Chapter 75

What Could Have Been

If he had been conscious enough to appreciate it, Jack would have been pleased to find that the people did not tear each other to shreds after he passed out. Of course the act of passing out was one thing that he for one was not overly pleased with, but ironically it was that very thing that diffused the powder keg of a situation.

The people who were there had already been rather impressed with the leader who rose from his sickbed adorned in only a nightshirt and bandages to tell them that this ruckus needed to stop. They were reminded of Thoren, who not so very long before had also preached unity while the blood still seeped from his wounds. For this alone they were prepared to hear him out – and indeed nobody had the nerve to interrupt him even when he had to gasp for air in between sentences – although they would have been content to carry on where they left off the moment he turned his back.

It was the passing out that made the difference. Thora's reaction to this helped matters along quite nicely. She was quite rightly convinced that Jack nearly killed himself in doing what he had done and was vocal enough about that. This really gave the people pause. It was one thing to rise from a sickbed in order to quell a riot, but it showed a whole new level of dedication to nearly kill oneself doing it.

They dispersed.

Having said that, Jack did nearly kill himself. Dwarvish stubbornness can be a good thing, but it can also be very detrimental to their own health. Jack had blatantly ignored the demands of his own body in favour of doing what he perceived to be his duty, but he had predictably torn his stitches and the wound that had not really closed yet had begun to bleed again. By the time Jack finally passed out – and dwarves can go on for a long time before it finally becomes too much – he had lost quite a bit of blood.

The odd thing is that he did all of this for a brother who he believed was dead. Jack, I think, has always aspired to be more like the dwarves. He never quite strove to be like the father whose life choices he disagreed with and he had never really attempted to emulate Thoren either, but he had changed in the previous months.

Little did he know that the brother he believed dead was in fact still very much alive…

Thoren

The fire had not yet burned itself out when Thoren woke. He had slept for some hours, he reckoned, but not for very long. His mind was restless. He was thirsty and hungry, but those were the least of his concerns for the time being. It was more worrying that he still did not know how to get back to a part of the Mountain that was not as dead and deserted as this part. And if they did not find a way soon, then the shortage of water and the absence of food would become a problem.

Tauriel woke not long after he did.

'We should go,' he told her. He did not relish the prospect of plunging into the darkness blind, but he trusted her to guide him well. 'Our water supplies will not last us long.'

Tauriel nodded. 'Allow me a few minutes to see if I cannot find a torch anywhere nearby. If not, perhaps we can fashion one from the things that are available to us here.'

Thoren cast his eyes around the marketplace. Many things in it were burned and others smashed to pieces. The fleeing dwarves would have taken their own torches – as they should – when they ran. They would have grabbed what they could and run for dear life. But he nodded all the same. 'Be quick,' he said. 'We should not linger long.'

Tauriel disappeared and he wandered around the square to look for useful odds and ends there. His expectations were not high, but it gave him something to do. There were no bones here. Smaug had been here himself and anyone still there would have been burned and eaten. Smaug had dined well that day.

He found very little of use, but he found a lot of things that folk had left behind: a small carving of a dog, a discarded cloak draped over the back of a chair that had miraculously not been turned over, even a note telling the presumed owner of a market stall that he had gone to the baker's to collect lunch and he would be back in just fifteen minutes. Here was all the evidence of normal life cut off suddenly and brutally.

'No torches,' he reported to Tauriel when she returned. 'Nor anything that may be of use to us.' Only reminders of tragedy.

'Then it is good that I have found some,' she said, waving her haul in a manner that was very unlike the ways of her people. 'They were kept in someone's cupboard, three streets away. They have lain there for two centuries, so they may not last us long, but it is better than nothing at all.'

He was relieved that he did not need to walk in the dark, even if he did not say so. 'Good.'

Tauriel gave him one and looked around the market square. 'It is no wonder that there was nothing here to be found,' she said. From any other elf that would have sounded like a criticism, but from her it sounded almost sad. 'There is only death here.'

There was. Death was everywhere they looked. It was all that they had seen since they had lowered themselves down through that hole in the floor, reminder after reminder that the golden days of his people were very far in the past and that they could never measure up to what had been. My people have been in slow decline for a long time and I have refused to see it. But no more.

They put out the fire and went on their way. There were no ways that led south from this square, so they opted to go the west road instead, which at least led them further up. They found a set of stairs at the end of the hallway that went up even further, though it turned north as well.

'Let us go up first,' Thoren suggested. There were more populated areas closer to the surface. The renovation and rebuilding had started near the main gates and had spread out from there to the other regions. As a result everything on that level was useable and that was where the people were.

Tauriel nodded. 'It seems wisest.'

They entered an area where the damage was less than what they had seen before. Less debris obstructed their path, though it was still deserted. The dust lay inches thick upon the ground. Spiders had made it their home, though these were the normal sort, not the kind that grew to be taller than elves and men.

Tauriel had seen them too. 'These at least are not malevolent,' she said.

Thoren laughed despite their predicament. 'Aye, that's true enough,' he agreed, brushing one from her shoulder. 'But those that are will know their end soon.'

'You have my thanks, my friend, though the fall of my home was not your doing. You know that.'

He did and it made no difference.

They walked for hours and in that time they had to light two torches. These were not of the quality that they once were and even then they had very likely not been intended to cross large distances. In the days that these were fashioned, Erebor bathed in light. One could walk from one side of the Mountain to the other and yet never need to bring their own lights, his father had told him when he was a child, his eyes distant, focused on a past that was long gone. In those areas that had been restored this was the case once more. Not here. In this remote area the reign of Smaug had never quite ended.

Tauriel halted suddenly. 'Listen!' she said, her face alive with wonder. 'Can you hear it?'

Thoren strained his ears to listen to whatever it was that had drawn her attention, but he heard nothing beyond the sound of their own breathing. The air was still, but he could not fault her instincts and so he crouched down and placed his bare hand flat against the floor.

He smiled. Of course he did not hear the sounds, but he felt the tremors in the floor. To anyone but a dwarf they might have been too faint to detect, but he felt them, strong and steady, the heartbeat of his kingdom.

'We are not far from the forges,' he announced with confidence.

Knowing this made all the difference. He knew where he was now. Of course, he still had not been in this place before, but the clanging of hammers on anvils could only come from one place and if he was close, some three levels beneath them, he estimated, then he was somewhere under the western quarter, where most of the artisans had their workshops, which was the commercial heart of Erebor.

'Which way are we headed then?' Tauriel asked.

'Up,' was the simple answer. Going south was no longer important. He could make his way there once he had found a major thoroughfare. We are close now.

Of course this was where their luck ran out again. Not far from the point where they had first heard and felt the evidence of life nearby they found a staircase in exactly the same shape as the one that had prevented them from leaving the desolated areas the way they'd come in. The shape of it was still there, but one breath of air could blow away what little remained of it.

'There must be other ways,' Tauriel said with a confidence that neither of them felt. It was cruel to have been given hope only for it to be snatched away again in the next moment.

'We'll turn right,' Thoren said.

They did not descend anymore, which was good, but stairs were in short supply. They found the remnants of several, but all had been smashed. The rubble piled up at the bottom, but there was no way up. Smaug must have had his reasons for demolishing them all – the thought that he had meant to trap the remaining dwarves down here for easy access when he wanted a meal forced itself on Thoren's mind – but whatever it was, the fact remained that they could not continue to climb. Hadn't Lufur once told him that many of these stairs had been in such a state before they were restored?

This area had never been restored and now it was cut off from the rest of Erebor in more ways than one.

Even so, giving up was not an option and so they stubbornly kept at it, burning their way through two more torches as they went. They found no more ways that led upwards and the remains of several staircases that had been destroyed long ago. Conversation died down almost completely and the silence became solemn after they had drained the last drop of their waterskins.

We do not have much time.

His stomach growled as if to remind him as he stood before yet another staircase that was no more. He could go for a while without food, but he'd last eaten at breakfast the day before and it must be past noon according to Tauriel's reckoning. She had an uncanny ability to tell the time no matter where she was.

But something was different here and they both knew it. They'd heard faint sounds from this direction, which was what had drawn them this way in the first place. At first they'd foolishly believed that they had chanced upon a populated area. The reality was that they looked up at a hole in the ceiling.

'We are only one level below habitation.' Thoren said it, though they both thought it. This neatly tallied with what he knew to be true about his own kingdom. No folk lived here, but people worked here. There were many shops and workplaces. The healing rooms were not far off.

Their last torch burned low already, but he did not need its light now. Light fell through the hole. It was reassuring in a way that nothing else had been for a long time. We are not trapped. There is a way out.

The only drawback was that of course they had no way to reach that level unaided, but it was generally very crowded up there, even with the war on. And Thoren recalled the street this hole was on. It had been cordoned off, of course. It had only opened up a few months ago and it ought to be repaired as soon as possible. Thoren had signed the document detailing those plans himself.

It should have been done weeks ago, but the war had decided otherwise.

He had never been so grateful for a delay before.

'Hello!' he called out. 'Can anybody hear me?' He had nowhere near the volume achieved by Stonehelm, who could potentially bring down buildings and armies with his voice alone, but he could do a good bellow. A loud bellow too; Tauriel covered her ears. 'Apologies,' he added to her.

She shook her head. 'Do not apologise for undertaking a venture that will see us leave this place behind.'

His shout had been heard. Within a minute the light turned to darkness as a head was poked through. 'Thoren? Maker be good, is that you?'

Thoren recognised his cousin Kíli, Fíli's eldest son. He had not seen him much since the start of the war. Kíli and his brothers Víli and Thorli had not been with him when he rode out to face the Enemy in the open field. All three of them were good smiths and that was what they needed more than their skill at arms. There was no shame in that. Their sister Sigdís was a cook who probably hadn't left the kitchens since the Council, ever since all these foreigners started flooding in. He hadn't seen any of them in months.

'It is,' he said. 'Do you have a rope to throw down? We cannot get out unaided.'

It was a fact of life that Kíli never went anywhere without his brothers. Another head peered through the hole and reduced the influx of light even further. 'Thoren? We thought you were dead!' Thorli sounded unconvinced that it really was him.

'I am not dead,' he told them. 'Would you throw us down a rope?'

He was not in luck. The third head plunged them all into darkness again. 'Thoren! That is you, isn't it? Are you sure you're not dead?'

He was reminded why he did not spend much time with these three. For dwarves with such sensible parents it was a bit of a mystery why these three had not turned out more like them. Perhaps all the good sense had gone to Sigdís and there was simply nothing left for her brothers.

He took a deep breath to calm himself and repeated his request once more. 'Would you three throw us down a rope before we die of old age? And in Tauriel's case that would be quite the achievement!'

'Right,' Thorli said, sorting out his priorities. 'Working on it. Don't go anywhere.'

Thoren meant to ask where he thought they were supposed to go, trapped as they were, but the heads of his kinsmen had already disappeared again.

Tauriel tried and failed to suppress a smile. Thoren was hard-pressed to keep the corners of his own mouth from curling up. This was what they had all been meant for, for life and laughter, all that Sauron sought to tear from them and destroy as though it had never been.

We must survive. No, they needed to do more than that. They needed to thrive. He had seen now what the death of his people looked like and he did not care to see it ever again.

'You must be glad to leave this all behind,' he said to Tauriel.

She looked over her shoulder back into the darkness. 'Yet there was life here once,' she said. 'You saw that and I tried to look with your eyes and see what you saw. And what I saw saddened my heart.'

'You must be relieved then,' Thoren amended.

'I am.' She made no attempt to deny it. 'For now at least I am. But I think that I should like to return here one day and look again and see potential rather than only grief over what is no more.' They were unusual words out of the mouth of an elf. And his astonishment must have shown on his face, because she continued: 'My brother has chosen the dwarves for kin. I should be sore grieved to one day wake to a world that no longer contains any more of them for his sake.'

'For his sake only?' He wondered about that.

He would have to wait for an answer, because his cousins reappeared. 'It's a chain rather than a rope, but if chains were good enough to haul a dragon out of Erebor, it will do for our King and your friendly elfling,' Víli announced. He gave no further warning before he simply dropped the chain before their feet. Thoren reckoned they ought to be glad he had remembered to hold on to the other end, not always a given in Víli's case.

'After you,' Thoren said, indicating that Tauriel ought to go first.

She disagreed. 'No, it is time to give the people back their King. You shall go first. And I will not move until you have done so.'

'You ought to have been born a dwarf,' Thoren grumbled, but he did as she asked. It was a long climb up, but he managed quite well. His cousins helped his efforts by dragging at the chain from their end, which almost made it unnecessary for him to move at all.

He emerged from the hole to find the street crowded. Most of his kith and kin were there, which led Thoren to suspect that his cousins had gone off to find more than just a piece of rope. Cathy launched herself at him the moment he stood on his own two feet again and Duria was not far behind. He held them tightly.

'You have an uncanny talent for survival, Thoren son of Thorin,' a measured elvish voice spoke near him, because of course nothing could ever happen in Erebor without Thranduil wanting a front row seat for the proceedings. 'May it not abandon you for many years yet.'

Thoren grinned at him. 'It is good to see you again as well, Lord Thranduil,' he returned.

He quite relished the fact of shock on the elven king's face.

Beth

It was a busy day. Beth had been pulled off water-scooping duty in favour of preparing for her own tasks. She felt a little guilty about that, because everyone else was still working like the devil himself was behind them with a whip. Several of the trained warriors had also been employed elsewhere, blocking off every entrance imaginable, down to the last mousehole.

Always a good thing should Saruman send an army of mice our way, Beth thought wryly, but she said nothing of it. They were careful and for that she could hardly blame them. Who knows what tricks that wizard had up his sleeve. For all she knew he had left Isengard with his troops and so escaped the destruction of his place. After everything Beth had seen so far, she would not really be surprised.

Gamling had been charged with overseeing both her protection and that of Théodred – Théoden insisted – and to that end he showed her around the fortress. Beth used the opportunity to scope out places she could use for her recording, while Gamling's immediate priority was more to show her the escape routes. It was a very sensible thing to do, but it only made her more nervous about this than she already was and so she tried not to think about that aspect of things too much.

It did not really work. Everyone prepared for the battle to come. Everyone who was not a warrior and who could no longer help in the water removal was sent to the caves. When Beth arrived there she found several families already there. Most of them were women. Beth could discern no boys above the age of ten and no men at all save for those still too injured or too old to walk.

It was that which brought it home to her in a way that nothing else had so far. These people were locked in a desperate struggle for their very survival and everyone was needed to fight. She was about to ask why the women were not allowed to fight – hadn't Boromir made a convincing case for arming the women too not so long ago? – when she saw the answer before her very eyes.

She saw a young family: man, woman and two children. The man was already dressed for battle. The children clung to his legs, too young to understand why their father must fight, but old enough to know that he may not come back. The man gently prised the children's hands loose, pressed a long, lingering kiss on his wife's mouth and strode out of the caves without looking back. The wife remained, her children now clinging to her. All three of them cried.

They stay to look after those who cannot fight. Now that she looked closer she saw weaponry everywhere. The women of Rohan did not in general carry swords – though Éowyn, who was charged with leading her people here, carried one openly at her hip – but they had whatever came to hand. Beth noticed daggers, old breadknives, axes made for the purpose of chopping wood but that could do for an orc skull in a pinch.

They are what remains when everything else fails.

Of course their orders were to be well gone by the time the Hornburg fell. The Rohirrim were not known for their blind optimism – and why should they after everything that had happened? – and if their King believed that they would not survive, then why should they? The only sounds she heard were sobs.

She was glad to leave the caves behind, but the tone was set and there was no escaping it now. The battle loomed large. They'd always known that the respite would not last and now it had run out. Soon enough the orcs would come. And then what? Trusting in Gandalf did not seem like such a wise thing to do anymore. What if he didn't come?

Gamling had some different things to do, so he left her outside her room with a promise to come for her once the foe had been sighted.

Beth entered alone. Part of her almost longed for yesterday, when she was still hauling up water by the bucketload and she taught words of English to two children with bright smiles. She'd been afraid then too, but the crisis had not been so pressing. There was still time yesterday.

Boromir was already there when she entered, which surprised Beth. As far as she was aware, he was supposed to be down in the Great Hall with Théoden, Aragorn, the elves and the most important men in the kingdom to plan strategy. He'd walked around unarmoured since they had arrived at Helm's Deep, but now he dressed for battle. He must have found some pieces in the armoury, but she had never seen him so heavily armoured before.

It's real. It's happening. He may die this time and now it is out of my hands. Théoden had made it very clear that he wanted her elsewhere. So had Boromir and Aragorn for that matter. His own death does not scare him, Beth thought, remembering what the Kate in her dream had told her. The thought of losing his mind scared him shitless, but not this.

Would that she could feel the same, but the dread sat like a leaden weight in her stomach.

'Need help?' she asked, lingering in the doorway. She wouldn't know what with, but it seemed polite to ask.

He hadn't seen her before, but he swivelled around to look her in the eyes. 'I am nearly done.'

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Words were her trade and there were many in her head that she wanted to say, but she couldn't give them voice. She wished she could say things like I am so terribly afraid that I don't know what to do. I am afraid that you are going to die. I think I might not live out the night, but I'd rather that than being left alive to face this world and its dangers on my own. She didn't say something along the lines of please don't go, stay right here, let's get out the back way and never look back. She never asked him to come back and not to die. The words were right there on the tip of her tongue, but her throat constricted and she could not speak them.

'How much time do we have left?' she asked instead.

'Haldir's scouts estimated another three hours,' Boromir answered. His face had been carefully wiped clean except for his eyes and the emotion there she found unreadable.

Nightfall. It seemed like the time for it, though everyone had hoped for daylight. They had hoped for it, but they had not expected it. Beth knew that. She had not believed in it herself.

She tried for the words again and this time managed to squeeze out some before her throat clenched. 'Don't die,' she said, though to be honest it was more begging than saying. Please don't leave me here alone. The thought unexpectedly terrified her. Beth was a loner by nature, content to have no company but her own. But that was in England, where safety was a given and she knew how to be and how to behave. In this world she was alone. She only knew Aragorn and Boromir. And Théodred, her mind helpfully supplied. He knows too. And that was a small consolation, but all the others she knew were many miles away. She would effectively be alone and she found the thought unbearable.

'I will fight hard not to,' Boromir said. But she could tell that he did not understand, not really. 'Dress warmly and take your belongings with you when you leave this room. There may be no time to return for them and they are too valuable to risk them falling into the wrong hands. You must keep Excalibur close. Never let it leave your side. Do as Théoden charged you by all means, but if it seems that the battle goes against us, you must run. Make for Gondor and tell my father to make ready for war. If he does not listen, speak with my brother. Will you promise me this?'

The intensity in his words and the bloody damned nobility of them made her agree before she could think better of it. His concern was, as per bloody usual, for his people rather than himself. The chances of her extracting more than the promise he had already given were slim to none. She had half a thought for reminding him of his vow, his solemn oath that they would not split up, but common sense caught up with her. If she had to flee on her own, Boromir would already be dead.

Boromir picked up the horn from the bed. 'If I fall, keep to the story we agreed to,' he requested. His voice was gentler now; this was not a command. 'My name will at least give you a place in this world.' Because she had no place now in that other world. To them I am dead and buried already. The way things were looking now that had only been an anticipation of the fact by a few months. 'Let me do that for you at least.'

She had been wrong. It was not even a request. He was doing her a favour. He gave her a place to live, a new home now that her old one was forever out of reach. She remembered the little white house again, the place where this potential future self of her had lived. What if the only reason she was able to live there was because of the gift he gave her now?

All of a sudden she found she liked the alternative loads better.

'Thank you.' It was embarrassing that she seemed unable to raise her voice above a whisper. She wanted to say that it meant that he would die with a lie, but that was too ungrateful and this was a gesture that, while she had not expected it in a million years, she at least understood.

Boromir of course did not say anything as simple as you're welcome. Instead he held the horn out to her. 'Take the horn. If you are in trouble, blow it and help will come.'

But that was one gift too many. 'No, you keep it,' Beth insisted. 'I'll be in a tower recording. You are going to be in battle. You definitely need this far more than I do.'

He had a counter-argument for that. 'I am surrounded by friends and allies. You are alone in a tower with only Théodred for company and only Gamling for protection. Keep it and use it only if your need is dire. If I fall, it will be your task to see it returned to Minas Tirith.'

The logic was flawless, it was the idea itself that Beth didn't like, but that she couldn't say. So she closed her fingers around it and held it gently. It almost felt as if he had given her the keys to the city. 'Okay.' The word was too small and common to truly convey her meaning, but, not for the first time today, her words failed her. She meant to say: Thank you for your trust in me. Thank you for looking out for me. I think this means something that we haven't spoken of, but I think I would have liked to in time, when there isn't a war on and I know my own mind. I think I would have.

Perhaps she had spoken aloud, perhaps his thoughts had run along the same lines. He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. It was a brief kiss, but not an inconsequential one. It was promise, might-have-been and farewell all at once. Her heart skipped a beat, but he was gone before she could say anything. She had not even wished him luck.

But her skin tingled pleasantly where he'd touched it.

Beth collected her things as if in a daze. It was the only way to function, because human beings had not been made to experience so many feelings so intensely all at once. The fear was still there, like an angry black beast in the corner of her mind, ready to pounce. But it had been caged by what had just happened and that was strong too in ways that she didn't dare explore, not now.

Not tonight when everything hung in the balance. The possibility for heartache was too high.

So much for not going there, Andrews.

Hadn't she realised some time ago that her story was not so different from Kate's? Shouldn't she have seen this coming? She recalled Théodred's comments and Aragorn's observations and wondered if they did not know her better than she did.

No time. Don't dwell.

So she gathered her things and put them by the door. Then she dressed. She used layers. The tower would be cold and the flight through the mountains – should it ever get so far – colder still.

She stood at the window when she was done and looked at the sky. Dark clouds rolled in from the north. The sunset gave them spectacular colours, made them look darker than they were. She saw the flashes in the distance.

There will be rain and thunder tonight.

Gamling came for her when the sun dipped behind the horizon. A black blot had appeared in the distance a little while ago. Beth had noticed it.

'It is time, my lady,' Gamling told her.

Beth nodded. 'I know.'

The water-removers had gone some time ago. Warriors replaced them, lining the walls in long unbroken lines. Théoden stood on the battlements above the gates, right in the thick of it. Boromir and Aragorn had gone to the Deeping Wall to hold it with the elves. She could see them from her window, but not one of them looked back at her. They waited. The air was still.

This is the calm before the storm and the whole world holds its breath.

She took up her bags and accompanied Gamling to the tower she had chosen for her observation. Théodred was already there. He was allowed to stand if he didn't overdo it, so he rose from his chair when she entered.

'Beth.'

'Théodred.'

They nodded at each other.

'My lord, my lady, I shall keep watch outside the door,' Gamling announced. He showed himself out and closed the door behind him.

'May I help?' Théodred asked when he had left.

'Later,' Beth promised. From what she had seen of the set-up, there was the Hornburg and the rest of Helm's Deep. She could see the whole line from here, but could not cover both sections at once. She needed the help.

She'd brought a lot of her recording equipment to Bristol. G. Grey was supposed to be the most important person she could have found in the Kate Andrews case and she didn't want to risk even a second of that interview going unrecorded. She very likely wouldn't have the chance again. The audio equipment was not likely going to be much use, but she set it up so she could keep a running commentary going when needed anyway. One camera she took for herself, the other she gave to Théodred.

'What must I do with this?' he asked befuddled. She may have told him about the place she came from, but it was still an alien concept to him, a world that he could barely imagine, and who could blame him.

Fortunately this was one of those easy to use cameras for people who wanted to get good quality content without any understanding of the technology that went into it at the same time. 'I press this button here and then all you need to do is to keep it pointed at the Deeping Wall and what happens there. Simply put, what you see on the screen is what you record. It's not rocket science.' She saw the look of further bafflement and added: 'Never mind.'

She took up the other camera and moved to the window that offered the best view of the Hornburg itself. It was a very deliberate choice not to cover the stretch of wall where Boromir was about to make his stand. She might focus on him and forget the rest and likewise Théodred might have a focus on his father.

We must be as objective as we can be from this moment onwards, Beth thought, slowing her breathing. 'We are war correspondents now.'

Next time: battle commences.

Thank you so much for reading. Your commentary, feedback etc. would be much appreciated, so reviews will be very welcome!