Chapter 26

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: And here, ladies and gents, is where we reach the part of the story that inspired me to write it. Buckle in and keep your hands inside the ride-guacamole is about to hit the fan in a big way.

Many thanks to both summerald and Cassandrala, who were so kind as to help me with this chapter. They're the kind of friends that give friends a good name! Also virtual brownies to all of you who read, review, and follow-I love you guys!

Ryn stood, momentarily paralyzed, as Fárbjóðr wreaked havoc on the dwarves' camp. At least she guessed it was Fárbjóðr—the tall, deathly pale figure couldn't be anyone else that she knew of. Besides, she felt the familiar pull of energy from her surroundings, knew he was using Eiri magic to accomplish his goal.

Well. Two could play at that game.

She felt Kíli tense beside her as she took a deep breath, as if he knew what she was about to do.

"Ryn, no," he murmured, but it was too late.

"HEY!" Ryn shouted, running toward the Man. His icy blue eyes found her, and his thin lips curled in what she supposed was intended to be a smile. It was sheer evil, that look, and Ryn barely managed to get hold of her own life force before she felt the Eiri attempt to drain it from her. She gasped at the effort.

Mahal, he was strong.

Draw him away, draw him away, was all she could think. She could defend herself somewhat, but the dwarves around her could not, and it was only a matter of time before he—

Ah, well done, young one. Ryn stopped short as she heard his words in her mind. His voice was soft and oddly soothing.

What?

A chuckle, accompanied by a scary-looking grin on the white face in front of her. You have learned much on your own. Now it's time for me to take over your training.

Ryn stared. You're out of your mind.

Fárbjóðr shrugged and threw another fireball, this one hitting a wagon squarely and causing it to burst into flames. Screams erupted from inside it, and Ryn gasped, reaching for her own magic. She'd never tried to manipulate fire or water or air with her power, but there was a first time for everything, she supposed.

Concentrating hard, she fell into her magic, and noticed for the first time that fire had a life of its own, a force she could touch and control. Heart pounding, Ryn drew the power out of the burning wagon, relieved to note that the dwarfling inside was still alive. She used a small amount of the energy she now held to heal the lad, and dispersed the rest in a wave of healing energy that restored several dwarves as it swept through the camp.

Panting with shock and effort, she mustered a glare for her enemy, who was watching her with that stupid evil grin.

Leave them alone, she snarled.

Fárbjóðr laughed again, and Ryn was seized by an insane desire to see how he reacted to a fireball in his ugly face.

Come with me, before we end up in a real fight and I destroy you. And all your friends.

No.

Fárbjóðr shook his head. You realize if I kill you, no one will be able to protect the Prince of Durin.

That got her attention. Ryn stared, refusing to drop her defiant look, but her heart was beating a wild, panicked tattoo in her chest.

You know I am right. He looked smug.

Ryn hated him.

"You're wrong!" a voice shouted from behind the Eiri, and Ryn's eyes widened.

Haelric stood a few paces back, blue magic pooled in his fists and absolute certainty in his eyes.

"Leave my daughter alone, you bastard."

Kíli could do little but watch in absolute shock as Ryn took on the tall, slender man—Fárbjóðr, if he had to guess. Either the Eiri was toying with her or Ryn was stronger than even Kíli realized, because she seemed to be holding her own; she had put out a burning wagon with her mind, saving a small dwarfling and healing several of the dwarves in the process—a young lass not ten feet from the Prince had recovered from a horrific burn that covered her face and chest right in front of him.

She hadn't even been near the lass, much less touched her.

Ryn was getting stronger by the minute, it seemed.

But then Haelric showed up, and Kíli found himself desperately relieved, despite his mixed feelings about the man. Maybe together, the two could defeat this evil sorcerer once and for all.

But Kíli didn't have the luxury of simply standing and watching. Ryn was fighting to protect the caravan—his job was to get them to safety. He caught Anora's arm as she ran past.

"Go into the town," he ordered. "Tell them we're holding the threat here as long as possible, but they need to get their women and children to safety. Tell them to run."

Anora, to her credit, didn't hesitate; only nodded and took off with a shout of "Keep Sêla safe!" over her shoulder.

Kíli nodded, then looked about. He noted with some relief that his mother was shouting directions to the dwarrowdams, who were gathering their young ones and leaving the camp site in family groups, quickly and orderly. Kíli shouted to the red-haired lad not far from him, "Gimli!"

His cousin was at his side in a moment. "Kíli."

"Get your father, Rognus, Telchar and Farin. We need warriors to cover the lasses and dwarflings as they retreat."

Gimli looked scandalized. "We're running?"

"Ryn is our only hope against an enemy like this," Kíli countered. "And staying will only provide him ammunition to use against her and Haelric. We must leave."

Gimli dipped his head in acquiescence and ran off to do as he was told.

Kíli was torn. He believed what he'd just told Gimli, with all his heart; but a larger part of him was screaming at the idea of leaving Ryn anywhere near this man, even with the strength of her father backing her.

His internal debate was silenced seconds later when another scream rang out, not far away. Kíli turned.

It seemed Fárbjóðr had not come alone.

Mewlips swarmed the camp, staying well away from the Eiri fighting in the midst of burning wreckage; but mercilessly attacking the surrounding dwarves. Rage bloomed in Kíli's chest.

It was not enough for this sorcerer to target women and children; he brought friends along, too?

Oh no. Kíli was not having it.

"Warriors of Durin!" he shouted, his voice ringing clear through the camp despite the screams and crackle of fire. Even the mewlips looked up, their gaze finding the Prince who stood tall, wielding a long sword with a ferocity they should have taken as a warning. "To me!"

Rognus was closest, and took up a battle cry as he ran to his Prince's side, followed instantly by others; Gimli and Gloin, Telchar, Ibón, and every warrior in the caravan who heard the call.

Anora caught Kíli's shoulder in the seconds it took for the dwarves to gather. "The villagers are on the run," she reported, clearly but quickly. "There are a few men who will stand and fight, though. Lady Dis and Brydda are leading our own folks away, and Sêla and Raela are checking for wounded before they follow."

Kíli nodded brusquely, and Anora assumed a fighting stance beside him, facing the mewlips. The dwarf prince realized it after a moment and turned to her.

"For Mahal's sake, Anora; go with my mother, will you?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Kíli, you've known me for how long? I'm not going anywhere."

"I could order you, as your Prince."

She smirked, spinning her two axes. "But you won't, because you know I'm the most fearsome axe-wielder you have here."

Kíli huffed, knowing she was right but hating it all the same. "I don't like it," he growled.

"Yes well, I don't—"

Anora's response was cut off by a deafening explosion nearby, from where the Eiri had been battling, and the dwarves were thrown to the ground by the shockwave. Kíli's heart slammed into his throat and stuck there, preventing the scream that built in his chest from escaping.

Ryn.

His beloved lay stunned (Mahal, he hoped she was only stunned; she was moving slowly, writhing almost); her father nearby, blue sparks escaping his too-still form. He heard her call for Haelric, crawl toward him while Fárbjóðr stood over her, laughing.

Laughing.

Kíli saw red. He scrambled to his feet and charged toward the sorcerer, silent, hoping to catch the Man off guard. He got within a few feet, swung his long sword in a downward arc that would cleave the monster in two from his head to his waist.

Or at least, it would have, if Fárbjóðr hadn't known he was coming.

Kíli barely registered Ryn's scream as his strength suddenly drained from him like water, his arms dropping as the sword clattered to the ground, too heavy for him to lift. His knees buckled and he would've fallen, if not for the Eiri's cold fingers closing round his throat, holding him up.

Kíli struggled weakly as he gasped for air, legs kicking uselessly a few inches above the ruined grass.

Ryn forced herself to stand, eyes blazing, as Fárbjóðr held Kíli by the throat barely three feet away. She saw Fárbjóðr draining his strength, knew he was doing it slowly to taunt her, but knew it was only a matter of minutes before Kíli was too weak to live.

"Let. Him. Go." she snarled. Fárbjóðr just smiled.

No.

Her eyes narrowed into tiny green slits. This monster had just killed her father barely hours after she found him again, and now threatened her bandhún.

And in case you need any more motivation to come with me, the Eiri continued, still projecting his voice into her head. Take a look at who else I happen to have in my clutches.

An image burst into her mind; a dwarf lad, not much younger than she. Shackled up in a stone room of some kind, weak and hungry but alive. His shoulder-length hair fell in messy waves, unadorned and unbraided—a shame that had doubtless been imposed upon him by the Eiri holding him captive.

But what caught Ryn's attention was his eyes. Green, like hers.

Eyes she recognized. Her breath caught in her chest.

It was impossible. It couldn't be. He was dead.

His name rang through her mind despite her disbelief.

Talos.

Oh, is that what he's called? Fárbjóðr taunted. All I knew is that he was related to you. A cousin, perhaps, or a brother. He wouldn't tell me anything, no matter how nicely I asked.

A flash in Ryn's mind; her now-grown baby brother writhing on the ground, a silent scream on his lips as the Eiri smirked.

Ryn opened her eyes, momentarily confused when grass met her gaze. She was screaming, bent over with her hands over her ears as she tried to block out the odd choking sounds Talos had made.

"Stop, please," she was pleading now. Pleading for both her brother and her beloved, far past caring about dignity or honor. "I'll go with you! Just release Kíli! Please, leave him alive, I'll come willingly!"

Fárbjóðr's smile widened. Most excellent.

He dropped Kíli, who collapsed onto the soft ground with a thud. Ryn went to her knees beside him, shocked to find Sêla on his other side.

What was she doing here? This close to Fárbjóðr? Fear punched Ryn in the gut again, but she couldn't exactly order the lass to leave—Kíli was going to need help getting away. Ryn sent him what strength she could spare, ensuring he would survive and recover quickly; but he was still very weak, for now.

"Sêla," she murmured, her voice breaking. "Seek refuge in Lorien," she removed the pendant she always wore that identified her as an elf-friend and pressed it into the lass's open palm. "I know it's further west than we planned to go, but they can provide protection from this monster. Tell them where I am, what I'm doing, ask for asylum." She squeezed Sêla's shoulder and held her gaze, blinking back tears. "Wait for me as long as you can."

Sêla nodded. "We'll wait as long as it takes."

Ryn kissed Kíli's clammy temple, whispering a few ancient words in Orð to calm her beloved. "I love you," she finished softly, and he gave a shaky moan in response. Ryn looked to Sêla. "Keep him safe," she whispered, helping them both stand before withdrawing.

She stood guard, facing Fárbjóðr as Kíli and Sêla retreated. When she was certain they were safe, she looked Fárbjóðr right in the eyes, light green meeting icy blue.

"Let's go."