Chapter 36

Heights above Caeldor

Tovennen

Finnin waited with nerves thrumming, arms folded across his chest and chin low as he glared down into Caeldor's valley from the night darkened heights above. He waited, and he would continue to wait.

He little cared how dangerous his current position was, how exposed he stood, where any an eye might pierce the night to find him. Thus far, the Black Númenóreans had proved to be lax in their outward security, never dreaming enemies would find them. He banked upon that blindness persisting. It must. At least this for this night.

The Rangers searched. Saldís was down there, and they would find her. With one boot, he scuffed the cliff's edge, uncaring of the steep drop.

"They'll find her," Finnur murmured at his side.

Aye, but in what state? His eyes closed as nightmarish pictures of some man forcing himself on her flashed through his mind. Fury sizzled through his veins each time he thought on it, and this waiting was in no ways helping. It was all he could do not to march into that city himself with ax in hand.

Finnur glanced his way before sidling closer until their shoulders touched, a silent offer of support.

"I need her, Finnur," Finnin whispered. His hands formed fists. "I need her well and in my arms." The waiting, the not knowing, it was the hardest thing he'd ever endured. Since learning she'd survived, he burned with impatience to reach her.

"Aye." No more need be said. Finnur knew him, inside and out.

Time passed. The brothers kept their silent vigil.

Finnin rubbed the back of his neck. Nori and Lady Dís were positioned like Finnur and Finnin at the opposite end of the canyon, the idea being that when Saldís was found, the Rangers would rush her to whichever of the pairs was closer. Well did the Khazâd among them know the damage these Númenóreans had done to her the last time they'd gotten their filthy hands on her. The Longbeards stood ready to race to her aid as soon as she was free.

Would she trust even them after she'd been in the hands of evil men?

Finnin exhaled slowly. Such thoughts would see him charging down into the valley, the smattering of Firebeard blood in his veins dominant in a hurry.

A slight crunching noise sounded behind him. Thalon or Anuon, Finnin labeled. The two Rangers prowled the vicinity on alert for any sign of Weapons, Arcanists or animal spies. Finnin trusted in their exceptional skills to guard his back. His focus never left the path that exited his end of the valley.

Find her. The entirety of his will backed the thought.

At least, it did until a blade nicked his throat.

Finnin froze. Mahal. How had the ruffian managed to slip past the Rangers? Or—and this had him seeing red—had the cretin killed them? Finnin's eyes slid to his brother. Finnur was utterly unaware of their peril.

You made a mistake in not slaying me outright, he promised his adversary. If the Black Company had been found out, they would go down fighting to the last soul. Aye, they would.

Finnin girded himself. He'd lash out fast with all his strength. Should Aulë smile, this fool would shortly have an unfortunate mishap and take a lethal tumble from their lofty height.

But then lips brushed his ear. "This time, we're in my territory. You never saw me coming." Droll humor from a whisper-soft feminine voice.

The air rushed from his lungs. Saldís.

Saldís slowly retracted her blade, brow creasing when instead of turning to her, Finnin's shoulders sagged and his head bowed. Her gaze dipped to the scene below. The brash dwarf dared much, standing here so openly. Granted, it was dark and the likelihood of him being spotted was small, but why risk it?

The worry of discovery nagged her, but the longer she stared at the back of Finnin's head, the more it faded from importance. By her soul, she could not look upon the warrior without a tightness claiming her chest and throat. Long nights, she'd lain awake remembering that dream, and here he was, alive and well when she'd grieved him as lost. What was she to do now?

Orc spit. This was outside her realm of experience.

Finnin might have been frozen in place, but Finnur whipped around, her friend's bushy red beard splitting with a grin, but other than a small smile and a dip of the head, she had no attention to spare. Her free hand lifted towards Finnin's broad back, then dropped. Finnin's attention remained fixed outward, his throat moving. At his sides, his big hands reflexively fisted and unclenched.

Saldís abruptly decided she preferred it that way. Cowardly? Mayhap, but there were words she needed to say that would not be easy to utter. Time was short. There were Novices even now without the protection of her blade, and that could not be allowed to continue. She must tell the Black Company all she'd learned, all that had developed, and hie herself back quickly.

If Saldís wished the future she'd seen in that dream—Vision, a part of her insisted—she best do something about it now. She returned her blade to its sheath, mind racing. What did she know about wooing a male? Especially one she was far from deserving.

Frustration surged. Aye, and a tendril of panic. No matter her utter ignorance and unworthiness, she refused to relinquish the hoped-for future. She'd lost too much. She wouldn't readily lose this.

But what to do now?

Finnur flapped a hand at her. Gaining her attention, he signed in Iglishmêk, *Ye near stole the heart from him, dying on us like that.* Sincerity beamed from his face.

She gave him a silted nod. Thought. Then temptation got the best of her.

Saldís's arms slid around Finnin, and the warrior stiffened, his body going absolutely still. Finnur, the pesky meddler, grinned.

She inhaled as her arms twined around the warrior, breathing in his scent. By Durin. Finnin smelled the same as the dream. Vision, her soul reiterated. Her arms circled as far as they could reach around his wider girth, her torso pressing against his back, and her forehead lowered to rest against the back of his skull.

Warmth. Comfort. Saldís closed her eyes and inhaled a second time. Aye, the same. He smelled of leathers and the myrrh-laced oil he rubbed into his gear, but underneath it all was the musky scent she associated with the dwarf himself.

She burned with the need to ferret out the truth, to see for herself if he bore a scar upon his abdomen, to feel the hairs upon his chest and determine if the texture was as she remembered.

I'm sure that would go over well, she snorted to herself. The Company would think her mad, perhaps rightfully so.

A sigh escaped her, and she tightened her grip around her dwarf. So many words that needed to be said, and she hadn't any idea where to start.

Finnin slowly, carefully, wrapped his arms around the ones holding him about the chest. Saldís was alive, and more, she was…somewhat…in his arms. She'd jested with him, though he thought her stunt in poor taste after all the worrying he'd done.

"You could not announce yourself without putting a blade to my neck?" he asked, keeping his voice light by sheer determination. His eyesight was blurry, a fact he knew his brother noted. In the hottest part of his soul, the refrain pounded, She's here. She was safe now, and sweet relief blanketed him to know it.

"It seemed appropriate," she said, her words muffled against the back of his head.

Appropriate? Clearly, they had differing definitions of the word.

A wee shudder wracked her frame. "I thought you were dead, Finnin," she said, her voice tight with a pain he knew intimately. "You. Adâd. Everyone."

"Nay," he said thickly. Was that what had prompted this embrace?

His thumb caressed the smooth skin of her forearm. He dared not do more for fear of stepping upon any wounds she'd been dealt. What, he asked himself, had been done to her? The fear of seeing his worst nightmares written upon her flesh had prevented him from immediately collecting her in his arms. Aye, that and the worry he'd not be able to resist snatching her close when she'd not be able to tolerate it.

A sound, a scuffling of a boot, and Finnin's gaze slid behind and to his left, all while trying not to move his head too much for fear of disturbing Saldís. The Brothers stood there. Ranger Anuon, too, though Berenor's uncle stood facing not Finnin and Saldís but the desert around them. Protecting them all.

After loudly clearing his throat, Finnur stepped closer. "Ye don't get to hog her," the redhead said in an intentionally jolly voice. "Give over." His brother's arms spread wide to encompass the two of them, his yellow jacket jangling. Before Finnin could fret about Saldís's response, he felt her wee laugh.

He'd never heard a sound so beautiful. Or reassuring. Finnin refused to relinquish Saldís completely—he'd never be ready for that—but he permitted her to retract her left arm. She snaked it about his brother to add him to their embrace.

She trusted them. After all that had transpired, Finnin had feared she'd reject all males save mayhap Bifur. His fingers interlaced with those of her right hand, and by his beard, she returned the clasp.

Bâhzundushuh. (My raven.) My dushin-mizim.

"Now I'm jealous," came Calenor's drawl. Finnin's head tilted just enough to bring the black-haired Ranger into view again. "We're her cousins, and we didn't get such grand treatment." Though the Ranger kept his tone light, Finnin read the message Calenor had intended when their eyes met. Saldís had eschewed contact with the Rangers. To be expected, but Finnin's heart ached to know it.

"You're not nearly so huggable," Finnur blustered at the Rangers. "Look at the lot o' you. No beards. No meat on your bones to speak of." He sniffed in mock disdain. "O' course she'd prefer a dwarf's embrace."

Finnin felt the tension drain from Saldís as Finnur deflected attention from her. Finnin's anger returned. It was further proof all was not as it had been with their lass. He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, wishing he dared turn and haul her into a true embrace.

Finnur continued bantering with The Brothers, extricating himself to join the three Rangers. Finnin let the conversation flow without him, his focus upon the woman pressed up against his back as her left arm once more wrapped about him. She seemed to crave the contact, a need he was more than happy to oblige.

Craning his head about, he buried his nose in Saldís's wild tumble of black hair. "Am I allowed to turn around?" he murmured.

"No."

Finnin analyzed that for a moment, uncertain how to interpret her response.

"I'm glad you're here, Finnin," she whispered. The strength of her clasp was convincing enough.

"Your loss near gutted me," he shared in a rough voice. "I should never have permitted…" He bit off the rest, cursing himself for broaching a matter that would pain her.

"Finnin," she said. Then in Khuzdul, "Do you still want me?"

His head whipped around, his jaw dropping. Did he still…?

Somber gray eyes met his glare as he caught his first full look at her bonny face. She looked…well. There was no sign of the bruises and welts he'd feared, but he wasn't about to assume she was unscathed. A new tattoo underscored her left eye—Why the Khuzdul rune for honor, Dushin-Mizim?—and a black scarf dangled about her neck. Dressed all in black, she was, and that, he hadn't expected.

Nor had he anticipated her question. Durin's ax, his fingers itched to caress the petal softness of her face—so very different from a dwarrowdam's—even as a part of him wished to rail at her for doubting his constancy.

As if he'd do a fool thing like change his mind.

He swallowed back the ire. Raised by Bifur though she'd been for eight years, there was much she could not be expected to recall of their ways. He leaned closer until their noses almost brushed. "Aye," he said lowly, never so serious in his life. "And I'll not be changing my mind."

The wee glimpse of emotion he spied fled before he could pin it down. Relief? There was vulnerability, of that he was certain.

"I have to tell you something," she said, keeping to Khuzdul. A shaky inhale. A furrowing of the brow.

"You but give me the names of those who harmed you, and I'll see them dead," Finnin said bluntly. By Mahal, he'd enjoy it.

Her head lifted a fraction. "Gart is dead," she said, and he detected both fury and pain in her voice.

"I'm meaning the others," he growled.

"I can slay my own foes," she said with narrowed eyes. Then gentler, "There were none." She looked out across the valley, her temple leaning against his. "I believed I'd lost all of you, so I journeyed here to do what I could to damage Caeldor's war efforts by myself."

By…herself? That fast, anger returned. He understood her reasoning, but by Durin, to attempt it alone? Nay, not alone. His nostrils flared as he recalled Thannor's tale. "Who journeyed with you?"

Her eyes slid until their gazes met out of the corner of her eye. "How did you know of that?" she asked.

"Thannor tracked you through Haradrim lands. We feared an Arcanist had you."

She retreated an inch and shook her head, a small frown upon her lips. "Nay," she said. Then a wee smiled flashed. By his beard, Finnin rejoiced to see it. "With such keen powers of observation as yours," she teased him—aye, teased, he thrilled—"I'm surprised you failed to notice him."

Failed to…? Finnin's head whipped around, and Saldís evaded a hard colliding of skulls with a breathy laugh.

He saw no… His brows climbed to see a wild looking old man in bright blue robes standing only yards away, surveying Caeldor as Finnin himself had but minutes ago. How, by Aulë's lifted hammer, could he have missed him?

The old man's sharp eyes flicked his way, and his head dipped perfunctorily. Then he returned to his scrutiny.

"Pallando," Saldís whispered to Finnin in Common. "One of the Blue Wizards. We could not have hoped for a better ally."

Wizard. Finnin's inspection intensified. So unlike Gandalf, this one. Where Gandalf's beard was respectably long and full, this chap wore his short. His hair was gray and contained in dozens of thin braids adorned with bronze-colored bird feathers. He had a staff, aye, one carved to look like naught but a thick rope of intertwined vines, but this Pallando also carried bow and arrows, a spear, and other accoutrements Finnin could not name.

Yet, he promised himself, interest sharpening as his gaze lingered upon a couple of them.

Such thoughts vanished as Saldís returned to Khuzdul. With guilt dripping from the words, she said, "I need to tell you something, Finnin. I need you to hear me out." A pause.

He hugged her arms to him, silently urging her on.

"I thought you dead. The Black Vengeance destroyed." Her hands clutched at him as if afraid of losing him.

Finnin continued the slow caress of her hand, intent upon her words.

"I lost honor, Finnin. I faltered. In my grief…"

Such shame, he heard. It near broke his own heart. Lost honor? He did not believe it. "Aye?" he coaxed.

"The tattoo is a reminder. A promise to myself to never again forget who I belong to."

Me, was his automatic response. You belong to me, Bâhzundushuh.

Finnin swallowed the words, and his thumb continued its slow massage. A short glance to the side revealed The Brothers and Finnur absorbed in their own conversation…or so he thought when Berenor's gaze crossed his. Granting us privacy, Finnin concluded with a rush of gratitude. "What happened?"

Her grip on him tightened to levels Finnin suspected would be painful for a man. A good thing she was partial to dwarves, he thought with satisfaction.

"I'm broken, Finnin."

Finnin frowned, his gaze flying to her. "That, I'm not believi—"

"I am," she confessed. "After Gart… Nay, 'tis no excuse." Her face contorted. "Anger consumed me. Hatred." Her eyes darted to him, then they skittered away. "Such hatred, Finnin. It split me in twain. There was me…and there was Akhora." His skin prickled with alarm. "I can be only one person. Do you understand? What I, Saldís, love, she hates. What she desires is abhorrent to me."

He could not imagine. But aye, he heard. And aye, he understood. Her speech patterns have changed. Further evidence of the break within herself? He'd heard of such things, rare indeed among the Khazâd, where childhood trauma caused rifts in the person.

"When I thought I'd lost all of you, I let her win. I stopped fighting the storm and let her do as she chose. I didn't care if the storm claimed us."

Us. Ice spread through his innards. Mahal. How close had he been to losing her? How imperiled was his Saldís even now? What if it had been Akhora to emerge from the Sea and not his Saldís? He was ill at the thought.

Finnin's grip turned unyielding. "You're here," he said roughly, also keeping to Khuzdul. Finnin's gaze captured hers, unwavering. "You're Saldís."

Her lips curled with a mixture of sadness and amusement. "You can thank Bjartur for that," she said.

"Aye?"

Her right hand attempted to extricate itself from his clasp, but Finnin was having none of that. He pinned her in place.

A second smile flashed. "The pendant," she said. "It brought me back to myself. It reminded me that even if I'd lost the Company, I had Uncle Bombur, his dwarflings, and all of the dwarves under Lord Dwalin's command depending upon me. No matter how I wished it, I couldn't give up."

Finnin vowed to repay that lad when they returned home. And we will return home.

"There's more," she told him, her voice turning uncertain.

Finnin took a deep breath. "Alright." Another breath. "Alright, hit me. It's about that Gart, aye?"

Saldís snickered into his hair, the sound such a relief he yearned to kiss her, and no peck, either. Nay, the temptation shuddered through him to snatch her to his chest, bury his hands in her hair, and devour her lips. By Mahal, he wished it more than air.

"Aye and nay," his lass told him.

"Well, that was clear," he grumbled teasingly, his gaze dropping to her lips.

Her voice turned sober. "I won't lie. He hurt me Finnin." Her attention turned outward beyond them, unseeing. "He touched me."

Finnin swallowed, rage displacing passion.

"I thought…" She cleared her throat. "I felt so damaged." Their embrace strengthened.

Felt. Past tense. That was a good sign, aye? "What happened?"

"You did."

Eh…what?

One side of her mouth curled. "You happened," she whispered, and some part of Finnin held itself absolutely still, certain her words would be of huge importance. He jostled her slightly, demanding her eyes, and she gave them. They burned into his with absolute seriousness. "I don't know if it was a dream or vision, but you healed me, Finnin."

"Tell me."

"We were married," she told him softly. "With braids in our hair." Her fingers knotted beneath his grasp. "We were abed together. It should have frightened me, but it didn't." A short exhale. Her gaze returned to the vista before them. "I'd never felt so safe."

"You'll always be safe with me, Bâhzundushuh," he whispered intently. The endearment escaped his lips without thought and earned him her instant attention.

"I know nothing of courting or loving," she said. "I may be mad. Akhora remains in my mind, threatening to seize control should I ever falter. She is evil, Finnin. She can't be allowed out." Her eyes held his steadily. "But if you still wish it—"

"I do," he growled, not hesitating. If his lass carried an enemy from within, by Mahal, he'd help her win the war against it. He'd never abandon her to fight alone.

The wild yearning deepened in his chest, and his eyes helplessly caressed her lips.

It was then his brave lassie showed her mettle. Despite all she'd endured—his soul raged to think of Gart touching her—his warrior woman leaned forward and tentatively sealed his lips with hers.

Shock was swiftly obliterated by a rush of joy. Finnin kept a tight rein on himself, letting his Saldís set the pace. The wee kisses began both hesitant and curious, his lioness learning her way. But as her confidence grew, the kisses deepened.

Finnin's control shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. He whipped around in her clasp, never once losing that precious contact of her lips on his. Then it was as he'd needed: his arms locked around her, his hand in her hair, and his lips moving upon hers with boundless hunger.

She moaned low, her hands fisting around handfuls of his tunic. The sound fired his blood as it had in Brockenborings when she'd delighted in that thrice-cursed meal.

Mahal. Finnin considered that he could die at this moment and be one happy dwarf.

Nori sprinted around the elongated rift that was Caeldor's valley, crashing through spiny bushes with no care for the tracks he left in his wake. Behind him, he could hear Lady Dís pounding across the scorched ground with equal speed.

Saldís had been found. Nori had but heard that from Ranger Thalon's lips, and he'd been in motion.

She'll be fine, he told himself. No matter the harm done her, her Uncle Nori was here to make sure o' that.

Images played through his mind. Speculations based upon all he knew. Mahal, would his niece be broken? Or, and this concerned him more, would she be feral from the abuse she'd been subjected to? Both thoughts caused him to fume. Aye, and weep inside.

No matter what, I'll take care o' her, Umral, he promised Bifur.

In the back of his mind, he recognized that if the Rangers had saved his niece from Caeldor, the Black Company would need to change their plans, and he cursed up a storm over it. He'd never regret her rescue, but by Durin, the Black Company would be little effective holed up in their ruins fending off hordes of riled Black Númenóreans.

Still, a part of him purred in anticipation. Let them come. Better open combat than all this sneaking around. At least then, the Khazâd among the Company would have more to do than twiddle their thumbs, waiting while the Rangers worked.

He neared his destination. There stood The Brothers keeping watch with Anuon and Finnur, all but Anuon looking…abashed? Not worried or sorrowful—a relief, truly—but the lot of them were plainly uncomfortable. A wee grin danced up Anuon's lips, one that strengthened when the Ranger spied Nori.

Now what is that ab—?

Nori skidded to a halt so abruptly that Dís plowed into him with a displeased grunt. Nori's eyes rounded, and his lips parted. Of all the scenes he'd imagined to be seeing, this hadn't even ranked last.

"Nori, what is…" Dís's words drifted off as she, too, caught glimpse of what was transpiring before their very eyes. Silence stretched between them as Nori's niece clutched Finnin to her with a passion Nori was a mite…disconcerted…to be seeing.

A flash of realization brought relief—the mother lode of it, in fact. Nori rubbed his face as the fears that had hounded him many a night were laid to rest. If Saldís could be kissing Finnin as she was, the wounds that filthy worm, Gart, had dealt her were shallower than Nori had dared to hope.

Bifur would be relieved. Aye, he would. Once we find him.

Dís chuckled softly. "I believe Finnin is making up for lost time."

Nori's lips twitched. "I'll say this for the lad," he told his liege lady in a dry voice. "He has skills." Just how had Finnin managed to not only coax Saldís nearer but woo her so fast? Nori took deep breath, one freer than he'd experienced in days.

Dís nudged him, a glint of wicked humor in her eyes. "I believe this is yours to handle."

Nori's tapping fingers paused upon his thigh. "Eh?"

Dís blinked owlishly. "Dori isn't here, and this is not altogether proper." Her sniff perfectly mimicked the stuffier dwarrowdams back home, but amusement sparkled madly in her eyes.

Nori's lips slowly curled. By the seven dwarf fathers, he appreciated this Durin. His eyebrows climbed as he adopted a right somber expression. He nodded sagely. "Correct you are. This sad duty falls to me. Dori would insist upon it."

"Absolutely," Dís said.

Nori snickered under his breath. Dori would be scandalized if'n he were here, true enough, but Nori couldn't help but be thankful for proof their Saldís had emerged intact. He raged at what had been done to her, but by Durin, their Saldís had fought her way through it.

His relief wouldn't stop him from having a wee bit o' fun with the lovebirds, though.

"That won't do," Dís said lightly, one finger tapping his cheek.

Nori hastily rearranged his features into a black and ominous scowl. With a wink at Dís, he marched forward. Schooling every speck o' laughter from his voice, Nori rumbled, "Finnin, you misbegotten louse, unhand my niece."

That fast, Finnin's arms were empty as his Saldís sprang across the distance to throw herself into her uncle's embrace. Finnin let his arms drop, a wry smile tugging at his lips…

…that instantly vanished when he got a glimpse of Nori's lethal glare. Finnin cleared his throat, cheeks heating. Nori's pale eyes threatened to flay the skin off his backside, and it did not take one of Finnur's intellect to know why.

Finnin had charged well beyond the bounds of propriety by kissing Saldís like that. Such kisses were reserved for betrothal—Marriage, a guilty conscience corrected—but by Aulë's lifted hammer, what dwarf could resist when his lady kissed him so sweetly after she'd been feared dead? He was a dwarf, not an elf!

"I'm surprised yer not blue," Finnur murmured, appearing beside him.

Finnin's brow wrinkled. "Blue?" he asked. In a bid to save his hide from a thrashing, he pulled the bracelet he'd fashioned for Saldís from his pocket and dangled it so that Nori was sure to see.

Satisfaction gleamed from Nori's pale eyes. Aye, and a message. Finnin knew he'd be hearing an earful later.

*Wait until Dori gets his hands on you,* Nori signed, and Finnin swallowed, his heart skipping a beat. Finnin was giving serious thought to hiding behind his younger brother—pride be hanged—when Nori's saucy wink ended his rising panic. *Just you remember who your favorite uncle-by-marriage will be.*

Chortles rumbled through Finnin's chest, and he was not ashamed to admit the better part of them were sheer relief. Better to be teased than have Dori after him in truth. A measure of blackmail was acceptable compensation for avoiding that fate.

Nori's focus shifted to his niece, and Finnin's to the woman he aimed to marry. By Mahal, she was exquisite.

Bâhzundushuh. She'd envisioned them as wed, and instead of fighting such an outcome, she'd wrapped her arms around him. Aye, and she'd kissed him with enough heat to scorch the hair from his toes.

He owed Irmo a debt. Dreams, visions, and desires were all Vala Irmo's providence, and no matter which way Finnin churned it about in his mind, this gift was of Irmo's making. He shuddered to think what his Saldís's frame of mind might have been had she not been sent that vision.

Durin's beard, he wanted that future. He silently pledged to fight any impediment that stood in his way. Including, he thought with eyes narrowing, Akhora. No one would steal Saldís from him, not even the dark side of herself.

"Blue," his brother huffed, and for a moment, Finnin could not recall what they'd been discussing. But then Finnur shoved him. "From lack of air, ye lovesick nitwit."

Finnin's answering smile was smug, indeed.

Saldís hugged her uncle with all her strength, reassuring herself that he truly lived. "I thought I'd lost you. I found the Vengeance's mast, and I thought the Sea had claimed you."

Nori's arms closed around her. "Me? I'm too mean for the Sea to want."

"Nori," she protested, pulling away. Quieter, "That's not true, Uncle. Not even close."

The edge of humor fled from his face, and he drew her forehead to his. "Ye scared us, Saldís." More roughly, "Jumping into the Sea? I'd paddle you if I didn't know why you'd done it."

A tendril of cold wormed its way up her spine. Meeting his gaze, wondering how much black he saw tainting her soul, she asked, "Do you?"

Too much knowledge filled his pale eyes. Too much understanding. Her throat clogged with an answering surge of emotions.

"How much damage was done you, Saldís?" Nori asked softly in Khuzdul. His gaze slid from hers to one side before returning, a touch of humor restored. "Or need I ask since you let that rascal seduce you?"

"Seduce me?" she echoed, a spurt of humor taking her.

"Don't give me that innocent act. I saw it with my own eyes." She read the grumbling for the teasing it was.

By Mahal, she was glad he was here. Saldís sniggered, her laughter watery, and grabbed him close once more. "I love you, Uncle," she said into his hair. "I know I've not said it enough."

Strong arms clasped her tightly. "I'm still going to have a talk with that lad o' yours," he warned.

She blinked. "Why?"

"Why?" Nori's pointed finger poked her. "Dori's going to have a fit at the impropriety of it."

Though she had no idea what she'd done that would earn her Dori's wrath, the forthcoming lecture was easily imagined. "We don't have to tell him," she hastily suggested.

Nori snorted. "As if that would work. Dori has his ways. But hear me, niece o' mine, until that warrior puts his bracelet on your wrist and braids your hair, there'll be no more of this kissing business." Then with a sly grin, a twinkle in his eye, "Though you two did seem to be catching the hang of things quite nicely."

Saldís tugged upon one of the braids in Nori's beard, smiling in return. Aye, they had, and she looked forward to more of the same. She now understood what had put that wicked glint in Dís's eye when the dwarrowdam had spoken of her mate.

Her gaze lifted and swept the area. Nori was here, but others were conspicuous in their absence. "Nori, where's Adâd?"

Ice as cold as Forochel crackled up her spine when Nori smirk vanished. "Your adâd and uncles Bofur and Dori remained behind to search for you in Dol Amroth," he said.

"But?" There was more. It vibrated through the air between them.

"Thannor sent word to them that he'd bring you to us here. Ye know your sire. Naught would keep him away once he read that missive. There may be a logical reason they've not joined us, something that tied their hands, but we've no way of knowing." She could see Nori's frustration over that. The worry that lurked deep within his eyes.

Then he straightened and reached out to pat her cheek. "Those three are seasoned warriors. They can take care o' themselves."

"Even Dori?" she asked.

"It's Dori you're worryin' about?" Nori clucked his tongue. "I'll be tellin' your favorite uncle he's been displaced."

A snort escaped her despite the cold knot of fear taking residence in her belly. She shoved Nori. "Oh, stop."

The ex-thief grinned up at her. Then more seriously, "Trust me on this, niece o' mine, Dori is the last dwarf you should be worryin' about."

A strange assertion, but she recognized that of the two of them, Nori knew Dori best.

She exhaled slowly. There was nothing she could do for the rest of her family, not at the moment.

Her thoughts returned to business. As much as she longed to draw out this reunion, time slipped away too quickly. She needed to stop dawdling.

With a last squeeze of Nori's arm, Saldís extricated herself from his embrace. A swivel and her attention centered upon her liege lady.

Beruthiel's cats. Renewed acquaintance with the Duumvirate's ways made her appreciate Princess Dís all the more even as it also planted pesky seeds of doubt about any who would hold her reins. Dismissing the fool thoughts—and Akhora's derisive hissing—Saldís bowed perfunctorily. "My lady."

Dís radiated nobility and gravity despite her travel-worn attire. Slowly, the dam stepped closer. "Letting those men take you was a misjudgment on my part," Dís said, her blue eyes steady. "I've never been so glad to see a soul survive the unsurvivable, Saldís, daughter of Bifur."

Saldís blinked. None of the events had been of Dís's doing. Never had she thought to blame the princess. And never, she told her doubts, would the Duumvirate apologize for any decision they made, no matter how ill advised. The princess was nothing like them.

Those nonsensical, niggling fears melted away. "My lady, the blame is not yours. It was my decision."

Dís snorted, dry humor lighting her eyes. "I believe we've had this conversation already. Use my name. We dams must stick together." A short wave of one hand, and Dís briskly changed the subject. "Report."

A short, bracing inhale, and Saldís did just that. With Finnin and Nori bracketing her—and Finnur just behind (Shielding me, she realized)—she told them all that had transpired since her arrival in Caeldor. She recounted her vigilante activities, the emptying of the city of most of Caeldor's forces, and the absence of a full half of the Six Lords as well as two-thirds of the commanders under them. She shared the challenges these revelations presented, and the urgency driving her because of it.

Through it all, Dís listened with utmost attention, humming at key points. Saldís noted when Barhador and Thannor arrived, and nodded her greeting to them, but she did not deviate from her dialog.

Time was a weight pressing in all the harder upon her shoulders with each passing minute. If aught happened to a Novice in her absence, she'd lose the Novices' trust. If that happened, she didn't know what she'd do. She could not abandon them.

"Well done," Dís said after Saldís concluded, the dam's blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Very well done." A sharp look from beneath ebony lashes. "You did, however, omit something I am curious about."

"Yes. Who traveled with you?" Barhador quietly demanded.

A gusty exhale. Truly? None of them see him? She twisted to face the cliff's edge. Finnin, she saw out of the corner of her eye, grinned, but the others remained oblivious to the wizard's presence. How, she kept wondering, did Pallando keep managing to do that? She'd never heard tell of Gandalf managing that feat.

"Pallando?" At her summons, the wizard rose from a squat, and the rest of the group finally spotted him. A rumble made its way through their ranks as Pallando strode to them.

Facing her liege, Saldís said, "Lady Dís, allow me to introduce you to the Blue Wizard, Pallando."

Dís's eyes flared, and her chin dropped with the mountain of thoughts rushing through her head. Wizard. It explained much, though to Dís's knowledge, Gandalf had never traveled with the unnatural speed this one was most certainly responsible for. The question became whether this man could be trusted. Saruman the White's defection weighed heavily on her mind.

This fellow's arrival on the scene could be innocent enough, but the timing bothered her. Just how had he located Saldís? Her trust of the Gray Wizard did not blindly extend to others claiming the same office. She'd never heard of any Blue Wizard.

The wild-looking old man bowed to her. Then in perfect Khuzdul, he said in a soft voice, "Pallando the Blue at your service."

"Who taught you our tongue?" Dís asked harshly, her hackles rising.

Pallando showed no sign of discomfort at her hostility. Nay, his ice blue eyes twinkled down at her with dry humor. "My duties have brought me to treat with the Houses of Gorim, Hathi, and Aikur upon occasion."

Blacklocks, Stiffbeards, and Ironfists, she translated in turn. Dís's brows twitched upwards while inwardly, she was fairly stunned. Then with amusement of her own, "Not the House of Mogan?"

A short shake of the head and a faintly worried expression was his only answer. Shorter on words than Gandalf, this wizard. And, she decided as her eyes scrutinized inch of him, of quite another nature. Gandalf ever had an air of nobility about him, but this wizard seemed as wild and dangerous as the lands around them. Untamed, she summarized.

His worry, she noted. There was naught she could do if some danger threatened the Stonefoots, but she vowed to inquire after them if her own mission ended in success. If the Stonefoots bother to collect messages from their designated locations. None outside their House knew where Stonefoot Halls could be found, so if the lot of them opted to ignore the outside world, it would in turn be forced to ignore them.

Dís tentatively extended trust. Saldís was no fool. Combined with another of the Khazâd deigning to teach this Pallando their tongue, she had two witnesses to his character.

"I need to get back," Saldís interrupted.

Her blunt words drew Dís's full attention. The wizard could wait.

Dís's lips quirked. Saldís seemed oblivious to it, but at her words, the three dwarves bracketing her instantly gained an impressive inch or two to their statures. Frustration filled Finnin's face, and outright denial Nori's.

Given the plans underway, Dís was of a mind to agree with their Weapon's assertion. But in a quiet and steely voice, she said, "Not alone, you are not."

"Agreed." Barhador. Absolute finality in his voice.

Now 'twas Saldís who thrummed with frustration. "Lady Dís…"

Dís's lifted hand halted the woman. "I understand the need. I merely state you will not be doing anything more alone."

"We're here to help you," Thannor interjected softly.

A measure of tension stiffened the woman's slender frame, but after a slow inhale, it melted away with her exhale. She fights her instinctive distrust, Dís concluded with sympathy. A good sign. Dís hadn't been altogether certain that would be so with the little she knew of all the woman had endured.

Saldís's brow furrowed. To her Dunedain relatives, "Thank you." A frown upon her lips, a hesitation so brief Dís almost missed it, and Saldís's focus shifted to Nori. "Uncle…" Saldís licked her lips, a truly revealing action for the woman. Then her head shook once, jerky, and her lips flattened. Whatever it was Saldís had intended to say, it was plain to Dís the words were difficult, indeed.

It was then Ranger Anuon burst onto the scene, returning from where he'd positioned himself to keep watch over them. "A patrol," the fiery-haired man said in clipped tones. "Three Weapons, one Arcanist."

Saldís cursed herself for delaying. No, she'd no wish to confess that she harbored an enemy within the confines of her mind, but by Durin, the Company needed to know. Before Akhora—or Saldís's overwhelming sense of shame—could halt her, she latched onto Nori's upper arm. In a rush, "I don't have time to go into the details. Finnin can tell you…"

To which the blond warrior nodded shortly.

"…but I need you alert. I may need you to call me back, Uncle."

"Call you back?" Nori's return grasp locked her in place before she could turn away. Pale blue eyes speared into hers with that too-knowing look within them. Aye, and a measure of fear. Nori had a suspicion, and he liked it not at all. "Ye'd best start explaining, Niece. Now."

"There is no time, Master Dwarf," Anuon interrupted sharply. "Feline," he said before loosing an arrow. The cat died on the spot.

Time's up. With such an announcement as that, the patrol was certain to be racing to the Company's position now.

Saldís kissed her uncle's cheek, then leaned her forehead against his. "I'm safe enough. I swear it. Finnin will tell you what's happened. Just please, Uncle, listen to him."

He let her loose, but it was reluctantly done. "You'd best be telling me the truth."

"Thannor, Brothers, go with her," Saldís heard Barhador bark in an undertone.

"We'll delay them," Saldís directed to Barhador even as she found herself surrounded by the Rangers named.

"Be safe," Barhador said, holding her eyes for a long beat of the heart. 'Twas like an embrace, telling her how he'd feared for her, how he cared.

Saldís bobbed her head, swallowing back a sudden knot of emotion in her throat. Then after hastily stealing a kiss from Finnin—'twas entirely too short—she girded herself once more. The scarf returned to cloak her features. Her shoulders straightened. Without a backward glance, she marched towards the oncoming enemy, four Rangers with her.

"Thannor, you'll have to do the talking," she whispered out of the side of her mouth.

Her shaggy-haired cousin's cheek twitched. "Suggestions?" Grim green-gray eyes met hers.

"Go on the offensive," she said. "They attempted to spy on us."

"Use Umbar," Erynor suggested from behind them. "If the patrol is of House Sangahyando, by now they must know of Valkthor's failure."

What did he mean, use Umbar? And…Valkthor? What had she missed? "What happened in Umbar?" Saldís demanded in a hush, startled. Her head whipped towards the blond-haired Brother.

"Nori happened," Berenor answered. He smiled wickedly. Then in a whisper as the patrol came into sight, "Tell you later."

Aye, she thought. He most certainly would.

Unfortunately, the team approaching them with weapons unsheathed was not from House Sangahyando. "Herumor," she identified in a voice almost soundless.

Thannor inclined his head almost imperceptibly and strode towards the Black Númenóreans without any sign of fear. "Just what do you think you're doing, Herumor?" he demanded in just the right tone. "Lord Nahlis will hear of this…"

Saldís smirked. By the time Thannor was done with them, House Herumor would be bristling with insult, and the ability of the Houses to work together would be further eroded.

By Durin, it was good to have the Company at her back. With their help, it was time to do some damage.

She couldn't wait.