Meska had left the majority of his men happily drinking away in one of the many Roskilde taverns. That was one thing that could be said well about the Vajördons, they did make remarkably good beer. Nadya would have called him a fool, walking in the city of another tribe, with only one other, Djordji, his second in command by his side.
It was funny, he mused to himself, that it was so dangerous to walk alone in an allied city. Perhaps he was just getting old, but he did not have the desire to fight any more. Had it been several hundred years ago, when the position of Sachem was decided upon by the physical prowess of a Vaidas, he would not have put his name forth. But it was the Fifth Age, and he firmly believed that logic and a diplomatic head would be needed to see the people of the East into the future.
The other candidates did not seem to him, to be very good choices for the position of Sachem. The Vajördon would be too inexperienced a leader, he was so young, although Meska could clearly see potential in him. The two Vaidas of the Dairlanhim and Myrrlion clans, shared a mutual loathing of the other that clouded their judgement wherever the other was concerned, Hazhir was far too prejudiced and Basu was a puppet. He did not even consider the Minhion Vaidas for a moment, for the man was too quiet to ever be obeyed by those he led.
Meska worried the path this Mœta would take. The talk of finally gaining full control of the West troubled him. All members of the seven clans owed their allegiance to the Sachem, and a terrible feeling had settled into his stomach, that if he did not win this election, it would surely mean war.
The pair of Rhûnions were so caught up in their thoughts, that they did not notice the darkened figures moving from the shadows behind them before it was too late. Meska saw a vague outline of black against the inky night sky, before something hard connected with his skull, and everything went dark.
Rín practically fell from the back of the pony she had shared with Thorin, groaning as her feet hit soil. They had followed Pallando's hastily cast instructions and headed North upon leaving the city. The Blue Wizard had informed them to travel until the moon had risen into the middle of the sky, then make camp; he and the others would meet them when dawn broke. If they had not reached them by then, Pallando said they were to travel to Emyn Njúl, bypassing the river, before making their own way into the West as fast as possible. She hoped it would not come to the second option.
They had stopped at a small grove of trees, and decided the edges of its border would be the best place to make camp for the night. "Saddle sore?" Thorin asked as he dismounted (far more gracefully than she had) beside her.
Rín pulled a face, "That does not begin to describe my discomfort." she replied drolly, wincing as she sat down on a nearby rock.
Thorin smirked, "Practice will make the action more natural my lady." he said, nodding wisely. Rín had the sudden urge to throw a rock at him and his oh-so-smug expression. But she was too tired, and entirely not bothered to lift her arm and fetch one.
"I'll take first watch." Rín yawned, even as her eyes began to close.
There was a rumble of laughter from the male dwarrow at her statement. Even though they were not yet entirely free of the Easterlings, and the others had not yet caught up, they were well and truly beyond the borders of the city, and a lighter mood was beginning to set in at the thought of beginning the journey back into the West and freedom.
"You are deluding yourself girl." Geir said, "Nannulf and I will take first watch."
"I will take second then." Thorin said.
Rín smiled thankfully at the others, grabbed her sleeping gear and practically ran for a sleeping spot. She was under the cover of her blanket in seconds, just glad that she did not have to go first. As she closed her eyes and was just about to let sleep claim her, the concern that had been niggling at the corners of her mind reached out its long, dark fingers and shook her awake.
Rín blinked blearily and looked up to see Thorin's arm on her shoulder, "It is time for your watch." he said quietly. Rín looked over to see Geir and Nannulf sleeping soundly, time must have passed far faster than she thought and she nodded in reply, swallowing a groan as muscle and bone creaked when she moved.
"Sleep well then Thorin." she said wearily, staggering out from beneath her blanket. When she looked up at the dark-haired dwarf, he still had not budged. Instead he shook his head.
"I will stay on watch with you a little while now." Thorin replied, "I do not yet feel weary."
Rín nodded, too tired to argue otherwise. Jerking herself into a more wakeful state, she went in the direction Thorin gestured with an open arm, plonking herself ungracefully onto a log and cracking her knuckles to wake herself up, before staring out into the distance.
Thorin quietly seated himself beside her, saying nothing, simply following the direction of her gaze. "Have you ever seen the stars shine so bright?" Rín asked, looking across at her companion.
Thorin did not look away from the night sky, his eyes flickering about the heavens, "No, I cannot say I have." he replied quietly, his voice low, "In all my years, I have never taken a moment to truly look at them."
"You have never looked at stars before?"
"No, I have looked at them," Thorin shook his head, a smile flickering in her direction, "I have simply never taken the opportunity to properly appreciate them."
Rín smiled at the Once-King, enjoying the slight night breeze that shifted around them, as she too looked up to the stars once more. "They almost remind me of the Arkenstone a little."
She felt, rather than saw Thorin look across at her then, and for a moment, Rín was worried. Past occurrences had not left her with a particularly good feeling about how protective he was of the gem. She was surprised then, when Thorin slowly reached into his tunic, took her hand in his and pressed the stone into it.
"I have not forgotten that you have yet to properly look at it." Thorin said quietly as she stared at the stone, admiring the way it shined brightly in the moonlight.
Rín looked up at him and smirked, her fingers happily wrapping around it's warmth, inappropriately sighing inwardly at the knowledge that it was his body heat that made it so, "Oh but I have, I woke you, remember, by pulling the stone from your fingers. I had plenty of time to admire it before I touched it." she replied cheekily, "If I'd have known how much trouble it would have gotten me into, I would have left it where it was!"
Thorin smiled back at her for a moment, before his face became sombre, "Would you truly?"
Rín blinked, the smile falling from her face, "No," she said quietly, green eyes meeting grey, "I would not have changed any of what has occurred since I found you, for all the gold in Arda."
The stone felt the change of hands, from large, to slightly smaller, from calloused, to even more calloused. It beat once, anticipating, but it was not yet the right time and so the Arkenstone continued to glow faintly, even as the khuzdinh turned it in her hands.
Far away, at the Lonely Mountain, there was a rumble, and then a crack so loud it sounded as though the sky had been split in two. The topmost tip of the tallest peak broke away, and crumbled down the side of the mountain, turning into a rock slide so large it wiped away the outer part of one side of the mountain almost in its entirety.
In the hands of Hlífhrím, the Heart of the Mountain hummed and waited, for its time was soon to come.
"The braid you gave me, what does it mean?" Rín asked. They had been sitting under the stars for some time, alternating between conversation and companionable silence, and she decided it was time to ask the question she had been thinking on for days.
Thorin cleared his throat slightly and did not meet her gaze, "It means you are under my protection."
Rín frowned, her eyebrows knitting together, "Under your protection?" she laughed, "That sounds a bit silly, why would anyone need a braid saying 'under his protection'?"
"So that others do not overstep their boundaries." Thorin said carefully, very carefully.
Rín stared at him like he had grown another head, "Is this some odd custom of our people from your age?" she asked suspiciously, "How many people have you bestowed your 'protection' upon?"
The dark haired dwarf shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "That would be...just you."
"But what about your sister?" Rín asked, genuinely curious, "Wouldn't you give her a braid to show she is under your protection too?"
It was Thorin's turn to look at her, scandalised, "One does not bestow such a braid of protection on his sister!"
"Why not?" Rín shot back.
"Because..." Thorin said cagily, "It is only for those who are not related-by-blood."
Rín considered his words for a moment, and nodded. "That is interesting. Do we women often give you men these 'braids of protection'?"
Thorin did not meet her eyes as she looked at him curiously, "Of a kind yes," he replied cautiously, "Although a braid from a woman means less 'protection', more of a kind of 'keeping'."
Rín absorbed that information with a slight frown, "Are we allowed to bestow braids of protection on other races?" she asked, her eyes wide, "Did you give one to the Hobbit, Bilbo? Was he under your protection too?"
Thorin scowled darkly at her, "Of course not," he snapped, face going red at the statement, "No, I did say you were the only one I have given such a braid to, and our people do not willingly let other races-" Thorin began, before he noticed her amused, raised brow. Suddenly cluing in, he looked a little abashed at his outburst, "You are teasing me."
"Yes I am. Don't be so grumpy." Rín replied laughingly, nudging him with her elbow, "Truthfully though Thorin, why does no one else have one?
Thorin paused before replying, his words careful once more, "Such a braid is special, it is normally only given to one person. Although I have heard of cases where it has been given more than a single person in one's lifetime."
"In a lifetime?" Rín asked, trying to slow the heavy beating of her heart. She had had her suspicions about the braid from the first, especially after the piercing looks she, or more specifically, it, had received from Geir and Rorik. So Rín tried to offer Thorin a chance to explain, but he was continually avoiding giving the answer. Perhaps he did not want to admit it to himself, and that thought cut her more deeply than she wanted it to.
"Yes, it is not given lightly." Thorin said quietly, his eyes meeting hers, and the light from the moon reflecting off them, "It is only bestowed on someone that a person has sworn they will willingly lay down their life for, and protect at any cost."
Rín was not sure how to answer such a statement. Quickly, she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, before asking her question, "Would you, teach me how to braid?" she asked meekly, her hands playing with a bit of the cloth at the corner of her shirt.
Thorin blinked, and looked more than startled, "I ahhhh-"
Rín blushed, inwardly cursing her stupidity. "Sorry," she mumbled, getting to her feet in order to do... something, "It was a silly question."
"No," Thorin said, reaching out like lightening and grabbing her arm, before gently pulling her back to a seated position next to him. "It was not silly. I will teach you."
"What do you mean you will not stand by what you said to me?" Basu, Vaidas of the Khandrim snarled, whirling on his companion. "You told me that you would assist me in becoming Sachem, and in return I would grant you autonomy! I have done what you said, the Rhûnions are out of the picture, now it is time to give me what is owed!"
"Good, very good, I think all is right now." The cloaked figure beside Basu smiled nastily, white teeth flashing beneath a darkened hood. "To put it simply, I lied." came the reply, and the Khand suddenly came to the realisation he had been played. He was not fast enough however, to see the blade that slipped from beneath the cloak and up, through his ribs and into his heart; before it happened. The young man's eyes went wide in understanding, pain and horror, before he crumpled to the ground, eyes glazed. "You are no longer necessary."
The hooded man quickly cleaned his blade on the dead Vaidas' shirt before turning to the figure beside him. "Go now, do your task and leave this city to burn." he said, "Your assistance in this matter will not be forgotten, your highness."
Queen Muhuli, Lady of Hēisè and ruler of the Blacklock clan cocked her head to the side and nodded. "A pleasure doing business with you Vaidas, or should I say presumptively, Sachem, Hazhir."
The Haradrim bared his teeth in a smile as the dwarven Queen and her guards stealthily disappeared into the darkness. His plans had been set well in motion. There was nothing to stop him now.
"There." Rín said happily, showing Thorin the braid she had made at the tips of her hair with three smaller dreadlocks. They had been practicing for an hour at least and not once had Thorin let her practice on his hair, as she had wanted at first, he had made her learn on her own. "And this braid states that I am a miner?"
"Yes." Thorin replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Although you should tie it with something more appropriate than leather cord."
"Well you will have to show me how to make better hair ties when we reach a forge then." she answered playfully. Before her face became serious and she cocked her hair to the side, "Thorin?"
"Yes?" he said absentmindedly, admiring the fact that, even in the dark, her red hair seemed to burn brightly.
"May I give you a braid?" Rín asked quietly.
Thorin stilled, "What braid would you wish that to be?"
Rín wet her lips and took a deep breath. "A braid of keeping."
Thorin stared at her for a moment before he spoke, his deep voice quiet, "I do not think you understand Rín, you are only able to give your braid of keeping once. Once you have bestowed it upon me, you cannot give it to another. It is different for dwarf-women, more permanent."
"I know." She replied dogmatically, "And I choose to keep you."
Thorin stood, "Rín you cannot keep me." he said, his voice sharp. She didn't seem to be understanding the implications of what she was saying. "You cannot just give me a braid of keeping."
Rín followed him, clambering to her feet "So you are able to bestow a braid of keeping or protection on me, but not I on you?"
Thorin looked down at her, eyes dark. "Yes that is right."
She stared back up at him, her mouth set in a stubborn line, "Well that is wrong."
Thorin was silent for a moment, the war inside himself waging once more. He had been a King, and now, a King himself no longer, he remembered Rín telling him of Durin, the Last. His duty to his people, still took precedence over his duty to himself. He would protect those closest to him with his life, but could not put himself before his people. "So be it, you are right, it was selfish of me. You do not need me tying myself to you in such a manner. I will not and cannot stay with you forever."
"Why not?"
He almost caved at the look on Rín's face, but held strong "Because I have other, important things to do."
"Like what?" she asked, her eyes becoming shinier in the moonlight.
"Like...fulfill my duty to my people." It was not a particularly good feeling, the one that was battling with his conscience.
"You can still be 'tied' as you put it, to us, me, and still 'fulfill your duty to your people' whatever that is." Thorin could hear the annoyance in Rín's voice as she spoke.
"No. I cannot, it is a distraction." he said.
"What is?" she asked testily.
"You are." Thorin replied, without thinking.
The red-haired dwarf woman was silent for a moment, her face sad. "Well that will not do." she said softly, after some time. She stepped closer to him, and looked him unflinchingly in the eye. "I may not give you a braid in reality Thorin, but I give it to you in my heart, and there is nothing you can say to change that. If you decide your duty no longer binds you, I will be waiting."
With that, Hlífhrím did the unexpected, reached up on her toes and pressed a soft, sweet and slow kiss to his lips before quickly stepping away. "I believe it is time for my watch." she said, as if nothing had just happened. "Hopefully Rorik and the other will be with us by morning."
As the dwarf-woman stood and moved into the darkness Thorin was left, his untouched lips burning and his heart bruised. His head told him it was the right thing to do, he could give her nothing. His heart told him he was a fool.
Skøldjor looked around the Mœta with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The Rhûnion and his second were still nowhere in sight, the Khand, Basu, had disappeared, and each of the other Vaidas and their Vaida were looking distinctly uncomfortable. He had known he had lost even before he had begun, and now was the moment of truth.
Each of the Vaidas had placed into a small box in the center of the room, a slip of parchment with the name of their chosen Sachem. The Choosing Box, as it was called, would not be moved, instead, each paper would be taken and placed on the table, for all to see. The Vaidas with the most counts to his or her name would become Sachem. If a Vaidas was missing, his vote would not be counted, instead his Vaida would stand in his place. If both a Vaidas and their Vaida were missing, then the wishes of their people would not be taken into account and the procedure would move on. If there was a tie, the Mœta would continue until a victor arose. Skøldjor was of the distinct opinion that there would be no tie.
Slowly, he opened the lid of the box and began laying the slips of parchment he drew from its depths, onto the table. A muscle in his cheek ticked as he stepped away from the table, back up onto his platform, allowing the others to see the results. "I, Skøldjor, do renounce my claim as Sachem, knowing the will of the united people." he said, his voice steady, "In turn, I recognise Hazhir, of the Haradrim, Lord, and Sachem."
Skøldjor could feel the cold chill of anger that shifted beneath his skin at the instinctual knowledge Hazhir had lied and twisted, and wormed his way into the position of Sachem. But the fight was over now, and nothing could be done.
"Thank you my friends." The Haradhrim smiled, spreading his arms wide as he stepped up onto the platform, even as Skøldjor stepped down. "I know I will do justice to the faith you have in me. Our peoples will be great once again."
There was a vague murmur passed about the room as the Vaidas and their Vaida took in the new information. Hazhir continued, "My brethren, for too long have we lived with that last remnant of taint, continuing in the West. For too long have we continued to exist, knowing that they remain and do nothing about it. It is time for us to finally complete the work done by our forefathers! It is time for us to take back that which is rightfully ours! Take arms, my Vaidas, raise your swords, shake your spears, for our peoples go to war!"
Everything was going as plan, until the clunking of feet sounded the return of the prison guards. "Can you do nothing to distract them?" Rorik hissed to the Blue Wizard beside him.
Pallando made some non-committal noise, before pulling himself to his feet, and hobbling out into the square. Rorik held back a groan at the plan he knew was rattling through the wizards head, and huffed, entirely unimpressed. He estimated that the wizard would be needed his assistance in approximately fifteen seconds...and he was entirely correct. As per usual. Sometimes it hurt; the fact he was just so good.
The wizard was not entirely right in the head. He had gone straight around the corner, and Rorik could hear him talking loudly in whatever language these men spoke. Wetting his lips with his tongue, he let out a piercing series of whistles. He had always a particular talent for bird imitation, and the call of the Bald Eagle had always been his, and Ása's favourite. If she was in there, she would know he was there; he had come for her, as he always would.
Rorik's eyes flickered from the corner where Pallando was distracting the guards, to the front of the prison and back again. Finally, he saw the slightest movement from the prison door, and he breathed a sigh of relief when Ása edged through it. He frowned however, when not just Ivarr followed her through it. A motley or raggedly dressed men and women (mostly men) followed, her, shifting pale shadows in the dusk.
Ása looked about her, her eyes catching sight of him and sparkling as she stepped in his direction, Ivarr following. Even from a fair distance her eyes were as bright as diamonds. Suddenly, there was the sound of shouting, and three guards came charging around the corner. As soon as they saw the fugitives, they drew their swords. The escapees slowly moved to encircle the soldiers, even as Ása and Ivarr edged towards Rorik. In a split second, one of the guards had turned and fled, and the prisoners descended on the remaining guards.
Rorik growled and quickly mounted up onto his pony, taking hold of the reins of Pallando's horse and moving forward. The situation was quickly going to escalate. The two remaining guards were beginning to give way to the prisoners and any moment, they would be overwhelmed.
"I thought you would have worked out how to get out of there before now wifey." Rorik caterwauled, as Ása and Ivarr strode toward him, as fast as was possible for them.
His wife harrumped and glared at him, calling out from across the square, "I would like to see you try, you great big oaf."
Rorik smiled into his beard. She was still as charming as ever. That was a good sign. He alone heard the tick of a smile in her voice. The quirk dropped from his lips however, when he heard it, the sound of heavy feet running straight towards them. Pallando came charging around the corner and everything descended into chaos. The guard that had fled had brought in back up.
The soldiers and prisoners collided with one another in a heavy sound of bodies meeting steel. The soldiers fought with precision, but the fugitives fought with desperation, with the taste of freedom on the tip of their tongue. Pallando was ducking in and around the fighting. Rorik's pony whinnied at the smell of blood, and Pallando's horse was threatening to rear, its ears pinned flat against its skull.
Several archers were at the back of the soldier battalion, randomly firing off arrows at targets. Rorik tensed, his mouth in a grim line and doggedly pushed his horse and pony forward as one of the guards attempted to lash out at Ása. She knocked him down in a moment, swinging under his sword arm. Her face white, Rorik watched as she shoved Ivarrr, who was limping heavily, forward.
Rorik noticed what she did not, he saw the movement from one of the archers, several meters behind, who had seen her strike down the guard. Her name burst from his lips in a single moment of terrified horror. "Ása! No!" Rorik was off his pony in a second, running towards her, even as the arrow was let loose.
"Do you smell that?" Skøldjor whispered to Cynered beside him.
His friend looked toward the open window and raised his head a little, before their eyes met in alarm, "Smoke."
As one, the pair moved towards the window, the other Easterlings taking pause to watch them. As one, the pair saw the red that licked above rooftops into the steadily darkening night sky and heard the screams of people. As one they turned, and roared, "Fire!"
The Mœta was abruptly drawn to a halt as each of the Vaidas burst from the main meeting room. "It's on the South-Eastern side of the city." Skøldjor said to his friend, his face affixed in a scowl as he stared at the smoke billowing above the rooftops, "The wind is blowing it North."
"North?" Cynered whispered, his face suddenly ashen white, "Sjöfn...she will not be able to get out."
As one, the men turned on their heel, and began to run.
Rorik cradled his wife in his arms, fingers shaking in shock as he reached out a hand and closed her eyelids over now unseeing eyes. Deaf to the sounds of the fight around him, he leaned over and pressed the softest of kisses to Ása's brow.
"Rorik, we must go, now!" Pallando said urgently, swinging up onto his horse behind an exhausted-looking Ivarr. "We can bring her with us and give her a proper burial later, but we must go now!"
Slowly, as if the weight of death itself pressed down upon him, Rorik let Ása slip back to the ground, and stood. With a deep breath, he took his knife from his belt and in two quick moves, had first cut off his beard to the length of his chin, and second, leant down and cut a piece of hair from Ása's mane.
Wrapping the inky black lock around his finger, Rorik straightened. "No, there is no need. Leave her. Ride on Pallando. It is time we left this cursed Mannish city."
"Sjöfn!" Skøldjor yelled desperately, pushing through the crowds of people to the burning township until suddenly, he was hauled to a stop by a hand on his arm.
Skøldjor whirled, blade raised with a snarl, but it was Cynered who stood there. The other man reached up and quickly pulled the sword from his slack fingers. "No brother, you cannot go in there - you are Vaidas, you are needed with our people."
"I am Vaidas and so you must obey my order Cynered!" Skøldjor snapped, heading towards the fire once more. But once again, his friend held him back.
Eyes blazing with fury, Skøldjor turned to confront his supposed friend, who held such supposed love for his sister. Cynered's eyes met his, and they were filled with sadness, "I am sorry my friend, but you are needed here."
Skøldjor felt the pommel of his absconded sword connect with his head before everything went black.
A/N: I'm baaaaack! I promised didn't I? Who missed me? ;)
Now, hopefully you all enjoyed this nearly 5,000w chappie, trust me, it was emotionally exhausting to write haha. Lots of bombshells and important reveals tying plot points and setting up more.
Thoughts on this chapter would be VERY much appreciated. :)
Couldn't help but have a little poke-my-tongue-out at Bagginshield there (OC vs Bilbo. *studies nails casually* score one OC ;) ) Randomly, for those of you who are Sherlocked, has anyone seen Martin Freeman's face when Graham Norton showed him some NSFW fanart pictures of Johnlock? LOL - laugh my head off every time I watch that particular interview.
Many thanks to my lovely reviewrs: Dwarven Warrior, UniversalIndicator, FromTheAshMeadow, LadyDunla, Pearl Primrose, ladymoonscar, creepyLotRfangirl55, Suheyla, xBelekinax, whatcatydidnext, UKReader, Inertia18, Fellowship of Avengers, and Guest - your continued support helps curb my rabbit hunting desires, and means this story continues instead of hundreds of other plot bunnies. Thank you also, those that follow and/or favourite. You are not forgotten.
Big thanks to Pearl Primrose. She really doesn't know how helpful she is (well...maybe she does...). I've been looking for a window, she pointed one out to me (perhaps inadvertently but meh), and hey presto. Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait everyone! :)
Translations:
Hēisè: Black [Phonetic Chinese] (If I'm wrong, blame Google Translate :P)