Royal Blood

The night thrummed with the clattering of voices of metal below as he stared up at the dark gates. No light came from within, no noise, the world had fallen deathly silent. His eyes flicked down to the strewn bodies at Asfaloth's feet. They had died fighting for that which they loved, he reflected as he stroked his horse's neck. Within Erebor, he heard Nerthus' crows for help echoing throughout the halls. They sounded empty, lifeless, as though the dwarves had been permanently silenced.

And then the great gates creaked open with a dwarf woman sticking her head out to observe the world around her. She appeared familiar to Glorfindel; her hair was dark and her eyes bright blue. The woman looked in the direction of Asfaloth and she gasped in shock.

"Coruwen, I-I didn't think," The woman whispered in disbelief. Coruwen rode forward, edging Ithil over the bodies before she dismounted the mare to greet the woman. "Come; come inside, all of you – before they come back."

He was quite hesitant to go inside of Erebor, the thought of being beneath a mountain slightly unnerving him. Behind them, the gates shut with the shake of heavy chains sounding them to a halt. The halls were dimly lit and climbed higher to disappear into darkness. Aside from the large walkway that the company stood upon, the rest of the catwalks were thin and long like dashed in every direction thus connecting one side to the other.

"I was having second thoughts about sending for Freya without you," The woman's voice drew his attention back down. Coruwen had a hold of the woman's shoulder as she spoke. "They came by complete surprise. Esgaroth was unarmed and undermanned – so they burnt it to the ground. Brand was forced to flee from Dale when the Easterlings took the gates." The woman shook her head, apparently still in disbelief "So many are dead, so few hang on to life still."

His own heart shuddered – he understood the pain of losing so many lives. It was sadly inevitable, and all one could do was stand and watch sometimes. He watched Coruwen pat the woman's shoulder gently as her face became grieved.

"What of Dain and Brand?" Coruwen whispered, his own ears having a hard time picking up her soft voice. The woman looked up at her with tears catching the dim light. "I see, so you had no other choice."

"Dain said to call for you earlier, but… But, I couldn't seem to call you."

"Dís, all will be fine. Your brother would have done the same, trust me." She looked to her uncles and Himon. "Himon, Rumil, and Orophin – I need you up on the wall and keep an eye out for any Easterling strays that wander up."

The three dipped their head to her and vanished up a set of stairs that hidden by an engraved archway. He watched Coruwen run a hand through her hair as though nervous. She sighed quietly, her silver overcoat's sleeves bunching at her elbows as she raised her hand up to catch Elathan. He was still enamored with the little dragon; the way this one talked was like talking to one of his own kindred. The baby's tail curled around her wrist as she cradled him in her hand. Looking like this, he thought, she looks so strong. The glitter of power in her eyes, the evenness of her features made her appear so different to him.

Coruwen stroked Elathan's little head and from her lips came a word that was sounded close to their own language, yet touched different notes of her voice that became poetic. Together, the baby dragons flew from Erebor through a window. He walked up to Coruwen, placing a hand on her shoulder. She glanced back at him and through the pain and forcefulness of the issue, she smiled. The smile was clearly forced as her eyes held deep concern.

"Naruhel, go ahead and see what you can do," Coruwen stated. The sound of the healer's boots picked up as she walked past them. "Tauriel, Glorfindel, do as you please."

He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze then let his hand drop. "I will stay with you, dear." He whispered in her ear. The glimmer of joy passed in her eyes before it was masked by her concern and worry. He had held her earlier that day and made her laugh, and now she was silent. War never brought any joy to the world; it only desired to create chaos.

"Dís, tell me, do either Dain or Brand hang on to life still?" Coruwen asked as Tauriel ran after Naruhel. Dís looked to the ground, and whispered something inaudible.

"I believe Brand is, and if he is, he will not be on this plane much longer," Dís said gravely. "Come, follow me." She waved her hand and started up a flight of stairs that climbed into a long corridor of doors. The corridor seemed to hold a great tension that was dangling by a thin thread. Perhaps it was the voices of pain from within the rooms that they passed that collected the tension and then dispersed it into his heart. Dís stopped at a door, and then hesitantly knocked only to be answered by sobbing voice. Instantly, his heart fell – the Lord of Dale was dead by the tone of the people within.

Dís stepped back, a hand covering her mouth as she almost fell against the wall for support. He felt Coruwen grip his hand as she turned away with tears that desired to fall touching her eyes. Openly, he could not comfort her as he had wished, and could only take her hand in silence.

"Dís…" Coruwen started quietly, turning to face the woman. "I will tend to the injured, in the mean time; we need to hold out until Freya comes."

"You called her?" Dís asked. "But you said that dragons-,"

"I know what I said, but… But the amount of our dead is not greater than those of the Easterlings." Coruwen replied, releasing his hand. And with her hand, she summoned the brooding concern that had nestled itself deep in his heart to rise up and constrict his throat. "You need to be with your people, Dís. They need you right now."

The woman nodded slowly, "Right… You're right. Come and find me once again when you are spent, my friend."

The sound of Dís walking off seemed to quell the concern. He glanced up at Coruwen, finding her to be facing away from him in the dark. He reached out, running his fingers through the lower section of her hair that made her stiffen. She seemed unsettled to him, perhaps caused by the dire state in which this city was in, or it could have been any number of things. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her to his side and she remained mute.

"What is troubling you, dearest?" He whispered into her hair. She leaned into him to bury her face into his shoulder. "Coruwen, dear, speak to me."

Coruwen took a steady breath and turned her head where her cheek rested on his chest. "There is so much to do, and so little time," She murmured. "How ever do I fix this?"

"Think clearly for moment, if you need it. You have the others to help you. Calling Freya seemed to be a just idea," He assured her, running a hand through her hair. She mutely shook her head to which he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Her eyes rose to his, the smallest of smiles coming to her face because of it. "Let us take one thing at a time, hm?"

"Yes, that seems a better idea than scrambling to pick up the pieces." She twined their fingers together, still with a ghostly smile on her lips. He was not surprised at all by her lack of happiness, for not even his soul could find joy anywhere amongst the mountain's halls.

~.~.~

Coruwen sighed as she leaned up against a stone archway. Her fingers tingled with numb nerves and her mind stretched thin. Thousands of men and dwarves were injured, some beyond repair, some even missing limbs or had massive gashes on their sides from broadswords. She numbly touched her fingers to her thumb, assessing their feeling slowly. She lost count of how many times she pricked herself because her patient had wriggled or slumped down because of pain. Looking towards the main gate, she caught the glimpses of morning's light streaming through the archways to pool at the base of the gate in great swirling pools. They had arrived in the late hours of the evening and worked through the night to heal the injured. At some point in the night, she had sent Glorfindel up to the wall to keep watch with her uncles while Himon assisted Naruhel and Tauriel.

"I suppose you came over here to escape?" Tauriel's voice came from behind her. She turned her gaze over to the red head as she ran a hand across her face. Coruwen let out a small laugh, nodding. "I have no idea how she does it, Naruhel. However, it seems to me that Himon is more than willing to help her… How does that strike you?"

Coruwen glanced back down the gloomy corridor, a small smirk on her face. It seemed to her that Himon was slightly stricken by Naruhel, but that was her opinion. "Possibly smitten, but Himon is tricky," Coruwen replied as her fingers coiled around her necklace.

Freya had yet to come and to say the least it was bothering her why Freya had not come with haste. Why had she not come? Was it because of Elathan and Nerthus having to take their time? These were only a few questions she was inwardly asking herself.

Tauriel smiled, "Possibly, it is always possible with ellyn, really." The woman started up the steps that led up to the wall, and then she stopped, glancing back. "Come with me?"

She nodded and followed after Tauriel. The air that buffeted her when she slid out of the door was brisk, as though it had been waiting for her the entire time with its cool touch. Her heart nearly stopped when she found Rumil standing on the edge of the stone hedge like an agile fox.

"Rumil," She hissed, narrowing her eyes at her younger uncle. Rumil looked over at her, and then leapt down from the ledge gracefully. Her heart had leapt up into her throat at the sight of falling. She glanced around him, not seeing Orophin or Glorfindel nearby. "Where are the other two?"

Rumil sent her a look of feigned hurt, "I see how you are, robin." He muttered. Coruwen walked up to Rumil, leaning up against him slightly to which he placed his chin on her head. "Phin and Glorfindel wandered around the corner a while back and they have not come back since…"

She slid out of Rumil's grip, leaning on the stone hedge. Below, the Easterlings milled around, appearing like waves of rolling red and black cloth. There were so many, spears of crude steel standing out in the sun, shields depicting a six pointed star flashing, and upon the tower sat Khamûl with his companion at his side.

"It feels like we are fighting the sea's current rather than a battle," She muttered breathlessly, leaning on the heel of her hand. How could they fight such a great force? Dragons or no dragons, this was going to be a task. Rumil placed his hand on her upper back, causing her to straighten like a cat. She cast a fretful look to her uncle before returning her gaze to the Easterling forces. "Perhaps I have led us to our doom…"

"No, you have not, my robin," Rumil said. "You trust what your mind is telling you. There is no wrong in that."

"Then explain to me, how exactly we are going to fend off eight thousand spears and two Nazgûl?" Her blood sent frustration through her, she felt so stretched – like a harp string strung too tightly. Rumil motioned to the scale around her neck, and she gave him a stubborn shake of her head. "I am unsure if Freya can come to us or even if her babies made it back. For now, we are going to have to think of something."

"The world has an interesting sense of cruelty and humor." Rumil placed his hand over hers, gently rubbing the top of it with his thumb. A bit of silent reassurance was something soothed her boiling blood and loosened the pessimistic bonds that had laced themselves around her neck. At least if she were to fall, it would be with the people that considered her one of them, with the elves that chose to follow her, and with the man she cared for into the depths of the abyss. She bowed her head in thought, clutching Rumil's hand in her own.

Turning his hands, she felt his fingertips, though smooth – they still possessed a bit of roughness from the use of blades. They were like Haldir's, or rather a perfect personification of them. Her mind evoked the image of a younger version of herself holding onto hands like these and tracing the lines in his hands. Tears swelled in her eyes, yet she could not let them fall. Her heart still ached for the loss of Haldir.

"Robin, I know you miss him… I can see it," Rumil said in a gentle voice. His tone reminded her of how one speaks to a frightened animal. "Phin gets the same look, the same look of melancholy. I know that I look at my hands and see Haldir's sometimes."

"Rumil, I… I feel like I never got to say goodbye... He acted bitterly towards me, and I him. My heart longs for him still."

"I know the feeling, my robin. Phin and I watched him tumble down to the floor, only for Aragorn to protect him as he faded." Her uncle sighed heavily, shaking his head. "If he were here…" He let out a huff of laughter that sounded almost bitter to her ears. "By the Valar, I am not my brother. Haldir was so dutiful to what he did, it was almost uncanny."

"Like he was born into this world gifted with it?"

"Aye, took the words right out of my mouth, robin."

The sounds of two low timbre voices made Coruwen look to the left. From around the bend of the catwalk came Glorfindel and Orophin, walking side by side. Glorfindel kept speaking to Orophin, but met her eyes and gave her an incline of his head in silent greeting. Orophin finished his sentence as he came to settle beside Rumil.

"What are you doing out here?" Orophin asked, gently nudging his brother away a bit so he could look over the wall.

"I was fed up with healing the injured for now," She admitted with a sigh. "I also pricked my fingers far too many times when trying to stitch some wounds. People were a tad groggy when I got a hold of them."

She could still feel the tips of her fingers tingle as they regained consciousness. A loud churn of noise caught her attention instantly. On a ridge, sat an Easterling scout, crouched low like a cat. Orophin smoothly slid the bow from his back as his other hand withdrew a white feathered arrow. In a snap and twang, the arrow was set and released with a god like swiftness, meeting its mark in the neck of the scout.

"I see they are becoming brave," Glorfindel noted as he watched the scout tumble to the ground like a ragdoll. "I believe Tauriel is up here somewhere, do you two still wish to keep an eye on the wall?"

"If I understand my brother correctly, we are fine." Orophin replied, his eyes still fixated on the ridges around the main gate. Rumil gave him a stiff nod as he walked around Orophin to the other end of the stone wall. She felt a tug on her coat's sleeve making her glance back at Glorfindel as he disappeared down the flight of steps into Erebor's depths. It seemed as though he was trying to lighten her mood a bit by drawing her attention away from other tasks. Happiness warmed her heart as she trailed after him down the steps and into the main entryway.

"Whatever are you doing?" She called as she stopped in front of him. He gave her a sly smile. "I know you are trying to distract me but… But there is simply too much going on, dear."

He sighed quietly as he took her by the waist and pulled her into him. Her hand braced his chest despite the cool pricks of metal nipping at her sprawled hand. She glanced up at him, worry sinking its teeth into her heart.

"Worry does not befit you, my dearest," Glorfindel whispered into her hair. How she loved the sound of his voice, the deep, low timbre that seemed to resonate through his chest and up her hand as he spoke. "It never has… And never will."

"You freed me from living a life that was drowned in depression and concern," She returned with a faint smile. "You have changed me so much…"

He dropped a kiss into her hair, and then ran his fingers through it. A shiver danced down her spine when his hand graced her low back. Her body remembered what her mind had forgotten – it remembered how to love and accept the love given. It was still so foreign to her that she barely remembered the way passion could ignite one's blood or the feeling of simple caresses. She wrapped her arms around him, ignoring the cool nip of his armor to rest her head just above his heart.

"And you have changed me," He said at last. "Though you still can slip into your old ways every now and again. What you need to do is simply let your heart command you rather than fight it. You are worrying yourself into a rut with this battle on the morrow. You have done it before, just listen again, dearest."

"How is it you know more about me than I know about me?"

He chuckled, "You act in certain ways that simply catches my eye."

A light scoff escaped her. "Really? Name one."

"Last evening you changed for a split moment. You were commanding the dragons as well as the others that followed you here." Her heart shuddered for a moment – those words striking up an oddly familiar cord in her heartstrings. That nature lived within her, that great sense of command that she had thought of as a curse. "It lives within you – right here." He touched her heart with two fingers that seemed felt as though he had pushed her.

"I cannot deny that I do not feel it. I thought of it as a curse." He tilted his head to the side and she smiled. "I see it as a curse because I never knew what good came from it. Now that I have a purpose once more, I can freely accept it into my heart."

Glorfindel nodded, "It, along with thousands of other things that you have forgotten."

Looking up, she saw the flicker of love pass in his eyes. Yes, she had forgotten how to love – even forgotten what love looked like in the eyes - but it was being slowly remedied. She had forgotten how to wield a blade, and thus she fixed it. Shards of her old life were intermingling with the ones she currently possessed. Coruwen pressed a hand against his cheek and then slid it to trace his jaw. If she could only -.

A loud crack snapped the two away from each. They shared a cryptic look before darting off in the direction of the snap and crack as it shook the air once again. The back gate was cracked again and the chains quivered in fear at the force of each smash. The dragon gate shook again, this time a little bit of light slipped through. A smile crept onto her features when a roar split the air.

"She came…" Glorfindel muttered in awe.

"Of course she did," Coruwen laughed, though it came out as one of shock rather than excitement.

Upon hitting the switch, the chains awakened in a quiet shudder and then worked to pull the broad gates ajar. When the light of dawn peeked through, Freya and Heimdall could be seen hovering just above the gate. Their wings beat the air in such a way that the air screamed with each flex of their shoulders to keep themselves aloft. Through the slight crack in the door, Nerthus and Elathan slipped in to come over to her. Coruwen held out her hand for Elathan to cradle him as he landed in her palm. Nerthus hooked her claws onto Glorfindel's epaulet to sit delicately beside his head.

"We came as promised, Lady Dragon," Elathan stated with pride. "It took a great amount of convincing with Bormah, but it happened."

Coruwen nodded, running her fingers across the ridges above his great teal eyes. The little dragon hummed, settling himself into her arms like a cat with his tail curled around her wrist. When the gates opened wide, Freya dove inside – coming to a skidding halt before the elves. As she looked up at Freya, she saw the wildness of concern in her eyes that darkened them to the color of aged amber that was lit by fire. Heimdall landed behind Freya with arrows lodged in his scales that he began to pick out like one rids splinters from their fingers. Coruwen pulled the lever back to its starting position to allow the gates to shut.

"We were correct, were we not?" Elathan said, taking an unabashed approach to his father and mother. Coruwen physically cringed – Freya looked down her nose at her son as he lay in her arms. With a snarl, Freya looked back at Heimdall, whispering a few words to him as he pulled an arrow out of his shoulder.

"Freya," Coruwen started uneasily, drawing her attention. The dragoness' features softened as she lay down. Coruwen cradled Elathan like one of her own children against her chest and outstretched her hand for Freya to touch. Freya gently touched her snout to Coruwen's hand and then pulled back, looking to Glorfindel. From a previous lesson from Smaug, he bowed to her as a sign of respect.

But she merely chuckled, "You need not bow to me, little lord. You are under the protection of my Dear One, and thus you need only extend your hand to me."

Glorfindel blinked in shock, looking to her for an answer. Coruwen assumed that Freya could sense her love for him, or Freya had an excellent sense of how she functioned. She smiled, giving him a gesture to do as Freya had instructed. Outstretching his hand, Glorfindel physically jumped when Freya touched her nose to his hand, yet her eyes watched him intently. Coruwen inwardly was beaming at the trust Freya placed within him. There were few Freya trusted. However, it seemed to Coruwen that if she trusted someone –or in this case put her heart in someone's hands – then Freya would oblige as well. Coruwen had saved Thorin's skin several times when Freya became upset by something that he had said to her that was not exactly correct. Freya pulled back, snorting out a bit of smoke that was similar to how one sneezes.

"I have seen the Easterlings, dear one," Freya stated. "They are quite numerous – do you have a plan?"

Coruwen laughed nervously, her nails digging into Elathan's scales as her worry brooded. "Not exactly…" She admitted half heartedly. Freya chuckled, giving her a nudge in the hip. She yelped, her body practically being tossed by the queen. A sigh escaped her. "Freya, there are thousands of spears. What must I do?"

"Burn them, my little one," Freya replied as though it were obvious. "Burn them to the ground until nothing if left but cinders."

"I cannot risk your life, or the life of Heimdall," Coruwen's voice rose in frustration as her concern started to swallow her. Her mind was too busy trying to decipher its own problems to pull itself free of the pit. Freya arched one eyebrow in question. She turned back to Glorfindel, still clutching Elathan to her chest in anxiety. "How long do you figure that we can hold?"

He held her gaze for a moment before it drifted off as though he was regretting to tell her something. She narrowed her eyes at him and then focused back on Freya. The dragoness eyed them both then rested her head on the beam above her head.

"Two days, at the most," Glorfindel said. The hesitation in his tone chilled her soul. He had been in war before, yet it seemed that he could not decipher the amount of trouble. She cast a fretful look back at him. "The dwarves heal faster than the Lake-Men, meaning by the time the plunge happens, we will at least have a standing force. And now with the two of you, we can handle the Nazgûl."

A snarl came from Heimdall, but Freya smacked his face with her tail. "I see then what must I do then, my little one?" Freya asked.

"For now, keep everyone on their toes, Freya." She rubbed Elathan's head gently with two fingers causing him to hum happily. "I need to make sure that the others are all right."

"Aye, my little one. I shall do as you ask," Freya turned in a circle and lay down with her head on her paws. Elathan and Nerthus departed the elves as they climbed the stairs. Coruwen stopped at the top of the stairs, slipping into the shadows of an archway.

"Dearest, are you all right?" Glorfindel asked in a low voice. She could not bear to look at him with the way her body shook. She was silently telling herself that she needed to be strong; she needed to help them… Now was a terrible time for second thoughts, she chided. "Come here."

"I need to stand on my own, Glorfindel," She whispered keeping the shakiness out of her voice.

"Even the strongest of walls have weaknesses, my dearest," He explained. "Your wall is only being rebuilt as we speak. Still, your mind has to fill in that which was broken. You were oh so very broken, dearest." She looked up at him. It took every bit of her soul to sate the trepidation in her body. He was right. She numbly shook her head, trusting that she could deal with this herself. "What is it you would ask of me?"

"You have more experience than I when it comes to war. I do need your assistance, but… But I need to figure out what to do first."

"As I said before, let us take one thing at a time. Have you found Dain's son yet?" She shook her head, "And Brand's son?"

"I have found neither."

"Then I will try to find Brand's son while you try to find Dain's?"

She nodded slowly and then wandered away from Glorfindel to find Dís. The sounds of familiar bickering echoed from the main hall nearby touched her ears. The sound of deep voices singing struck a note in her heart as she approached the main hall's gate. Poking her head inside, she saw a familiar group of dwarves – though most touched by old age at this point – were singing together with Dís sitting on the steps before the throne. She slipped inside, listening to the voices of the old Company echo off of the vaulted ceiling. She remembered this song, the song of the Lonely Mountain that she had heard slip from Thorin before.

Padding across the floor to slip into the shadows of the great blue-grey pillars, Coruwen stood behind Dori and Gloín, listening to them end their song on fading note. Gently, she placed her hands on their shoulders feeling them tense up. Dís peered back at her, meeting her eyes as a great mischief fluttered in her chest.

Gloín snapped his head back in her direction with the great defending fire of the dwarves glowing in his eyes. When he recognized her, the fire was banked and a sad smile crept into his aging features.

"By Mahal, Dís was right!" Gloín boomed, standing. "And then… That loud boom was her?"

"Aye, Master Gloín, it was," Coruwen assured him, resting her weight on the backs of her heels. The dwarves all looked up at her in awe. She gave them a simple, small smile. "The Queen has returned."

"Aye, both have," Dori replied. She looked down at him, not quite understanding what he may have meant. What did they mean both? And then it hit her like a strike of lightning – the other was her. "Thorin Oakenshield's Dragon Queen has returned after so long."

Dís stood, "Though she dons a new set of scales, no?"

Coruwen chuckled, nodding, "Yes... She has." Hearing them use her name mingled with Thorin's hurt, but it was the sad truth. He had named her, and it was he that had called her, his queen. Though it was Glorfindel that called her dearest, she reminded herself, Thorin never called her dear or dearest. A teary smile spread in her mind. It still hurt… Thorin still ached in her mind. Steeling herself, she looked to Dís, "Where might I find Dain's eldest son?"

Dís' eyebrows shot up, her fingers drumming on the stone steps. "He is currently unconscious." She said gravely. Coruwen sighed, nodding to accept the news. "I don't know what all I can do. I thought you might have an exact idea…"

Her mind steadied itself for the incoming speech. "What caused it?"

"An Easterling poison that none of us could identify."

"If I can get him to awaken, can I speak with him?"

Dís nodded and sighed. "I'm sorry I cannot do more."

Coruwen shook her head, smiling, "I will fix this, Dís. I promised your brother that I would keep Erebor, and all of her wonders, safe. And safe shall she stay."

~.~.~

Lake-Men appeared far more different to him than he would have guessed. Most were grim creatures with sunken eyes and pale faces that made them appear like breathing ghosts. He had asked to see Bard, son of Brand, yet a guard looked at him in a rather puzzled manner as though an elf had never spoken to him before. The guard blinked like a dumbstruck deer then a quiet voice came from within the room behind him. From the shadows, came a young girl, badly bruised and cut with stringy black hair that covered her bright face. In a way, she reminded him a jewel that lay in the depths of a river. Her eyes widened like saucers as she stared up at him.

"Whoa," The girl awed. Elflings and children alike warmed his heart to see – though the latter were deeply intrigued by his physical appearance to pay any mind to the words that he spoke. Kneeling down, he came down to the girl's level as her eyes searched him curiously. "You're an elf."

He smiled, "And you are a little girl." She giggled with a bright cheerful smile. "What is one so small doing speaking to the guards, hmm?"

"I am Bard's sister, Mary, and acting… Re…Rege," She clenched her little hands into fists, crossing them over her chest with a pout on her face. "Michael, what am I again?"

"Lady Regent, until your brother surfaces, Lady Mary," The guard answered formally. She looked to be no more than six or seven by the aging of Men, yet she spoke to these men like they were her size. Glorfindel gave Mary credit; she had the ferocity of a true noble lady.

"That," Mary answered, giving a toss of her head in the direction of the guard. "Bard got knocked on the head with a rock…"

"Nasty things, rocks." She laughed again and he smiled in return, yet she whispered out something that the guard behind chuckled to. "Lady Mary, tell me, would you happen to know about… Oh, how many men you have, would you?"

Mary pointed at the guard behind him. "Michael knows – Michael knows everything!"

The guard stiffened, yet kept his calm demeanor. "Now, milady…"

"No!" She shook her head over and over. Her stringy hair bouncing around her pale face. "You said so the other day, I heard you!"

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow to Mary as she shot a few words in the tongue of the Lake-Men at her companion. Her words were like snapping teeth as she ordered the guard as she hung onto the door's handle with both hands. Glorfindel silently pitied the man that married little Mary. She shut the door in a quick leap that left him with this man, Michael.

"Stubborn thing…?" He asked in a playful manner. The guard glanced up, scratching the back of his head. The guard sighed, scuffing the ground with the heel of his boot. "I pity the fool that takes her hand."

"Aye, same, Lord Elf," Michael murmured. "Lady Mary wished it of me to show you who all we have left – so if you wouldn't mind following me."

Michael started down the dark corridor and Glorfindel shadowed his footsteps finding that the halls mimicked each clatter of boot heels to echo down. These halls once had been nothing but rubble from Smaug. Coruwen had wandered every inch of the dismantled halls at one point still dumbfounded him, but then again she was different back then Now, these halls were filled with life once again or rather the bright spark of the dwarves caused the fire of Erebor to return. The halls seemed to be carved out of darkness and veined with light that rose and fell throughout the walkways and walls. Michael abruptly halted before a great stairwell with many Lake-Men sitting on benches – all with grim features creased with grief and despair.

"Hey, the lot of you sit up and let me count you!" Michael shouted. Many raised their heads while the others sighed and dreadfully stood. Some wore colors of vermillion and gold with decorated fronts while the others wore blackened leather to make them appear like grim shadows. There were four gold knights, he reflected, more than likely the Lord's Knights while the others appear to be archers or sell swords. Michael turned to him. "Fifty six if you count me and the Lord Bard."

"Ah, thank you, Michael," He replied with an incline of his head. Michael bowed and then hurried off in the direction of the corridor.

Glorfindel looked down at the men that appeared haggard. Fifty six spears weren't enough to even touch the lines of the Easterlings in their current state. Now he understood his love's worry – her concern and her doubt – with so few blades and spears at their disposal, it seemed hopeless. Turning away from the Lake-Men, he started back toward Freya or possibly Coruwen's uncles to find something to distract him. The older one, Orophin, had figured out what he had done rather quickly and questioned him. Orophin had every right to be suspicious – though oddly pleased – by the quick turn of his niece's attitude. He stopped by the entrance of an archway, running a hand across his face. Were the two of them that obvious? For even Freya had noticed!

"My lord?" A voice spooked him and he blinked, staring over at Naruhel and Tauriel. The ellith smiled, with a knowing smile beginning to form on Naruhel's face. Tauriel nudged her friend in the side. "We have been asked to bring you to Lady Coruwen."

"What is the matter?" He asked, suspicion and a strange protectiveness stirred his blood as Tauriel worried her lip. "Tauriel, I am not angry, I simply need you to speak to me."

Naruhel fidgeted with a long ringlet. "Thorin Stonehelm was poisoned, and neither I, nor Lady Coruwen know what the poison consists of." The other red head informed. His blood sated itself with her words. He gave her a grateful look to which she dipped her head to him in response. Tauriel stepped aside as he followed Naruhel to a level much higher than the previous ones and only the hall was only illuminated by stray candles that flickered upon the banners of silver and gold. Naruhel slinked inside of a cracked door, and then he heard Coruwen's voice speaking softly to the other elleth.

Out of the door came a familiar auburn haired elleth, motioning for him to come inside. The room was quite grand, a fire and a candle glowed brightly in the room that hid most of the grandeur banners and furniture that possibly was spread around the room. Lying in bed of furs was a young dwarf with young features and dark brown hair. Coming closer to the dwarf, Glorfindel noticed across his chest were many burns, scratches, cuts, and scars with many dripping odd black ooze.

"You have a bit more medical experience than Naruhel and I. I thought you might have an idea to what is causing him pain," Coruwen whispered in his ear. He glanced back at her then at the ooze. It was familiar to him – the scent of death coming off of it rather triggered his memory. This poison came from the children of Ungoliant mixed with a certain flower that grows in the south near the borders of the Southron tribes – what type of flower it was had absently slipped his mind.

"It is treatable, my ladies," He returned quietly. "Though I know what toxin has spread in his blood, the other component has slipped my mind."

Naruhel sunk into a chair with eyes blinking in confused curiosity. Coruwen stared up at him, her brow furrowed in thought and edges of her mouth pulled down in a frown. The latter touched her fingers to the dwarf's forehead and soon they trailed down to a risen, infected wound. Slowly, her features smoothed out in realization.

"A mixture of willow bark-,"

He caught the uncertainty in her voice and finished for her, "Laurel leaves and-,"

"And Vervain."

A soft giggle came from Naruhel that drew his mind's gaze yet his true gaze was on his shining lady as she smiled knowingly at him. She passed him and gave Naruhel a soft tap on the head to follow. His heart could not decide to be impressed or in awe of his Dearest's ability of medicinal herbs. In the depths of his heart, it whispered what his lips and lungs could not breathe to life.

A/N: Ah, this chapter has so much going on. It's almost silly! The three herbs that are named at the end of the chapter actually have medicinal use! And they took me forever to find!

Question: So, we're getting into the Siege of Erebor which means that it's coming in the next few chapters. Do you all want me to give it to you this weekend as a whole, or do you just want you wait like normal?

Please Review! I know that there are many readers out there, so could you maybe drop me a review to tell me how I'm doing? Please?