Chapter 36

The Weight of Kingship

In the very dwarvish tradition of not informing anyone what he was up to, Thráin had completely blindsided me by tearing into Haldir as he did. I had known that he wouldn't like the whole blindfolding business, but had wrongfully assumed that he would bear it for the sake of the quest.

Fortunately that all worked out, especially after Legolas hurried to the rescue. It was hard to say who was most surprised at that turn of events: the dwarves, Haldir or indeed Legolas himself. Perhaps he had heard the wisdom in Thráin's words. I didn't ask and he didn't explain.

It did alert me to one of the wider issues in play. I knew elves and dwarves did not like each other a lot. That much had become quite evident in the constant sniping at the other race that went on within the company itself. It was annoying, but not, in my opinion, a matter of life and death.

This was where I was wrong, because a matter of life and death was exactly what it was. Thráin had mentioned, quite casually too, that his brother was doing his best to bring an alliance about of the Free Folk in his region. I had thought that was actually a brilliant idea, because it would mean they stood more of a chance. But I hadn't really thought about it after that. I had assumed that naturally everyone would set aside their grudges for the greater good, to be perhaps resumed after war's end.

I had no idea how difficult an exercise it must have been, but that day in Lothlórien I started to see how big the rift between these two peoples actually was, that it was not just small squabbles and a bunch of prejudices, but that there was actual enmity and distrust that could not be so easily set aside.

And, surprising me yet again, Thráin proved himself to be a good and visionary leader in the whole exchange. I had not really seen that side of him before. Later I wondered why I thought it was so strange. Thráin was a prince after all. Come to think of it, I was travelling with a lot of nobility. Gimli may not be royalty, but he certainly had noble blood in his veins. Legolas of course was a prince of his own people and Aragorn was a king in the making. And Boromir was the eldest son of the steward of Gondor. They were all people who had a say in how things were run. They made the decisions. It wasn't so obvious when we were all on the road, but in places where we encountered other people, they were listened to and respected. That was a good thing, I thought, but I never thought about that such a position could also be a burden, as one dwarf was about to discover…

Duria

'The clouds are moving,' Cathy reported. Her eyes may be inferior in the dark of the Mountain, but outside, with daylight, her eyes were sharper by far than Duria's. She had relied on them heavily these past few days. 'They are coming closer.'

This was not good news. These clouds were unnatural. For five days now the wind had blown steadily from the north. Reason dictated that this should blow the dark clouds south, but not only had they not gone south, they had not moved from their spot since yesterday afternoon. Duria found this deeply worrying.

Somewhere under those very clouds their people were fighting for their very survival. The battlefield was too far away to see with the naked eye, but the dark clouds that accompanied their enemies had given some indication of what was happening. On the first day of battle they had been dark and threatening until they had suddenly fallen apart. Then for two days they had seen nothing. But yesterday afternoon they had returned and they had not disappeared since.

Is the battle going against us? Messengers had been scarce and the news they brought was fragmentary at best. The battle was ongoing and no clear winner had emerged as of yet, they said. Nazgûl had been seen, but had been driven off or even killed. That had sent Duria to the library in a frenzy, scouring it for books on the subject that might contain useful information that could aid their troops. She'd found nothing.

The anxiety had made itself at home ever since.

She was used to waiting, but never like this. Her kith and kin had ridden out before and while they did things that would turn anyone's hair grey on the spot, they usually got off lightly. But this was different. This war would turn all it touched to dust.

It might be easier to bear if there was something Duria herself could do, but there was not. So she had once again taken refuge in prayer, pestering her Maker all day long with pleas to keep her husband, her brother and all her family safe. Their names had become a constant mantra, as if she could persuade Mahal to keep them out of harm's way by constantly reminding him of their existence.

Narvi, Thoren, Dori, Nori, Bombur, Dwalin, Óin, Lufur. She knew many more who were fighting out there, but she reasoned that she could not be seen to be greedy. And surely there were plenty of others also praying for their safe return.

'Coming closer?' she asked for good measure, squinting at the sky. The clouds did look like they were closer, but could they really be certain yet?

Cathy nodded decisively. 'Definitely.'

They had spent the past few days on the battlements above the gate, watching for signs. They weren't the only ones to have done so. Here and there groups of people, dwarves and men both, were keeping a close eye on whatever they could see of the proceedings. Dwarves were not made for idleness, but neither Cathy nor Duria had been able to get work done these past few days. Duria had taken a book with her for form's sake and Cathy had brought her needlework, but nothing had been done with either.

Jack had been far more productive. Though he didn't like that Thoren had effectively forbidden him from joining him, he had obeyed the order. Fíli and he had ridden out to Dale that morning to usher the last stragglers into the Mountain. If these clouds were back, it could only mean bad news.

'There's Jack and Fíli,' Cathy pointed. There were still people leaving Dale, but not so many as in previous days. 'Let's go and see if he has news.'

Duria agreed for lack of a better alternative. She hated how restless and unproductive she was. It wasn't at all like her.

They caught up with their brother and their cousin near the gate. 'Any news?' Cathy asked.

'There are still people refusing to leave,' Fíli reported, a deep frown in his forehead. 'They think that the walls of their city will protect them.'

Fools. Thoren had predicted months ago that the Enemy could not be held up on the battlefield indefinitely, that it would come to a siege. And when that siege commenced, all should be in Erebor. It was the most easily defendable structure for many miles around. Dale could be held for a little while, but it would cost them many lives to do so and against such a force they could not hold out. Better to give Dale up and rebuild it when the war was done. Thoren had promised help in that as well. King Brand had seen the wisdom of it and had agreed to the plan.

'But all their fighters are here!' Cathy exclaimed. 'The city is undefended. They will be massacred!' Dismay was writ large on her face.

Jack snorted. 'You think we do not know that? But there is no reasoning with them, fools that they are.' He was in one of his foul moods and there was no Flói to distract him from it. Duria found that worrying too.

Fíli saw her look and elaborated: 'They claimed that the dwarves would protect them, as they had ridden out with their own men to face that threat. They asked if we had no faith in them.'

Duria had faith in them. The fact that the battle had not yet been lost was only proof that she was right. But the unnatural clouds seemed to tell them that it was only a stay of execution, that their respite would be ending soon enough. And perhaps the men of Dale could not see that, but Duria could.

At the very least it explained Jack's mood. 'Do not take it to heart,' she counselled him. 'You have done all you could.'

She was rewarded for her efforts with a dismissive scoff. 'Aye, all I could do here, that's true enough.' He still deeply resented Thoren for ordering him to remain behind.

There was no victory to be won here, so she changed the subject. 'You have seen the clouds?'

It worked. 'I've seen them,' her brother confirmed. 'And they are coming closer even as we speak.' He looked Duria in the eye. 'Our forces are either in retreat or have been defeated. There is no other explanation.'

He only said what she had already suspected, but had not wanted to acknowledge. They all knew it would come to that. They had known it even before Glóin's news so drastically changed the reason why they did what they did. But a stand had to be made, so Thoren had ridden out to go and make it, in the knowledge that he was facing certain defeat.

'They may only be losing ground,' Cathy argued. She was too much of a realist to expect anything other than an eventual defeat, but too much of an optimist to face up to what would certainly turn out to be the truth.

Duria never wished to share in that optimism; it was better to face the truth.

Jack clearly agreed; he shook his head. 'No, the clouds are moving too fast for that, and against the wind.' He looked back out through the gate. He was right; the clouds were moving very fast. Even she could see it now. They were dark and would have looked unnatural and full of malice even if they were not behaving in such an unnatural way. Literal darkness accompanied Sauron's troops.

'My lord! My lord!'

The frantic shouting caused all of them to turn around. There was a messenger approaching. No, there were two, a dwarf sharing a horse with an elf. Duria squinted and eventually recognised the dwarf as Dalin, Halin's brother. Duria's nose wrinkled in disdain before she brought it back under her control. Halin had become slightly more likeable since his childhood and she could not fault his love for Cathy, but Dalin was another matter altogether. He was nasty and spiteful and nearly as much of a nuisance as his mother and grandfather. Thoren was showing poor judgement in the choice of his messengers. She'd need to have a word with him about that.

Jack frowned at the sight too, but remembered where he was and managed to present a calm face. 'Dalin,' he acknowledged. 'Master Elf.'

'Tegalad, at your service,' the elf said, dismounting. 'My lords, my ladies.' He inclined his head and then helped Dalin off the horse.

Dalin tolerated that treatment without any snappy remarks whatsoever. And now that Duria had the opportunity to look at him a bit closer, he looked decidedly the worse for wear. His face was pale, the right side of it mostly obscured from sight by dried blood. He held his left arm in an awkward position. Most of his clothes were ready to be burned, torn by fighting and stained by blood. The blood had dried, so it was all black and it was hard to say if it belonged to him or the orcs he had slain.

'We bring grave news from the battlefield,' Tegalad reported. 'Would you have us report to you here or would you prefer to hear it in private?' He directed his query at Jack, who looked visibly uncomfortable with being addressed as a leader.

But he rose to the occasion. 'Here will do, Master Tegalad. Delay can only aid our Enemy.'

Tegalad inclined his head again, but it was Dalin who spoke: 'The battle is lost,' he said without preamble. 'We held out for three days, but yesterday the Enemy brought fresh reinforcements against us, led by two of his wraiths. We held them for some hours, but once night had fallen, we could not endure.'

Duria had expected as much. These creatures were stronger at night. That was one thing that her research had turned up. Just a shame that there was no way to turn it to their advantage. Having a hold over the weather and the light appeared to be Sauron's prerogative only.

'You did well,' Fíli told him when Jack didn't. 'I shall go and alert the healers that their services will be required.'

Maker, please keep them safe. Narvi, Thoren, Dori, Nori, Bombur, Dwalin, Óin, Lufur. She repeated their names for good measure, though there was probably no use for it now. The battle was done. If they were dead, they had already died and her desperate pleas would not restore them to life.

Before Fíli could leave, however, Dalin continued. 'We owe much of the time we were given to your brother and the elvish captain Tauriel,' he said. There was an air of solemnity about him that was very unlike him. He looked at Jack in a way that she couldn't decipher, almost a mixture of pity and respect. It didn't suit him and Duria didn't like it. 'By themselves they killed two of the Nazgûl the Enemy sent against us on the first day and drove off another.'

Duria had heard that Thoren had done such a thing before, after the first defeat. She had cursed him for a reckless fool then and she did the same now. Brave it was, but foolish. He was risking his life…

She stopped short. Suddenly she knew exactly where this was going.

Dalin put his right hand over his heart, a gesture Tegalad promptly performed as well. 'One of the Nazgûl's fell beasts grabbed King Thoren and dragged him into the air. Your brother stabbed the beast and captain Tauriel killed its rider, but your brother fell from a great height. We have not seen him since.' He swallowed. 'I regret to report that the King under the Mountain is dead.'

'No.' It was just one word that Cathy uttered, but she drew all eyes to her. 'No, he cannot be dead.'

She had always been close to their eldest brother, so to hear of his death must be a great shock. It was a shock for Duria as well, but she felt strangely detached. The grief was there, deep within her, but she couldn't reach it, couldn't drag it to the surface. The only indication that she felt anything at all was that her hands were shaking. Otherwise she felt as though she was carved out of stone, cold and unfeeling as the statues at the gates.

Is that not my role? Duria thought bitterly. To be calm and unmoveable as all about us falls down into ruin? She would perform it, then, but not simply because she must. She did it because she could not act any other way. For once, she longed to be like Cathy, whose face was already stained by tears, whose mouth was capable of making the sounds of distress that were so common among the grieving. Duria had not loved her brother any less than her sister, but she had no way of showing it. The tears would not come.

'My lady, he cannot be alive,' Tegalad said, not without sympathy. 'I saw him fall from a great height into an area that was filled with many orcs and no friends. Even if he did survive that fall – and my heart tells me that mercifully he did not – he would not have lived long in such wretched company.'

Duria had roused herself enough to speak and so she would have pointed out that there had been no body and while that remained so, she would not fully believe what she had been told. But the words died on her lips when the elf spoke. He spoke wisely. Nobody could have survived such a thing, not even Thoren for all his stubbornness could have endured.

Her brother was gone.

'No.' This time it was less of a denial and more of an outing of genuine grief. It was the only warning they had before Cathy simply collapsed. Fíli rushed to her side and caught her before she could injure herself. 'No, no, no, no!'

Duria wished she could scream her pain to the skies in the same way, but her common sense got in the way. Too undignified. There was still an elf here and a crisis at hand. It was her lot in life to keep her head while all around her were losing theirs. Maker, give me strength.

Jack was still standing, face unreadable. In Fíli's eyes she could at least see his pain and Cathy's was plain for all to see, but like Duria herself, Jack could have been hewn out of stone.

'Your brother Thráin must now be our King,' Dalin said. 'But he is not here, so in his absence we must look to you.' His gaze was fixed upon Jack.

Her youngest brother looked like he had aged a century in the span of a minute.

Outside the gates, snow began to fall.

Jack

It must be a cruel joke. Jack might even have laughed about it if he had felt capable of sound or motion. He did not.

'My lord,' Dalin said and then, to Jack's infinite dismay, knelt before him.

If Jack had been capable of speech before this, he would have lost the ability there and then. He was no mannish fool to insist that this was a dream from which he must soon be woken. He was no child either that he could run away and pretend that none of this had ever happened. This had happened and this burden had come to him.

But he recalled Fíli's words from some days ago. Thráin is not here and the nature of his mission is so dangerous that there is every chance that he may not return home. Like it or not, Jack, before long you may be all that is left and Thoren knows this. Why else do you think he put you specifically in charge here? Fíli had known what he was speaking about and so, apparently, had Thoren.

Jack would have cursed his brother had he been alive. As it was, he couldn't.

'Rise,' he said at last. 'I am not your King. Save your obeisance for my brother when he returns from his mission.' Jack was not entitled to such treatment and if he had anything to do with it, he never would be.

How could he ever be called King under the Mountain? He may be the son of Thorin Oakenshield, but Jack knew better than to think that this made him worthy of that honour. By happy accident both Thoren and Thráin had turned out as dwarves should be. It was only in making Jack that Mahal had so horribly failed. But since he was the youngest son, that would only ever impact Jack. It was better that way.

But no dwarf of Durin's Folk should ever have to bow to one who looked so like a man, no matter who his father was. They were better off giving the crown to Fíli.

'But he is not here.' The world could come down in dragon fire and still Duria would stand here, dealing out common sense to those who did not want it. 'And you are. And Thoren knew that.'

There was a nauseous feeling in the region of Jack's stomach at the thought that Thoren likely had not expected to live. Thoren's instructions had been oddly specific. He had kept Jack at home and had ordered that Elvaethor stay there too. To give me good counsel when he could no longer be there.

Understanding only brought him more grief.

But there was anger too. Thoren had planned this, knowing full well that Jack had never wanted any of this. He could have easily appointed Fíli as a temporary regent until Thráin came home – and Jack simply refused to believe that Thráin would not – but he hadn't. He had thrown all that responsibility on Jack's shoulders.

So here he was, a dwarf who looked like a man and his childhood nemesis on his knees before him, honouring him in a way he should never be.

'Stand,' he told Dalin, when the first command did not seem to prompt much of a response. 'And finish your report, if you would.'

I hope you're bloody pleased with yourself now, Thoren. Look, I am doing as you asked. Though asked was not nearly the right word. Thoren had commanded and had expected to be obeyed. That was his right as King. And he had left at least that part of his duties to Jack. Would that our places had been reversed, brother. The prospect of dying had never scared him. There was honour in dying for his people. Thoren had done so, yet he expected Jack to live and be the coward.

Dalin at last rose. Jack looked into his eyes, but found no trace of the lifelong hostility there. It had been erased. He looked at him now like he had looked at Thoren, with the proper respect one paid one's king.

But it was Tegalad who continued. 'The men suffered grave losses and they are chief among the wounded. We have tried to take as many back with us as we could, but at the last our forces were overrun and we have left many injured behind on the field of battle, although against our will.'

Jack had expected to hear this. All of those injured would now be dead. The orcs were not interested in prisoners, except maybe those who could tell them of the weaknesses of the Free Folk. But now that the side door was once more secure and the traitor behind bars, there was no weakness left.

'It was King Thranduil who ordered the retreat at the end,' the elf went on. 'I believe that he is still well and he commands the fight now that your brother has fallen.'

He had fallen in every possible way, but yet Thranduil lived. He had dragged his heels for months before he could even be persuaded to come to the negotiation table. Yet he suddenly showed up and took Thoren's place in the alliance as though he had a right to.

'Good,' Duria said. Her eyes were still dry. 'Someone needs to take charge.'

Yes, someone needed to. But it would have been better if Thorin Stonehelm had taken over, who at least had showed up before he was even called, something nobody could accuse the elf of.

'How far behind you are they?' Fíli asked, which was the question Jack should have been asking. He may not like what he had to become now, but there was little choice. And Thoren was unlikely to thank him if he managed to lose Erebor through sheer inattentiveness.

'Only hours,' Tegalad reported.

'And the foe not far behind them,' Dalin finished. 'My lord, they have two wraiths at their disposal and more orcs than can be counted.'

And still there were people in Dale. There were people in Esgaroth too, those fools who had refused to leave their homes behind, who trusted in the strength of the alliance to keep the danger away from them. They had been told it was different, but they had refused to listen. But Esgaroth was too far off. Dale he could yet do something about.

He turned back to Fíli. 'Fetch your pony,' he said. 'We ride back to Dale.' Fíli was already moving, while Jack turned back to Dalin. 'Have messengers ridden to Dale?'

He shook his head. 'No, my lord,' he replied. After a lifetime of being called a range of unflattering names by this dwarf it felt wholly out of place to suddenly be treated with such deference. The wrongness rubbed him the wrong way. This sort of address had been for Thoren and would in future be for Thráin. Jack had no right to it. Neither did he want it. 'We were told that all have moved into the Mountain.'

'They all should have,' Jack growled. Their stubbornness would be their downfall. 'We will try to warn them one last time.' The knowledge that defeat was upon them, that their armies had been beaten back might at last drive home the notion that they were in very grave danger. And if they fled now, they might yet live.

Jack may not like men, but they did not deserve such a death as the one that was coming either. They are my mother's kindred. Well, not by blood, because Jack was well aware that his mother's blood had come from distant places, but she had belonged to the race of Men the same as the people of Dale. For the sake of her memory, he would ride.

Duria must surely approve.

He was unlikely to receive any verbal confirmation of this assumption; Duria was still standing very still. He did not think she had moved at all since she had been told the news of their brother's demise. Did she even feel the grief? Could she feel the grief? There were days Jack questioned that she was capable of emotion at all. Duria had always been the epitome of what dwarves should be: loyal, hard-working and seemingly hewn from rock itself.

There were many days he wished he was similarly blessed.

The clouds moved ever closer as they rode hard to Dale. Still people were leaving, which meant that at least some of them had listened. Or perhaps they too had read the signs in the sky and had drawn the right conclusions.

If you knew what was coming, you would run now, he thought, watching a young mother casually stroll with three children. Jack had seen the might of their Enemy and even he had felt daunted in the face of so many foes. But we will fight them, many though they be. There was no other road open to them.

'Go away!' A man stepped in their path near the city gates. 'We don't want you here!'

'The Enemy is coming!' Jack growled at him. 'And your fabled walls will not slow them down much.' When this did not prompt a moment of clarity, he pointed to the southeast. 'Open your eyes, man, have you not seen the skies?'

'These walls will still be here when this war is done.' His voice rang with conviction.

Dwarves may be headstrong, but they were at least no fools like this unfortunate specimen. 'Perhaps,' Jack allowed. 'But only if the orcs cannot be bothered to tear them down. You are no longer safe here.' Again, there was no sign of understanding. 'At least get out of our way so that we can save those we may.'

Jack did not wait until the man had made up his mind. Time was running out. He urged his horse forward and the man wisely jumped out of the way. Jack reckoned it was the last sensible thing he would ever do. But he could not dwell on it.

'Take the west side of the city,' he instructed Fíli. 'But do not linger too long.' He had seen enough loss for one single day. They would save those that they could, but he would not, could not risk more lives.

Thoren would have been good at this, he thought when he went through the city, telling people to leave and make for the safety of the Lonely Mountain. People liked him and obeyed him because of it. He smiled and people became as malleable as clay in his hands. The only reaction Jack could hope for was a sneer.

He doubted he had much success. Those people who were leaving had watched the clouds and had drawn the conclusion that Dale was no longer a good place to be. There were others, who still believed in the strength of their walls. It did nothing whatsoever to lend credibility to Duria's many assurances that men had many admirable qualities that he simply refused to see.

One cannot see what is not there.

'You're with them dwarves, are you?' an old woman said, looking at him when he came to her door. She lived near the eastern wall of the city at very nearly the end of his round. He'd been at this for hours. Time must be running out.

Jack nodded, biting down on the urge to inform her that he was one of the dwarves. Once again his looks worked against him. 'Aye,' he said. 'We have been told the news that the battle is lost. The armies of the Enemy will soon be upon us. You must leave.' He looked over her shoulder into her little house, but could see no other people. 'Are you alone?'

'My daughters and their families have already left,' she confirmed.

The next time Duria informed him that men were capable of loyalty, he would strike back with this particular example, he promised himself. 'Is there anyone who could help you?' he asked. Leaving the elderly behind, what a bloody disgrace.

To his surprise, she smiled at him as she shook her head. 'Listen, my lad, I am sure you mean well, but I will not go,' she told him.

He had heard variations on this theme many times this day. 'Your walls will not keep you safe,' he warned.

She surprised him yet again. 'Oh, I know.'

Jack blinked. 'Then why will you not go?' He shouldn't be doing this, but something was keeping him in place.

'Look at me,' she invited.

Jack did, but that did not give him answers. She was old and leaned heavily on her walking stick. Other than that, he could see nothing special about her. 'What is it that I am meant to see?'

'That I am old,' she replied. 'I have seen eighty-seven winters.' For a dwarf it was nothing, but for a man it was very, very old. 'I remember the return of the King under the Mountain and the rebuilding of this city. I was married here and raised my children. I have seen my grandchildren grow up and have families of their own.' Her voice suddenly rang with pride. 'But I am old now. I don't have anything left to give to this world. And I will not take a share of those valuable food supplies inside that Mountain when younger mouths need it more.' She raised herself up as far as she could – the top of her head was level with Jack's chin – and gave him a stern stare. 'I will not go.'

This speech caught Jack on the back foot. He had not expected to find such nobility among the stubborn people still in this city. He had not expected to find it among men at all.

But this was not the time or place for astonishment. 'I am afraid I cannot allow that,' he said. 'We will not leave people to serve as food for orcs, thus strengthening them.' He made that up on the spot, but it was a sensible policy either way. 'I would prefer if you came of your own free will, but I will force you if you must.' He considered her and then made another decision: 'You may share my horse.'

Now it was the old woman's turn to blink in shock. 'The orcs would not find much meat on my bones,' she pointed out at last, still finding a way to object.

Just a shame Jack wasn't in a listening kind of mood. 'Not relevant,' he said. 'Now, will you come or must I drag you?'

If Thoren had been here, he would have had the old biddy onto the horse by now. But Jack was only too aware that he was nothing like his late brother, either in looks or character. I have been made as so much less. Thoren's boots were not for him to fill. He could not aspire to it. To even consider it was madness.

The woman seemed taken aback. 'Why?' she simply asked.

Jack answered truthfully. 'There has been too much death already. I would not see more done on my watch.'

There were no more protests after this. She went into the house to retrieve some clothes and personal things and then came willingly. Jack lifted her onto the horse – 'well, don't I feel high and mighty,' she said, rather cheerfully too. 'I've never sat on a horse before.' – and mounted up behind her.

Then he rode out of Dale among the fleeing people.

Only hours later, the city was on fire.

Next time: Jack exchanges words with a Nazgûl.

Thank you very much for reading. Reviews, as always, would be much appreciated.