I am not quite sure what it is Gandalf would want me to do, if he even wants me to change something.'

'He will,' Thráin said. 'And he will believe that it is only something you can achieve. But he will not tell you what it is. You must figure that out for yourself. It is why you are the advisor. If he believed it was in his power to do it himself, he would have. But he clearly does not, hence your presence in this world.'

Beth wrinkled her nose. 'I am not sure I like that word. That was Kate's job, being an advisor. And I am not her.'

It mattered little to him. 'An interpreter then, if you like,' he said. His mind was still stuck on the mention of the nine creepy ghosts she had mentioned. It could not be the Nine, could it? He had heard whispers and rumours, but without proof of any kind he had not placed much faith in them. But in the light of Sauron's re-emergence, it made a disturbing sort of sense that his minions were also at large once more.

And this was the danger Gandalf would send his cousin into, without training or preparation? The wizard's brain must have been thoroughly addled by the excessive smoking of the hobbits' beloved Old Toby. Thráin had a fondness for the leaf himself, but he indulged only occasionally. Had Gandalf lost his marbles completely?

'This quest,' he said, thoughtfully. 'How many will be there to protect you?' She was his kin; he had a right to be concerned.

'Protect me?' she asked in confusion. 'I am not going to be the one they are going to protect.'

If there was a woman, all the menfolk would defend her. He was coming to understand that it was not so in her world, but it was in this one. 'Answer the question.'

'There are going to be nine companions,' she said. 'But four of them are hobbits.'

Maker have mercy on the wizard when he would finally get his hands on him. 'Never make the mistake of underestimating the strength and determination of hobbits,' he counselled her. 'Though they are no great warriors, they have a resilience and a resourcefulness seldom found in other races.' He grinned. 'Provided you feed them seven times a day and ensure they never run out of tea.'

It had the effect he had been hoping for; she laughed. But the sound of it did little to ease Thráin's worries. And he felt that someone or something was pushing him towards a path that he did not wish to tread. But he felt ever more strongly that he was not left with many other choices. And the more he heard, the more convinced he became that sending this woman off into danger on her own would both be irresponsible and unforgiveable.

But there was that other tie that called him back east, to the family that he knew instinctively needed him. War was marching on his home and here he was, getting ever more entangled in the plots of a wizard's making. He felt like he was caught in a web and the harder he tried to fight his way to freedom, the tighter the strings bound him. All of a sudden he knew with unshakable certainty that he would not see his home before this war was fought.

And for that alone he would make sure to blister Gandalf's ears when he arrived.

'I don't suppose that will happen on the road,' Beth said, all serious again.

'I don't imagine it will,' Thráin agreed. 'But they are remarkable creatures regardless and you could not wish for friendlier company.'

Beth nodded. 'I know. It's just, I wish I knew what it was Gandalf wants me to do. It'd be easier if I had an actual purpose. And like you said, some of the things of the past are already different. If Kate already changed the setting of the board, how am I supposed to know what I am doing?'

He knew that once the words would leave his lips, there would be no way back for him. He certainly did not want to utter then, but loyalty to family made him do so anyway. 'A second pair of eyes to study your book might be of some use,' he said. 'I have travelled the world and know much of the current situation.' In truth, he knew more about the situation in the east. He had not been to Gondor since the incident in the dungeon thirty years previous and the last time he had visited Rohan must have been more than ten years past by now. But Beth needn't know that.

She looked up at him, confusion making a frown in her forehead. 'You would?' He could tell that she tried to disguise her relief, but she was no good at it.

'I cannot in good conscience make you face that amount of danger by yourself,' he said. 'So, yes, I offer you my service, should you have need of it.'

It became at once apparent that she had not quite understood him right. 'Wait, you would come with me? On that quest?'

There was no way back now. The offer had been made and he could not withdraw it. While Thráin hated the need for it, he also knew that he made the right choice and that was enough to give him some peace of mind. The path had been chosen and the choosing had been the hard part. Now all he had to do was stick to it to whatever end and, because he was a dwarf and he belonged to a race that took pride in the keeping of promises, that came easier to him.

'I would,' he said.

For all that she had been among dwarves for the better part of three weeks, she still did not grasp the concept of loyalty to kin. 'Why?' she asked, bewildered. 'No, seriously, why? I mean, I know we're related and I'm starting to get that you somehow feel responsible for me, but that is taking familial duty to a whole new level.'

'It is the way of my people,' Thráin explained, trying to extinguish the fire of fury that he felt at her doubts. He had to remember that she had not been raised in the same way he had been and from what he had heard, loyalty was a meaningless concept where she came from. 'And the way of it among friends.' He fixed her with a stern stare. 'This is not your world, Beth.'

'They do things differently here,' she said softly, wryly.

'You had better get used to it,' he told her. 'And take care with your words around others. Not many others will take them as you mean them. Because to them they may mean something else entirely.'

Now he had riled her. One eyebrow was raised in question as she asked: 'The way you took care with your words in front of Lord Elrond?'

'I never said not to show your anger to those deserving of it,' he retorted. His conduct may have been questionable, but it had been justified as well.

And speaking of those deserving. Gimli came barrelling into the room without so much as bothering to knock, his face as red as his beard. 'Our waiting is at an end,' he announced when he skidded to a stop barely an inch from the table. 'The wizard has just arrived.'

At last.

Next time: a long-awaited meeting.

Unfortunately that meeting is going to have to wait. Real life has just caught up with me, reminding me that until late May/early June I won't have a lot of time. So until then updates for this story will at best be irregular, but more likely not forthcoming. I really, really don't like that, but these next couple chapters will be difficult to write and I want to be able to guarantee the quality, rather than publishing shorter chapters that won't be as good. There might be some Duly Noted chapters while you wait, so you won't be cut off entirely.

My apologies for this. I'm really, really sorry.

As always, thank you for reading. Reviews would be most welcome.