"We must march on Mordor, immediately."
To his credit, Thorin didn't burst out laughing but Fili imagined it was less from self-control and more a mix of exhaustion and grief that stayed him.
"We have spent days fighting for the mountain," his uncle said, voice flat with fatigue. "And more have fought longer. My people have nothing left."
Fili swallowed, his own rush of grief passing through him at the words. The combined forces of Rohan and Lothlorien had succeeded in turning the tide of battle, breaking through the remaining ranks of orcs and routing them to so great an extent that they'd fled the field in droves.
It was a great victory, but the price had been far too high for celebrating. After the initial relief, and joy, at seeing their salvation riding in, reality had quickly set in. Eyes had turned toward the field, and the obscene number of dead. Exhausted dragons littered the landscape, heaving sides the only signs of life, while a steady stream of equally worn out soldiers wandered in a dull trance toward Erebor's gates.
Thorin, Fili and Kili had met Thengel, Gandalf and the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien in the center of the field. There had been no time, or desire, to set up any sort of table or tent, and only the barest effort made to find a relatively untouched patch of earth over which to meet. Aragorn, Elrond, Lord Bard of Dale and Varr, Master of Lake-town, had made their way over, looking as tired and battered as the rest of them. Fili had no idea when Lake-town had arrived but spared a moment of worry for the small town, and his brother's friend, Cassie. The orcs hadn't come from that direction so they should have been safe, but then everyone who currently lay dead inside Erebor's upper halls should have been safe as well.
"If you do not go," Galadriel intoned solemnly, "it will have all been in vain."
Thorin looked as if she'd slapped him and Fili clenched his hands into fists at the seeming casual dismissal of their sacrifice. The elf, and her husband, were dressed for war but were as fresh as if they'd stepped out for a walk. It was easy enough for them to pass judgement and make demands, having not lived through the past few days themselves.
We had rotations, he sent to Thorin, unwilling to say it out loud and risk undermining his uncle in front of the others. Some aren't as tired as others.
That was a stretch. The fighting had lasted days and all the rotations in the world couldn't overcome the limits of flesh and bone. Their only saving grace had been numbers, enough to allow for longer breaks and shorter stints in battle but, even then, it only went so far.
"My father is sending more," Aragorn cut in.
Arathorn had sent several groups but mustering the entire army of Gondor to leave the city, while ensuring the people who lived there were safe in its absence, was no small feat. Fili was impressed at the numbers Gondor had been able to gather and send on such short notice, it had made a great difference, not just in the fight but in morale.
"Would it even matter?" Bard asked, exhaustion lining his voice. "The creature has fled, and no doubt is already at the cage. We have no hope of stopping him before he opens it."
Way to be optimistic, a voice sounded in his head and Fili turned slightly as his brother trudged up. He held his bow loosely in one hand, empty quiver hanging from his belt. He looked dead on his feet, probably the result of hypocrisy, demanding Fili go in and sleep while he ran himself into the ground. Fili allowed the sentiment to carry across their bond and got a dirty look in response before Kili stopped next to him, close enough to use Fili's shoulder to brace himself without being overt about it.
"Do we even know where they've gone?" Thorin asked wearily. "There'd be no use rushing off when we don't know where it is we're going."
"Mordor," Gandalf said, solemn. "That is where I placed the cage, Ages ago and it is where the creature has gone to release Morgoth."
"And my father?" Legolas broke in, arriving next to Thorin. "Is he still alive? Why did that thing want him?"
"I have my suspicions," Gandalf said, "but voicing them without knowing for sure would serve no purpose."
Fili's eyes narrowed but a sidelong glance from his uncle had him holding his peace. They were all fully aware that nothing in Middle Earth could force Gandalf to say more than he wished. It was clear Legolas knew it too, though the way his jaw tightened showed just how he felt about it.
"You placed the cage," Thorin said suddenly, voice hard, "which means, I imagine, you are also the one who revealed its location?"
Ouch, Kili sent. Fili silently agreed. Apparently, realizing they couldn't force Gandalf to speak did not prevent his uncle from putting the wizard in his place. Perhaps, at a different time and place, Thorin would have shown more restraint but too many had died, and Gandalf was demanding they leave before the fallen were even buried. Fili could not fault him for lashing out.
Gandalf's expression didn't change. "The cage was put in place centuries ago," he said, as if Uncle hadn't spoken. "And the keys created. Saruman created the dwarven key, Alatar the human, and Pallando the elven."
"Who are Pallando and Alatar?" Fili asked with a frown. He'd heard of Saruman of course, but simply too tired to remember if he'd heard of the other two.
"Friends," Gandalf said simply. "Long since gone now, early victims of Gothmog I would imagine."
"If you knew that then you had to know that thing was still around," Legolas said, anger lacing his voice. "So why didn't you do something then?"
"We missed it," Celeborn cut in simply, "and now we are paying for the oversight."
"All of Middle Earth is paying," Thorin said quietly, his voice hard.
"And all of Middle Earth must march," Celeborn countered, "or you may as well have handed Erebor to the orcs as soon as they arrived."
"What makes you think we'll have any chance of defeating Morgoth?" Fili broke in. "The Valar themselves couldn't defeat him. All they managed to do was the cage. What possible chance do we have?"
For the first time, the faintest hint of a smile crossed Gandalf's face. "We have a chance," he said, "because there is yet another key. The key made by Radagast."
"The Hobbit key," Thorin said flatly. "The one you were searching for all those months ago?"
"The key that Gothmog currently has?" Kili asked. "At least I'm assuming he does. Bilba was wearing it when she was captured."
"Gothmog is not Morgoth," Galadriel said smoothly. She reached to her hip and drew a long, shining blade from a sheath. It glinted in the sun, sparking off the metal of her breastplate. "He can, and will, be defeated. And his own arrogance will then lead to us defeating Morgoth."
"Our job will be to create a path to get you to him," Elrond said, speaking for the first time. Until then he'd been standing quietly, listening.
"They want a distraction," Thorin said, a dark quality in his voice. "Much like that creature used the blood of my people to distract us from his true purpose." His eyes locked onto Gandalf. "You want me to take those we've bled to save and march them onto orc pikes to give you a chance to fix your mistake."
"I would not ask it if it were not of vital importance," Gandalf said. There was compassion in his voice and eyes, as if he could see straight through to Thorin's soul.
Fili could see in; could see the pain his uncle felt as if he took every fallen dwarf, and drake, as a personal affront, and as a personal loss.
Fili knew that he did. He also knew the last time he'd felt such pain from his uncle had been after his return from Moria, just before he'd shut them all out. It had been years before he'd opened up again, not until after Bilba had arrived, and Fili desperately hoped they weren't about to be locked out again.
Uncle Frerin is there, he sent, and knew from the flicker of overt pain in his uncle's eyes that it was the wrong thing to say.
His uncle's response, when it came, was bleak. Thorin's eyes drifted around the battlefield, taking in silent mounds and empty shells of those he'd once sworn to protect. A drake, far too young to have been in battle, cried in pain near the gates as people swarmed about, trying to help her. How many times must we relive Moria before it's enough?
Just once more, came the answer, and it wasn't Fili who sent it.
He and Kili turned simultaneously, as their father and Dwalin strode up to stand on either side of his uncle.
It's not going to be like the last time, Vili added. We were alone then. We weren't this time, and won't be next time.
I'm getting my daughter back, Dwalin sent shortly, and your idiot brother. And then I plan to take my foot and shove it where the sun don't shine on that bastard who took them.
Thorin sighed in resignation. He already knew what his answer must be, but had been unwilling to voice it. "I'll rally all I can."
Those who weren't too injured, Fili thought, or too exhausted. They'd have to leave some behind as well, to look after and care for those unable to defend themselves. He didn't know what numbers they could muster but hoped it would be enough. The ground forces would set the pace, which would at least give the dragons a chance to rest a little. That would be important as they would be the first wave once they'd arrived.
Thorin grimaced and turned to leave.
"Where are you going?" Elrond asked and received a bitter answer thrown carelessly over a shoulder.
"To tell my people we're going to go face off against a damned fallen Valar that Aule himself couldn't defeat."
Legolas left as well, with barely an acknowledgement. No one questioned whether or not he would be involved. Since his father's abduction he'd fought with a silent grimness, biding his time.
Fili watched them go, Dwalin falling in alongside Thorin while Vili stayed. With a frown, Fili turned back to Gandalf. "Why wasn't Morgoth destroyed the first time around?"
"He could not be destroyed," Gandalf said shortly, "only contained, and it is possible to do so again."
"It took all of the Valar last time," Kili argued. "And nearly wiped out Middle Earth."
"They didn't have the tools we have now," Gandalf countered.
"The key?" Fili asked. "You think the Hobbit key is so powerful it can do what it once took all of the Valar to do?"
"I do," Gandalf said without hesitation. "The ring was made by Radagast, at the behest of the Valar, and is imbued with the power of them all."
Fili's eyes widened. "The power of the Valar? And Bilba was wearing it?"
Gandalf looked amused. "The greatest power in the world is little more than a ring in the hands of one who does not know how to use it."
"And in the hands of someone who does know how to use it?" Fili asked. "Someone like Gothmog?"
"Light does not suffer darkness," Gandalf replied. "He will not be able to use the full power of the ring, no matter how he tries."
"That's something," Fili muttered. He sighed, much as his uncle had, and ran a hand through his hair. "All right then," he said finally, equally resigned. "I suppose, before we all go get ourselves killed over this thing the question should be asked, what in Durin's name does the ring even do?"
For the first time, an oddly out of place look of amusement crossed the wizard's face.
"The ring takes advantage of Morgoth's greatest weakness."
Kili raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"
"His vanity."
"Aule, did you say?"
Bilba flinched at the words, said in Thranduil's voice but with a brittle edge she'd never heard from the elven king. His face was changed as well, hard like stone and so cold she was sure touching it would freeze her solid. She'd always thought Thranduil an imposing and standoffish king but realized now he'd been downright warm and friendly compared to the visage his body wore now.
Saruman seemed woefully oblivious.
"Yes, my Lord," he said, nodding vigorously. He scrambled inside his robes and then held up the crystals Gothmog had given him. "I have the crystals of the five wizards. I took them, to ease your return to power."
"More like I took them," Gothmog interjected. He was leaning casually against the podium, idly examining his fingernails, or claws, as if they were the most interesting thing in the room.
Saruman waved a hand dismissively. "It matters not. With them gone, there are none left who can oppose me, and certainly not you, my Lord," he added quickly.
"Are there not?" Morgoth asked. His words, Bilba noticed, had the strangest echo, as if two spoke at once. "Your robes have darkened, Curumo. Tell me, who holds the mantle of White Wizard now, if all but you are destroyed?"
Saruman gaped and, by the podium, even Gothmog looked up with a frown, the first sign of disquiet Bilba had seen from him. She looked closer at Saruman and realized that what she'd assumed to be a trick of the light was, in fact, an odd darkening of his robes, from the brilliant white he'd always worn to a dull and faded gray.
"Aiwendil lives," Gothmog said with mild annoyance. "But it can't be him. He lacks the strength to carry that kind of power." His voice was dismissive but he offered no explanation as to exactly why he'd left one of the wizards alive.
"It matters not," Saruman grumbled, pulling his robes tight around him. "I am still the strongest. I have the crystals of the others-"
"Most of the others," Gothmog corrected, bored.
Sauman half turned to sneer at him. He turned back, only to draw up short as he suddenly found Morgoth mere steps in front of him, having moved from the far end of the outcrop to where Saruman stood, so fast Bilba hadn't been aware of it even happening.
For the first time, Saruman seemed to falter. "I betrayed Aule," he repeated, almost stammering. "And destroyed the other wizards, at great personal risk."
Gothmog snorted but Saruman ignored him.
"I was promised a great reward," the wizard went on. "One befitting my service."
Morgoth cocked his head slightly, studying Saruman the way Bilba had seen Syrath study a warg, as if it were a mere curiosity rather than a threat.
"Were you now?" Morgoth practically purred and Bilba fought back an instinctive shudder. Beside her, Frerin wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. Bilba wasn't entirely sure if he did it for her benefit or his own, and didn't mind either way.
"Yes," Saruman stated. He drew himself up and raised his chin, attempting to look intimidating no doubt, but all Bilba could see was an elderly man trying desperately to look strong before an enemy of far greater size and strength. It reminded her, with a start, of an elderly dwarf she'd once see try to do the same to an orc in the mines, and was startled by the burst of sympathy that rushed through her.
She knew how that story ended.
Morgoth smiled again, a slow one, splitting across his face like a gaping wound. It was not a natural look, not one she'd ever seen Thranduil wear, and something she was quite sure would haunt her nightmares, if she lived long enough to sleep again.
With a burst of movement so fast Bilba gasped in surprise, Morgoth grabbed Saruman by the robes, wrenched him forward and, with an almost casual air, pushed him until the wizard was leaning off-balance over the edge of the chasm.
Saruman blanched and seemed frozen with fear, hands scrambling to lock over Morgoth's forearms as his mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Bilba saw his hands fist in the fabric of the silver robe Morgoth wore, Thanduil's robe even if it was not currently Thranduil she was seeing.
"You know the thing I despise about traitors?" Morgoth said as if they were holding a pleasant conversation on a sunny afternoon. "They're just so...untrustworthy."
He smiled, teeth a white gleam against the dark that radiated off him. Fire licked down his arms, spreading out to follow the lines of the robe where it flared at his waist and fell to the bottom of his boots.
Saruman fell.
He didn't scream.
Bilba wasn't sure he had the time.
Morgoth stood on the edge, looking down with a blank expression. Ash that had once been his robe fell to the ground around him, leaving streaks on his pants and boots, and edging the muscles of his naked chest and arms. Firelight flicked around him, casting him in dark, moving shadows and unnatural highlights. The effect removed the refined, civilized king Bilba knew and replaced him with something almost...elemental, born of ash and fire.
Several feet away Azog, who'd started to step forward as if to speak, clearly thought better of it, shut his mouth and moved back into a deep shadow.
Bilba was deeply disappointed.
"Too bad," she heard Frerin whisper next to her. "I was really hoping Azog was dumber than that."
A slight growl revealed Azog had heard him but Frerin merely looked smug. The look dropped off his face, however, as Morgoth turned to walk away from the ledge and into the chamber itself. Frerin grabbed Bilba's arms and pulled her back slowly, as one might try to carefully avoid a venomous snake.
Gothmog was still idly studying his claws as Morgoth strode past him, heading toward the exit from the mountain.
"Stop."
Morgoth paused, and partly turned toward Gothmog. There was a charged silence, and then Gothmog casually pushed up from the column and held up the hand he'd been so closely observing the past several minutes. With a start, Bilba realized he'd never been looking at his claws at all, but the ring he'd slid onto one finger.
"The years you've spent locked up," Gothmug said, dropping his arm to one side, "have been most enlightening."
Morgoth's eyes glittered with a strange light as he mocked, "And yet you managed to do exactly nothing with the time you were given."
"Did I not?" Gothmog looked positively delighted. Bilba and Frerin, and even Azog, had all gone perfectly still, hoping desperately to not draw the notice of the two circling predators. "The Istari were prancing about, and Eru's precious favorites." He went back to examining the ring yet again, still casually leaning with his back against the podium, ankles crossed and one arm absently draped across his chest to provide a rest for the elbow of the other. "I was forced to work in the shadows, or risk exposing I wasn't quite as dead as many thought."
"Except for when you came out to kill the Istari of whom you were so afraid," Morgoth mocked.
Gothmog looked amused. "I needed information, they had it." His eyes flickered toward the edge of the chasm. He pushed up and strode a few steps forward, toward Morgoth. "I took the two least likely to be missed, and so they weren't."
Morgoth waved a hand dismissively, turning away. "Unlike you, I have no fear of the pathetic Istari, or a few elves."
"You are so tragically predictable. You could never resist the satisfaction of corrupting one of the firstborn." Gothmog said mildly. "You took such great pleasure in using them to create your precious orcs. So inferior, and yet you were so jealous of them."
Morgoth's eyes narrowed. "Firstborn indeed," he spat. "When I was there before the music of the Ainur even began!" For a split second pure hatred twisted his features into something terrifying, and far from sane. It was gone almost as soon as it had come, however, leaving his features blank. Emotion changing in the blink of an eye, he stretched out an arm, turning it this way and that and making a show of studying the musculature and framework of it. "Still," he said, softly, "they do have their benefits, and this one in particular is a fine example."
"A fine example of flesh and blood," Gothmog agreed, "and woefully unable to house the full might and power of a Valar." He raised an eyebrow. "Or have you been so caught up in your whims you failed to notice?"
Morgoth scowled. "It matters not," he said finally. "I have more than enough to accomplish what I wish."
"Oh, I think it does matter," Gothmog countered. "You think your kin went to the trouble of setting a trap just to have it be entirely ineffective? You willingly placed yourself in an inadequate form, at a fraction of your power."
Morgoth laughed, an unnatural sound when considering who it came from. "You really think you could best me?"
"At your current strength?" Gothmog asked. "Yes, I do believe I can." He held up his hand again, showing off the ring. "And particularly when I have the final key to your shackles."
Morgoth's face darkened. He faced Gothmog head on, brows furrowed. Gothmog, in turn, raised an eyebrow in amusement as he said. "I think you'll find I'm a bit harder to destroy than the wizard."
"You're a fool," Morgoth nearly snarled. "You think you can contain me in this body? I will simply cast it off, and you will pay the price of turning on your betters."
His eyes shifted, losing their focus, and he slumped, swaying on his feet. A minute later he looked up again, and though the look in his eyes was one of anger, it was also strikingly familiar.
Bilba gasped as, beside her, Frerin sucked in a sharp breath and hissed, "Thranduil."
His eyes flickered briefly toward them and Bilba was impressed that, rather than fear or pain or despair, the elven king simply looked royally pissed off. Then he swayed on his feet once more and clenched his jaw, eyes closing. He gave a groan dragged out from somewhere deep inside and when he opened his eyes again, it was Morgoth looking out from them.
"I did say the key was a shackle did I not?" Gothmog asked, tone suggesting he was lecturing a particularly stupid child. "You have merely traded one cage for another. A smaller, and far less powerful one, leaving you under my authority."
"Am I now?" Morgoth asked, and Bilba felt an instinctive shudder at the low, deadly quality to his voice. "Was it you then who gave me permission to destroy the wizard?"
The barest flicker of uncertainty crossed Gothmog's eyes before vanishing back beneath the layers of insufferable arrogance he wore like a cloak. "It is certainly me preventing you from destroying me now," he taunted.
"Hmmm," Morgoth mused. "But it is not as complete as you thought it would be, is it? I may be shackled as you say, but I am far from bound."
"It matters not," Gothmog dismissed. "You are leashed, and with you, there are none who will be able to stand against me, wizard or elf."
"We shall see." Morgoth's anger seemed to have dissipated and, if anything, he seemed almost mildly amused, an emotion Bilba had already come to associate with bad things when seen in either creature. "So, after your grand betrayal, what is your next step? Dragging me to war with the ilk that crawls about Middle Earth?"
"On the contrary." Gothmog strode forward, motioning for Morgoth to follow him. As he did, Frerin grabbed Bilba's arm and pulled her up as well.
"I don't want to be caught in here alone with Azog," he said under his breath to her. "We might both end up tripping and following Saruman."
Bilba nodded and the two of them followed the two creatures out of the cave and onto the short ledge they'd initially been dropped off on. As they walked out the multitude of orcs below, as if summoned, turned as one and began to cheer their appearance. The sound was incredibly loud, echoing and reverberating about them until it was little more than a mindless roar.
"I was thinking," Gothmog announced to a visibly surprised Morgoth, "I would have Middle Earth come to me, and then utterly destroy them."
"Perhaps you did not waste your time as much as I had thought," Morgoth allowed. He raised an eyebrow. "Are you so sure they will come?"
For the first time since Morgoth had awakened, Gothmog turned and looked directly at Frerin and Bilba.
"Oh, yes," he breathed, "they will come.
