Chapter 129

The New Commander

I did not know it, and neither did anyone in Erebor at that time, but the scene that Duria had laid eyes on was the very scene that I had seen in Galadriel's Mirror. Of course I didn't know how this had come about either, but it had happened all the same. The Lady told me that I saw what I needed to see and perhaps I did. It's figuring out the meaning of these visions that so often confuses me.

To this day I am not sure why I needed to see this particular vision. It was after all not something I could in any way influence. If anything, Thráin influenced it perhaps most of all when he spoke to Galadriel and he didn't see the vision, so still what the use of that was remains anyone's guess. Therefore a guess is the best thing I have to offer.

As a matter of fact, I have two theories that might both be true. They might neither of them be true just as easily, so here goes nothing. My first assumption is that it was a way for me to start taking the war seriously. At the time that I saw this, I was beginning to understand the scale and the stakes, but this brought it home to me in a way that a text simply cannot manage. Visuals have more impact. Erebor was a place I hadn't been able to picture and that I didn't feel any connection to. Being able to picture the place made it easier. Seeing the enormous size of the army besieging it made it very clear that this was not something that could ever be underestimated. It was that big and that dangerous. I must note that my vision had included trolls that were very much absent from the real thing, but only because Lady Galadriel had already turned them into stone.

It's good to be grateful for small mercies sometimes.

The second option is that, strange though this may sound, it was in fact intended to be reassuring. Gigantic though the army may be, the orcs were still very much camped outside. The gates of Erebor were strong and utterly unmoveable. If there is one thing that dwarves do well, it's building. They build things to be functional and beautiful, true enough, but more than that, they build things to last. Now that the Enemy was fresh out of bombs, they had nothing at their disposal that could open those gates. I suspect, and bear in mind that I know none of this for sure, that this was meant to tell me that no matter how dangerous this world had become, Harry was still safe.

Safe he was indeed, but happy he was not. Then again, no one truly was. There was an outpouring of grief at the news of Jack's death, but there was also rage. Jack had, quite to his own surprise, acquired hero status. People tend not to like it when one of their heroes dies at the hands of their enemies. Yes, they were desperate and hopeless, but they were also angry and for some time at least that can override the first two emotions.

All they needed was someone who could direct that anger…

Elvaethor

The wanton destruction before the gates turned his stomach. It had been a long time since Elvaethor had seen such devastation on such a large scale. The land burned from Erebor to the Long Lake. His former homeland appeared to have escaped the annihilation of all that stood higher than an inch from the ground for the time being, but like as not that was only because the army was here. If given time, they would eventually deal with the woods in the same way that they had dealt with Esgaroth and Dale.

Elvaethor did not intend to give them that time.

Rage, grief and shame warred within him. I failed you, my friend. In saving your oldest son, I failed your youngest. He had not meant to choose between them. He hadn't known that such a choice was before him. Thoren was barely breathing in his arms and Jack was on his own two feet, raring to fight, uttering promises to come home as soon as he may. There was a will to live in him that Elvaethor had not seen for a long time.

It made the blow all the harder.

Now Thoren lived and Jack was gone. Elvaethor closed his eyes against the tears, but it was no good. They came unasked for.

The grief never became easier to bear. If asked, he might say that it became harder with every friend he lost to death. It was his fate to remain while they passed on, as he knew full well when he made his choice to come and live among them. He thought he was strong enough to face this if he must.

It turned out that he was not.

So he stood there on the battlements long after the last spectators had retreated to within the Mountain, quiet and subdued. Fires burned still. This area would be aflame for some time as the orcs vented their frustration on everything they could find. They achieved the same destruction as Smaug had done with precious little effort. All the rebuilding of the past eighty years had been erased in the span of two months.

It would have broken your heart to see this, my dear friend. She had loved the trees that sprouted up after the dragon's death, and the summer sun and the blossoms in spring. No blossoms would bloom here this year.

'Something ought to be done.' He'd been deep in thought and so did not realise he had company until his companion spoke.

'Indeed.'

Fíli still had difficulty walking. Some healers had expressed concern that the break would never heal properly again because he disregarded their advice to sit still and let the fracture heal as it should. Fíli, rumour had it, had brusquely informed the healers that there was a war on, if they had not noticed, and that he was no idle man who'd sit and twiddle his thumbs while others fought and died. So he had obtained a walking stick and moved around the Mountain with it.

'Thoren's laid up for some time and I'm no use like this.' It seemed that Fíli had come to him with a purpose. 'Dáin and Brand are both in the healers' custody for some time. It seems that most of our leaders are neither use nor ornament.'

'Cannot Thorin Stonehelm step in?' The dwarves, no, his people, were not yet entirely bereft of leadership. 'Cannot Dwalin assume command?' He was, all things told, a very capable dwarf. Some who did not know him thought that he was somewhat simple because he did not speak up much in meetings. It was possibly the greatest mistake they would ever make in their lives. 'We have many capable folk still standing.'

He knew better than to suggest the elves take over leadership of the Free Folk Alliance. Thranduil had broken faith with them once too often and no one with an ounce of sense left would consider following someone like Lainor into battle. The Galadhrim were welcome here, but most folk kept a healthy distance, because they did not know what to make of them. They were not as grounded as the folk they knew.

'Stonehelm is a follower, not a leader,' Fíli pointed out. He had given this some thought, because he was not wrong. His people listened to him, but Stonehelm himself was more than willing to take orders from whoever he perceived to outrank him.

'Then we must turn to Dwalin.' Their list of options was growing very thin.

'I did.'

Elvaethor looked at him. 'What did he say?' The tone suggested that it had not been a resounding yes, which was odd, because Dwalin would not shirk his duty.

'He reminded me that leadership was not his to accept so long as one of the royal family still could command.'

Well, how to phrase this? Fíli did indeed have three sons. Elvaethor knew them well and it was because of this that he entertained some doubts. He'd known the lads since they were young dwarflings making mischief and they were all good lads with hearts of purest gold. They were capable smiths and able warriors. They were not commanders.

How to say this to their father without offering offence was a matter that required some thought. 'Which one of your lads will assume command?' If it had to be one of the three, best that it be Kíli, who had the most sensible head on his shoulders.

Fíli looked at him in a way that indicated that he thought Elvaethor was being thick. 'None of them. I love my sons dearly, but this is not among their talents.'

Perhaps he was a bit thick, but he did not see who this left. The royal family was not a big one. They had many folk they called kin, but none of them too closely related, certainly not close enough related to assume command and expect to do so without raised eyebrows and raised voices, because dwarves were an opiniated bunch.

Apparently Fíli was of the opinion that his thought process was going too slow, because he shook his head in exasperation and wrinkled his nose. 'Have you truly not guessed?' Incredulity was dominant in his voice.

'Guessed what? Fíli, my friend, I have not lived here long. Before I did, I never took much time to study genealogies, despite your wife's best efforts to interest me in such matters. Who do you mean?' He was truly at a loss, and grateful for the distraction at the same time. Pondering this mystery diverted his thoughts from the loss, however briefly.

Fíli shook his head again. 'You, of course.'

This rendered him speechless. For several moments he was capable of nothing more than staring at Fíli with his mouth hanging open in a very undignified manner.

Fíli took the opportunity to elaborate: 'Your adoption is official. Signed and sealed in the presence of witnesses. Aye, it's true enough that someone might have forged your signature on the document in question, but I've heard that you did not mind that much, so that's all the official business sorted. The news has flown around the Mountain at a speed distinctly faster than our fastest messengers, so even if you were to change your mind now, you'll find you're too late.'

'I do not want to change my mind.' It was an unexpected blessing that he could scarce comprehend. After so many years of feeling adrift among his own, he had found folk to cling to and a place to put down roots. The dwarves had welcomed him in a way he had never dreamed of. 'Yet I am not a dwarf.'

Fíli remained unfazed. 'Well, that is odd,' he observed, 'because I could show you documents stating quite clearly that you are.'

Elvaethor opened his mouth to protest.

It was a pity Fíli never let it get that far. 'Dwalin was right when he reminded me that you still stood. You agreed to be taken into this family. It comes with duties as well as privileges.'

'Who would follow me?' True, the dwarves had accepted Kate in time, though she was no dwarf by birth. It had taken years. Perhaps in time, he would go through a similar process, but the Free Folk Alliance did not have years. A solution was needed and Elvaethor remained unconvinced that he was it.

'Those who would remember the oaths they swore.' Fíli crossed one arm over his chest. No doubt he would have crossed both had he been able to. Either way, the message was clear. 'There are folk who have not forgotten the part you played in the war, Elvaethor. They will abide by this decision or they'll answer to Thoren.' He gave Elvaethor a pointed look. 'After Dwalin and I are through with them and your sisters are perhaps kind enough to leave him some pieces to tear into. We are loyal to our own,' he reminded Elvaethor, somewhat unnecessarily. 'You are our own.'

The certainty in his voice would have sent Elvaethor reeling if he had not done so already. The gift of speech abandoned him. It should not have done so, for he knew what place he had been given. Yet to hear it spoken that he had not only found a home, but that he was also seen as one of theirs, that had a profound effect.

When had he last felt so wanted?

The fact that it took him so long to remember such an occasion spoke volumes.

'I am honoured beyond what words can express,' he said, because he was.

'Don't be,' Fíli replied. 'This is a duty, not an honour.'

He may not see it in such a way, but Elvaethor most assuredly did. 'It is an honour,' he insisted. 'One of mine has never been given such a task to perform.'

Fíli shook his head. 'If you consult the historical records, you shall find that many a dwarf has performed such tasks, as I am sure Síf would be delighted to tell you.'

'I am not…'

'An elf,' Fíli finished. 'Not according to our records. So you see, nothing strange in this at all. Now, shall we go down and see to the tasks we must perform? I am of a mind to make the orcs pay a price in blood for what they have done.'

'I am likewise.' There must be a reckoning. The goal that Thoren had set himself had been achieved. They had done what they could to clear Thráin's way. By Elvaethor's reckoning he must be close to his destination now. Most of the orcs of Mordor were undoubtedly here. It now remained for them to see to the orcs and the Nazgûl and ensure that Thráin had something to come home to.

Fíli took Elvaethor's hand with his free one. 'Do not feel ashamed of your grief,' he counselled out of the blue. 'There is no shame in it, not for us dwarves.'

'He was my brother for but a short time.' Jack must have known about it, but they'd had no opportunity to speak of it.

'I do not see how that matters.' Fíli was very matter-of-fact about it. 'You have known him all his life. Surely that counts for more.'

Yes, he had known Jack since the day he was born. He had been present at his birth. He had seen the lad grow from a tiny babe to a tall dwarf who was at odds with all the world. Just now that he had found peace he had been taken away. Cruel things happened every day during the war, but this one hit too close. Why? What sense was there in this?

'I'll go in,' Fíli announced. 'Do not take too long.'

'I will not.'

He did not intend to. He only meant to remain long enough for the tears to dry. Among dwarves there was no shame in tears and loss and grief. He knew this. He had witnessed it, yet old habits took a long time to die. If life was kind to him, he would perhaps be given time to grow into new ones and leave the old ones behind for good.

It seemed unlikely.

'I thought to find you here.'

A moment of respite was not given to him. Fíli had only barely departed when Thranduil appeared at his shoulder. Elvaethor had not spoken to him much since he changed his allegiance. Who could tell what his former king made of that or indeed Elvaethor's decision to exchange kinship with the elves for kinship with the dwarves?

'Here I am,' he said. 'Do you have need of me?'

'You are not mine to command.' The tone of voice was rather wry. 'You have made your choice.'

'I have.'

He almost called Thranduil my lord, but that would be a falsehood. Thranduil was no longer his lord and Elvaethor was no longer bound to obey his commands. It was a liberating feeling. He had long been at odds with his former king's policies. I was always more at home with dwarves, even during those long years that I avoided them. His soul sang more in tune with them than it did with those who were his kindred by blood. It had taken him a long time to discover, but he had found wisdom at last.

'What can I do for you?' he asked when it did not appear as though Thranduil was going to enlighten him as to the reason of his appearance here. Nothing was new or unexpected in that; he'd always taken his time in explaining what it was he wanted of folk. Rather than speak directly, as way the way among dwarves, he would leave the other waiting, imagining the worst. The anticipation was greatly lessened this time by the fact that there was nothing Thranduil could say that had any power over him now.

'I came to speak with the commander of the forces of Erebor.' Good news travelled fast. It was either that or in this case Fíli had been kind enough to inform him of his newly acquired status only when everyone else already knew.

'You found him.' It felt as though he had put on a new coat that he knew now belonged to him, but that still felt strange and ill-fitting in many a place. Yet this was his role now, a duty and an honour both and he would not shirk it. 'I ask you again, what can I do for you?'

'I mislike the sight before these gates,' Thranduil said.

This was still not a question, but Elvaethor agreed nonetheless. 'So do I.'

'I would speak to the commander of the forces of Erebor about what he intends to do about this army before the gates,' Thranduil said. He turned to look at Elvaethor. 'I should not like that the Nazgûl no longer deem us a threat and depart from these lands to hinder others.'

Elvaethor understood. This war was not done and Thoren's purpose would only be successful if Thráin's way remained clear. He'd almost forgotten that Thranduil had a personal stake in the quest as well. With luck this made him a more reliable ally than he had been eighty years ago.

'Then let us go inside and discuss our strategy,' he said.

This was his role now. He would perform it as best he could.

Beth

It was one of those days that felt as though it had lasted a lifetime, Beth reflected when at long last she made ready to go to bed. She had got up this morning believing that she had lost her family forever and now went to bed in the sure knowledge that they would never again be entirely beyond her reach. It was a surreal feeling and despite the day's events, it had not quite sunk in just yet.

Gandalf too had been surprised as much as she was, once he recovered from the shock of having his nose broken by an angry old man with a mean right hook. Beth hadn't seen much of him, but she had spoken with him briefly, even if only to ask what in the world had just happened and did he know that this was possible at all. The answer had been a resounding no.

Boromir was still talking to some important people, so Beth was alone for the time being. After a day of being talked at she found she relished the silence. The city had gone quiet at last. The quiet was different now than it was before the battle. Then folk had been quiet out of anticipation and fear. The silence now was no less vigilant – Sauron may have suffered a defeat, but he was still very much alive – but people were relieved that the danger had passed for now. The fighting was done.

It might be done for good.

Her window looked east, so she walked to it and brushed the curtain to the side. The clouds over Gondor had gone. She could see the clear sky and the stars above her. Over Mordor the clouds were still present, dark and angry and lighting up an angry red from within. There was magic at work there beyond the shadow of a doubt. But it was once again far away.

We are safe, she told herself.

Thráin isn't. He was there somewhere, under those very clouds, marching into danger without a second thought. She liked to think that they'd become friends of a sort and now she worried for him. True, Thráin was abrasive and argumentative and bloody-minded, but he was also loyal and, if you really looked beyond all the brusque talk, quite caring. His heart was in the right place even when his tongue was sharp.

Stay safe, she thought. Please stay safe and bring them all back. At least the eagles were here now and Gandalf had told them what they needed to do, so there was that at least. They now took it in turn to patrol the borders of Mordor, as much to keep an eye on things as to perhaps find out where the last three Nazgûl had gone.

Where had they gone?

'No sign of them?'

She had been so lost in her own thoughts that she had not heard Boromir come in. He looked about as worn out as Beth felt. So nothing will happen tonight either. She could see a pattern forming and not one she approved of.

'Nothing.'

She did not need to ask if he meant the Nazgûl, because they had been hotly debated just a few hours ago. The conclusion they reached was that nobody had the foggiest of where they could be. Aragorn had called on Beth's expertise only to find that she had absolutely nothing to offer one of the few times that someone actually wanted to know something from her.

He rubbed at his neck as if to fight a headache. 'Three came here and three went north.' This was all that they knew for sure. 'Where are the others?'

Would that she could conjure answers out of thin air, but here, unlike in front of a lot of other people she did not know all that well, she could at least speculate. 'What if they went north with the first attack force?' She had given this a bit of thought, but as all speculation, it was mostly without grounds, hence why she had waited to speak about it until she was alone with Boromir. 'It does make some sense, doesn't it? We know there was a battle and a siege around the time when we were in Lothlórien. That army was defeated, so then Sauron sent another force north with another three.' It did make sense. If anything, it was the only decent explanation for the absence of the wretched creatures that she had been able to come up with. 'Sauron might have initially planned to send three north and keep six for Gondor, but…'

'He underestimated the northern resistance.' He came to stand next to her at the window, hand resting lightly on her back. 'They will have borne the brunt of his wrath.'

And in the book Gondor would have fulfilled that role. Beth had never met Thoren, but she had the greatest respect for what he had done. The war here could have turned out very, very differently. She tried not to think too much about what this meant for Harry. Out of my hands, she reminded herself. And the walls of Erebor are strong.

'So, am I making sense?' Just because she had convinced herself that she might have stumbled across a meaningful insight, did not mean that she really had.

Boromir took the time to think it over. 'It is possible,' he allowed.

And that was all they really had to go on. 'Peter's asked to have a look at my notes and he's generally reckoned to be the greater expert, so let's see what he can figure out.' It was a relief to have him here for that reason alone. Unlike her, he knew that book back to front and inside out. And he knows the movies. That should cover all the bases.

Boromir nodded, but didn't speak.

I have no idea how to go about any of this. It was hard enough to wrap her head around the whole thing without taking all of Boromir's woes into account. In her head she kept comparing her own father to his and it was no great mystery who came out of that comparison looking better. Beth felt for Denethor – one could argue that Sauron had been a major contributor to Denethor's mental state – but she had also intensely disliked him, not least of all for the treatment of his own sons. He was someone who did all those things Patrick Andrews would never dream about doing and he did them without thinking twice. As far as Beth was concerned, he was a world class prick, but that was her point of view. Boromir had loved him.

'I am not going back to England, you know,' she said. It seemed important to get that out of the way first. Just because she had a way back did not mean she'd take it. She might have done, if it had come only a month earlier. Everything had been up in the air then. Now things had landed. She was married, she had as good as adopted two orphaned children and she had been more or less accepted into the place she was going to live. 'I made the choice.'

He nodded, but still did not speak.

Beth didn't know what to say either – there was a world of pain in those unspoken words – but saying nothing did not feel like the right option. So for the sake of her still very recent marriage she would make the effort. 'I… I am so sorry that your father died.' He had died before her eyes and that was not a sight she'd soon forget. She didn't mourn Denethor's death – far from it in fact – but she did not miss him in the same way Boromir did. This morning we were both practically fatherless, and now I have mine again.

Surely that could do nothing but hurt.

'The fault was not yours.' The reply came swiftly and with confidence, which lifted a great weight from her chest. He did not blame her. He very easily could have, but he was perhaps a better person than Beth was. She might have felt envious and perhaps a little resentful if their places had been reversed. Sure, she would have got over herself before too long, but there was no doubt in her mind that she would not have responded so well as Boromir did.

'I know it wasn't.' He was supposed to be locked up for the battle and both of them had agreed that this measure was sufficient till the end of the battle. Evidently it was not, but that was not either of their fault. 'But…' She couldn't say I pity you, because she didn't really and he would not have welcomed the sentiment. 'I hate that it happened. It shouldn't have.' And the book could go hang for all she cared. 'And it seems so horribly unfair that I now have my family back again and you… well, don't.'

She reached for his free hand and held it. The grip he had on it was tight, almost uncomfortably so. No more words were spoken, but Beth reckoned that perhaps they were not entirely needed. Sometimes it was enough just to stand and to draw support from someone else's presence. If I can help in such a way, then maybe that is enough.

They stood for a time, but they were both tired, so naturally Beth was wide awake the moment her head hit the pillow. Bloody typical. Boromir had the good sense to go and catch up on some sleep before the meeting Aragorn wanted to hold in the morning, but although her body was eager to rest, her mind kept going round in circles, replaying the most momentous events of the past week again and again. And it couldn't be bothered to at least do it in order either.

When after an hour she was still very much awake, she gave up on the whole thing. She got up, penned a short note to Boromir, slipped on boots and cloak and went for a little wander. The hallways were quiet and mostly deserted. A few guards were on duty, but they knew her face and they let her past with only a polite nod of the head.

Without any fixed destination in mind she ventured outside and breathed in the air. It was crisp and clear and not a little cold, but it cleared her head in a way that lying in bed waiting for sleep to come hadn't done. From there on it was only a short distance to the tree that Faramir and she had stood next to when they faced off with the Nazgûl. Faramir had pointed out the flower, but she hadn't looked at it since and she was fairly certain that the Nazgûl hadn't noticed it either.

So much for subtlety.

In the short time since she had last looked at it, the amount of leaves had tripled and there was another bloom. A bud nearly ready to burst open she found a little further on the tree. It was still fairly high up and if not for Faramir pointing it out to her, she might never have noticed it at all. But he had.

It's a good thing, she knew. She wondered if someone had got round to telling Aragorn about it. Somebody should.

She walked a little further, but stopped in her tracks when she saw the shape of a man sitting on a low wall nearby, staring east. Fortunately common sense caught up to her before she could sound the alarm, because this was not an intruder. This was her father.

After some deliberation Beth hoisted herself up on the wall next to him. 'Can't sleep either?'

He looked at her with a gentle smile. Up close the fact that he appeared to have aged ten years since the last time she saw him was inescapable. 'I slept through most of the day,' he replied. 'And these old bones don't need as much sleep as they used to.'

'You're not old,' Beth pointed out. 'Sixty-seven is not old.' She didn't say that he looked like seventy-seven these days, because that would be too painful. They both knew the cause of it. We all pay a price.

But only Gandalf had consciously chosen to pay it.

'It feels old.' He stared east again, where an angry red glow still lit up the clouds above Mordor. 'Here we are, in a strange land that Peter has adored since he was a teenager. It is real.'

'It is very real,' Beth agreed. Every last terrifying bit of it.

They sat in silence for a while. Beth rested her head on his shoulder and relished the feeling of being able to do so again. They'd never needed much words between them. He would listen when she wanted to speak and he'd always done that with kindness, patience and understanding. But more often they'd just sit, enjoying each other's company without words. It wasn't until she sat here that she realised just how much she'd missed it.

'Will you tell me about your adventures?' he asked at last.

Beth's first instinct was to say no, because some of the things she had seen were things she'd much rather forget, but she didn't. Instead she considered his request and, somewhat to her own surprise, came to the conclusion that actually, yes, she might want to talk about it. If anyone had a right to know what had happened, it was her father.

So she settled in and told him everything that had happened, from the moment she met one of Elrond's sons – she should get round sometime soon to figuring out which one of them – to the present day. It took a long time and she had to backtrack regularly because she realised she missed some important details along the way. All the time he sat and he listened until at last she talked herself out.

'Have you considered writing it all down?' he asked after they had sat in silence again for a while.

That brought her up short. 'No.' She might have thought of it had she not been going from one place to another all the time. She was a writer after all. This was what she did. 'Then again, who'd publish it?'

He chuckled. 'Who knows.'

He left it at that. Unlike Mary and Fiona, who would have pushed the point, he just left it there. He'd planted a seed and left it up to her to discard or nurture it as she chose. For him it was enough that she considered it.

'Do you think you made the right choice?' was the next question.

Again, Beth thought about it. Many things had happened that were beyond her control. She had not chosen to come to this world, but once she was here, she had made the choice to go along with Gandalf's little scheme. She could have chosen to stay put in Rivendell. She could have chosen to go with Harry to Erebor. If that had been her choice, then Thráin might not have gone on the quest either. Honestly, that was a scenario that did not bear thinking about.

Considered logically, all her other choices were the direct result of that first one and they had led her here. And somehow, against all the odds, she discovered that, all things considered, she had to give up almost nothing. I really can have it all.

That was her answer right there. 'Yes,' she replied eventually. 'Although I don't think I always made it for the right reasons.' Even her marriage to Boromir – which no, she did not regret in the slightest – had been done partly because she wanted to avoid the mistakes that Kate had made. I am no saint. She never had been.

'Very few of us ever make the right choice for all the right reasons,' Patrick Andrews pointed out. 'We came here to find you, but all of us also came to make some people pay for what they had done. Is that a right reason?'

Beth chuckled. 'I think Thráin would say that it was.' He had Opinions on the subject of abduction. That reminded her. 'I hope you get to meet him. He's… ' She struggled to put her cousin into words. A rapid succession of words ran through her mind, but she dismissed them all. Noble, abrasive, courageous, argumentative, loyal, headstrong, caring, judgemental. He was all those things, but not one of these words could adequately sum him up. In the end she settled for: 'He's very much like I think Kate used to be.'

Perhaps another one like that was exactly what this world needed right now.


Next time: someone else is about to have leadership foisted upon him and Elvaethor announces the truth. To everyone.

As always, thank you very much for reading! Reviews would brighten my day enormously.

Until next week!