Right, the next attempt. Apparently something went wrong with this site, because it turns out that although I published this Sunday, people couldn't actually see it. I've tried several times since, but no luck. It looks as though things might be back to normal now, so here goes 'll get two chapters at once, last Sunday's and yesterday's. Provided that it actuallys shows up this time.

Obviously, if you can see it now, it worked at last.

Happy reading!


Chapter 122

The Final Farewell

So, let me recap the war in the North for you just briefly. The forces of the Free Folk Alliance were on the run. Everyone called it a retreat and yes, it was too orderly to be called an all-out flight, but they were on the run. The wounded caravan had reached Erebor. Some stragglers were still making their way through the gates, but on the morning of the fifth of March most of them had indeed made it to safety. By that time the main army itself was not all that far behind. They were in one hell of a hurry, because the general idea was that it was probably best to be somewhere behind walls when the orcs came knocking.

Sound reasoning. Who can blame them?

Thranduil had alerted Jack to these latest developments and he in turn made sure to have his army ready. I don't think anyone who knows anything about military matters would be greatly cheered by the sight of this force, but no one could fault them for their willingness to stand up and do their duty. Jack had them posted on the battlements and at the gates, armed and ready for action. Wounded warriors too hurt to fight handed them better weapons than the second-hand and second-rate ones they had used thus far.

Then they waited.

The orcs meanwhile were in no great hurry, as the rescue party had just discovered. Why would they be? They had their enemies right where they wanted them. Everything was going swimmingly for them for once. More than that, they also had that vastly annoying King under the Mountain, who had made life so very difficult for them. Of course, if our rescuers had anything to say about it, they just didn't have him for much longer…

Elvaethor

It was a sight that would send many a soul into the waiting arms of despair that met Elvaethor's eyes. The tent itself was dimly lit, though that by itself was no obstacle to an elf. Dáin, next to him, was having trouble. Elvaethor almost envied him his temporary oblivion.

He was not so blessed. His sharp senses were more a curse to him, because he could see all that had been done to his chosen brother in far too much detail. Thoren lay on the ground, not even tied up. It looked as though the orcs had thrown him to the ground and he had not moved since. He was too weak to move, too weak to even regain consciousness, but that had not stopped the orcs.

There was blood everywhere.

Chief among his injuries was a wide and far too deep cut along his throat. An injury such as that would have caused a man or even an elf to bleed out within minutes, but Aulë had made his children to endure and so Thoren had indeed endured. He must have lost too much blood, but he had survived to this moment. He must have wounds elsewhere as well to account for the stains on his clothes, but those at least were obscured from sight.

Thoren's face was pale, a pale that was almost grey. Elvaethor had lived long and he had fought in many a battle. More folk had died before his eyes than he cared to remember and yet remember them he did. All of them had looked like that, some only after the life had already left their bodies. And yet Thoren's chest still rose and fell with his breathing. It was rapid and shallow, but he breathed.

He lives. The relief was so powerful that it almost made it impossible to remain upright. He lives. This was one tale that was not yet done. There was hope here still.

Tauriel wasted no time. She hastened to his side and put a hand on his forehead. 'Thoren, can you hear me?'

There was no response.

He is far gone. The relief made way for dread. It chilled him to the bone. Saving Thoren's life would be a challenge even if he had him in the healing rooms of Erebor or Mirkwood. Here, surrounded by enemies, in a place so filthy that even rats would not dare to tread and no time for treatment, it was even harder. Impossible even perhaps.

'We must be gone from here,' said Dáin, saving Elvaethor the need to speak the words.

Tauriel rose to her feet. 'He cannot be moved.'

He must.

Dáin knew this as well. 'If we do not shift, lass, then the orcs will find us and all of this will have been in vain. He'd not want that.'

Surely Tauriel knew this, but something about Dáin's words rubbed her the wrong way. 'How would you know what he'd want?' she demanded, rising to her feet. 'You, who barely accepts his authority? You, who runs from foes that he will stand against and fight? What do you know of his mind and heart?'

Dáin did a step back, as though she had physically laid hands on him. Something blazed in his eyes too, dark. It was only a moment and then it was gone, but it chilled Elvaethor to see it. 'I took an oath,' he said. 'Thoren is my King. That ought to suffice.'

'It does,' said Elvaethor before his sister could speak. 'Peace, Tauriel. We are on the same side here.'

Tauriel opened her mouth to speak, then changed her mind and closed it again. 'Very well.'

'We must carry him back to the horses and then ride for Erebor as though Morgoth himself is at our heels.' It was time they were gone from this place. Every moment they lingered was another moment the orcs could find them. And with every heartbeat Thoren's grip on life weakened.

He is dying.

He pushed that thought away. 'Tauriel, keep your bow at the ready,' he ordered. Of the two of them, she was the better shot. 'I shall carry him. Do you trust me to do so?'

This time there was no hesitation. 'I do.'

Dáin unsheathed his blade. 'I will go first, to clear our way.' It was not a question and no one argued.

Thoren moaned again when Elvaethor lifted him into his arms, but he did not wake. The dirty bandages that the orcs had applied fell away in the movement. This gave him a good long look at the mess that was Thoren's throat. The wound looked deep and, unsurprisingly, inflamed. Thoren's skin was hot and clammy.

He is burning up.

'Hold on, brother,' he whispered. 'Your life is not worthless. Live.'

This dwarf was worthy of life. Like his parents before him he shone so brightly that nothing quite compared. There was a bravery in him and a selflessness that had become increasingly rare in the world. For almost two ages he looked among his own people for something like this. He had never found it. His people had grown complacent until this war had shaken them up once more. It was Thoren who called the Council and answered the threat.

This was where it had led him.

Dáin was the first to leave the tent. He looked left and right. 'Nothing,' he announced.

Something about this did not sit easy with him. His senses said nothing to contradict what Dáin told him and yet the creeping sense of unease would not leave him be. This rescue had been too easy. Yes, it was well possible that the orcs had recognised the fact that Thoren was dying. They had tossed him aside like waste that they had no further use for. And yet they had gone to great lengths to capture him and use him.

Where are the guards?

There were none. Dáin kept a weather eye out, as did Tauriel. Neither of them found anything to alarm them. The camp was still asleep, or as asleep as the camps of these abominations of life could ever be. Further to the east a fight had apparently broken out. Insults were called – he learned a few that he had not known before – blades were drawn and tents and carts were inadvertently overturned and smashed up as they got in the way of orcs killing and maiming each other.

'They are distracted,' Tauriel told Dáin, whose ears might not have picked up these things.

He scowled at her. 'I've got none of your fancy elvish hearing, lass, but neither am I deaf. They're making enough ruckus to wake the dead. We could blast a trumpet and they'd fail to notice.'

For the time being that was true enough. With all this taking place the Nazgûl would have little choice but to go and sort it out. He had not sensed their foul magic yet either. Had they truly grown so arrogant that they did indeed believe that they could not be harmed? If so, they were about to learn a lesson that they would not soon forget.

If not, then what have we failed to see?

They retraced their steps out of camp. Still they were not challenged. They encountered no orcs, none that were awake at any rate. They lay sleeping in tents or on the ground where they had decided to stop. None woke when they passed. It was almost as though a spell was upon them from which they could not seem to wake.

Thoren was a dead weight in his arms throughout their escape. He made no more sounds and he did not move. His life was hanging by the thinnest of threads, pulled taut. One pull would sever it entirely. Yet still he breathed. Still his heart beat.

Thank you, Aulë, for crafting your children to be so strong. Had he known that a time would come that they needed to be as strong and durable as the rock from which they were hewn? Had Aulë shown foresight in the design of the dwarves? Had he known that the world would grow so cold and cruel that the dwarves would need to be as they were, strong and stubborn and indomitable? The power of the rings had never corrupted them as it had the men. They survived injuries that would have killed any man or elf. Then they healed and they threw themselves back into the fray.

If Thoren lived long enough, this is what he would do.

But you will not fight alone again. It was his great regret that he had not been with Thoren when he was taken. His injury pained him still, but he could bear the pain. The foul magic that sapped his strength and took his courage had been taken away from him. He could breathe, he could move. There was strength in his arms. That was all he truly needed to see him through.

They made the journey to the horses unnoticed. It would not do to linger here either, but at the very least they were obscured from sight for a little while.

'We must leave soon,' said Dáin. 'I mislike the notion of that army between us and Erebor.'

So did Elvaethor. As much as he would like to stay and treat Thoren's wounds here, it would avail them nothing if they did not stay ahead of the orcs. It was in the healing rooms of Erebor that he could do his work, not here.

'Five minutes,' he decreed. 'Then we must depart.'

Tauriel bristled a little, but common sense overruled her anger. She was no fool, but she was worried, as they all were. It clouded her judgement, Elvaethor feared.

'Keep an eye out,' he charged Dáin when no reply appeared to be forthcoming. 'My sister and I will do what we can for him in the time that we have.' He turned to Tauriel. 'His throat is our most pressing concern.'

It was the most dangerous threat to his life. The orcs had inexpertly bandaged it with bandages that had most likely not been washed for a very long time, if ever, so all the dirt and blood from previous wearers had entered Thoren's body and weakened him even further. Elvaethor spent most of their remaining water supply on cleaning it out as best he could.

Thoren felt the hurt, because he moved under their ministrations. He did not regain consciousness as such, but he tried to move away from the pain. Tauriel held him down, speaking words of comfort that like as not he did not hear. There was not much more that he could do here, but he had brought some supplies and clean bandages that he applied with as much care as he could in his haste.

He is in your hands, Aulë, he thought. I have done all that I could for him. As soon as they reached Erebor there were things he could do, but Erebor was a day's hard ride away. Thoren might not have that long. His pulse was weak and still he had not woken.

'They hit him on the head with a club,' Tauriel reported unbidden. Her fingers combed through Thoren's hair in search of the exact place. 'The skin is not broken, but the flesh is swollen and I fear what this blow may have done to his skull.' And the brain underneath.

'It must wait,' Dáin said. 'Our time is up.'

She rounded on him again. 'I can tell the time myself, Master Dwarf. We have two minutes left.'

At long last she had riled him properly. 'I may not have been blessed with your elvish sight or hearing, but neither am I blind. There's a lot of movement in that camp. It will not be long before they will have eyes everywhere to complicate our escape. It won't be long either before they'll discover that Thoren's gone. I should prefer to be long gone when they do.'

Tauriel was not to be dissuaded. 'As you did during the Battle on the Hill.'

The world held its breath as those words hung in the air. They had been spoken. They could not be unspoken. The silence lingered and gathered weight as it went. Dáin and Tauriel looked each other in the eyes. Neither looked away.

From the distance the sounds of a camp waking up and breaking up drifted to their small sanctuary. Dáin was right; their time had indeed run out. This was not the time for quarrelling among themselves. If Thoren were awake, he'd be the first to remind them.

Elvaethor broke the impasse and did so in Thoren's stead. 'This behaviour only aids our Enemy,' he said. 'We are all on the same side. Let that suffice for now.'

Dáin spoke, eyes on Tauriel: 'I did not stand then, it is true. I shan't deny it. I will stand now.'

The silence lasted for a few moments longer.

'Tauriel…' Elvaethor admonished.

She nodded. 'Very well. Let us be gone.' In all of this she still had yet to avert her eyes. 'Make no mistake, Lord Dáin, I have no great liking for you, nor do I trust in your courage.' Dáin opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off before he could say a word: 'Yet I have faith in your word. That will suffice.'

Dáin nodded once.

'I shall hold on to Thoren,' Elvaethor announced. Enough time had been wasted. 'Tauriel, have your bow ready. Lord Dáin, swords may be called for before we see friendly faces once more.' The noises from the camp increased in volume. 'When we ride, we shall be seen.'

Everything was against them. The horses had not nearly rested long enough and they'd not be able to make as much speed with Thoren in his present state at any rate. Yet what choice had they?

They mounted up again. Elvaethor hoisted himself into the saddle – he took care to mask his pain when he did so; his shoulder was by no means healed – and took Thoren's motionless body from Tauriel. Worry etched lines into her forehead that he had not seen there before.

'Take care of him,' she charged him.

Elvaethor nodded. 'He is my brother.'

Dáin arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. Whatever opinions he had, this was not the time to speak of them. He merely took the reins of his own horse – he was just tall enough to ride one without difficulty – and pointed it in the right direction. Elvaethor took his cue from him. He made sure that Thoren was secure enough in the saddle before him – there'd be nothing he could contribute in any other way – and took the reins. Tauriel mounted up as well.

'Ride hard and fast for Erebor,' Elvaethor reminded them. 'We cannot stop.' In the distance the tell-tale shriek of the Nazgûl indicated that Thoren's absence had been noticed. Before long the orcs would be everywhere. 'Ride!'

Then they rode out as behind them the hue and cry went up.

Beth

'Gandalf!' Bloody hell, but that wizard walked fast. 'Gandalf! Wait up!'

At last he heard her and he did indeed stop. Beth, who had been trying to track him down for the better part of the morning, weaved her way through the many soldiers on the street and finally caught up with him near a ruined house at the very end.

'Bloody hell, you walk as though there's an orc with a whip behind you.' Even as she said it she realised that any orc foolish enough to try to whip someone as powerful as Gandalf was unlikely to be blessed with long life, but that was neither here nor there. 'Can I have a moment of your time please?'

He inclined his head. 'I have many calls on my time,' he reminded her.

'I know.' Did he think she did not know that? No one could afford to be idle today of all days. So she made sure that she wasn't, but this was something that could not wait. 'It won't take a minute. In private, please.'

Gandalf clearly had no idea what to make of all of this, but Beth was not about to disclose secret information at street corners, because by the end of the day, all of Minas Tirith would know and that was not exactly helpful. So she drew him into the house and led him to the very back. It must have been a nice and well-kept house before the war, but now the inside was blackened because of all the fires, the furniture was charcoal and the roof had come down. She had to step over the rubble to get to where she wanted to go.

'What is this about?' Gandalf asked.

'The Fellowship,' she answered. That should set his priorities straight.

It did. 'Very well.'

'I have no idea where they are right now.' She'd tried to calculate based on the book's timeline and Faramir's account of when he had seen them last, but it remained a sketchy picture at best. It had far too many holes and what-ifs in it. 'But I think they're in Mordor right now.'

She'd gone over it again and again. They had to be. It had been ten days since the Fellowship left Osgiliath if her calculations were correct. During all that time the Enemy had been busy trying to conquer Gondor. On top of that he believed that the Fellowship was no more and that Faramir had the Ring. The Fellowship should have had a relatively unobstructed path.

Unless one counts Shelob, in which case delete that.

'They have passed beyond my gaze,' Gandalf said.

Beth took that as good news, so she barrelled on: 'Well, once all is said and done, they're going to need to get out.'

This bit she had been thinking about long and hard as well, most of it last night. Tired as she was, she had only snatched a few hours of sleep before her mind gave up on the idea entirely. Now that this battle was over, she really needed to start planning ahead again. So she had.

As in so far possible.

It had not been in any way an encouraging exercise. Much of the book had become irrelevant, so she had to work with the little that she did know for certain. According to Faramir Thráin had told him about a very large army that was moving north. It had left Mordor about a month ago – he was unable to be more precise, because the information had only come to him second hand – so it should be near Erebor and absolutely nowhere near Mordor. Those were orcs that were supposed to be in Mordor for the next battle, only now they were not.

Would there even be another battle?

At this stage of the game she had no idea, but it seemed a little unlikely, which in turn made it seem a little unlikely that the eagles were going to show up. This realisation had driven all thoughts of sleep from her mind, because bloody, bleeding hell, how had she managed to overlook something of this magnitude? So she had left a note for Boromir – who unlike her was sleeping like the dead after the days he'd had – telling him that she was going off to talk to Gandalf and that she'd see him later. Fast forward to five – five! – hours later and she had finally found him.

'Does your book not have a solution to this?' Gandalf asked, not unkindly. 'You said once that the ending was happy.'

Which, yes, implied that the Fellowship wasn't meant to die on the slopes of Mount Doom, but Beth and Boromir, not to mention Thráin, had thrown out the rulebook when they decided that they knew better. Most of the time that had worked out relatively well.

'Well, yes,' Beth said. 'But according to the text there's supposed to be another battle before the Black Gates, only with the force that's gone north – because that was not in the book – I don't think Sauron might have any orcs left to fight, to be honest.' It should be a good thing. It probably was. Mostly. 'The eagles would show up for that battle and then the Ring got destroyed when all that was going on, so the eagles went and picked them up.' Something told her she could have phrased this all a little more eloquently on a little more sleep. Chance would be a fine thing. 'So, you see my problem.' She hoped.

Understandably Gandalf needed a little time to decode this little speech, but he got the gist of it eventually. 'What do you suggest?'

O… kay. That was right; she was the advisor. Of late so much of the actual planning had been Boromir's work, but goodness knew where he was, so now people actually went and asked her what to do. 'Can you contact them?' she asked, hoping very hard that the answer was yes. 'In some sort of wizardry way?'

He arched an eyebrow at her.

So Beth hastened to make sure that he did not in fact take offence at what she said: 'I wouldn't know how and I am not content to let them die in Mordor when the deed is done. The eagles flying them out seems like the best option we have, because Mordor is not going to be the place to be.' She gathered her courage and looked him right in the eye. 'So can you?'

The silence lingered for a moment too long for her liking, but then he smiled. 'They should already be on their way.'

That threw her for a loop for a moment. 'Oh.' She tried to rearrange her thought. 'You…'

'You are not the only one who has our friends in their mind, Beth,' Gandalf reminded her.

And that brought on the guilt, because for some time she hadn't spent much time thinking about their Fellowship at all. There had been all the crises to deal with here, so she had left the worrying about the Ring and its bearers in Thráin's hopefully capable hands. She disagreed vehemently with some of the decisions her cousin made, but he had got them this far. They were beyond her reach.

She settled for: 'Good. That's good.'

He nodded. 'Was there anything else?'

Right. He had pressing demands on his time. Beth probably would have too the moment she volunteered her services, such as they were, at the Houses of Healing, but for the time being her time was still her own. There was one more matter she needed to address before she threw herself into this. She had put it off for far too long.

'Just one thing.' She took a deep breath and said it: 'It's long past time for me to write my goodbyes and send them home. If I write them today, can you send them off?'

Beth meant to sound brisk and business-like and failed miserably at both. By the end of her request her voice was wobbly and her eyes were burning. This shouldn't be so hard. She had resigned herself to this. The choice was made. All that was left to do was to seal it in such a way that there really was no way back. With her rational mind she knew that there had not been a way back for months, but this made it final at last.

Good God, what am I doing? What have I become?

She turned her head away so that he would not see the tears. She could not stop them. How can I give them all up like this? The Andrews in her reared its ugly head and urged her to run as fast as she could to a place where life was simpler. The realist reminded her that there really was no place in either of the worlds she knew that was truly like that. Life was ugly and messy.

But not usually this ugly or messy.

'You have paid a heavy price for the work you have done,' Gandalf observed. His voice was pensive and compassionate, so she looked up to him at last. Bugger the tears. He'd probably seen them anyway.

Common decency dictated that she was fair at least. 'I know you did what you had to.' Or what he thought he had to, which was not quite the same thing. 'But yes, there is a price to pay.' If she had been anything like Kate – still trying to fool yourself, Andrews? – then she would have been very quick to remind him that he owed her for life because of this. Her choices may have borne an uncomfortable resemblance to Kate's recently, but Beth still fancied that she was a bit more decent on the whole. 'So I am asking you, will you send my letter home?' She had a better grip on her voice again.

'I shall come and find you at your quarters in two hours,' Gandalf promised.

A weight fell off her shoulders. That was one relief, because it moved to her chest instead. This was it. This really was it. In two hours she would sign her entire old life away. It would all be gone.

It was already gone, Andrews. Grow up.

'Thank you,' she said and meant it. 'I'll… eh… go and write then.'

She turned on her heel with every intention of getting out of here as quickly as she could, but Gandalf called her back. 'Miss Andrews.'

Beth turned back again. 'Yes?'

'You have done well,' he said. 'I thank you for your service.'

Beth did not say anything along the lines of you're welcome or my pleasure, because that would be a lie. What his recognition did was to give her a slight measure of satisfaction. She still felt that on the whole she had not done as much as she could have done, but she had saved lives just by being in the right place at the right time. She was married to the living and breathing evidence of it.

The actual act of writing her farewells was done all too quickly. She had not written letters to her family on the go as Kate had done, but she had kept notes and half-written drafts. She'd known for some weeks now that she wasn't going back home. While there had not been an abundance of time for letter-writing, she had scribbled ideas down. If she put them all together, she had a functional letter with a start, middle and conclusion, as every good piece of text should have.

As usual, the emotions took a little longer to get right. The facts of her story she could manage just fine. Facts were easy. They had not always been easy to face up to in the moment itself, but when all was said and done she could recount them without troubles. They were facts. They did not go away by avoiding them or wishing that they did not exist.

Emotions were another kettle of fish entirely. How did one convey all the regret and heartache and love in words? That was not the sort of writing that she usually did. She felt all of these things so strongly that she almost feared she was falling apart at the seams, but they were bottled up inside with no way out. The words she did pen down looked awkward and stilted even to her own eyes.

Mary always saw through me, she knew. Dad too. Won't they know even if I mess this up?

By this time she was sitting at the desk in Boromir's room, where the hustle and bustle of a city cleaning up after a major battle was oddly hushed. It was almost a world apart. I am hovering between the two, saying goodbye to one and not actively participating in the other. She glanced at her watch. But not for much longer.

So she picked up her pen again and wrote down all that she felt. Stop worrying about the words, Andrews, for once in your life. Just write.

As most things, it became easier now that she was actually doing it. The resistance was greatest when she was still fighting to bring herself to do it in the first place. This was not the time to overthink. There'd been more than enough of that.

I love you, she wrote at the end. I love you so much. Beth.

It looked woefully inadequate, but fortunately Gandalf stepped in to save her from herself. Her time was up, signified by a knock on the door. A white wizard was not someone she could just summon into the room with a casual 'Enter!' so she got up and opened the door for him to let him in.

'Thank you,' she said and meant it. This time she also managed to make it sound that way.

'Have you written your letter?' he asked.

Beth took a deep breath and nodded. It was all done. She had written her account of what had happened to her since the time she drove to Bristol to meet with the elusive G. Grey to the present time. It seemed to her that a lifetime had passed since that time. She had seen and done so much. She had travelled across Middle Earth, she had learned to fight, she had learned to love again. And now she lost.

She had added the memory card with the video of her wedding and her farewell and now it was all done. 'I just need to tie it all together.'

Gandalf reached into his sleeve – what did he keep in there? – and pulled out a plain wooden box. The only ornament was the white tree of Gondor carved into the lid. Way to drive the message home.

'Snatched off a table as you were passing by?' she inquired sarcastically before she could stop herself.

To her relief he took it well; he smiled. 'Yes, Miss Andrews. It was currently not in use.'

It would be again. Beth held out her hands.

He didn't give it to her immediately. 'It will require careful handling, Beth,' he said. 'Who do you want to send it to?'

Beth took a moment to consider this. 'My sister Mary,' she said at last. She was, all things considered, perhaps the person best equipped to deal with this. She could roll with the punches in a way most of her family could not.

Gandalf held out his hand over the box and muttered some words she did not understand. Nothing happened. Well, nothing happened that she could see. 'Press your hand against the tree and the box with whatever it contains will go to her. If your family do the same in their world, the box will return to you.'

It took her half a minute to realise what he was telling her. Then her mouth dropped open. 'You mean…?'

'Yes.'

'I can communicate with them?' Tears burned her eyes again, but this time for all the right reasons. 'Really?'

Gandalf smiled at her. She fancied he looked a little regretful. 'Even wizards can learn from their mistakes, Elizabeth.'

She threw all caution to the wind and hugged him. 'Thank you! Thank you!'

He froze under her touch for a moment, but then returned the gesture. Small wonder he had to get used to this; Kate had not been the hugging type. 'You are most welcome, Beth.'

This is not the end. I am not giving them up entirely. The sense of loss was still there, but for the moment the elation that she didn't lose them all forever overrode all else. She let go of Gandalf, added a very excited post script to her letter, boxed it all up and closed the lid.

Here goes nothing.

She pressed her hand against the carving.

The box disappeared into thin air.

It's done.


Next time: Nothing goes right. Everyone is going to be very miserable from here on in. Apologies in advance.

Thank you so much for reading. Reviews of course would make me so very happy.