A/N: Hello everyone! I am back with the second-to-last chapter for this amazingly torturing story... Can you imagine that I've been writing this for nearly two years now? Incredible! XD Anyway, unlike what you might think, this chapter is quite packed. ;)

Disclaimer: Any recognizable piece of dialogue or character is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs and/or of Sir Peter Jackson. I only own my two main OCs Baraz and Filí, son of Kilí, and some secundary characters.

Playlist for this chapter: Craftsmen Dwarves and Pride of the Dwarves from the Battle for Middle-Earth OST.

36. Baraz' trial

2 F.A.

6th January

Fíli and Baraz followed the guards all the way to the Lonely Mountain, Dale's people regarding their advance with many a ushered word. Baraz could see their disbelief upon seeing her again, could see on some faces the anger too. But she held her head high. No need to show or miserable she felt inside.

She could not help but notice how much Dale had thrived since the end of the War of the Ring. The city had been almost completely rebuilt by then, dwarven masonry visible in almost every building and wall.

Dwarves and Men lived once again in harmony, and prepared for the day both of their races would be joined by the scared bond of marriage.

"Azbad Baraz Gazardu" she was welcomed - if it could be called that - at the Gate of the Mountain. She did not remember this Dwarf, slightly younger than Fíli by the looks of it, but the Prince soothed her curiosity by greeting his kin in the same cold manner.

"Grár son of Frír, welcome back to Erebor. Why is Lady Baraz summoned?"

"That I cannot say, Fíli son of Kíli," the younger Dwarf answered. Baraz hissed, for her friend was to be addressed in respect for his rank, which had not been the case. The Dwarf stared at her, ice seeping from his very eyes, before he turned to the guards. "Lead her to the Council Chambers. They are waiting for her. You," he pointed at Fíli, eliciting another hiss from Baraz, "are not invited."

Fíli advanced on his inferior, teeth bare to the world like a wolf ready to strike a very nasty prey. "Ah but see, the beauty in being a Prince, Grár, is that only the King himself can command me." He passed the offending youngster, towering over him with his dozen of years more, and followed Baraz as she was roughly lead to the room she knew so well.

It soon appeared that she had been summoned for her own trial.

Thorin Stonehelm, crown and cloak in place, sat presiding, small dark eyes heavy with fatigue and maybe also with the weight of what was asked of him. Dwalin sat to his left, as he had always done, Frír and Glóin next to him. Both glared openly at Baraz as she was shoved in front of the long table.

Some were very displeased upon seeing Fíli join the Council, taking his place at Thorin's right as was to be.

Baraz assessed the Dwarves in attendance. All present were her enemies, people who had plotted behind her back for years. No doubt that her return marked for them the beginning of the end. Some she did not know, but their stern faces and the way they gripped their swords or axes told her everything she needed.

Gimli was not there. It made her grit her teeth, for she knew how fiercely her cousin would protect her in this instance. It made her wonder what they had done to her father.

Surprisingly, or maybe not, Thorin was not the one to preside over this overdone assembly. Frír, who had seemingly gained too much power these last few years, stood, and pointed angrily at Baraz, who was by then haltered with manacles. "Azbad Baraz Bofurdottir, you are summoned here to answer for treason."

Baraz' eyes widened, but she did not utter a word. Treason? What a joke!

Fíli audibly snorted, and earned himself a warning glance from Dwalin. The tall Dwarf, who would scare any foe away, seemed to be cornered here too. "Upon what charges?" he still asked.

"Upon the charges of abandoning her King in times of need! Azbad Baraz swore an oath that she did not faithfully follow! She left Erebor, and joined the Enemy!" By then Frír was shouting, and Baraz moved swiftly, much more swiftly than any Dwarf would.

Her hair, plaited with her own breads, had regained the fire that had disgusted so many of her kin before. "I have not sworn any oath, Frír son of Drír. I left Erebor upon my King's request, with a promise to return."

"And now you return, now! To no doubt thwart the carefully sown plan to join Erebor and Dale, to no doubt kill our King and proclaim yourself Queen!"

Baraz snorted too, and she could not help but answer with one of the worst insults a Dwarf could ever give his peers. "Kahum menu rkhas shirumundu, Frír!" Your clan are beardless orcs!

There was a great commotion during which everyone stood, enemy or not, and started shouting either at her or at Thorin, who had stood too, looking weary and battleworn. He looked much older now, as if all these petty arguments had taken their toll on his youth.

"Enough!" finally came the call. All eyes turned to Dwalin, mighty Dwalin who towered over each Dwarf in the room. "Let the King speak!"

Frír tried to speak, to counter the demand, but Dwalin stroked the hilt of the dagger he wore at his belt, and the general sat, vanquished for now.

Thorin remained standing, the weight of his cloak hindering him so much he shed it. He looked at Baraz in a way he had never done before. With pity. "Azbad Baraz Gazardu. I have appointed you member of my Royal Council. Did you or did you not swear your oath before departing for the Men's City?"

Baraz shook her head. "I did not, Thanu men." My King.

Thorin nodded. "Then I don't see why you are retained here. You may go." He sat back down, Frír and another Dwarf she did not know coming to his side right away while Fíli hurried to hers.

"You need to go. Somewhere safe," he whispered. Baraz nodded. It seemed like most of Erebor was plotting against her. Did they fear she would have more influence over Thorin than they would? "Go to Bard."

At that she froze, colour leaving her cheeks. "I-I cannot, Fíl. He will not want me."

He sighed. "Go, I beg of you. You are not safe in here." He kissed her brow and turned back to the King, who was assaulted with angry talks about how she needed to be executed and so on. Baraz turned her back on the sight, and hurried outside.

She would not go to Bard.

She needed to find her father. And Gimli.

Baraz remembered the halls of her forefathers well, and managed to avoid meeting any unwanted Dwarf all the way to her father's workshop. She entered, but the foyer had not been lit in so long the cold had seeped into the room and started eating at the carefully made toys stored there.

She ran next to the kitchens, but her uncle was nowhere to be seen.

As a last resort, Baraz ran to Norí's quarters. Her uncle was not there either, but his wife, Ída, answered the door, eyes widening upon seeing her and ushering her inside before someone could see.

"Baraz, what on Earth are you doing here?"

"Ída, do you know where my father is?" Baraz asked in a worried and hurried voice. The Dwarrowdam sighed and moved away from the door, leading the younger female further into the small room.

"Bofur, Bombur and Norí have been taken a few weeks ago. Gimli also, as I was made aware. We think they are in the dungeons, but we are not sure."

"We?"

Ída nodded. "The King and I. Thorin is surrounded by greedy generals. Even more now that Kíli and his father are dead. He is powerless. It's a miracle they have not killed him yet."

Baraz gritted her teeth. "So his command of releasing me is probably not going to hold much longer. I need to find them! Have you tried entering the dungeons?"

Ída nodded. "I've got a friend working there. They are not in the cells. But he does not know who might have been lead to the Dragon Prison."

Baraz shuddered. After Smaug's death, the lower and deeper parts of Erebor, where had died thousands of their kin during Smaug's occupation, had been turned into prisons, where water and food came only once a week if lucky. "If they are there..." she did not finish, but Ída nodded, agreeing with her silent thought that they might be dead.

"You need to go, Baraz. If they find you here...we both are dead. Go to Dale, you have friends there. The Princess, Sigrid, she took over your old officine. Go and hide there!" Ída lead her to the door and, after checking if no one was lurking in the corridors, she shoved her out.

As Baraz erupted from the Mountain from a side-door - more like one of the infamous balconies her mother had once escaped by - she could not stop thinking about what had happened during her absence.

Thorin was undeniably less strong than his father, fearsome Daín, who had for unknown reasons always accepted Baraz' presence in his halls. But that he had been manipulated so thoroughly by his generals, turned into a pawn by a group of greedy murderers, she could not fathom it.

And now, her father and uncles, her cousin most likely too, were imprisoned in the deadliest prison of Erebor.

Baraz ajusted the hood of her cloak and cursed in Elvish. The War was over, but how many battles would she have to fight until peace finally came?

She turned the angle to a street, then another. Dale was silent. Silently unsheathing her short dagger, Baraz prepared herself to erupt in her supposed hide-away's street.

And got knocked out by the blunt side of an axe...