Chapter 21
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A/N: This chapter is brought to you courtesy of BlueRiverSteel's blood, sweat, and tears; and summerald's intrinsic awesomeness and proofing abilities!
Words in Black Speech or Khuzdul are translated at the bottom.
Enjoy!
The orc attack and Ryn's subsequent show of rage left most of the caravan in a state of shock. Kíli spent the night fielding questions, concerns, and angry rants; some of the dwarves called for the lass's banishment from their company, others her execution, both suggestions that Kíli found wore on his nerves as the night went on. Most, though, simply required an explanation and reassurance that the Prince's strange betrothed meant them no harm. For these, Kíli simply told them of her Eiri heritage and pointed to the lass, working ceaselessly in the infirmary to heal what damage she had done and more. Dis assisted her son through the night, as did Rognus, to Kíli's surprise.
"She won the battle, and then healed me," was all he would say when they asked why he so quickly defended the one who'd nearly killed him.
By the time dawn's gray light began creeping over the camp, all the dwarves who had been injured in the night's attack were back safe with their families, and the few who had died (thankfully, none of them at Ryn's hand) were being dealt with appropriately. Rognus approached Kíli, who was swaying on his feet when he stood a bit too fast.
"Kíli, you need to-"
"No," Kíli interrupted. "I have to find Ryn."
Rognus smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that. Last I saw, she was with Bilbo, still healing away. Not sure where she'll be now that all the healing's done."
Kíli nodded. "I think I know."
He set off for the riverbank; there was a comfortable spot that would be perfect for watching the sun come up just south of camp, a spot he'd planned to take her this morning in an attempt to apologize for his recent behavior. He knew she meant well using her magic to fight, knew she did it to defend those she loved, to avoid becoming that dwarfling she'd been when she watched her family murdered all those years ago. He also had come to realize, after two days' hard thinking, that asking her not to use her magic to defend what she held dear was like taking his bow and long sword and tossing him into a battle with only his bare hands. He'd never intended that, he'd only been concerned because the magic seemed to be getting out of hand.
And after last night, he had no doubt she would be of the same mind. The look in her eyes, standing there amidst all that destruction, had told Kíli everything he needed to know.
The lass he loved was still there, he had not lost her to the lust of power that so often afflicted those with magical ability—or any sort of extraordinary ability, for that matter.
Instead, there'd been a devastated woman, horrified at what her best intentions had wrought.
His idúzhib, his heart, his beloved. In pain.
Kíli quickened his steps.
She was sitting there, in the place he'd hoped to take her, Bilbo beside her with a hand on her back as she stared toward the brightening half of the sky. The hobbit saw him and murmured in Ryn's ear; she didn't move, but nodded slowly, and Bilbo gave him a wan smile as he approached.
"She's exhausted, Kíli, please don't be too harsh with her just now," he murmured.
The Prince winced as if stung. "I don't intend to be harsh with her at all, Master Hobbit." Then he took a good look at his friend. "You look like you could use some rest."
Bilbo chuckled humorlessly. "I couldn't leave her last night. She was...well, you'll see. She wasn't really herself. But it's you she needs, not me."
Kíli's throat constricted, and he nodded. "I am here."
Bilbo clapped him on the shoulder and headed back to camp, while Kíli approached Ryn. She didn't move when he sat beside her, close enough their shoulders touched. He felt her trembling, though, and fought the urge to pull her into his arms and forget talking about the situation, just hold her until she knew how much he loved her.
But they had to talk about this.
"I love you," he started, thinking it was best to start on an encouraging note. But Ryn just snorted.
"Guess that makes you a fool, then."
Kíli blinked, uncertain how to react to such blatant, agonizing hatred. He gulped and decided to meet it head on.
"How so?"
She turned to him, eyes blazing. "Do you think I'm stupid, Kíli? Do you think I don't know what I did last night? That I'm not painfully aware of what it means for both of us? I lost control, I nearly killed some of our—of your—own kin, I passed the point of redemption. Frankly, I'm surprised they haven't mobbed and executed me yet. Certainly I have no place here now, and I've dragged you down with me. If you still love me after all that, then you really are a fool."
Kíli was quiet for a moment, understanding that his beloved's pain was manifesting as fury just now; if he knew Ryn, he only had to wait a few more minutes, let her rant a little bit more, and her agony and fear would overtake her anger.
Then he would be able to reach her.
"But I do love you," he murmured, because it was true, but mostly to encourage her to keep talking.
It worked.
"You're stupid!" she responded. "I'm not fit to stand at the side of the Prince of Erebor, and you should know that. You shouldn't even be here with me right now, Kíli, it'll only strengthen the case of those who would stand against you after this...I'm worthy of neither your love nor your regard, please, just...go away..." Ryn was fighting tears now, and still Kíli waited, maintaining his distance.
Just a minute more.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Ryn screamed her frustration into her knees. "Leave, Kíli! I can't stand to be near you right now! I hate you, I hate this, I hate all of it...I hate who I am..." she was sobbing outright now, and the Prince steadied himself, pushing her declaration of hatred toward him to the back of his mind, knowing she didn't mean it. "I just can't win, Kíli, no matter what I do I hurt people..."
Now.
Kíli wrapped both arms around his trembling, sobbing bandinh, and she wailed her grief into his tunic. He shushed her gently, whispering in her ear while she cried, not bothering to hold back his own tears as they dripped into her curls.
"I love you, Ryn, it's going to be okay...I love you..." he murmured, over and over, like a mantra.
Eventually, she quieted enough to answer him. She pulled back and he swiped gently at her wet, puffy cheeks. "I love you too," she whispered, her voice wrecked. "But there are still consequences of what happened last night we have to deal with. I have to deal with."
Kíli nodded. "There are, but they aren't quite as dire as you suspected, love. You healed them all. Your magic won the skirmish for us." Ryn was shaking her head, so Kíli placed a hand on either side of her face and directed her to look at him. She complied, still trembling, and he kissed her nose.
"You're right that you lost control and that it was nearly catastrophic. But it wasn't, not quite, and you fixed whatever damage you did unintentionally, and then some. Ryn...I won't lie to you: several of the dwarves now hate you. But most of them are intelligent enough to understand what happened. And you? I think it's safe to assume you'll not allow your magic to overpower you like that again." Kíli fingered Ryn's courtship braids, the leather thong that wove through them, kissed her sore eyelids, allowing his own vulnerability to show as he whispered, "Sweetheart. Don't leave me."
Ryn made a little choking sound of distress—he suspected she hadn't considered that her words meant abandoning him, abandoning them—and wrapped her arms around his chest, squeezing tight. "I won't. Kíli, I won't; I'm right here. I'm so sorry."
Kíli held her for the next hour, as they talked like they hadn't done in days, and their words were a healing balm to one another, soothing the hurts they'd endured and shoring up their strength for the ones they would doubtless face in the days to come.
Eventually, Kíli led Ryn back to his tent, and they slept, wrapped up in each other and counting on their complete exhaustion to keep any nightmares at bay.
Yusräa nodded to Fíli's guards as she knocked on the door of his personal chambers and received a shouted "come in!" from inside. They made no attempt to stop her, so she assumed Fíli's pride had kept him from telling anyone what had transpired between them the day before.
Fool.
But it worked in her favor, so she grinned and opened the door, stepping inside Fíli's private rooms confidently.
"Just a second, Balin, I want to take this missive to Qir for Kíli before we—"
The young King stopped in his tracks when he saw who stood in his room. "You," he practically snarled.
Yusräa grinned. "How intelligent. Think you can manage to hold onto your tongue long enough to call for your guards?" Fíli's eyes narrowed, and he looked about to do just that, so the sorceress interrupted him. "Ah, ah. Not so fast, young Son of Durin. Perhaps you'd best find out what you're dealing with first, hm?" Smiling, Yusräa muttered a word in the Ancient Black Speech.
Fíli's eyes widened and she heard him choke back a sound of alarm as a long black gag appeared and tied itself tightly around his head, tripping him up so he landed in a chair. Similar bindings appeared at both wrists and ankles, and Fíli struggled momentarily. "There now," Yusräa cooed. "I don't like to be interrupted."
The lad glared at her, his blue eyes stormy.
Yusräa just laughed. "Oh come now, Fíli, don't look at me like that. You had to know something was amiss; I am certainly no dwarf princess. Do not worry, all shall be revealed in time. But first, you'll be telling me everything you know about the mithril rooms. And to ensure your cooperation, I'll make you a deal. How's that sound?"
Fíli's gaze hadn't left hers, but it was still hard as stone.
"Listen now," Yusräa continued. "The lass whose identity I...borrowed...for this little escapade; she is alive in my dungeons. If you cooperate with me, I will not kill her when this is all over and the Lonely Mountain is mine. Also, your beloved brother will be returning soon, will he not? 'Twould be a shame if he met with...misfortune...on the road."
The mention of Nalla got only a small response from Fíli; but the threat aimed at the Prince elicited a low growl that made Yusräa chuckle in amusement.
"Ah, there's the weak spot. Very well then. Your help in exchange for the life of your brother. Have we a deal, Son of Durin?"
Fíli seemed to be warring with himself, agonizing over the decision, and Yusräa felt her patience wearing thin. How difficult was it to nod and agree?
But she said nothing, and was rewarded a minute later when Fíli's blue eyes lifted, exhausted and frightened, to meet hers. He looked defeated as he nodded, and Yusräa resisted the urge to cackle in delight.
"Most excellent." Another ancient word, and the gag disappeared, though Fíli barely seemed to notice. He just stared straight ahead, as if preparing himself for the reality that he was about to betray his kingdom. Yusräa stepped closer, counting on the still-present bindings to prevent the King from throttling her himself. Knowing he couldn't move, the sorceress didn't bother resisting the urge to taunt him, leaning close and whispering in his ear.
"Traitor."
Fíli shuddered. "What do you want to know?" She heard the shame in his low voice, and it delighted her.
"Mithril magic. What is it and how does it work?"
"It is magic imbedded in the mountain itself," Fíli answered in a monotone. "A connection, if you will, between the King and the Stone. As far as I know, it can only be wielded by the King Under the Mountain, so I'm not sure what you want with it."
Yusräa snorted. "You're a fool, Fíli, if you think you're the only one with the power to wield such magic."
Fíli stared, real shock seeming to register a moment later. "Wait...you plan to try to use the magic of the Mountain yourself?"
"Kill you and there won't be a King under the Mountain—no one to stand in my way. My own magic will allow me to control the stone." Yusräa looked hard at Fíli—this was her favorite part, when her victim realized just how bad things were. "Erebor will have a new Queen instead."
Fíli shook his head. "Are you insane? The dwarves will never accept such an atrocity."
"With the power of Durin's magic at my disposal, none will dare oppose me."
Fíli looked helpless, and Yusräa felt the first stirrings of victory bloom in her chest. "You can't..." he murmured faintly. Yusräa laughed heartily.
"Watch me. Now, your Majesty," she sneered the title, delighting in Fíli's wince. "Take me to this mithril room."
Kerif looked at Nalla as they rode up to the Main Gate of the Lonely Mountain. It was quite the sight, but one he'd seen before; and he wanted to see the Princess' reaction. Her expression of complete awe was amusing and completely relatable, and Kerif couldn't hold back a small grin.
The elves did not notice, though, riding into the mountain without slowing—evidently they were expected, as promised, Kerif realized when the Gate Guard didn't try to stop them—and they dismounted quickly. A white-haired dwarf that Kerif recognized as the King's Chief Advisor met them.
"Come, this way," Balin said softly. His gaze lingered momentarily on Kerif, and the young dwarf felt hot under his stare, but there was no time to address his presence just now.
Kerif had no doubt he would be paying for his transgressions the moment Yusräa was sent packing.
Balin spoke to the elf prince as they hurried along the halls. "We're to meet Fíli in his study in five minutes, to discuss the plan—"
He was interrupted as they turned a corner and ran smack into the King in question, and Nalla's doppelganger. Kerif stared unabashedly.
So that's how she did it. He looked from Nalla to Yusräa, disturbed by how good the sorceress' disguise was.
Fíli hadn't stood a chance.
The Princess gasped softly, and the King's eyes widened. Nalla—no, Yusräa, Kerif reminded himself—looked outraged.
"I see my lie is well and truly discovered," she stated coldly, zeroing in on the lass whose identity she had stolen. "I should've killed you when I had the chance, girl." Her gaze fell on Kerif, and she growled. "And you, traitor. You're not worth the maggoty bread we fed you in that dungeon."
Kerif couldn't bring himself to meet the King's eyes, but he stared down Yusräa, fighting revulsion at the sight of that evil look on Nalla's pretty face. "Well you needn't fear; I've no intention of soliciting your hospitality again, Witch."
Nalla made a small sound that might have been amusement from behind him, and Kerif barely had time to register shock at her nerve before Yusräa had a wicked-looking knife held to Fíli's throat.
"Amusing. You know, I was going to do this alone, but I suppose an audience will just add to the novelty of it. Come along, all of you."
Rukhsul. Orc dung and dragon fire. This is bad.
She slid the knife to Fíli's back, and he led the way to what Kerif assumed must've been a mithril room. He felt miserable as he followed, eyeing Balin and Dwalin, along with the assembled elves. Kerif knew the dwarf brothers were formulating a plan—he caught the silent looks, the surreptitious Khuzdul gestures they kept at their sides—and he tried to stay alert for signs of what it might be.
Self-loathing could wait; for now, he needed to try to undo what he started all those weeks ago with his betrayal.
Fíli's mind raced as he led 'Nalla' and the small company of elves and dwarves through Erebor's halls. Very few dwarrow were about in this quarter, and Fíli was grateful for that, despite the fact he had a plan for dealing with this...whoever she was.
She wants mithril magic? All right then, I'll show her mithril magic.
They reached the Ring of Ahyrunul in relatively short order, and Fíli led everyone in, carefully directing the imposter's attention to the thick veins of mithril in the walls and ceiling—and specifically not the roughly-circular ring of runes in the floor.
It seemed to work; she walked right behind him, staring with power-hungry eyes at all the patterns and joints in the shining metal that he pointed out. Calling on his years of experience creating mischief with Kíli, Fíli wove a blatant outright lie about the room that he hoped wouldn't get him killed.
"Each joint in the mithril is a nexus of the magic," he said, voice hushed with awe. "The more joints you activate, the stronger the power. For small tasks like interrogating a prisoner, you need only use a few; for a large-scale defense of the mountain, you'd likely need them all."
Just a little more, the girl was nearly inside the Ring...
'Nalla' grinned. "And how do you activate the magic?"
There. Her feet were barely inside the runes.
Fíli took the mithril rod Balin handed him reverently. "With this."
Now.
With a shout, the King spun the staff and stabbed it into the coin-sized spot of mithril on the floor just outside the Ring. The magic hummed through the air as it came to life, the runes on the floor glowing white-hot. His enemy seemed to realize instantly what Fíli had done, and screamed her rage, starting toward him with a threat on her lips.
She made it to the edge of the circle, then ran smack into a shimmering wall of white magic, hard enough to knock her back onto her rear.
"You stinking whelp!" she screeched. "How dare you trick me? You really think you'll get away with-aggh!"
Fíli blinked in surprise—he hadn't done anything yet—as the magic of the Ring swirled around the dwarf lass angrily. He looked at Balin.
What was happening?
His advisor and friend looked as mystified as Fíli felt; so the King simply stood, allowing the magic to work and not trying to influence it in any way.
The dwarf lass inside the circle of runes jerked convulsively on the ground, choked cries escaping as she fought whatever the mithril was trying to accomplish. Fíli blinked when her legs began to lengthen, skirts going from ankle-length to just below her knees.
He heard someone behind him gasp.
For himself, he could barely take his eyes off the oddity before him. The imposter was growing taller, slimmer, her hair and eyes darkening to deep black; her skin white instead of ruddy.
Moments later, she staggered to her feet, tall and imposing and possessed of the cruelest beauty Fíli had ever witnessed.
He felt a little awed, honestly, and more than a little repulsed. He forced his face to remain impassive.
"Ah, there you are. The Ring of Ahyrunul abides no lie-evidently not even in the form of a disguise." He smiled at Balin, who looked like his scholar's brain was exploring every possible angle and effect of this new knowledge. "So," Fíli continued, stifling his amusement at his Uncle's oldest friend and turning back to the human—for she was clearly human—woman. "Who are you?"
The dark lady drew herself up to her tallest, looking down on the dwarf King haughtily. "I am Yusräa, Sorceress of Helcënost, and soon-to-be Queen Under the Mountain."
Fíli cocked an eyebrow. "You still believe that, do you? Please realize you're not going anywhere, Yusräa. You're going to tell us everything we need to know, and then...Balin, what happens to folks in the Ring of Ahyrunul after we're done interrogating them?"
"I know not, my King. We have never used it before."
"Ah, yes. So we really don't know what the mithril is going to do with you once we're through here. I wouldn't count on it being comfortable, though."
Yusräa narrowed her eyes. "You are not the only one with magic to wield, brat. Kahfshog!"
Whatever the mithril ring did, it clearly could not protect those outside it from the power intrinsic in the Ancient Languages of Arda. The Tongue of Melkor had a magic all its own, independent of the one calling it forth, and Fíli gasped in pain as he found himself hunched on the ground, the mithril rod clattering to the stone beside him. He lifted streaming eyes—Mahal, what had she said? It hurt—to see the rest of the room in a similar situation; even the elves were moaning softly on the cold floor.
Yusräa smirked as she stepped over the threshold of the magic ring. "Poor little Fíli," she taunted, another word in Melkor's language assaulting his senses and making Fíli gasp for air. "Too young and stupid to resist my charms. You really should have kicked me out the moment you saw me."
Fíli's head felt like it was going to explode. He barely saw Kerif crawling along the stone toward the sorceress.
"It would've been the only way you stood a chance against me."
The young former lieutenant's fingers curled around a dagger Fíli recognized—it was the one Kíli had made for him mere months ago, back when they first re-opened Erebor's forges. His brother was no genius in weaponsmithing, but he had worked long and hard on that dagger, wanting so badly to have a gift worthy of a king to present to Fíli; and the simple, elegant dagger had been the result. A labor of love, pure and strong and true, unbreakable—just like their bond as brothers. How it had ended up on the floor, Fíli couldn't really remember.
But he couldn't think much on it, now that Yusräa had him by the throat, hovering over him with another of those hateful words on her lips, choking him.
"Gaubdûkhimâ sanzigil zigrel odúhyar umúrad tada zatamarad sigin tarâg ra inúdoy ul Mahal..." Fíli gasped softly, feeling the mithril spark beneath his palms, flat on the floor.
Yusräa laughed. "Bartas," she hissed, and Fíli had to bite back a scream of agony.
"Gaubdûkhimâ sanzigil zigrel odúhyar umúrad tada zatamarad sigin tarâg ra inúdoy ul Mahal!" The magic numbed his fingers, and Fíli commanded in the loudest voice he could muster:
"Odúyhar!"
Yusräa yelped as the shimmering sparks threw her off Fíli, landing sprawled on the floor a few feet away. Fíli turned over, onto his hands and knees, and reached for his sword, but the lack of oxygen made him too slow; Yusräa shouted another word and he was lifted against the stone wall, a tortured scream on his lips.
I'm going to die, how could I have been so foolish, it's all over now...
Yusräa stalked toward him. "When are you going to accept defeat, Son of Durin? Even if you defeat me, you will accomplish nothing."
We are dwarves, we never accept defeat...
"The One to whom I have sworn allegiance, the one who taught me his words and how to use them, he is more powerful than any dwarven magic you possess."
Fíli forced his gaze to stay on Yusräa—but he saw Kerif creeping toward the sorceress, dagger still in hand.
"And he will kill you, if I do not. Except he'll use your beloved brother to do it."
Fíli's mind went blank. Kíli? Kill him?
What?
"Is that horror I see in your eyes?" Yusräa grinned. "You heard me. Your brother will fall to the Dark Lord; and then he will kill his young lover, and then your mother, and then you."
"No," was all Fíli could murmur. He was so dizzy and sick, both with pain and with the idea of Kíli's defeat.
"Oh, yes. The Line of Durin will end with you, young Fíli; and the Mountain will belong to Melkor."
"No," he repeated, forcing his eyes open just in time to see Kerif bury the dagger hilt-deep in Yusräa's back, warrior training guiding the blade straight to her heart.
The sorceress' eyes widened, and she let out a bloodcurdling scream, turning and striking young Kerif with magic black as night. The dwarf warrior flew across the room, slammed into the wall, and slumped to the ground, unmoving.
But Yusräa demanded Fíli's attention; her skin was tightening, drying out, cracking; her hair lightening to white and thinning to barely a few wisps, her eyes glazing over as she screamed. The sorceress aged before his very eyes, her scream quieting as she turned to dust at his feet.
Fíli stood in shock, blinking. Slowly, the others stirred, standing and checking on each other, murmuring quietly. Nalla—the real Nalla—ran to Kerif and began running her fingers over his face, his hair, trying to figure out how badly he was hurt. Dwalin stumbled over to help support the King as he swayed on his feet.
"It's all right, laddie, you did well. It's over now."
No, Fíli thought faintly.
It's only beginning.
"Gaubdûkhimâ sanzigil zigrel odúhyar umúrad tada zatamarad sigin tarâg ra inúdoy ul Mahal..."-"May the most powerful mithril magic smite the one who seeks to harm the Line of Durin and the Children of Mahal."
"Kahfshag!"—literally, "Sting them!"
"Bartas"-"Make him scream."