A/N: music prompt (if you want it) is The Last of the Mohicans - Promontory (Main Theme) from the movie soundtrack. (On YouTube.)
Chapter 25
Kili, Prince of Erebor, rode in the dark pre-dawn behind Halden, Ranger of the North. He had not been this close to the land of Ered Luin, the place of his birth, in over eighty years. Now, on this cold winter morning, he could barely see its rugged landscape across the shallow water of the River Lune.
Kili held tight to Halden's saddle as the Dunedain horses threaded their way silently along the river bank, making for a low ridgeline with silent purpose.
And in his heart: a horrible, hollow ache for his Lady Wife.
Her mercy mission had no chance of success if he could not effectively create a massive diversion. It was left to her to discover the fate of Nori, missing member of his Uncle's company, and no one but Mahal knew if the healers would find him or his trapped miners in time to save their lives.
Focus lad, he told himself, forcing his thoughts to what was in front of him: several hundred filthy goblins sleeping off last night's grog. They passed two dead goblins on the trail—sign that the Dunedain sharpshooters had already used their stealth to take out the few lookouts the goblins had bothered to post.
Halden slowed his horse and handed Kili down to join a tightly bunched group of nervous, quiet hobbits. They clutched bows, the tips bobbing tall over their heads.
Kili glanced at the sober faces, quickly finding Merry and Pippin.
"You must be silent and move quickly," he murmured in a deep voice. "Hobbits do this well," he nodded, showing them that they had his confidence. "Once you've shot your fire arrows, move your archers downstream," he pointed. "Take and hold that rise above the shallows—shoot any goblins trying to cross, no matter which direction."
Merry and Pippin both nodded.
"Don't," Kili warned, "let your lads join the fight by the river. It's no place for archers—your work is best done from the higher ground." He left out the part that young hobbits were no match for a rabble of goblins, even less for the armed Gundabad orcs they expected later in the day. "We need you to guard the shallow ford—especially," he emphasized, "keep them from crossing back to the west and making for the settlement." His eyes were steel hard at that.
"Understood," Merry said.
Pippin nodded. "You have our word."
"Good lads. Get going. Good luck."
Merry and Pippin nodded and then fifty-odd shire hobbits vanished silently into the underbrush.
"Ready?" Skirfir murmured at to his side.
"Yes," Kili said, his expression set like stone. In fact, he'd never been more ready for a good fight in all his life. He wanted to scour the filth off Ered Luin's lands once and for all.
But it would not be easy. He placed a hand on his young protégé's shoulder and pulled Skirfir close enough to press foreheads together. Skirfir's face was stern, but the lad was young enough to be anxious about battle.
"You are strong, ushmar," Kili murmured, acknowledging the lad's place as his fosterling, his battle-son, his responsibility since the day he'd lifted the battered young archer from his dead father's side in the devastation outside Erebor's main gate. Skirf was now as skilled as Kili could make him, a warrior who understood what was at stake in a battle. He trusted Skirfir to fight beside him—to the death, if that was what was needed.
"Willing heart," Skirfir whispered. "For you, ushdan..."
Kili had no words for the lad's loyalty and pulled him closer a moment. "Your strength honors me, swordbrother. Fight hard." He let him go and eyed his gear critically, then smacked Skirf's arm in approval.
Skirfir reached up and re-seated a throwing knife in its sheath on Kili's vest. Kili couldn't help a small smile at the gesture. "Thanks," he murmured.
Then he looked up to see three more grim, well-armed dwarves approach: Bofur, Bendin, and Brunsder.
Kili nodded once to acknowledge they were with him. They would be five dwarves against five hundred mountain goblins.
With a few thousand Dunedain at their backs.
"We need to command their attention," Kili said. "Make them want me and me alone."
Bofur, who might have objected under any other circumstance, gripped his mattock and nodded his agreement, his face full of utter loathing for goblin-kind.
"Let's get to it then, laddie."
With a whoosh, the first of the hobbits' fire arrows arced across the dark sky, landing on tents and gear well into the center of the goblin camp.
The goblins were slow to rise, stumbling and confused. Small fires took hold, one flared brightly.
A second volley of fire arrows woke more of them, some standing now to peer east, scratching their bony heads and attempting to think.
By the third volley, the goblins were in general disarray as the hobbits fired and ducked, moving quickly through the underbrush to take up new positions and fire again two more times.
"That's five volleys," Skirfir murmured.
Kili looked over his shoulder. The Dunedain were massed behind the low hills, unseen and unheard. Behind them, the sky was brighter and the sun was ready to rise.
"With me, lads." Kili stepped forward with Skirfir, Bofur, Bendin, and Brunsder on either side...prince, miners, swordbrothers…
On the flat, gravelly bend of the river, the goblins cursed and batted fires in complete disarray. Smoke blinded them and they tripped and tumbled over their own swords and maces
On the rise above the river bend, five dwarves stood, two on either side of the dark haired prince.
Brunsder raised a battle horn and blew a long, deep note. The melee in the camp paused as baffled goblins looked for the source of the sound.
"Goblin filth!" Kili called in a loud resonating voice. Across the river, he could see a stripe of sunlight hit the treetops to the west.
Grubby, misshapen faces turned narrowed eyes and spotted the outlines of five dwarves standing alone on the ridge. Swords and maces were raised, pointing. Hoots signalled enemy as they alerted each other to prey even as they stood gawking in disbelief.
"Goblin filth!" Kili called again. "You are not welcome in the northland! Not in Arnor, land of the King Elessar, nor in Ered Luin, land of the Blue Mountain dwarves. You will lay down your arms and surrender."
Kili was met with roaring guffaws, jeers and laughter, despite the small fires and the blowing smoke. That was fine; he expected it.
"Says who?" jeered a taller goblin who knocked his fellows aside to stand forth.
"I say this—Kili, Prince of Erebor, Son of Durin." Kili put as much king-voice into it as he could, speaking clear and loud.
And he sincerely hoped there were at least a few who would rise to the bait, who would recognize his name and see red. Across the river, the sunlight lit up the trees. In a few more moments, the sun would top the hill behind him and shine fully into the faces of his enemy.
On the gravelly flatland before them, a handful of bone-mailed dwarves shoved their way to the forefront, heads and faces shaved orc-style. They wore spiked collars and red tattoos on their faces.
"Rogue Firebeards," Brunsmund growled, hands clenching on his axe. "Line of Gothald."
One of them stepped up. "You're as daft as Thorin Oakenshield himself if you think to take us with only four comrades," he called.
Kili and his four companions narrowed their eyes and drew their swords.
"There'll be no insulting my Uncle!" Kili called back. He needed just a little more time for the sun to climb a little higher…
The rag-tag pack of Firebeards laughed. "Then we'll insult you!" one of them taunted.
"Bastard whelp, mother-descended tulhaj," another said with scowl.
"Aye…son of that thieving runt Gunnvald…coward if there ever was. Squealed like a girlie snorter when we gutted him."
"What say you to that?"
Kili glared, judged the sunlight in the right place, and raised his sword. He drew breath and glared. "I say you lie when it pleases you...and I say your time is done." Kili watched as the sunlight flared behind him and two of the dwarves raised hands, squinting. "And I say this: Du Bekar!" he bellowed.
The dwarves beside him raised weapons and roared their support. "Du Bekar!"
The sun cleared the hills, blinding the rogue dwarves and the disordered goblins, and Kili charged—an act that made the rogue Firebeards raise their maces, even as their goblin friends scrambled to grab any weapon they could bring to hand.
"Du Bekar!" Kili roared again.
And at his back, the Dunedain topped the hills, returning Kili's war call.
"DU BEKAAAAR!"
Kili, Bofur, Brunsder, Bendin and Skirf went straight for the rogues even as the hapless Firebeards widened their eyes and scurried backwards half a moment before the charging Dunedain passed, riding hell for leather over the top of the goblin rabble.
The fighting was fierce and fast—pounding hooves, smashing shields, and shining swords slicing grey-white goblin limbs. Black-green goblin blood was everywhere, the air filled with the ring of swords and the clatter of fallen armor and the smell of blowing smoke.
The goblins had no chance.
Neither did the rouges. Kili met them head-on, sword slicing the first one, gutting the second, and then he spun, using his momentum to free his sword and swing around to hack at a third.
Next to him, Bofur's battle mattock flattened a claw-marked dwarf and cracked loudly against the back of a second.
Five minutes later, only two rogue Firebeards remained. They took one look at the odds and turned tail.
"No you don't!" Bofur yelled, and he and Kili were after them, Skirfir scrambling to keep up. The lad launched a throwing dart and struck one in the hip—the scrappy Firebeard fell hard on his face.
Bofur's mattock made sure he didn't rise. Skirf threw again and the lead dwarf took the point in his calf, stumbled, but kept going. Four steps later he had a second dart in his arm, lurched, and fell, rolling to his back. He tried to raise his mace in defense.
Kili didn't let him. He reversed the grip on his blade, reached high, meaning to bring the point down straight into the dwarf's heart.
But Brunsder slammed into him from the side and Kili stumbled, then twisted, trying to stay upright, nearly slugging Brunsder in the process.
It was Bofur who made the killing blow and put an end to the last rogue Firebeard.
Kili whirled on Brunsder, who instantly bowed, sword down in supplication. "No, Cousin. That one was Gothald's. I will not have you named Kinslayer."
Kili, his temper on the keenest edge, glanced in fury from Brunsder to Bofur.
Bofur hoisted his mattock back into position and met Kili's anger with resolve. "And now you won't be."
Kili spared the briefest moment for understanding and then turned for goblins. He would have words with them later, he told himself, bashing in the helmet of a stooped staff-wielder. But not before he spent his temper, he acknowledged, on the true enemy. He sliced the sword hand away from a bony fang-toothed goblin, bringing his blade around to meet the next one.
He threw himself into the fight, Skirfir at his back, and together with the Dunedain, eradicated vermin from the shores of his homeland's border.
It was nearly an hour later when he finally stopped and assessed the field of war. The Dunedain were mostly on foot now, combing the battle debris. The fires were out, and only a few smoldering piles remained. Horses were being tended in groups.
Five ravens soared past, one of them screaming in anger. Prince! Prince! Raven Prince!
Kili whirled, looking up, spotting Corax and holding an arm out to him.
Skirfir moved into a defensive position, guarding his back as the big corvid landed, flapping in ire.
"Tell me, Corax," Kili demanded.
"Orcs on wargs. Where water goes by high cliffs. Orcs on wargs."
"How many?" It was the leading edge of the Gundabad orcs. Had to be.
Corax wagged his head. Ravens couldn't generally count. "Big flock. Like Dale flock."
"Warg riders!" Kili bellowed the alarm to the others, to whoever could hear. "At the river gorge!"
It was Halden who rallied the Dunedain. "How many?" he called back.
"At least a hundred," Kili answered, guessing that from the reference Corax had given...and even a few were too many. "Corax," he said to the bird. "Fly to Hen-hen—to the south. Tell her this: Go. Warg riders attack. Find safe place."
"Hen-hen." Corax looked Kili in the eye, narrowed his gaze, and then rose, screaming, into the sky.
As the sun rose, Nÿr put her shoulder to a large tree trunk and peered around it, one arm pulling her apprentice Embur close beside.
"We're to wait here?" Embur asked in a whisper.
Nÿr nodded. She watched as tall Yanu slipped from the cover of trees to approach the sandy river bank. His natural elven stealth made him hard to see, even though she knew he was there. Overhead, a flapping of feathers told her that Kaia had followed, despite the early hour. At least the raven hen was quiet.
The first hint of trouble was a flight of ducks shaken from their rest and taking off, skimming the river as they made haste south. Then the smell of smoke coming from the north.
Nÿr tensed. The battle was on.
She felt Embur press closer, quivering with nerves.
Shouts and goblin-shrieks wafted downriver. The enemy was up and on the move.
Mahal, Nÿr prayed. Protect my beloved, let him win through...let him survive this day… Her worst fear was before her—that her little lad would be born without a father, that she would live the rest of her days bereft of the one who'd ever truly won her heart.
Kili…! She was not a warrior, she knew that. But she was a Daughter of Durin, and she stopped herself from dwelling on the worst.
"Courage," she whispered to Embur. Their hands met and Nÿr squeezed firmly. "Kili will prevail," she said quietly. And to herself, He must.
She saw Yanu slip into a stand of rushes then, and across the river a sortie of tentative goblins crept out of the underbrush to peer upstream. Clearly, they'd noticed the trouble.
But what would they do?
Go on, she silently urged. Go have a look...your friends might even need your help…
One of them grunted and barked orders to a hooded one who turned back and disappeared into the scrubby trees. A lieutenant, she decided, as he paced the river's edge, upbraided a newcomer, and spat.
She could hear him grumbling now, his voice rising and falling.
"Just shoot him," Embur muttered, brows drawn. Obviously she wanted Yanu to use his bow.
"No," Nÿr whispered back. "It would give us away. Hush."
As they watched, the hooded gobline returned with curved, wicked swords and thrust one at the lieutenant. Snarling words were exchanged, but the only one Nÿr understood clearly was Dunedain.
And as she watched, the lieutenant gestured north and waded into the water, some two dozen lumbering goblins along with him.
Nÿr clenched her teeth, waiting as Kili had told them, for a second wave of goblins to depart. It seemed to take a very long time, in her view. As the sun rose, Kaia quorked; the smell of smoke was stronger now.
She raised a hand, making a *kuk-kuk* sound to get Kaia's attention. The sleek hen came to her and Nÿr whispered, giving her the job of flying over the river and scouting. Kaia was quick to glide across the water and as Nÿr watched, the raven veered south, then circled back to her.
"Elf, elf, elf," Kaia clucked as she landed. "Elfs on water. Like ducks." The raven shook herself, obviously amused by this. "Elves."
Tuilind... Nÿr hoped this meant support from the Grey Havens.
Yanu's head popped up from his hiding place in the rushes and he looked downstream. There—a small group of low, flat-bottomed skiffs hugging the eastern bank, paddled by cloaked elves.
She nudged Embur and pointed. Not far away, Fria and Brunsmund also noticed.
The elves glided their long, narrow boats right into the rushes, just in time to be under cover as the second wave of goblins emerged across the river to consider the trouble upstream. They wavered, grunted, argued with each other…and then waded into the water and followed the others.
Nÿr watched Fria, waiting for her bodyguard to motion her forward.
Together with Embur, she was whisked forward to Yanu's position in the rushes, then Tuilind was there, offering a hand and helping her step into a low boat.
"Círdan is pleased," Tuilind said softly. "He's been waiting for this. He's moved one of his ships." Tuilind nodded, directing Nÿr's eyes to the south. They could just see the tall masts of an elegant ship resting the mouth of the river. The morning light reflected on the grey expanse of the bay behind it.
Luck and the elves are with us, Nÿr realized. Thank Mahal.
First across were a trio of Grey Havens elves. They beached their narrow boat and quickly drew it into the underbrush, taking up scout positions with bows drawn. Then Yanu with Brunsmund and Fria, and Tuilind with Nÿr and Embur.
Yanu was quick to help Nÿr out on the western shore, whisking her to Fria's side and under the cover of a low-hanging bay tree. The remaining Grey Havens elves joined them and silently stowed the last boats out of sight.
They were a full dozen, now, and Nÿr felt every sense alert to her surroundings. She raised a hand to Kaia again, quietly asking the raven to show them the way.
"Take us to the Durin-child," she said. "Quick and quiet, Kaia."
Kaia cocked her head as if listening for goblins, then hopped to a tree branch, clucking and muttering. After a moment three other ravens flew past and Kaia took off after them.
Nÿr and Fria watched them go—decidedly southwest, following a small stream. Half of the elves took off at speed, the other half remained as rear-guard to Nÿr and the other dwarves. Nÿr followed Tuilind, stepping as quietly as she could.
They hadn't gone far when they began to see signs of debris and garbage—certain signs of goblin habitation. Filthy in their habits, goblins let things fall by the wayside without care. The stream flowed cloudy, a tinge of something greenish in it. Nÿr deemed it unsafe for drinking.
Some mile or more up the hard-packed trail, they came to a bare place in the narrow valley, marked by a rock pinnacle that shot some hundred feet into the air. Nÿr saw old dwarf runes at the top…but lower down, anywhere that a goblin could reach, the old runes had been destroyed and the stone was covered in scrawls and gashes.
The elves spread out, surprising a lone peg-legged goblin at a rough cook fire. Three arrows sliced through the air, hit their target, and the goblin huffed once before its eyes went blank and it fell backward, clearly dead.
Fria and Brunsder took out two more with their axes, swift and hard.
Nÿr's heart pounded and she looked quickly around, trying to take in the scene. She stepped forward, staying close to Fria, and saw devastation.
Bodies, dwarf and goblin alike, lay in varying positions in the open: flat on their backs, curled sideways, slumped on their faces.
Some were many weeks dead.
Had they not been upwind, she would have been fighting nausea.
Embur turned, wide-eyed, seeking instructions.
Nÿr shook her head. There was nothing to be done for them.
"Look for survivors," she whispered. Kaia, forlorn, sat hunched on a rock, muttering. "Find the Durin-child." Kaia looked up, fluffed, then leapt to fly over the desolate clearing, alighting on what looked like a downed tree against the canyon wall.
Brunsmund found the only survivor. The dwarf looked dead, but when Brunsder knelt, the weak miner gamely reached for him.
"Easy, Segg," Brunsmund's voice was low.
Nÿr hastened to his side. Aüle's folk endure...
Segg's hand stretched toward Brunsmund's axe, as if he wanted it.
"Stand down, laddie," Brunsmund murmured. "We have a healer...are you wounded?"
Embur slipped between Nÿr and Segg, quickly touching the dwarf's forehead and starting a field exam meant to triage his condition.
"Children..." Nÿr asked quietly "Where are the children?"
Segg's eyes went wide as he looked at Nÿr with growing reverence. "Lady Nÿr," he croaked hoarsely. "The one as wed the Prince…" his voice trailed off. Of course, since she'd been apprenticed in Khelethur for some five years, many dwarves would recognize her, some would have heard of her marriage.
"Is he come…?" the hoarse voice asked and old Segg's bloodshot eyes held a spark of hope.
"He is here, lad," Brunsmund gripped Segg's hand. "He is routing them off our border even as we speak. Prince Kili will be our King."
Segg's eyes closed. "Mahal, yes. Blessing, lass…" He could barely speak the words, but his relief was clear.
"Broken ribs," Embur murmured. "Underweight. Dehydrated. He's been clubbed a few times, I think."
Nÿr nodded. "From our own water skins," she said. "Just a little at a time. And stay away from that stream."
Kaia fussed noisily at pile of tree debris and the elves were paying attention. They pulled a pile of spiky branches away from something in the stone. Nÿr stood to see, Fria at her side.
There, a stone arch opening that could only be a mine, criss-crossed with shoddy iron bars pounded into the stone and bent in odd angles. Goblin work.
Yanu, former prisoner, was the first to hook rope around a spiked spur and yank a length of iron away, jaw clenched and expression grim. The Grey Havens elves followed suit and together they tore the makeshift bars away.
Kaia called out her triumph. Durin child! Durin child!
Nÿr gasped as the first, emaciated dwarf stumbled forth.
"Elves…Mahal bless you," the grimy lass said in a quavering voice. And then serveral more sad survivors crept forward, eyes sunken, faces dirty and pale, hands shaking as they clutched each other. A grim-faced miner lad supported the weight of a white-haired old-timer, helping him into the light. The older fellow's head lolled, his legs barely able to move. An ill-tended wound seeped on the right side of his face.
Nÿr hurried to them. "Here, set him here," she got hold of the older dwarf's other arm, helping to seat him on a dusty rock.
She spotted Yanu, then Fria and Embur—all tending to the small group of round-eyed survivors in a small circle of sunlight. The other elves formed a perimeter guard and stood, wary and alert.
Nÿr pulled witch-hazel and bandages from her belt, aiming to get a look at the old dwarf's wound. The other lad just stared, pushing back his dark brown hair and gawking.
Then Nÿr realized who she was treating. She'd seen his likeness in drawings and paintings back in Erebor.
The elder dwarf's hair had gone completely white even as it retained a hint of a crested hairline. His beard was still held in three braids, the ends crimped with battered silver beads bearing the same sigil as old Dori's. It was the crest of the Ri brothers.
This had to Nori, but…as she watched, the old dwarf looked up at her with round eyes that held an expression of sheer bewilderment.
He had no idea where he was.
"Do I know you…?" Nori's weak voice wavered.
Nÿr swallowed and she shook her head.
Nori stared, palsy apparent in his unsteady hands. "I don't know anyone here..." he said in confusion, looking around and blinking.
The brown-haired dwarf with him had tears on his grubby face.
Nÿr's stomach went hollow even as she put a comforting hand on Nori's shoulder. The look he gave her was vulnerable and child-like.
"Master dwarf," she said to the brown-haired one. "Is there quicksilver in this mine?"
Brunsmund came to her side then, looking from the brown-haired dwarf to Nori.
"Mahal, lassie...there must be," he said. With that, Brunsmund turned and began issuing orders. "Do not enter the mine! Stay in the open air! You," he said to someone else. "Is this everyone?" Someone nodded.
"Poison," one of the Grey Havens elves stood with his nose wrinkled. "There is a vapor from the lower levels…I can smell it."
"Quicksilver vapor," Nÿr concluded. "Nori's been in the lower levels…and Mahal knows how long he's been without treatment. It's quite advanced." It was as good as any death sentence, just slower than most. The mind faded until there was nothing left. "The child?" she called out. Where was she? Was she this sick as well?
"Here!" Fria called, then turned to her. Nÿr saw that she had a young lass in her arms, thin legs over her elbow. The lass was near the age of Gunz, but underweight and limp—shockingly emaciated, her cheekbones jutting out in relief, her eyes wide and glassy.
"Will she live?" Fria asked in a quiet, husky voice.
"Oh, sweetheart" Nÿr 's voice was barely audible as she stood to see her brave young cousin, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. "The ravens brought me...you are safe, little one...you are safe now."
The glassy eyes rolled toward her and blinked. "Ravenspeaker," she mouthed. Then, as if her energy was spent, her eyes closed and her head rolled against Fria's chest.
Let me know your thoughts-the more intense the writing gets, the more helpful it is to hear from you-so please don't be shy!
Extra thanks to BlueRiverSteel, Cassandrala, and Jessie152 for the beta help. Hand on hearts to you...
Music prompt is The Last of the Mohicans - Promontory (Main Theme). The soundtrack version has two parts: first is Kili's very purposeful battle theme; the second part is the slower, sadder bit-which follows Nÿr at the mining settlement. There is another one hour version I listen to as writing/workout music " The Gael - The Last Of The Mohicans Theme (1 hour)." The original, of course, is titled The Gael, written by Dougie Maclean and arranged/adapted by Trevor Jones. There are many versions of this song…I will reference a completely different arrangement next chapter!
I'm off to San Diego for ConDor tomorrow. Let me know if you will be there, would be great to chat.
Mahal's Blessing.