25

HOME, A SONG THAT ECHOES ON

The moon had set, leaving the sky above the Lonely Mountain lit only by the stars, diamonds scattered on the velvet curtain of darkness. Kíli sat on a blanket on the hidden ledge, his arms wrapped loosely about his bent knees as he stared out into the night. Unlike the warm embrace of the sun, or the soothing glow of the moon, the stars had always been remote pinpricks of light, cold and utterly removed from the solid reality of the world around him. Still, he and Fíli had spent long hours as Dwarflings gazing up at them, picking out the patterns and competing to make up new tales to go with the old legends. It had been a comfort through the months of the journey to see that the familiar figures traveled with them, even if they had shifted somewhat from their accustomed places as he moved ever east and north. By this time, the thatûr bunûhu had changed their places rather significantly, and it took him a moment to orient himself. He grinned when the first he found was the Mountain Home, a pattern that was rarely visible in Ered Luin, and his eyes darted across the expanse to find the others. The Hunter ran with his faithful Hound, the Hammer hovered above the Anvil, and the Eagle taunted the Great Cat. When he glimpsed the Drake hovering low over the Long Lake, an unpleasant chill crept down his spine, shaking him out of his reverie and making him aware of the sound that had filled the air around him.

Their voices were low, vibrating deep in their chests as the descendents of Durin stood clustered near the door, each with a hand on the stone of the Mountain. Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, Óin, Glóin, and even Dori seemed almost froze in place, heads lowered and eyes closed as if in deep thought. Bifur and his cousins had withdrawn slightly, giving the returned Exiles a respectful distance, while Nori and Ori watched closely with a mix of awe and confusion. Fíli alone paid no mind, lost in his own thoughts as he gazed out over the lake toward Esgaroth. Signing a quick question to Nori, Kíli got a reply that brought him to his feet, reaching for his brother's shoulder.

"Fí?"

The golden-haired swordsman startled under his hand, Fíli's eyes taking a moment to focus on Kíli's face.

"Kíli? What's wrong?"

The younger prince hesitated, then shrugged slightly.

"I don't think anything is wrong, really, but I do not know what is happening..." His explanation trailed off and he stepped back so his brother could see their kin, offering a hand as Fíli scrambled to his feet.

"Are they bespelled?"

Nori was shaking his head sharply, making calming motions toward the princes, and Kíli gave the thief a quick nod of acknowledgment as he caught Fíli's arm.

"Easy, Fí. Hold a moment. Nori says all is well. He says that the Mountain is welcoming them home."

The brothers exchanged a glance, remembering childhood tales from their mother, and how Thorin had leaned into contact with the Mountain after opening the hidden door. Fíli's brow furrowed as he watched their cousins and uncle, his eyes suddenly widening in recognition.

"The Song." His voice was barely a whisper. "They're humming the Song of the Mountain."

The deep tones and steady rhythms were unmistakable, resonating in the younger Dwarves' very bones. Blue eyes met brown and thoughts flew between the two without word or gesture as they turned as one, stripping off their gloves to reach out, putting flesh to stone.

The skin of the Mountain was cool under Kíli's hand, thrumming with an energy that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat, a fleeting warm wash of sensation that was recognition and welcome. He heard Fíli hiss with surprise, saw the hand next to his flatten against the stone as a strong sense of "home" swept over him. He turned to his brother, only to find the golden prince already gazing at him, his eyes slightly unfocused.

"Do you feel it, Kí?"

Kíli nodded and turned back to stare at the stone in wonder. "It's like..."

"Like the Mountain is welcoming us home," Fíli murmured. "Like Amad's tales. D'you remember? She used to say that Erebor always greeted the heirs of Durin."

The archer was trying desperately to calm his thoughts, his mind a whirlwind of memory and emotion.

"I always thought it was just a story that her brothers had told her," he whispered. "Or something she imagined. She was little more than a child when the dragon came."

"So did I, but this is real, nadadith."

Kíli closed his eyes, savoring the waves of belonging that swept through him. When he opened them again, he smiled at his brother. "This is home. Our home. I never truly believed it, never felt it, until now. I wanted to help with the quest, to regain our people's homeland, for Amad, and Thorin, and the rest of the Exiles. But this...I never expected this."

Fíli was still, a look of deep concentration on his face as he focused on the impressions he was receiving from the stone. "She has been so alone." His voice was a whisper as he brought his other palm to the surface almost absently. "It is as though she mourns those lost when Smaug came..."

Kíli stared at his brother as tears trickled down Fíli's face, sorrow for those dead before they were born. The younger prince felt a dim echo of the Mountain's grief, but Fíli seemed awash in it. The archer reached for the swordsman with his free hand, closing it over the nearest wrist. The sensations swept over him, stronger and more immediate, but the solid presence of the Crown Prince held him steady.

"Fíli?"

"Isn't it amazing, Kí? Can you feel it?"

Kíli nodded, sorting through the impressions that he was receiving.

"She sings. The Line of Durin is returned, and Erebor sings with joy!" Fíli smiled through his tears, laughing shakily. Kíli grinned, then gasped as new information filled his mind.

"Bilbo has reached the treasury." He turned to his brother as the elder prince went pale. "Smaug lives."

A gentle hand on Kíli's shoulder tugged him out of his communion with the stone and he turned to see Balin shaking his head with a small rueful smile.

"Could not wait, could you, lads?" the elder Dwarf asked rhetorically. "We were going to explain before you jumped in feet first, but no harm done, I suppose. The Mountain was never overly concerned with ceremony – she almost seemed amused with the pomp and solemnity of the Presentations when we were Dwarflings." He studied them closely for a long moment, then nodded. "So, now you know the secret of the Mountain. She has welcomed you, and you have felt the echoes of her sorrow. So it is always with the Sons of Durin. She will always welcome you home, and she will always be your strength when other sources fail. The Lonely Mountain sings for the Line of Durin."

"Why now?" Fíli asked. "We touched the stone of the Mountain almost constantly during the climb, why is she only now singing?"

"She is waking, lad," Balin replied. "She has been asleep all these long years, with no company but Smaug. It did not begin until Thorin opened the door. So it was when Thrór led our folk back from Zeleg'ubrazulin the Grey Mountains, after his father and brother fell to the cold drake. My great-grandfather Borin, Thrór's uncle, wrote that Erebor woke to greet them when the King Under the Mountain opened the Great Gate and returned to his rightful place." Faded blue eyes turned to Thorin, who had returned to his silent vigil at the hidden door. "And so has the king returned once more."

* X *

In the depths of the Lonely Mountain, far from the chill breeze and starlit heights, Bilbo trembled under the fiery gaze of the dragon. He still wore his ring, the gold band hiding him from the creature's sight, but he felt exposed and vulnerable nonetheless. Smaug was massive, awe-inspiring and terrifying, and the Hobbit was not certain that he would ever be able to move. He was frozen with terror as the great head lifted and swung side-to-side, the nostrils flaring with every breath.

"I know you are there, thief."

Bilbo closed his eyes and stifled a pitiful moan. It spoke. No one had ever warned him that the dragon could speak. The serpent's voice was a throaty rasp with a hint of a hiss, arrogant and strangely beguiling.

"Why do you hide? A strange mixture of boldness and timidity, even for a thief. You walk into my home while I am in residence, but you will not show your face? I was aware of you the moment you set foot on my gold, hidden burglar...but then, I was expecting you."

"Expecting me?"

The Hobbit couldn't help himself – the question tumbled from his lips without conscious thought, ending with an embarrassing squeak. Smaug's head swung toward him and he darted behind a mounded pile of treasure.

"Well, I was expecting Oakenshield." The dragon's tone was both smug and contemptuous. "But I should have known that the coward would send someone else in to do his dirty work." The nostrils flared again and a note of puzzlement entered the beast's voice. "What are you, exactly, thief in the shadows? I know the smell of Dwarf, Man, and Elf, but you are none of these. Who, and what, are you, who seeks to enter my home and steal my treasure?"

Bilbo hesitated, his thoughts whirling furiously. The longer he could keep the dragon talking, the longer he could put off being incinerated, but he knew it would be foolish to give his name. This was no mere beast, but a creature of evil cunning and Smaug's knowledge of Thorin's quest was deeply disturbing. He was beginning to feel that Gandalf had not been the only greater power guiding the events of the past few months. The urge to return to his companions with a warning was nearly overpowering.

"I am a race apart," he replied, the words coming into his head unbidden. "I am the hidden ally, the fly that stings the spider, Riddle-Maker, and Barrel-Rider. My home is under hill, and I have traveled far and faced many dangers to bear witness to the majesty that is Smaug the Terrible. I doubted the tales, you see. Surely they were exaggeration – for no beast, not even a dragon, could possibly be so splendid, so magnificent, so terrifying. I had to see for myself, and so I crossed the wild lands of Middle Earth to do so."

"And what have you learned, now that you have seen me?" The beast was almost purring, rising to settle on his haunches and stretch proudly. "Do they exaggerate?"

Bilbo gulped, remembering Bofur's cheerily morbid description in Bag End months ago. "In truth, the tales fall utterly short." It was true, and his heart was sinking as he stared at the dragon's golden underbelly. Like the crimson back of the beast, it was armored with huge, thick scales...save for a small patch of exposed skin near the left foreleg. A scale was missing. The point of vulnerability was small, miniscule on the great beast, but it was something. It was a target.

Smaug settled back into a crouch, his fiery gaze searching the cavern. A twitch of his tail dislodged a small avalanche of gold and jewels. One of them came to rest near the dragon's great claw, and Bilbo nearly gave away his location with a choked gasp, for it glowed.

Fíli had said it was white, but again the description fell short, for the heart of the Arkenstone held every color the Hobbit had ever seen, and some that he had never imagined. It called to him silently, even as something about it repelled him. He had no affinity for metal and jewels, not like his sense of the green growing things in the Shire, but like Mirkwood, the Stone felt sick, twisted, wrong.

This is the great treasure of the Dwarves? Concern and fear were coursing through him, giving a nauseating twist to his stomach. This is what calls Thorin so strongly? His conversation with Balin came to mind, and he remembered the worried look on the old Dwarf's face. This is what Balin fears, he realized. He knows that there is something wrong with the Stone, but he also knows that it is needed for Erebor to be reclaimed, and he worries for Thorin. The dream from Laketown came back full force, bringing the memory of the overheard conversation in Rivendell. Gandalf meant to be here. He meant to warn Thorin before we entered the Mountain, but he was delayed, and we could not wait. So now it is down to me, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, to serve both king and Wizard. I must retrieve the Arkenstone, but I cannot hand it over to Thorin...not until I understand what it is, what it will do.

"I feel your gaze, thief in the shadows."

The dragon's voice startled Bilbo badly, recalling him to his present predicament, and he stumbled backward, slipping on gold as he tried frantically to keep his footing. He finally managed to duck behind a green marble column and stood there for a long moment, catching his breath, before he peeked out again.

Smaug had not moved. He was staring at the Arkenstone, and the Hobbit suddenly realized how expressive the reptilian face could be, for it was suffused with greed as the dragon spoke in a sibilant murmur. "The Stone calls to him. Almost, I am tempted to let you take it, to stay my vengeance and let you hand it to Oakenshield, just to watch it destroy him."

"Your vengeance?" the Hobbit countered, thinking quickly. "Why do you believe that you have the right to vengeance? You took Erebor, slaying those that lived here. You stole the Arkenstone from its rightful owners. What right have you to vengeance?"

The golden eyes narrowed with fury and the huge nostrils flared as Smaug turned toward the taunting voice. Bilbo was already moving, creeping through the shifting gold as the dragon moved his massive bulk.

"I serve the true master of the Arkenstone!" the beast bellowed, the great fire in his belly roaring to life. "Long ago, my kind were created by our Dark Lord, and when he was cast into the Void, we submitted to his servant, who then became the master. It was our first master that found the Stone, and it was he who recognized its value and power. It was taken from his servant, hidden in the depths of the earth, until the Dwarves found it once more. And when its voice was freed, when its song called out, I was the first to answer, the first to reclaim it and hold it against the day when he might return."

Bilbo was finally moving toward the exit, anxious to get away from the dragon, to feel fresh air on his face and warn his friends that they were woefully out of their depth. He understood little of Smaug's raging, but he was clear on one thing. Something larger was at work here – something far beyond a simple burglar, or even an exiled king.

* X *

Trisk, Viska, and Tauriel had just finished moving the last Orc corpse to the lower level of Bard's home when a distant rumble sent fear coursing through the Dwarrowlass. She turned to stare toward the Lonely Mountain, her hand going automatically to the silver clasp in her pocket. Trisk stiffened next to her as Tauriel let out a string of unfamiliar words that were obviously curses. Sharing a nervous glance, the three unlikely allies hurried back up the stairs into the house, where they found Sigrid ordering her siblings in frantic activity. She glanced up when the Dwarves and Elf came in, her mask of confidence slipping slightly as she kept her voice low.

"It's the dragon, isn't it? He is coming for us."

Viska hesitated, but Tauriel shook her head.

"It is the dragon, but I do not know what he will do. Perhaps he is simply stirring, rather than fully waking."

"Best not to take a chance," Trisk countered grimly. Viska nodded, and Tauriel did the same with a grimace.

"I have Bain and Tilda gathering food and spare clothing," the girl murmured. "If you will make sure that they get out of Laketown, I will find Da."

"You'll do no such thing," Trisk snapped, seizing her arm as she started for the door. "Your father will have heard that, and will be on his way home. He would not want you roaming through town in search of him. He would want you to get your siblings ready to get to safety. Viska and I promised him that we would do whatever we could to protect all three of you, and we can only do that if you stay together."

Sigrid hesitated, clearly torn between her duty to her siblings and her desire to have her father there to protect them. Tauriel placed a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Load your father's boat," she told her quietly. "Prepare your brother and sister to leave if it is needed. We will keep watch."

* X *

A rumble from within the Mountain woke Kíli from a patchy doze and sent him lurching to his feet. His brother caught his arm and steadied him, blue gaze fixed on the secret door as the younger lad blinked and looked around.

"What was that?"

Balin shook his head, aged face creased with concern and grief.

"That, my lads, was a dragon."

"Smaug's awake." Fíli's voice was a growl, his fist clenching on the hilt of the long knife at his hip. Kíli felt terror leap in his heart as he turned his gaze to the door into the Mountain, half-expecting to see the great lizard on the other side.

"But...where's Bilbo?"

"Still inside," Óin replied sadly. "The burglar hasn't returned."

"We have to help him!"

The dark-haired prince had taken three steps toward the door before he even realized that he was moving, dragging an unresisting Fíli at his side. Then Thorin was blocking the way, glowering at them forbiddingly.

"Give him more time."

"Time?" Balin demanded incredulously. "Time to do what? Be killed?"

The shadowed eyes searched his face. "You're afraid." Balin flinched under the accusation, then straightened his back. Kíli could only gape at his uncle in disbelief, while his brother watched with narrowed eyes.

"Yes, I am. I fear for you." Balin's reply was thrown at his king in rare open anger, startling the others. "You are losing yourself, Thorin. I do not know whether it is the Mountain, or the treasure hoard, or the Arkenstone itself, but something has changed you. You grow more like your grandfather every day."

Fury filled Thorin's face. "I am not my grandfather."

"Well, you are not yourself!" his old friend countered. "The Thorin I know, my cousin, my king, would never hesitate to-"

"I will not risk this quest for the life of one burglar."

"Bilbo!" Fíli spoke up then, meeting his uncle's dark look without blinking. "His name is Bilbo, and he has saved your life – all of our lives – again and again since we descended on his home with no warning and little explanation! The least we owe him is to try and help him!"

"This is what he was hired to do. All we owe him is the payment that was promised. If he fulfills his contract."

"Then stand aside and let others do what you will not!"

Kíli stared at his uncle and brother, toe to toe, neither willing to yield. The fire of their mother's line shone in Fíli's unwavering gaze, his set jaw, every inch the Crown Prince. Around them, the rest of the Company stood frozen, eyes locked on the royal confrontation. And into this silence lurched Bilbo himself, wheezing for air and wild-eyed.

"Smaug is alive," he gasped out, clutching at the side of the entrance as he wavered on his feet. Thorin whirled to face him, the dark look never leaving his face.

"Do you have the Stone?"

"Thorin!" Balin protested. "Now is not the time!"

"Now is the perfect time," the king growled back. "He has obviously disturbed the beast. Has he brought what he was sent for, or has he squandered our one chance to reclaim what is ours?"

Bofur was at Bilbo's side, steadying the Hobbit as Óin pushed a water skin into his hand. Kíli hung back, unsure what to do. He was glad to see Bilbo alive, and upset at his uncle's preoccupation with the Arkenstone, but he did not know how to help. At a loss, he hovered on the edge of the Company, watching Fíli watch Thorin with eyes blue as a forge flame. The burglar gulped some water, then pushed the helping hands aside, shaking his head frantically.

"We can't stay here!" he insisted, shoving Bofur toward the door. "Smaug is awake, and he was expecting us! He is stirring, leaving the Mountain. We cannot stay here!"

Clearly, Fíli had heard enough. When his uncle remained unmoving, the golden-haired prince turned to the others, giving quick orders to move everything inside the door. They obeyed without hesitation, even Dwalin, and Thorin eventually joined the flurry of activity. Within a few minutes, everything was inside the dark passageway. Kíli loitered with his brother near the door, anxiety bubbling in his stomach until he reached out to the Mountain. He relaxed incrementally as the soothing rhythm of her welcome surged through his bones and distracted himself by sorting through the information that flowed into his mind from the connection.

"The dragon is leaving!"

Dwalin's voice cut through the murmur of the Mountain, pulling the prince back to the present. He stepped away from the stone, turning to the warrior, who stood watch at the door. Thorin was lost in thought, staring down the endless halls, and seemed not to have heard. Kíli blinked, trying to clear his mind, disoriented by the fact that the Arms Master had echoed the last thing that the Mountain had told him.

"Leaving?" Fíli asked blankly. "Smaug is leaving?" Panic flared in his face and he bolted forward, brushing by the big Dwarf and out into the open air of the hidden bay. Kíli followed, sudden dread filling him. A vast winged shape was moving away from the Lonely Mountain, bellowing in anger as it flew. Fíli turned to him with stricken eyes and Kíli's heart lurched.

"Laketown. He flies for Laketown."

* X *

They had just finished loading the boat when a hoarse, shrieking cry sounded in the distance, startling Tilda into a scream. Trisk swore creatively in Khuzdul, bundling the child onto the boat before she had a chance to resist. Sigrid turned to Viska, taking in the hunting knife that had appeared in the Dwarrowmaid's hand without conscious thought. The lass nodded grimly and jerked her head in the direction of the boat.

"Sigrid, give Trisk the arrow," she ordered. "Tauriel, take the children and get them out of here. We will find Bard and get him to the wind lance."

The flame-haired Elf hesitated as Bain protested indignantly. Trisk was already collecting the metal shaft, setting it aside just long enough to hand a trembling Walnut to little Tilda and wrap a blanket around them.

"I can move faster," Tauriel argued. Viska snorted.

"Perhaps, but Bard knows us." She offered a small smile. "Please, Tauriel. We promised to help protect them, and this is the best way. If our people woke the beast, it is our duty to try and bring it down."

The tall Elf-maid stared at her for a long moment, a flicker of unidentifiable emotion crossing her face before she nodded once.

"Very well. May Elbereth and Aulë watch over you. Na lû e-govaned vîn."

* X *

The world was full of fire and smoke as the two young Dwarves darted through the streets of Laketown, calling for Bard. Smaug had arrived, and the ramshackle hamlet was burning as her people fled in terror. Viska despaired of ever finding the tall Man – how could he hear them over the screams of his neighbors, the crackle of the flames?

"Triskel? Viska? Where are my children?"

They skidded to a halt as the tall bargeman appeared in front of them, his face angry and desperate.

"They are on their way across the lake," Trisk answered quickly, holding the black arrow out to the Man. "A Captain of the Mirkwood guard is with them, she will protect them with her life."

Disbelief filled Bard's face as he accepted the arrow. "How did you find this?"

Viska gave small laugh. "Sigrid has always known where it hung," she replied shortly, deciding that the anxious father did not need to know about the Orcs just yet. One fear at a time. "She said the wind lance was on the top of the Master's house?"

He nodded slowly and Trisk swore again, giving the Man a shove. "Well, don't just stand there! Let's go! That tower won't stand forever with Smaug pouring fire down on the town!"

The dark eyes cleared and determination firmed Bard's jaw as he nodded to them. His gaze lingered on Viska, and his next words were directed to her.

"Go. Get to safety. I will deal with the dragon."

"Dehersu zirin kall," Trisk murmured. "That argument is already lost, my friend, and we do not have time. We will all deal with the dragon."

The door of the Master's house stood open and unguarded, and there was no one in evidence as Bard and the Dwarves slipped inside. A commotion on the lower level made it clear where everyone was, and Trisk sent the Man an inquisitive glance. Bard looked disgusted.

"The treasury is down there, and the Master's private boat. He must be trying to escape with whatever he can carry while the town burns around him." He was moving as he spoke, leading the way up the first flight of stairs. The siblings followed him, their heavy boots loud on the wooden steps. The fifth flight brought them up against a locked door and Bard backed up to charge it, only to have Trisk brush him out of the way and put all of his weight behind a blow from his foot. The lock burst, the door flying open to let the chill night air pour over their heated faces. They stumbled out onto the top floor of the tower, stepping into a nightmare scene of fire and destruction.

Laketown was burning, and Smaug the Terrible crouched nearby, his weight distributed among several buildings. The crimson and gold scales shone in the light of the deadly fires, and the dragon was purring sadistically to himself.

"Burn in fire, choke on ash. The Men of the Lake, Oakenshield and his companions – all dead, all burning. A night of death in the shadow of the Lonely Mountain."

"NO!"

Viska was moving before she knew it, her throat aching with the force of her scream as Trisk lunged for her. He missed, but she came up against the railing of the tower, barely aware that Bard was crouched next to the wind lance, shoving the arrow into place as the dragon turned golden eyes on them.

"And who is this?" His head sank between his shoulder blades, serpentine tail twitching like a massive hunting cat. "More Dwarves? And a would-be dragon-slayer, I see. You will learn, as the Lord of Dale learned, that even a black arrow is no match for my scales and hide."

Bard stood and took his place behind the wind lance, his grim face set and proud. Smaug's eyes widened as he got his first glimpse of the arrow.

"Ah, but the tales tell that not all of Girion's arrows missed," the bargeman countered. Viska felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and turned tear-filled eyes to her brother's face.

"You still have the Troll-blade?" His voice was a hiss as he kept his gaze on the dragon. Instead of answering, the lass slipped the knife from the sheath in her boot and tucked it into his hand. He nodded and pressed a kiss to her temple, then moved away, the hand holding the knife dangling casually at his side. The Dwarrowmaid stepped to the rail, planting her feet as her brother moved to Bard's other side. The dragon's gaze followed him and Viska growled low in her throat.

"Over here, loathsome worm!" she yelled abruptly. "I am your enemy, if you have slain those I love!"

The massive head swung toward her, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Trisk's arm move in a smooth, overhand throwing motion. A glint of metal sped through the air, striking one of the slit-pupil eyes.

Smaug went mad, fire spilling from his maw as he reared back, shaking his head furiously. The two Dwarves converged on the wind lance as Bard set his aim. The beast's recoil had exposed his chest, and the truth of Girion's claim was there for all to see – an exposed patch of hide on the dragon's breast. Chill fingers closed on hers and she took her brother's hand in a crushing grip as the weapon released, flinging the metal arrow through the air with the speed of thought.

It was almost anticlimactic. The black arrow slammed home, burying itself in the thick hide of the beast's chest, tearing through muscle to the hidden heart. Smaug lurched, his undamaged eye widening in surprise. The fire deep within him roared fierce and hot, and fear surged through Viska as the dragon's head swung down toward them, an inferno boiling behind the razor-sharp teeth. Bard was yelling a warning, and Trisk was shoving her toward the stairs as the very air began to burn around them. Then the tower was collapsing beneath them and the world was swallowed by fire and pain.

* X *

On the shore of the Long Lake, Tauriel watched the dragon fall, taking with it the tower that Sigrid had indicated as the location of the Dwarven wind lance. Fortunately, Sigrid and Bain were busy helping other refugees, the boy giving assistance to those who were struggling in from the water and the girl tending injuries. Tilda was still bundled in the blanket Trisk had wrapped around her, dozing on the ground nearby as Walnut snored in her lap. The Elf-maid shot her a glance, then turned back to the flames that were consuming the remains of the town. She had seen them before the tower fell, three distinct figures running for the stairs as Smaug unleashed his final firestorm. Tauriel watched as the massive bulk of the dragon slipped into the depths of the lake, a tear trickling down her ageless face as she offered a prayer to Elbereth, Lady of the Stars, that the brave young Dwarves she had known so briefly had not met the same fate.

* X *

High on the side of the Lonely Mountain, the Company stared in horror as Laketown burned. After a single bellow of denial, their golden-haired prince had dropped at the edge of the hidden bay. There he remained, his dark-haired shadow crouched at his side, and no one else dared approach. Instead, they huddled in tight family groups, seeking comfort in the dark hours of the night.

Translations and Notes:

thatûr bunûhu – patterns of the stars, constellations (Khuzdul)

nadadith – little/younger brother (Khuzdul)

Zeleg'ubrazul – The Golden Stair, a lost citadel in the Grey Mountains where Durin's folk lived for a time after the founding of Erebor. Thrór led his people back to the Lonely Mountain after his father and younger brother fell to a cold drake in the War of the Dwarves and Dragons (Khuzdul)

Na lû e-govaned vîn – Until next we meet (Sindarin)

Dehersu zirin kall - "You are striking cold iron," a saying much like 'beating a dead horse.' (Khuzdul)