Thanks, as always, go out to my wonderful reviewers. Robinbird79, readpink, K-Merritt09, Celebrisilweth, readergirl4985, ThatOtherWritergirl, dojoson41, Guest, and Rogue Lion - you all are so awesome to leave me a few words. Big thanks to new favoriters/followers 0x0UnderDog0x0 and LadyZee86, and of course thanks goes out to those of you reading along quiet-like.
Guest - Thorin couldn't wait because he and Rejna are under pressure from the same git that hired those four idiots, not to mention they are both eager to be engaged and then married for their own reasons. ;) No, Ragin's not going to mind the sword was used, though the reason it needed to be is regrettable. As for my Muse, I've gotten the next chapter (56) about halfway done, but I'm still not ahead again. Perhaps on my next day off I can get her to work with me and get an extra chapter or so written.
Rogue Lion - Truthfully, besides fight scenes not really being one of my strong points (I'm definitely more of a character writer), I personally don't think it is necessary to write out every little action or detail that takes place during one. I will, however, take your words into consideration and try to be a little more descriptive in the next. As for my "entirely new land", it is really not entirely new and is actually based on a very popular map of Middle-earth. I've actually described the location more than once, and if you'd care to have a look, visit the Facebook page Forgotten Tales of Middle-earth (yes, it is mine) and check out the photo album "People and Places of the Forgotten Tales". In that album I've collected pictures of canon and original characters, as well as places visited by same, and among the latter are the map of ME I use as well as a "close-up" of the section of the White Mountains occupied by Dwarrowvale.
55. A Necessary Evil
"Are you injured, my Lord?" asked a familiar voice.
Thorin blinked, his eyes focusing on Hakon's face a moment later. "I am not," he replied.
Kíli came up to him and looked him over. "Are you sure?"
"The blood we both wear does not belong to either of us," Thorin said, then gestured to the dwarf on the ground, who was already dead. "It is his."
"What happened here?" asked another of the guards. His rank insignia was that of a captain.
"They attacked us," Kíli answered. "They were standing in the shadows there, and blocked our way as we were walking out from the mountain. That one there—" He pointed to one of the three now being held by a guard. "—said they were about to earn some serious coin after I warned them to reconsider. Then they came at us."
"That one is dead by my hand," Thorin added. "He was about to drive a knife into my guardian's back. I had no choice."
"You ignorant fools!" shouted Hakon. "Why would you attack your fellow dwarrow? Do you not know who this is?"
The latter he said as he gestured toward Thorin. "You have threatened the soon-to-be Crown Prince of Dwarrowvale!" Hakon went on. "He is our princess' One!"
"I know who he is," the ringleader said with a sneer. "And I don't sodding care."
"Do you care that your friend is dead?" Thorin demanded. "This dwarf would still be alive had you headed the warning you were given. Had you succeeded in your task, you'd have been kinslayers—is that shame worth whatever amount of gold you were promised?"
The dwarf spat at his feet. "We might have failed, my Lord, but there is still shame to be had—'tis you that became a kinslayer this night. Do you think the people will love you now? I highly doubt any dwarf in their right mind will accept a kinslayer as king."
Before anyone had time enough to stop him, Kíli stepped forward and punched the sneering dwarf. "Captain, get this filth to the dungeons."
"With pleasure," the guard captain replied, directing his fellow guardsmen to guide the prisoners away. Hakon elected to stay with the body of the slain dwarf until a litter could be brought to carry him to the Hall of Medicine.
Thorin looked forlornly at the sword in his hand. "I do not think this blade was ever meant to see battle, let alone draw blood," he said, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. "Certainly not dwarf blood."
"Thorin," Kíli said. "Uncle!"
He looked over at his nephew. "You saved my life, Uncle," Kíli said. "You said yourself he was about to stab me in the back."
"There is no shame, my Lord, in defending your kin," Hakon spoke up. "It was your duty to defend your blood as it is his to protect you."
Relaxing just a fraction, the pain of having taken the life of a dwarf only marginally lessened by the necessity of doing so, Thorin nodded. "Thank you for that, my Lord," he said.
"No need to call me by a title that is not yet mine, sir," the younger dwarf countered.
Drawing a breath, Thorin inclined his head again, then turned to pick up the cloth that the king's sword had been wrapped in. He wiped the blade as best he could, then turned to Kíli.
"Come, let us get inside. No doubt the alarm was heard within the palace and Rejna is frantic. I am not looking forward to this."
When they reached the front gate, two of the guards peeled away and walked ahead of them up the steps. Inside the foyer, they encountered a handful more guards, in the midst of which stood Rejna, issuing orders in a no-nonsense tone about investigating the disturbance. The soldiers saw them before she did, and it was their utter silence that caused her to turn her head.
Thorin watched her react as though in slow motion. Her eyes widened and she gasped, the helmet under her arm clattering loudly to the polished marble floor. The sound of his name, shouted in fear, reverberated around the hall, wafting up into the cathedral ceiling of the entryway as her boots thundered an echo in her mad dash to reach him.
He grabbed her shoulders before she could throw herself at him. "The blood is not mine."
Tears spilled from Rejna's eyes and her breaths were shallow as she looked him over. "What…? How…? Are you sure you're not hurt? Are you sure?!"
Thorin pressed his lips to hers, then lifted his hands to cup her face and bring their brows together. "The blood is not mine," he repeated. "I beg you, Amrâlimê, do not weep. I am unharmed."
They stood that way for several moments before Dag ventured to ask, "What happened, my Lord?"
"Where is the king?" Kíli countered.
Dag looked to him. "Sequestered in his chambers under guard, Master Kíli. It is standard protocol to secure His Majesty—"
"And why are you not with him?" Thorin said to Rejna. "What business have you running headlong into potential danger?"
The panicked expression on her face shifted to one of annoyance. "I beg your pardon? I am a general, Thorin! It is my duty to see to the safety of my king, and I can hardly do that if I am locked away—"
He silenced her with another kiss, and wore a smile when he lifted his head. Relief flooded his veins that his little ploy had worked, for it had torn at his heart to see her looking so frightened.
"There is my mighty princess."
"That was a dirty trick, Thorin," Rejna snapped.
"You are no longer panicked, my dear. Which is what I wished for," Thorin said, then drew a deep breath. "Let us go to your father. I would speak in his presence about what has transpired that I do not have to repeat myself."
Rejna nodded and wordlessly turned to lead the way. Dag, Kíli, and the other soldiers surrounded the two off them immediately.
When they reached Ragin's chambers, Thorin took note of the extra guards outside his doors. They were admitted at once when the princess was sighted, and as Thorin and Kíli walked toward the king, Rejna stopped and spoke softly to one of the guards.
Dropping to one knee—an act he had not done since his grandfather had sat on the throne of Erebor—Thorin held out the sword he had made.
"With deepest regret, Your Majesty, I must inform you that this sword—forged for you with my own hands as the requested bride price—was this evening used not only to draw the blood of another dwarrow, but that it ended his life. I will accept whatever punishment you deep appropriate for this transgression."
Both Kíli and Rejna, who stood on either side of him, had shouted in protest when he spoke of punishment, but Ragin silenced them both with a sharp wave of his hand. Kíli, however, would not remain so.
"Thorin, be reasonable!" he cried. "It was him or me, remember? If anyone should be declaring himself subject to punishment, it is I—for failing to properly defend you. You should not have been put in the position to defend me instead."
Thorin looked up at him. "Irakdashat, they had to know you were my guardian—they were fighting you three against one."
The king, who had been silent as stone from the moment they walked in, looked up to Kíli then. "You will tell me what happened."
Kíli nodded, and recounted the evening's events from the time they left Darbur's shop until the fight with the four dwarves started.
"And the fellow that died?" Ragin pressed. "How did that occur?"
Here Thorin took over, describing the moment as it replayed in his mind. "I should have made an attempt to cut him elsewhere," he added. "Perhaps I could have simply cut off his hand—"
The king lifted a hand and he fell silent. Then Ragin at last took the proffered sword and drew off the bloodstained cloth. His eyes widened in clear admiration for the craftsmanship of the weapon, a slight smile gracing his lips as he took in the red and yellow stones used to create the Blacklock sigil on the pommel. He then turned it so he could read the Khuzdul runes inscribed on the blade.
"Naikhbibi fa binisli zai sullu," Ragin murmured aloud. "The Blacklock clan motto. I was not aware you knew it."
"I learned it from your daughter, my Lord."
The king lowered the sword to his knees, his sharp gaze holding Thorin's for a full minute before he said, "Rise, my son. You have done no wrong. While the end result is regrettable, defending one's kin is not. You may have taken a life, but in doing so you saved one. Such is the nature of war."
As Thorin stood so did Ragin, the latter dwarf pacing away in order to give his sword a few hefty swings. Turning back to them he said, "It is terribly well balanced. And indeed, it is a weapon unlike any I have ever seen."
The king returned to them, and took in those standing before him with a meaningful gaze. "Make no mistake about it, we are at war. Hagen will likely deny his involvement, but I doubt there is any here who does not believe him to be behind this incident. His followers—where are they, anyway? The ones who surrendered?"
"I ordered the captain who responded and his men to take them to the dungeons, Your Majesty," Kíli replied. "Hakon remained with the body of the fallen dwarf until custodians from the Hall of Medicine could bring a litter to retrieve him."
Ragin nodded. "Well done. As I was saying, they are unlikely to name him their master, though I will certainly see to it they are thoroughly interrogated nêhabkulul. And you, my boy—your uncle is right. Do not fret you were derelict in your duty. I imagine you acted as well as able, given the circumstances."
Kíli was thanking him when a knock sounded at the door. Dag went to answer it and inside stepped Léof. Rejna smiled when she saw the young steward.
"Ah, there you are," said the princess. "Has your task been completed?"
Léof bowed slightly. "Yes, Your Highness. Two rooms with two hot baths await your One and his guardian. I am come to inform you of it. Fresh clothing is being retrieved as we speak by Telka."
"Excellent work. Will you show Lord Thorin and Master Kíli to their suites?"
A nod accompanied Léof's, "Of course, my Lady."
Thorin turned to Rejna. "What is this?"
She raised a hand to his cheek. "My love, I would have you where you are safe—in this palace, where no harm can befall you."
"She is right, agnat'dashat," said Ragin. "The palace is as a fortress. Though I daresay nothing like what happened tonight will be tried again soon."
"If that is so, then we should as likely retire to our own home," Thorin told him.
"Thorin, this is your home, or soon enough will be. You might as well get used to living here," Rejna told him in a tone that said she would take no further argument from him. "You might also consider what a spectacle you make with your attire in its present condition. Do you not think blood will cause alarm amongst the people? Or questions to be asked?"
Thorin snorted. "An alarm was raised—they are bound to be asking questions soon enough based on that alone."
"And we shall tell them the truth: That you were assaulted in an unprovoked attack and are now to reside in quarters of your own here in the palace."
He frowned. "Reside? One night I might give consent to that your worry is eased, but to take up residence before we are married is both unnecessary and a breach of custom."
"Hang the sodding customs!" Rejna shouted. "You are safer here than anywhere else in this mountain—in any mountain in this kingdom, and there are several! Either you move your residence to the palace or I will have guards posted at your door—will that be more acceptable to you?"
Thorin tried not to let his frown become a scowl. "Very well. As it would appear I have no choice in the matter, I shall retire to my rooms. Good evening, Princess. Your Majesty."
With that, Thorin turned on his heel and strode forcefully to the door. Kíli and Léof hurried to join him, the steward rushing to open the door and take the lead. He showed them to what was clearly the wing of the palace reserved for important guests, if their rooms—suites, really—were any indication. Kíli was, at Thorin's insistence, directed to his first; his nephew would enter only after being assured that his uncle was right next door.
In his own suite, Thorin gazed around the richly appointed sitting room, nodding when Léof indicated which of the doors on either side of the fireplace led to the bathroom and a study. On the other side of the room was a set of double doors that stood open, showing a wide bed.
"Your bath is already drawn, my Lord, though if you should require me to drain and refill it—"
Thorin silenced his steward with a shake of his head. "That will not be necessary, I am sure the water has not much cooled," he said, and turned toward the bathroom.
In the middle of the floor of the wide space was a claw-footed iron tub filled with still-steaming water. As he stepped closer, he detected the scents of lavender and kava, and took note of a small stand with bottles of what were certainly bath oils. Heedless of the presence of Léof behind him, he began to remove his clothes, starting with his blood-spattered vest and tunic. When he had immersed himself in the water, leaning his head onto the rim, the steward wordlessly retrieved his clothes and boots and departed.
It was an effort to keep his annoyance at bay and concentrate only on the heat of the water working the tiredness out of his limbs. He did not want to think about his anger at Hagen, at the fools he'd hired to kill him, or at his One for treating him like a child.
How dare she order him about as though she had the right?! Suggestions and counsel were welcome, but to issue a command and expect him to obey as though he were one of her soldiers? It rankled, to say the least. Who did she think she was?
The Crown Princess of Dwarrowvale—though more importantly, she is your One. She fears for your life, my son, and with good reason.
Not now, Thorin countered angrily. Of all times for you to butt out of my affairs, this would be one of them.
He instantly regretted his insolent tone. Mahal had argued for his life to be returned to him. He came to him with counsel, even if at times it was frustratingly vague. How could he treat the Maker with such disrespect?
Forgive me, my Lord. I do not mean to be such a lalkhul ingrate.
Mahal's voice when he spoke again held a tinge of amusement. According to my own One, you are correct. Yavanna says there are some matters in which I should not interfere—your relationship with Rejna being one of them. But if I may, my son, do try to understand where she is coming from. From her perspective, she could have lost you tonight. It is not the first time an attempt has been made on your life and it is not likely to be the last. I doubt Rejna desires to emasculate you—she only wishes to see you safe from harm.
Thorin drew and released a ragged breath, and then suddenly found himself laughing. And here we thought leaving Erebor behind would alleviate the danger to myself and my nephews. How wrong we were.
Who says that danger is not connected to that which you now face?
His eyes, which he had closed, now snapped open. Were Hagen's machinations somehow connected to the Deceiver's hunt for them? But how could that be? Sauron knew nothing of their return—he couldn't possibly know.
Unless… Had they not been as careful in the north as he had thought? Had someone there let slip that he and his sister-sons had been resurrected?
A knock and then the opening of the bathroom door interrupted his thoughts. Thorin turned to look over his shoulder as Léof stepped in.
"Forgive the intrusion, my Lord, but in looking in on Master Kíli I was informed that neither of you had taken dinner this evening. Is there anything in particular you would like for me to have the kitchen send up?"
It was only then that he realized how hungry he was. "Meat, I don't care what kind so long as it isn't fowl. Bread and boiled potatoes, and a pie of some kind. And ale—I'm in the mood for a whole pitcher."
"As you wish, my Lord. I shall deliver your order straight away," Léof replied.
"Léof, what of clothing? You said some was being retrieved—the water is cooling and I'd like to get out."
"Her Highness' maid was sent to your apartment to retrieve attire for yourself and your guardian, sire. I will bring it in and leave it here by the door. The towels are in that wardrobe to your left."
Thorin nodded and turned back around. No doubt Fíli was now worried about them, what with the princess' maid coming to request clothing for him and Kíli. He groaned with the knowledge that he would have to recount the evening to his eldest nephew, also making him worry more when he had other things to be concerned with—like Melindë's return the day after tomorrow. And then of course there would be Dwalin to have to deal with when wind of it got to him.
This becoming a prince again business was quickly morphing into a king-sized nightmare.
Khuzdul:
Naikhbibi fa binisli zai sullu. – Forge together or not at all.
nêhabkulul – nevertheless
lalkhul – foolish
