Chapter 127

Awakening

I can almost hear my readers ask: but what about Thoren? What has happened to him? Why have you not mentioned him? And yes, I shall fully admit that this is something I might have paid some more attention to. But I have not.

There is a very good reason for that. Thoren had not regained full consciousness since the orcs had knocked him out at the parley. This was a blessing for him, because orcs usually do not care if their victim is conscious or indeed alive when they mistreat them. For an orc simply the act of abusing something or someone is its own reward. This kind of vile behaviour is what invigorates them, even more so when their victim is one they hate. Thoren was at the top of their hit list. The only reason why he had not been killed was that the Nazgûl had been very explicit in telling their minions that they were not allowed to kill him. Evidently they still believed that they could use him.

Thoren was unconscious for all of that. Even with the Nazgûl's orders he might have perished on his own without further encouragement in that direction if he had received no help. Yet help had come, but the rough ride back to Erebor did little to speed up his recovery. It was therefore probably best that he did not consciously experience that trip either.

Once behind the safe walls of Erebor he was swiftly whisked away to the healing rooms where he was surrounded and worked on by at least a dozen healers, one of whom was the Lady Galadriel. It was quite the challenge they faced. Thoren had been beaten and cut and stabbed. They'd held burning pieces of wood and hot steel against his skin. Fortunately for him he was too far gone to know much about it, but the damage remained.

I have no idea what the Lady did. I have no idea what any of the other healers did, but it was a challenge comparable with several of Hercules's labours all at once. The fact that he survived that ordeal is nothing short of the biggest miracle of the century. No one expected that he'd pull through, least of all Thoren himself.

Dwarves are made of strong stuff and Thoren, I suspect, was hewn from the strongest granite there was. It did not matter what the world threw at him. Somehow he always survived. That is not to say that it was not a very close thing this time. It was. Throughout the night they fought for his life. They fought and they won. By morning his prospects were much improved. Healers said that he might live after all. With Jack already dead, this was a huge relief to everyone involved.

Thoren had no idea of course. Jack had fought and suffered and died while he still lay unconscious, fighting for his own life. He never knew. And he was about to wake up to a very unpleasant surprise indeed…

Thoren

It was the absence of pain that drew him to the surface at last. For an eternity he had dwelled in a shadowy world where he could not feel the pain as keenly. He had come close to the surface several times before, but had always let himself sink away again. Death was a long time coming, but he could be patient. It could not be long.

Now the pain was gone at last.

It stood to reason that this meant that he had finally departed his life for the afterlife. Everyone always agreed that pain was something that belonged to the world of the living. It had no place beyond that. All hurts and cares would simply fall away as though they had never been.

Having said that, he had always envisioned as entering this state of being on his own two feet rather than from a bed. Even before he opened his eyes he felt that he was lying on a bed, a good one at that. The mattress was firm, but comfortable, the pillow offered good support for the head and the blankets that covered him were comfortably warm. In the distance a fire crackled in the hearth. It spoke of safety and home.

For him the war was over.

It was as though a weight fell off his shoulders. For much of the past year his every waking thought had been taken up by the war. He had prepared and he had fought. All the effort in the world could not have held back the forces of Mordor, but he could hope that Thráin had used the time wisely.

It might all be over now.

It was however no longer a concern of his. Yes, his heart grieved for those he left behind. He did not go without regrets. How he longed for Tauriel and the chance to live the life that was now denied to them. How he longed to hold his loved ones and see their faces. How he had longed to live the days of peace again. Being King under the Mountain had not always been easy. His days had often been filled with complaining folk and scheming diplomats, but there was always time to be found to spend in the forges or on the training fields. There had been time to go for a ride or a drink with his nearest and dearest. There had been time to mind his nephews and enjoy their company.

Yet kingship was also a burden, one he had not quite realised the weight of until he could put it down at last. This was Thráin's duty now, his load to bear. It was his destiny in a way that it had never truly been Thoren's.

Then he opened his eyes and reconsidered what he knew to be true.

Somehow he doubted that the halls of his fathers would bear such a striking resemblance to the healing rooms of Erebor. He knew this room. It was the place where Elvaethor had healed after his capture by the Easterlings, the place where Cilmion had attempted to break in to silence Elvaethor for good. This was where Jack and he had fought him off. It was where the scar on his face came from.

He was home.

Not dead.

The burden crashed back on his shoulders, heavy as the Mountain itself. This was not over.

Many other things were also not over and the sight that met his eyed gladdened his heart. Tauriel sat in the chair by his bedside, slumped forward so that her head rested on the mattress next to where his hand lay. It appeared as though exhaustion had at last caught up to her and staying awake was a challenge that she could no longer meet. This was so rare for an elf as to be almost unheard of.

Perhaps Aunt Thora has given her a sleeping potion.

Now that awareness had returned to him he had to admit that not all the pain had gone. It was most assuredly dulled, but it was not gone. It manifested itself in his throat most of all. That one he could not lay at the door of the orcs. He had inflicted this one on himself, for all the good that had done. Yet there were a multitude of other aches and pains that he could not determine the cause of. He had no memory of the pain shooting up his left leg or the unwelcome sensation of a few broken ribs.

What has happened?

And, another equally important question: How did I come to be here?

He had no memory of any of these things.

Loath as he was to wake Tauriel, it seemed best to let her know that he had re-joined the waking world. He made to sit up to do so and found that he was too weak. His body simply refused to obey his commands. He rose a few inches before his strength gave out and so het let himself fall back against the pillow.

He did however achieve his aim. The motion, small and insignificant though it was, woke her. She sat up in one fluent motion, hand reaching for her dagger as though by instinct. She blinked, then her eyes settled on him. The most beautiful, open look appeared on her face when she realised that he was awake.

'Thoren!'

He found that smiling was something he did have the strength for. His longing for the end of his burdens did not quite evaporate, but it faded. This was one thing that he had been reluctant to leave. Now it appeared that he had not lost it at all.

She took his hand and pressed a kiss on it. 'Not so long ago you promised me that you would not go where I could not follow,' she said, reproach in the words, but not in her voice. 'And then you were almost lost to me.'

'I apologise.' His voice was hoarse with disuse. The sound was croaky and not nearly as loud as he had meant. But speech was not beyond him as it had been the last time he had laid eyes on her. The memory of that day flashed before his eyes and then was gone again. Against all the odds he had returned home alive.

'Do not,' she said. 'We always knew the dangers. You did not go where I could not follow you. You were taken from me, so we followed you and took you back to where you belong. Your place is not among the dead, my love, not for many a year.'

His heart performed a little dance at hearing those two words. He wondered if her sharper hearing could detect it. It was all still new and fragile, but he had survived and she had come for him.

His unexpected survival gave him the courage he needed to finally ask her the question in a more or less proper manner: 'Will you wed me?'

Her head snapped up.

So he elaborated: 'We have spoken before of a future after the war. I cannot promise you such a future, but I would ask your company for however many days we may yet live.' Caution had gained them nothing. It had only left him with regret. Was it not better to have lived and loved than to never attempt it out of fear? Was that not the reason why he had allowed himself to love her in the first place? 'Will you wed me, my love?'

Nearly dying had put his priorities straight. Aye, there was still the war to consider and as soon as he could stand on his feet again, he would go and fight it. But there was this also. New and fragile and somewhat undefined, but he knew where his heart lay. It lay in her keeping. They had spoken of her living in the same space that he occupied. Yes, that implied marriage, but caution had made him hold his tongue. He had not asked that one final question.

He asked it now.

Many emotions flashed across her face, but they ended in a smile that could have driven Sauron's dark clouds from the skies. 'Yes,' she said. 'Surely you know that.'

He had known it. 'I had not asked it. I have been remiss in that.' He held her hand in his and relished the feeling that soon he need not let it go ever again. 'I only seek to rectify that oversight now before the chance to do so slips through my fingers again.'

'It shall not,' she said simply. The smile slid from her face. A sorrowful expression took its place. 'Yet there is something you must know.'

The words did not bode well. He did not know what she was about to say, but her words would spoil the mood. 'Must we speak of sorrowful things yet?' He would not evade them if they crossed his path, but a few more moments of respite did not now seem so unreasonable to him.

'This cannot wait.' She was adamant. 'Thoren, do you have any recall at all of the time until you woke here today?'

He searched his memory and came up empty. Those times when he had been close to the surface mostly consisted of pain and agony. He'd been glad to flee back into unconsciousness again. He had chosen not to feel and see and hear and smell.

'None,' he admitted, growing ever more worried for what she was not yet telling him. This joy had been short-lived.

'It was almost too easy to find and take you,' Tauriel said. 'We were only three in number: Dáin, Elvaethor and myself.' She noted that Thoren's eyebrows jumped up to his hairline – yet another thing he could do without hurting himself – at the mention of Dáin's name and nodded. 'I did not approve at the time and I confronted him. He came regardless. He acquitted himself well.'

He had not yet forgotten that there was bad news that she was convinced he needed to hear. Dáin's presence did not classify as such. Maker be good, what has happened? Evidently the Mountain had not fallen, but something had gone awry. Who has died? Surely it must be that. 'Does Elvaethor live?' Who else could she mean?

'My brother is alive and unhurt,' she assured him, but it did not escape his notice that she did say "unhurt" instead of "well" as the common phrase was. Maker be good.

'What happened?'

'The hue and cry went up shortly after we reached the horses,' Tauriel narrated. 'We determined that it was best to make sure we reached Erebor ahead of the forces of Mordor. Yet we had ridden throughout the night and our horses had rested only a short while before we urged them to haste again. We could not avoid detection, so we put our hopes in speed instead and that so nearly failed us. Erebor was within our sight when they at last caught up with us. Then Dáin spoke. He said: "I shall stand and buy you what time I may." He halted his horse and stood, as he had promised. Yet even then we would have died before the gates had it not been for our friends and allies rushing to our aid.' She met his eyes and read the answer there almost before she said it: 'It was your brother Jack who led them.'

He bowed his head and cared not for the pain this caused. Now he knew.

'I am sorry, my love,' she said. She held his hand a little tighter. 'Jack gave his own horse to Elvaethor to see both him and you safe. Then he rushed to Dáin's defence. King Brand went with him. As I heard it, they were soon surrounded on all sides, but they never gave in. They stood and fought for an hour.'

The room, which not so long ago had felt warm and inviting, was now cold and cheerless.

Tauriel took his other hand in hers to offer her support in the only way she could. 'He was cut down at last in defence of Brand, only moments before reinforcements reached them, your sister Duria among them.'

At any other time the news that Duria of all people had ventured out onto a battlefield would have given him pause. It failed to elicit any sort of response now. Jack. Jack had been cut down. Worse, he had been cut down in Thoren's defence. Tauriel had not said it. He was sure that she did not even intend it, but such was the truth of the matter. Jack was cut down when he rode out to ensure that Thoren could be saved.

Mahal, I never asked for this. He had not asked for much. Truth be told, before the war he had not prayed often either, but when he had it was always with Jack's well-being in mind. How often had he and his siblings not prayed that Jack may live and find peace? Now those prayers had come to nothing.

'Duria carried him back, but there was nothing the healers could do for him,' Tauriel said, voice barely above a whisper. 'Not even the Lady Galadriel could save him then.'

'I do not blame her.' He truly didn't. This was not one of those instances when anyone could be blamed. Aye, he could rail against Sauron and his generals and against the might of the orcs. What good would it do him now? He could not even blame himself.

Was it because he was too reckless at the last? That had always been their concern. Was it because he abandoned caution for rash action? Jack had often been reckless in life. Maker only knew that it was a miracle that he had lived to be sixty years of age what with the way he carried on sometimes. Yet he had made it this far. He was supposed to be safe in Erebor, where the war could not touch him anymore. Why had he survived being stabbed only to die now? What sense was there?

Was there any at all?

'He was at peace at the last,' Tauriel said. 'In truth, I did not know your brother well, but I've heard it said that he did not go to his death afraid, that he knew where he was headed.'

This should give Thoren peace, but he only felt the loss more keenly. Yes, Jack may have found peace. He had found himself. He knew who he was. These past months he had truly come into his own. After having despised men for so long, he had given his life in defence of one. That alone should speak volumes about his state of mind.

Jack may have found peace, but Thoren found it elusive.

'I am sorry,' she said.

'You have nothing to reproach yourself for,' he said even as the first tears fell from his eyes. 'And I do not hold you to blame for this.' And, because it seemed that it was important that he said this too, he added: 'Nor do I regret the question that I posed to you.' He stood by that, even if he now could not feel the joy.

It turned to ashes in his mouth.

Tauriel nodded. 'Then that knowledge will sustain me.'

He knew now. He could never not know again. And as such he had a duty to fulfil. 'I need to see him.'

Beth

'Beth, why are there Mûmakil in Minas Tirith?'

'Well, that's a bit of a long story.'

She hardly had time for all the things that needed doing, never mind that she had all the time she wanted to bring her brother and sister up to speed. It wasn't only being an advisor that required her to learn on the job. Being the Steward's wife and the only lady in residence came with a whole set of tasks and duties that she had no idea of. From the moment that she had set foot outside the door this morning she had been bombarded with requests and questions, the answers to which she didn't know.

They cling to any sense of normalcy and security, Beth realised. The people of Gondor hadn't had either for a very long time, so now that there was a King in residence and a lady living in the palace they decided that from here on in things must go back to how they were supposed to be. For convenience's sake they forgot that the King was not yet crowned and the lady didn't have any idea what she was doing, so this was not all that it was cracked up to be.

In this Mary was her unexpected ally. Beth may have Opinions on her mothering skills and Mary could be overprotective to the point of distraction, but she was absolutely unflappable in the face of the unexpected. Mary had her own Opinions on Beth's life's choices, but when she found her sister floundering, she stepped in. She had no more knowledge about how to go about this than Beth did, but she could pretend like she had it with a flair that Beth distinctly lacked.

Beth watched what she did and found that most of Mary's secret was to make the people help themselves. Did they need food? Why not try the kitchens? Did they need a healer? Had it occurred to them to seek one out in the Houses of Healing yet? What to do about the rubble in the city? Did they realise that it would all get cleared up so much faster if they made a start on it themselves?

'They're not coming here for answers, Beth,' Mary pointed out over a hasty lunch that had already been interrupted twice. 'They're coming for reassurance and the idea that someone is in charge. They just want to know that it's all going to be all right.'

'Yeah, but we don't know that it's all going to be all right!' Beth protested. Yes, this battle was won, but who knew in how much trouble Thráin was? She didn't. Gandalf didn't. If even the white wizard didn't have a clue, what hopes had the rest of them? And no, she didn't know how to organise a city back into a semblance of order again.

'They don't need to know that, Beth,' Mary explained with all the patience of an adult used to talking to toddlers. 'You see, it's like me talking to Thomas and Lily. They don't need to know it when their world is going to come crashing down, because then they'll only panic. They'll be much calmer if they know that there is an adult working on it and when it's all going to be said and done, they'll be fine.'

That sounded like poppycock and Beth told her so. 'These people are not children.'

'Didn't say they were. But they're a bit lost all the same.' Mary of course refused to be swayed from her course. What else was new? 'So all you need to do is point them in the direction they need to go in anyway and it'll all work out. Deep down they know what they need to do without you telling them. They just want you to tell them. That's all.'

It sounded like gibberish to Beth, but Mary's theory seemed to hold up to scrutiny, so she started taking more of an active role. It was late in the afternoon when the constant stream of people finally dried up and now it was only Peter coming to pester her.

'You're out of people and I have time,' he said. 'So, why are there Mûmakil in the city? No, better question. Why are there Mûmakil and why in heaven's name have they got names painted on them?'

'Well, the names are just to piss of the Haradrim,' Beth replied, starting with the question that was the easiest to answer. 'Apparently they don't name their beasts and since these belong to Gondor now, it seemed a good idea to claim ownership like that, just to rub their noses in it a bit.'

'But how did you get them in the first place?'

Actually, the answer to that one could be relatively simple. 'Thráin.' She had briefly explained who he was, so that was known information, but she hadn't had the time to get started on what he got up to. She'd need a long, long time for that. 'Most people either run away or try to kill them when they see such a giant beast. Not Thráin.' And wasn't that just him in a nutshell?

'I think I'll like him.'

'No doubt you would.'

Peter plopped himself down on the edge of a low wall next to which Mary and Beth had been talking. 'So, the battle's been fought. Shouldn't everyone be getting ready to march on the Black Gates?'

'You know the book's not the gospel, right?' Beth said. In between the many people Peter had occasionally managed to throw in a question of his own. He, unlike the rest of the family, found this a marvellous opportunity. He enjoyed this. From the moment he realised where he was, he had not stopped grinning like a lunatic.

'Still, you said that it usually follows the major points. This is not a small detail.' He was tenacious too. He would have been good at her job, Beth didn't doubt. He could probably quote whole passages of the book at the drop of a hat – not unlike Thráin – and he was actually willing. He'd have jumped at the opportunity.

'We might not need to fight at all,' Beth said. She explained the same thing that she had explained to Gandalf only yesterday – was it only yesterday? It felt like so much longer – about the army the Fellowship had seen that had gone north. 'With the way things stand, most of the remaining orcs might be too busy trying to get the dwarves to submit and if you'd ever met a dwarf, you'd know that was never going to happen anyway.' Not if they were anything like Thráin.

Peter frowned. 'Hold up. Wouldn't that strand the Fellowship in Mordor?'

'Apparently the eagles are already on their way.' She may not be the resident Tolkien expert, but she had learned how to do this job. It had not come to her easily, but she had persevered and she had learned.

And that only happened once I invested in this thing emotionally. She recalled the dream conversation with Kate, who had warned her that this was the case and that trying to wriggle her way out of that was not going to do her the slightest bit of good. Quite frequently Beth wondered lately how much entertainment value Kate got out of watching Beth's antics. No doubt she would have handed out liberal amounts of "I told you so" had she been here to offer her comments in person.

Peter grinned at her. 'Look at you, a Tolkien expert at last. Never thought I'd see the day.'

'Laugh at my misfortune, why don't you?' she grumbled.

Truth be told she was far too relieved to see them. This morning had been the best kind of surprise possible. Once everyone had calmed down and Aragorn and Gandalf had gone to the healers to get their noses seen to, Beth had sat them down to give them an account of the past months. It took some sinking in, especially for her parents, but they couldn't deny that they were no longer where they were a few hours ago, ergo it must be true. It was just the figuring out what next part that would take some time. Her parents had gone to bed shortly after. They'd been up all night and they were not as young as they used to be.

So here she was with Mary and Peter and somehow being here with them made being in Minas Tirith feel more surreal. Beth had begun to integrate. To people who did not know better she belonged here. She was Boromir's wife after all and they knew him. Now here was her otherworldly family to give the lie to the story they'd told all along.

'Would you mind if I took a look at your notes?' Peter asked. 'I might see something you've missed.'

'Be my guest,' she said, knowing that no matter how much of an expert he was, that there was nothing in those notes that could give him any sort of certainty. Beth had tried that way and found it unsatisfactory. 'I wouldn't mind a second pair of eyes.'

It didn't really matter anyway. The battle was done. Thanks to Thoren, the cousin she'd never even met, there might not be another. My job here is done. It wasn't over yet, but the task of making sure that everything went according to plan was out of her hands now. It was up to Thráin to see this thing through to the bitter end.

They could only wait.

'Oh my!' Mary had not taken part in the conversation for a little while now and now Beth understood why; her eyes had been on the eastern sky.

Shit, Beth thought, rising to her feet. She scoured the skies and found three dots in the air and, unless her eyesight really was going, approaching. Then she swore out loud.

'What?' Mary demanded. 'And Beth, language!'

Someone ought to tell her to get her priorities straight. Beth set out to do so: 'There's still three Nazgûl we haven't been able to account for,' she told her sister. 'Three went North, three came here. We have no idea where the other three are, but it would not be that unthinkable that they are currently heading here.'

'Alone?' Mary remained unconvinced.

'You haven't seen what they can do.' Beth did and desperately wished she could forget. She never wanted to feel that cold despair again in her life. Already it had begun to haunt her dreams. 'You don't want them here.'

'These are not the Nazgûl, Elizabeth.'

Bloody elves. Did they just drop out of thin air when no one was looking? The longer she was hanging around this one – and to her frustration she still didn't know which one of Elrond's sons he actually was – the more she began to feel sympathetic to Thráin's way of thinking. This one got involved in everything. And he was so quiet on his feet that she never heard him until he was already there.

So she ignored him as best she could. Instead she squinted her eyes to try and see better. The dots moved fast enough to be Nazgûl, but now that she knew they were not – the elf might be an obnoxious kidnapper enabler, but she didn't think he was a liar – she had a good suspicion of what they might be instead.

Peter saw it first. 'Eagles.'

Yes, they were, three of them. And that was a relief, no mistake. It also was not a big surprise. Had Gandalf not just told her yesterday that they were already en route? And now here they were, showing up like he'd promised.

They weren't coming from the north, like she would have expected. Instead they were coming from the east. Had they gone to Mordor to see what there was to see? It'd be a bold and daring move, but perhaps that was how these creatures worked.

Peter shook his head and then looked at her. 'Beth, what are they doing here?' He sounded utterly confused. 'They're not supposed to be here now. Is this something you did?'

If only. 'I asked Gandalf about them yesterday,' she answered, still pointedly ignoring the elf behind her. Thráin will deal with him in a manner that he deserves. He could do that so much better than Beth ever could, so she refrained. 'He told me that they were already on their way. He doesn't want the Fellowship to get stranded there when all is said and done.'

Would it all get done? Now that Gollum was dead, this whole thing had been turned on its head. Understanding why the Fellowship had little choice but to kill him after his betrayal had made her no less worried about the long term effects. I hope to high heaven that Thráin knows what he's doing.

Well, he's got them into Mordor. He had managed to so a good job so far, so Beth decided that she had little choice but to accept his judgement and hope for the best.

Someone had alerted the resident bigwigs, because Gandalf, Aragorn, Boromir, Faramir and Théodred all came out together. The first two still looked a little the worse for wear and Théodred moved with difficulty, but other than that no one seemed to have been hurt permanently by the encounter of this morning.

So much for small mercies.

Gandalf smiled when he saw who were approaching. He urged them all to give the eagles some space to land and since nobody had the desperate wish to be squashed by a giant bird, this suggestion was heeded with some speed. Mary had reached out for Beth's hand and squeezed it with some force.

'They're not here to hurt us,' Beth reminded her when she started to worry that her sister's firm grip was going to cut off her circulation entirely.

She reached out with her free hand to hold her husband's, because she hadn't seen enough of him since this morning. As happy as she was to have her family here, she still hadn't had sufficient alone time with him and by now it was starting to get on her nerves. How long had it been since Edoras? Almost two weeks?

So she stood when the eagles landed at last. They were nothing like Beth had imagined, although she had not actually tried to imagine that much. They were much bigger than normal eagles for a start. One only had to look at them – and most importantly the giant talons and beak – to make one reconsider wanting to pick a fight with them. Small wonder that their coming had made such a difference to the Battle of the Five Armies eighty years ago. But these were not senseless beasts.

They spoke.

They actually spoke.

They greeted Gandalf very courteously. From the corner of her eyes she saw that Peter could barely contain his excitement; he was very nearly jumping up and down because of it, grinning like an absolute idiot.

'What news do you bring?' Aragorn asked when all of the greetings were out of the way.

'We flew over the Black Gates but one day ago,' the biggest eagle replied. He looked around the circle of expectant faces, apparently for the express purpose of drawing out the suspense. When this failed to elicit any impatient urgings from said circle of people, he carried on: 'Our eyes can see far and wide. Sometimes they can even see what escapes the Great Eye.'

This was good news. 'Did you see the Fellowship?' she asked, perhaps a little too eagerly.

If the eagle thought this was rude, he didn't say so. 'Five small ones now walk the Black Land,' he said. Beth was about to say that Legolas was the only tall one among the Fellowship, but realised just in time that next to this giant bird, everyone else looked tiny. 'Their way is free. Almost no orcs remain.'

As she thought, then. This really was good news.

Until she remembered that Sauron could find them all so much easier if they were the only things that moved.


Next time: Thoren pays his respects and Duria deals with her grief. In a way.

On a practical note, for the foreseeable future there will be no Thursday updates. There are a few reasons for that. One is real life related and the other is that I am currently also doing a few side projects. One of those side projects is a fic that I have finished writing, but that still needs a lot of editing, so that will keep me busy for a bit. The other project is a Duly Noted two-parter that's about fifty per cent done, but that needs a bit more work. I'm aiming for uploading that sometime during December.

Thank you so much for reading. As always, reviews are very much encouraged and very much appreciated.

Until next week!