Thorin and Durin's power plays are quite tiring to write, just saying. I swear those two do my head in.
Campfires had always seemed to be a place for telling stories. Theirs however, appeared to have turned into one of plotting. Skøldjor reminded himself that it was not unwarranted plotting as Hazhir had already proved himself to be a Sachem who had won his seat by nefarious means. Meska had already voiced his suspicions that should the pair of them survive the battle ahead, their fate would no doubt not be a pleasant one. And he was right, but that still did not settle the unease that Skøldjor felt in the pit of his stomach. For all he held respect for the Rhunion, he could not quite bring himself to entirely trust the man. For to trust was to make oneself vulnerable and he would not do that and forfeit the safety of his people.
Training soldiers was something that Thorin had done many times in the past. It was still amazing to him however, to note just how similar the soldiers were that he trained now, to those he had trained over a thousand years before.
"Halt!" he boomed out and the clatter of metal against metal ceased as the dwarves and men stepped away from one another. "Good. Very good. You have improved greatly. I will see you here at the same hour tomorrow. Dismissed."
The soldiers turned almost as one and bowed their heads before relaxing and leaving the training hall.
Thorin sighed and rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. They had been there for three weeks since allocating themselves to a particular army task. Each night every member of the company returned from their duties exhausted and slipped quickly into slumber. Ivarr from his healing rooms, Pallando and Rorik from the counsel chambers (it seemed that Rorik had an association with Flói, Lord of the Firebeards and was wont to take Pallando with him) and Geir and Rín from the forges. The last pair often arriving far later than the rest and continuing to work early into the morning.
He knew why she did it. Why she pushed herself so hard from dawn to beyond dusk. So every afternoon after he had finished his training, Thorin would head to the forges and wait her to finish her tasks rather than enter into counsel with Durin and the other Lords of the West as Pallando suggested he do.
The thought of entering into conversation with Durin made his stomach twist in what he refused to call nervousness. The younger dwarf made him uneasy. Firstly because he was kin, and he knew the boy suspected it, and secondly because he was Lord Durin himself returned to Middle-Earth in his last form. He was the true King of the Dwarves and the ease Thorin found in that thought was disturbing. For the first time, he had no people he was duty bound to protect, for they were led by another. And the thought freed him.
Thorin pulled his tunic away from his neck a little as he opened the door to the heat of the forges and made his way towards Rín's furnace. For all Durin's calls for tolerance, the other dwarves of Khazad-dûm still treated her with suspicion and a number of times she had told him of coming to her work station to find things damaged or missing. Still she did not complain of it and worked harder than before.
Thorin could see her red head bobbing up and down as she slammed her hammer to metal making sparks fly. And he watched her. Watched her forge sword after sword after sword. Not once did her hammer-blow falter, and not once did her eyes leave the metal she moulded. Other smiths came and went, but Hlífhrím never stopped and never wavered from her post. Her forge never stopped blazing with the red of fire.
Thorin's eyes were suddenly caught by the flames as they whirled high into the roof of the cavern, tiny glittering embers dispersing like fireflies and disappearing into the darkness. And suddenly, his mind flew with them.
Erebor burns. Orcs and Easterlings run at Westmen, dwarves and elves. His cousin Dain, older by far than the last time they had seen each other falls to the sword of a Goblin.
A great bear gallops across the plains and falls back into the shape of a man.
Blonde hair flies in the wind as a pair of cloaked figures ride into the sunset.
A Rhunion ruffles his young son's hair and the carvings of bears and crows on their caravan seem to glow against the campfire's light.
Armies smash into one another through a wall far taller than he has ever seen before and the sounds of screams and scent of blood fills the air.
Once again Thorin stands in a battlefield, the ground stained with blood and bodies. The crow squawks and he turns to see Rín staring back at him, her eyes glazed and slash tearing through her chest armour from shoulder to hip. "No. No Mahal...please no. Not now. Please. No."
A single ember wafted down to him from side to side, falling gently like snow
And suddenly he was in the forges once more. Thorin shook his head slightly, trying to rid his mind of the image of Rín amidst the fallen of the battlefield. He looked at her once more, bent over her work, hair pulled back, away from her sweaty, ash covered face and something tugged at his heart. One final blow with her hammer and the sword she was moulding was shoved, hissing, into a bucket of water.
It was then that Rín looked up and saw him standing there. She smiled, wiping the sweat from above her lip with the back of a gloved hand. Thorin tried to respond with a smile of his own but he could not, still seeing her lying there in the middle of the battlefield, eyes unseeing. His expression dark, he gave a curt nod and strode from the room feeling her worried eyes following his figure as he went.
Durin was alone when Thorin barged into the counsel chambers like a dark thundercloud. "Hlífhrím cannot fight."
The younger dwarf started and looked up from his desk. "Yes, that is why she has allotted herself to the forges."
"No I mean she cannot enter the battlefield." Thorin gritted out. "We must keep those who cannot fight off the field."
Durin blinked. "Why?"
Thorin's mind went into overtime and with a long exhale of air, he decided to trust the Lord of the Longbeards. "I have been given a vision. I must keep her- them safe." he muttered, his head high, grey eyes meeting dark blue.
One of Durin's brows raised and he leaned back in his chair, setting down his quill. "You are a seer as well as a soldier now then are you?' he joked.
Thorin's face was hard as stone as he responded. "No." he said, "Do I look like I jest? I do not know why such visions have been given to me, but they have."
Durin was quiet for a moment. "I see."
Thorin stared at him piercingly. "Do you?"
Durin considered him sombrely for a moment. "I do." he paused a moment before continuing. "Saying that, we need all the soldiers we can get if we are to stand any chance in this War." Thorin made to interrupt but Durin held up his hand. "I agree she and all those like her that, should they wish to fight but have no skill, should not be near the front line but they should be able to make up the last row of defence if they so wish it."
Thorin's eyebrows constricted in a frown; the memory of his vision still fresh in his mind. Durin watched him patiently "I understand your worry Thorin." he said slowly, "And if it is a true vision you have been given, then I will heed it best as I am able, but make sure that it is not fear that clouds your judgement, you-"
Thorin's hands descended in fists upon the table. "I have seen death!" his voice was almost at a roar that sent Durin and his chair skittering backwards, "I have seen things I cannot explain! I have seen far more in all my years than you can possibly begin to imagine! I am no fool who would come to you at the slightest whiff of danger!"
"You expect my trust in you and yet you shroud yourself in mystery!" Durin stood quickly in anger, drawing himself to his full height before imitating Thorin's actions so that they were nearly nose to nose. "If you were in my place would you listen to your counsel?! And what right do you have to order me, the Lord of our clan?!"
Thorin thought quickly, "I have none," he snapped sardonically, "And yet the Lords of the other clans listen to other members of my company when they provide their counsel!"
Durin threw his arms in the air. "That is because they come to every meeting." he exclaimed, "Yet I have not seen your face once!"
"Do you now wish me to attend meetings and not train your soldiers?" Thorin growled, "I would have thought your emphasis on 'needing every soldier we can get' would attest otherwise but so be it. I will attend your next meeting in the counsel chambers as soon as the training session is over. Now would you listen to what I say to you?"
"No you cannot attend the next counsel chambers meeting." Durin said cooly, his face impassive, "For there shall be none."
Thorin stood up straight suddenly, frowning, "And why shall there be none?" he asked suspiciously.
"Because tomorrow the army moves to meet the forces from the Shire and convene on the Gap."
Sorry it took so long guys (but only one month this time since the last update not 4!), trying to keep this ball rolling now :)
Many thanks to those who followed or favourited, especially those reviewers Counting Sinful Stars, The Necroposter, Luinwen-2013, Wynter Phoenix, The EarthSong, L.C. Doyle, Paul , UK Reader, ShadowedHand, kaia, biddle29 and Guest.
I hope you all enjoyed x
