Chapter 84
Moment of Reflection
It was not the first of Thráin's mad schemes and, luckily for him, it was not his last one either. He may have a great talent for thinking up stupid, suicidal schemes, he has an equally great talent for surviving said schemes with nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises. Dwarves are like that; they are made to endure things that would have killed anyone else trying to do the same.
Dwarvish experiments come with a definite don't try this at home warning.
Consider yourselves warned.
Another aspect of Thráin's plans was that they had the curious tendency of working out. They may be impulsive, not well thought out and downright dangerous, but they generally worked. Perhaps this was only because Thráin is too stubborn to let anyone or anything – even something as inconvenient as reality – tell him what can and cannot be done.
Certainly this venture had turned out rather well. One Mûmak had run into the forest, had fallen and failed to get back up again. Its riders were either squashed or had run a mile. Faramir's men killed the beast when it became increasingly apparent that it was not going anywhere. The second beast – the one who had been rammed by Thráin's stolen Mûmak was killed shortly after when it too failed to rise after it had fallen.
The third however lived and apart from a mysteriously incurred wound on its neck came out of the scuffle unscathed. Its riders had been slightly less lucky. Gimli came out of the hut with his face a peculiar shade of green. Predictably he threw up everything he had eaten in the past twelve hours after that. Faramir emerged with numerous bruises and a few cuts sustained in the fight with the previous owners. Legolas was the only one of the four who looked like he had only just left his home once he climbed down from the beast's back.
This surprised exactly nobody.
Thráin had come off a little less lucky, because even for a dwarf he had done some foolish things. He had been thrown from the saddle onto the Mûmak's back from which he had then fallen to the ground. He was unconscious for the next eighteen hours, which worried everyone except Legolas, who was heard to remark that Thráin was far too stubborn to comply with popular expectations and would therefore be back on his feet within a day.
He was proven right.
Many of the Haradrim were killed. Thráin had gone on a veritable killing spree, which was usually the Haradrim's prerogative when they brought these beasts to the battlefield. It was a rather nasty surprise to be on the receiving end for a change. Those who didn't die scattered to the four winds and these at least made no valuable contribution to Sauron's cause.
Faramir, his men and the Fellowship faced something of a different challenge in the aftermath of the whole affair, which was how to move something as colossal as a Mûmak. In a way that was a question Duria also faced…
Duria
I am attempting the impossible.
Those were Duria's thoughts when she stood before her parents' tomb on the western slopes of the Lonely Mountain in the early morning of the day after her brother had once again left for war. It was easy for him to say that he wanted this moved beyond the reach of orcs and easy for her to understand why he wanted it done. Duria only had to look at the place where Dale had once stood proud to know exactly why he wished for something so precious to be moved where they could never get their filthy paws on it.
It was however easier said than done.
She had brought some craftsmen with her to assess the possibilities.
'This can't be moved.' Thorli judged. He was the only one of his brothers to have remained behind, because the smith who was supposed to stay behind to oversee the weapons production had gone and broken his arm in an accident. She supposed she was grateful that it wasn't Víli, who was widely known for his clumsiness.
'Not in one piece, no,' Nes said. She was a stone mason by trade, who knew a little more about this than Thorli. 'But it can be broken up into pieces, which can be reassembled, I reckon. Where is this supposed to go, Duria?'
'Near the tombs of my forefathers, I think,' Duria replied.
She wouldn't know a better spot. Her sense of propriety dictated that they should have been buried there in the first place, but that flew into the face of some ancient law that stated only dwarves may be buried inside the Mountain itself. Seeing as how her mother had not been one by birth, she had to be buried outside, even though she had been its Queen in life. And her husband wouldn't hear of being separated from her, so when he passed he was buried next to her.
Nes arched an eyebrow. 'Is that allowed?'
'It is now,' Duria said.
Thoren had set Ori onto the case many years past, just in case, and her uncle in his usual cleverly unassuming manner had found a way to not only circumvent the ridiculous law but also have his late sister declared a dwarf by blood and nature. Duria did not know how he had done it and her uncle had been unwilling to share that information, so she suspected that it was not in fact entirely legal. He certainly did not seem like the kind of dwarf to go in for that sort of thing, but it was well worth remembering that Nori was his brother and that a penchant for crimes that were to the benefit of their kin ran in their blood.
Nes did not question it, for which Duria was duly grateful.
'We'll have to remove the bodies before I can get anywhere with this,' Nes carried on now that the formalities were out of the way. 'And it's going to take me two weeks at least.'
This was longer than Duria would like, but Nes's comments elicited nods and approving murmurs from the others she had brought to help her, five in all. It was not the most inspiring sight that had ever met Duria's eyes; Nes and Thorli were the only two entirely able-bodied among them. There was an old man who missed a foot, but who Nes insisted knew his craft, another man from Dale who walked with a limp and a dwarf who missed his entire left arm, lost in the great Battle of the East.
She didn't protest. This was what she could get, so she would make do. And at least she trusted Nes and Thorli to do the work and do it well.
'What can I do?' she asked.
Thorli and Nes exchanged glances.
'Stay away,' Thorli counselled brusquely. 'We know what we're doing. You do not.'
With that dismissal he turned back to his partners for this venture and left her to her own devices. Somehow she had expected to be involved in this all day, so she had cleared her diary of all pressing engagements, which meant that now she was looking at an entire day filled with idleness.
Cathy was holding court, a source of constant vexation, so it seemed unwise to go and keep her company and Jack had made it beyond clear that her presence was not appreciated. He was not an easy patient and he found her overbearing and coddling, not two traits that he greatly valued. She would visit him, but later, she decided. It was not yet a good time for it.
She could of course go to the library, but she had no pressing research to complete and she felt too restless to dedicate herself to one occupation for the entire day. I have turned into my brother in his absence, she observed wryly.
She made her way back inside the Mountain where her troubles were promptly solved when she was waylaid by a man.
'My lady,' he greeted.
Duria bid him a good morning. 'Can I be of assistance?' she asked politely, hoping that the answer would in fact be in the affirmative.
'Yes,' he said. 'There's been a messenger, my lady. He awaits you at the gate.'
'A messenger?' she asked. 'For me?'
'For whoever is in charge under this Mountain,' the man replied. 'Your sister is the one I should look for, but the guard on the door gave me to understand that she is not to be disturbed.' So he had come to her instead.
She could not fault him for that. 'Very well,' she said. 'Did he state his name and intent?'
'He did not.'
Duria misliked messengers who did not speak name and intent. She had seen their like before, this past summer when Sauron's envoy summoned Thoren to the gate to offer bribes and speak threats. Nothing that had passed in the days since had made her look any kinder on unexpected things. Caution was one thing, but if she was to treat with this unknown messenger, she had to learn his name and intent at some point. Why not save himself the trouble and speak it first?
Nevertheless, she followed the man to the gate where a hooded and cloaked figure awaited her, surrounded by at least three guards. They had learned their lesson from Jack's stabbing at least. She was safe here, although it was not her own safety she feared for.
She beckoned them to stand aside at least a little so that she didn't have to converse over the heads of her guards.
'I am Duria, daughter of Thorin,' she introduced herself. 'My brother rules as King under the Mountain, but you may address your business to me. Please remove your hood. I would see your face.'
For a few moments he hesitated, but one of the mannish guards drew his sword a few inches out of its scabbard, which made him think better of it. The face that was revealed was unmistakably Easterling. The hair and eyes were both lighter than she expected from one of his people, but his facial features betrayed him.
'Please, I mean you no harm,' he insisted when the guards drew their swords and pointed them at him. He had the accent to match, though he spoke the Common Tongue fluently. 'On my word, I did not come here to harm you. Please, stay your swords, I beg you!' He danced out of reach of the more zealous man as he did so. 'I am unarmed. Look!' He spread his hands to show them. 'My lady, please!'
'Lower your weapons,' she commanded. She was perhaps a little reluctant to do so, but the man appeared to speak the truth. Well, she called him man, but he was only on the cusp of manhood, just a boy. 'Your name?'
'Mubul, my lady.' He was quick enough to comply with her request, but he kept shooting nervous glances at her guards. The man who had been so quick to draw steel just a moment ago had sheathed his blade, but his hand was still at the hilt.
'Mubul,' she acknowledged. 'Son of…?'
'Someone, certainly,' Mubul said bitterly. 'But I have never known him.'
There was a story there to be sure, but it was not relevant. At least she hoped so. 'And your business?' When Mubul looked at the man again, she added: 'Forgive my guards. Of late we've had some considerable trouble with your people, as I am sure you're aware of.'
He grimaced nervously. 'Yes, that is why I have come.'
It was all as clear as mud so far. 'I fear I do not understand your meaning.'
Mubul took a deep breath, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He drew another breath. 'My people… aren't… kind.' Every word seemed a struggle.
Duria was in fact aware of this. Even before the war Easterlings were known for being harsh and cruel and warlike. They fought themselves when there was nobody else to fight, never at ease with peace. They had left this region mostly untroubled before the war because only a fool would try to overrun Erebor and to the southwest there were easier pickings in Gondor and Rohan. Because of this Esgaroth had been able to enjoy trade with them. Of course Ingor never once stopped to think about this before he plotted treason.
'I know.'
'They are fighters,' Mubul continued.
Duria nodded. 'This too is not unknown to me.'
'I am not,' Mubul said. This seemed to be the point that had been hardest to make, because now the words finally fell from his mouth like a dam had been broken. 'You see, I am a fisherman, my lady, on the Sea of Rhûn. I can catch fish. I don't know the first thing about weapons other than to use a knife to clean a fish!'
She did not entirely believe that. 'You speak our tongue well for a simple fisherman.'
The man with the sword had noticed that too; he drew his blade an inch.
Mubul did another step back in anticipation. 'I live in a trading town. Merchants pass through. They bring their languages with them. But then the soldiers came and they brought their orders. You cannot tell them no. I tried.' He pushed the tunic off his left shoulder and showed them a nasty scar. She wouldn't like to imagine the wound that had caused it. 'So when the army came close enough here, I ran.'
She let the implications of that sink in. 'The army is so close?'
'Five days marching from here when I ran,' Mubul reported. 'They will be closer now. They don't move fast now, my lady. They are waiting.'
For the army that came from Mordor. Duria had heard that much from Thoren. He'd conceived the foolish notion that getting between two such large armies was in any way a good idea. She didn't think it was, but of course nobody persuaded Thoren of anything he did not want to be persuaded of. He was very much a dwarf in that.
'You will understand that I cannot believe you at your word,' she said. Believable as all this sounded, others had been believable too before they revealed themselves to be something entirely different. She had been taken in the same way as her kith and kin had been. But at least she learned from those mistakes. 'We will give you food and lodging, but you do not have the freedom to move around at will. If you cannot agree to this, you are free to leave.' She gave him a long, hard look. 'Bear in mind that if you take my offer now to betray the kindness you were shown later, there will be a price to pay.'
Mubul took another step back and might have continued in that vein had his back not hit the wall. 'My lady, I would not. I have nowhere left to go!'
'You could go home,' Duria pointed out.
He scowled at her in derision. 'After I deserted? They would tear me limb from limb if they were in a merciful mood.' The words conjured up a memory of Elvaethor after he had returned from his ordeal at the hands of the Easterlings. They had most certainly not been in a merciful mood with him. How much worse would they be to one who had betrayed them? 'And I have no kin to return to. I only ever had my mother and she died ten years since of a summer fever.'
If he was telling the truth – and caution made her doubt it – then he had nobody left in the entire world. And he had burned all his bridges behind him in order to come here, where his safety was still not assured. Then again, it was assured nowhere in the world.
Still, she was obliged to ask: 'Why come here?' she asked. 'We may soon find ourselves under siege. If they should break through the gate, you will be no safer here than with them.' In fact, he might be a great deal safer with them in such a case. He might be in no danger from them at all if he had been a spy sent to open the gate to the invading army in the first place.
We cannot trust him. Such an attitude was contrary to her dwarvish nature which had a natural tendency to take anything that was said to her at face value. Dwarves did not easily deceive one another. She could no longer do that now.
Mubul never lowered his eyes. He seemed to have discovered his courage. 'You defeated them once before. It is all that my people talk of these days. They have never suffered such defeat as they have before these very gates. Am I a fool to place my hope in such strength? You have achieved what none have ever done before.'
The Easterlings had suffered defeat before. Duria knew that they had met their match in Gondor several times over the Third Age, but they had never been so thoroughly defeated, especially not when they had the might of Mordor at their backs. It was unparalleled.
But that was a month ago and since then traitors had burned much of their food stores. And they had suffered so very many losses in that first battle alone. What was then could not be repeated. Duria knew this too.
Mubul felt that his words did not meet with the reception he intended, so he continued: 'I know a fisherman is not much use to you, but I have observed your foes. I can tell you about them. I'll do whatever you ask of me, but I beg of you to not send me back there. Please, my lady!'
'I will not send you back,' she said, because that was easily promised. 'But I stand by my earlier words.' We need to know for certain. We must.
'Thank you, my lady!' he said. 'Thank you.'
'Don't thank me yet,' she told him brusquely. 'You will need to meet with my sister.'
Beth
The space before the gates was an absolute chaos, so Beth sat and observed it all from her place on top of the wall, where there was nobody. Everyone else was busy packing up, mounting horses or looking generally busy. As per bloody usual she however had been sent away wherever she went to offer her help.
She started to see a pattern and not one she liked.
It was not that the people were unkind to her. They were polite – save Éorryth, who was polite to no one, so Beth was hardly the exception – and accommodating, but it was no secret that they thought she was not only a great lady who had no business getting her hands dirty, but also one who did not belong. It was almost instinctual. No matter how much she tried to fit in, she always got the details wrong. And these were people who were justifiably suspicious of outsiders.
It was different with the elves and Aragorn and Boromir. They had all fought for them. Many of the elves had lost their lives in defence of this fortress. They healed their wounded. So did Aragorn. Boromir was a trusted friend and ally to Rohan. He was treated with reverence and respect wherever he went. He was a known fixture in their world.
Beth was not.
So here she was again, sitting on a wall, observing the proceedings and doing nothing whatsoever to disabuse them of the notion that she was not exactly what they thought of her. Marvellous.
She was not alone there for very long. Gandalf seemingly appeared out of nowhere and sat down next to her. They hadn't had a proper conversation in days, certainly not since he came back. He looked as tired as she felt. His white robes had at least six inches of mud along the hem, his beard was tangled, but the look in his eyes took her somewhat by surprise. It was old and so tired that it hadn't stopped at exhaustion but moved some stations even past that. It was a miracle that he hadn't dropped yet.
'Thank you for our rescue,' she began. In the past she had not always got along with him, but he'd saved them, so she would do her level best not to emulate Kate too much by heaping blame on him the moment he finally had a moment to catch his breath. 'We needed it.'
The wizard inclined his head. 'The world has grown very dark indeed,' he said.
'And very unpredictable,' Beth added wryly. 'I know I'm here to ensure everything goes like the book, but so far that's a disaster. It either turns out like it should, but just slightly different or for different reasons. Oh, and don't get me started on the bloody weather! Legolas and Gimli were supposed to be here and they're not and Lord only knows what Thráin gets up to when nobody's keeping an eye on him.'
He had a nasty tendency to do the unexpected in such a way that he changed the entire game, this dwarvish cousin of hers. Take this thing with the elves showing up because he had spoken a few words in Galadriel's ear for example. Beth did not have that kind of influence, like the kind that Kate had wielded. At times like this she was rather jealous of such an ability. Then again, Gandalf had not chosen someone like Thráin. He had chosen someone like her, a steady stickler for the rules, not a gamechanger who had thrown away the rulebook because it didn't suit him.
He may not look like it, but Thráin is very much Kate's son, she observed.
'You are making ripples of your own,' Gandalf remarked in a carefully neutral tone of voice.
She instantly distrusted it. 'Like?' This topic had thin ice written all over it. She wouldn't be drawn into revealing anything until she knew what his game was.
He looked down into the courtyard, where Boromir was in the process of climbing onto a horse. For someone with a concussion he moved about rather well. In that he reminded her of Thráin, who also wouldn't let something as inconsequential as a major injury slow him down when there were more important things to be getting on with. If they'd looked more alike someone might have mistaken them for brothers. They certainly had the stupid suicidal schemes and lack of good sense in common.
She knew what Gandalf meant. 'Ah,' she said.
Ah more or less encompassed everything she could say about it. It was new, mostly undefined, but something that she knew she wanted. But she was also an Andrews, who dealt with emotional vulnerability like a gazelle faced with a starving lion; by running in the opposite direction as fast as her legs could carry her. It didn't help that she could also compile a list of the reasons why this was probably not a good idea – his father would call their bluff, they weren't actually married, one or both of them could still die and why was this a bright idea again? – and why it could never work. The list grew with every moment she had to think about it.
It was a pity her heart refused to listen.
It had grown as stubborn as a dwarf lately. Every time she conjured up another reason why it would be best not to pursue this, it reminded her of the pain of believing him dead, of being permanently separated and the heartrending ache of regret of all the things that might have been. What kind of a fool was she to turn her back on that willingly?
As it happened, not much of a fool at all. Or if she was, not in that area at least. I committed to this, she told herself. I promised.
Boromir hadn't said much – and kissing back would have been something his healers qualified as overexerting himself – but his eyes lit up in a particular way that she had not seen before. It had done peculiar things to her stomach. That was a feeling she recognised from her early days with Alex and the fact that she felt it again had taken her completely by surprise. She thought it had died with that relationship.
I'm not as broken as I thought.
So she stood by that decision. 'Objections?' she asked.
Gandalf pondered that a moment. 'I do not believe so.' He gave her a searching look. 'When we spoke before you said that he was alive. That implies…'
'That the book would have had him dead at Amon Hen,' Beth finished. 'Which we never reached, but the whole crisis was otherwise just the same as the book.' Somewhat and in the most confusing manner possible. 'But he's not. And that's a good thing.'
'You are more like Kate than you'd like to think,' was the wizard's retort, who clearly remembered that his former advisor had set her sights on a man – dwarf, whatever – marked for death as well.
The thing was done now anyway and she found that the comparison did no longer vex her as it used to. 'Must run in the family.' She smiled at the wizard. 'I don't know why you think taking up with the Andrews family was in any way a good idea. The way things stand all of us have form in misbehaving.'
He nodded solemnly. 'It gives me hope,' he said simply before he disappeared as quickly as he'd arrived.
Beth wouldn't know why. By all accounts he had never warmed to Kate and he found Thráin thoroughly frustrating to interact with. Truth be told, she was not even sure that he liked her. If so, he had entirely failed to make such a sentiment known. Experience however had taught her that nothing could compel Gandalf to open up when he decided not to, so she saved that for another time.
They were all getting ready to leave anyway. The occupants of the Hornburg split up into three groups. Those too wounded to be moved remained behind with the lion's share of the healers. They'd make their way back to Edoras when they could. The women, children, elderly and not too wounded to be moved were accompanied back to Edoras by a mixed group of Rohirrim and Galadhrim soldiers. Everyone else was off to Isengard to deal with Saruman.
Speaking of things she did not look forward to.
But delaying was stupid and if she was the reason why they did not leave on time, she'd only confirm what everyone already thought. So she made her way down from the wall, where she promptly ran into Théodred.
'You're back on your feet!' she exclaimed.
He had changed since the battle. His father's death had done quite a number on him; he finally looked like he was indeed forty-one instead of in his mid-twenties. At the same time he seemed to have grown an inch. The authority of kingship came naturally to him, if not easily.
He nodded. 'Gandalf did what he could,' he replied. If he was standing up already Gandalf must have made a lot of effort indeed. 'And I recall that you have no horse to ride.'
Ah. That was right. On the way here she had ridden in the cart and on the way to Edoras she had shared a horse with Boromir. Judging by the state of his arm that was not something she could repeat now.
'I… I can't actually ride,' she admitted. 'The only time I've sat on a horse was in front of Boromir and that's not possible now.' She sounded awkward and unprepared. These were the mistakes she simply could not afford to make anymore. They marked her out as different, as someone who did not know how to be and how to behave. Everyone here could ride with the glaring exception of one. She lowered her voice: 'Where I come from there are other modes of transport. Horses have gone out of fashion as a means of getting around.'
He took in that astounding piece of information with as much grace as she could have hoped for; the initial blank look, the opening and closing of the mouth and an excessive amount of blinking. It was telling that this threw him for more of a loop than her revelation of otherworldly origins.
He recovered quickly and indicated a chestnut-coloured horse behind him. 'He is yours,' he said.
Now it was her turn to open her mouth and close it several times in rapid succession. By now she'd read and seen enough to know that horses were treated with reverence here, almost as humans. They were guarded very well and very closely. The Rohirrim certainly didn't make a habit of giving them away, not to outsiders at any rate. And even if they did, the recipients probably knew how to remain in the saddle without help.
'I… Thank you. But why?' she stammered.
'You saved my life,' Théodred said.
Beth frowned. 'And you saved mine, so we decided that we were even, didn't we?'
Théodred nodded. 'That's true,' he agreed. 'But then you saved my life again during the battle, which put me back in your debt, you see.' He said the words in a very reasonable and calm manner, but there was genuine gratitude there too and friendship perhaps as well. 'So this is how I would repay my friend.'
Had she saved his life during the battle? Beth had no memory of such an event. It had all gone so fast. There'd been movement everywhere and she had fought for her life. But she could not for the life of her remember any details of that fight. A few things stood out clearly: the moment the door broke apart and then again the time when Éowyn had led her people to the rescue. Everything in between was a blur. To be honest, she quite liked it that way.
'Well, thank you?' It came out as a question.
'His name is Folca,' Théodred informed her. While they spoke Gamling had led the horse over to them and now he placed the reins in her hands. 'He belongs to you now.'
Beth was lost for words. She took the reins instinctively, but that was where her knowledge of what to do began and ended. Fortunately for her Folca seemed calm and even-tempered and he was undeniably one of the better-looking horses in the courtyard. He lowered his head and Beth scratched him between the ears like she had done with Shadowfax. She was not bitten for her troubles, so she reckoned that it was more or less all right.
'Do you need help mounting up, my lady?' Gamling asked.
You expect me to ride him now? It was perhaps very fortunate that she did not blurt this out on the spot. She had done more than enough damage to her own reputation so far. Best to not make it any worse. They knew she wasn't a good rider, but they didn't know that the thought of riding made her feel vaguely queasy. At least she wouldn't be a coward.
You'd better learn sooner rather than later, Andrews. This is your world now and this is how people get around in it. Adapt.
'That'd be grand, thank you,' she replied in as off-handed a manner as she could manage. Théodred saw through it, she was sure, but at least Gamling took it at face value and he helped her up.
Folca was a big horse and the ground was very far away all of a sudden. But he was well-behaved, standing perfectly still while she manoeuvred her feet into the stirrups and figured out what to do with the reins. All those around her radiated practiced ease, as though they had learned to ride before they could walk.
They probably could at that.
'Sit up straighter,' Boromir counselled. The wretched show-off had moved his horse next to hers one-handed. 'And don't hold the reins too short. You'll hurt his mouth.'
Beth bit her lip in concentration, but did as he told her. The result was more or less what she saw on everyone else, so she took that as a good sign. Folca didn't do anything he wasn't supposed to do either when they all moved out of the gate. Presumably he had taken one look at her, decided she was about as much use as a sun hat in a downpour and elected to take his cue from what was going on around them rather than from her.
It was probably a good idea.
'Better?' she asked.
Boromir nodded. 'Much. You will learn.'
'There is so much to learn these days.' Every time she got the hang of one thing she found that there were a million others she didn't know how to do yet. It was discouraging and frustrating and she wished she could just find something at which she didn't suck in Middle Earth. Had Kate ever felt this useless, like there was nothing she could do that didn't make things worse somehow? How she longed for another dream like the one she had in Rivendell. This time she'd know what questions to ask.
I was so naïve, she thought. And so arrogant. I thought I knew it all.
She hadn't known anything of consequence, not then. Now she understood what Bilbo had meant when he told her that she would not be the same woman she had been when all was said and done.
I'm already not the same anymore.
Boromir treated her to a long and steady look. 'But you will learn,' he said. Clearly here was one who didn't doubt that every waking moment.
But he was right. She'd learn out of sheer necessity. This was her world now and she'd have to do it right. 'In that case, you'd better start filling me in on some political and historical background. And we should not forget etiquette, concerning manners and accepted social behaviour, with special attention to what is and isn't acceptable behaviour from a married woman,' she said.
She had a day and a half to get her act together before they faced Saruman.
Next time: morality can be a very difficult thing.
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