Chapter 134

Living Arrangements

As Elvaethor reflected later, the whole cutting the ladder and shutting the door thing was oddly reminiscent of the fight that had taken place there almost eight decades ago. What would have made it complete was if they had been forced to lock the door with a hairpin and Tauriel, in an attempt to lighten the mood and distract herself from the damage done to her brother, suggested as much. Alas, Thormod had been entrusted with the key and so he locked up after them in the ordinary fashion.

When all was said and done, a vigorous debate broke out as to who had killed the first Nazgûl of the night, showing a completely incorrect grasp of priorities on all sides. Everyone was in complete agreement that Elvaethor had done for the second one, but as to the killing of the first, no one was entirely certain. The archers had very similar arrows and although each one had marked their own in some way, it was not possible to walk into the orcs' encampment with the request if perhaps they could have a look at the armour and robes to settle an argument.

It would seem that the argument would remain undecided, but Aerandir – another one who really didn't seem to get what was and wasn't important in war – came in to dispense clarity and enlightenment. He had been on the battlements during the night's action and with his sharper eyes had seen things that those in the middle of the fight had missed. Hurray for elvish eyesight.

Prior to the archers setting out he had taken note of the markings on their arrows and because elves are ridiculously overpowered in the eyesight department – and, truth be told, in basically every department imaginable – he had correctly identified the two arrows in the first Nazgûl as having flown from Kíli's bow. Consequently Kíli was rightly hailed as a hero, clapped on the back a great deal and liberally compared to his namesake who had also defied expectations by killing a dragon. The consensus was that Kíli was a very lucky name and it really should be used more often. Folk conveniently forgot what happened to the original and in the general elation no one was in any mood to remind them.

As far as the Free Folk Alliance was concerned, they had done their duty now. They had saved Thráin from death by Nazgûl and now had to look to their own defences. They were of course not planning on giving up, because that army before their gates was going to have to go, sooner rather than later.

They were however prepared to wait just long enough for their leaders to get back on their feet…

Thoren

Thoren awoke to groans and murmurings and then a hushed admonishment for the offending patient to be quiet lest he woke Thoren. It was already too late for that, so he might as well open his eyes and see what was happening around him.

It was not a big room he had been given and so far he'd had the place to himself – the perks of being a very heavily injured King – so this was a surprise. There was only one other bed and Elvaethor was on it, undressed from the waist down so that Aunt Thora had full access to his injured legs.

Impeccable intuition told him that he had missed something.

'What happened?' he croaked out. His voice was mostly his to command again, but it was not as reliable as he'd like it.

Two heads turned into his direction.

'See, now you've done it. You've woken him up!' Thora scolded. 'Now hold still before I need to sedate you.'

Elvaethor made to tell her that this was not possible, then recalled that she had in fact done this thing once before and thought better of it. 'I shall do my best,' he promised.

Thoren blinked the last sleep from his eyes. It did not escape his notice that neither of them had answered his question. Neither did he fail to notice that Elvaethor was in quite a state, or rather, the lower half of him was. He couldn't see the left leg for all the bandages around it and the right leg looked as though it had been mistaken for a block of wood ready for chopping. He barely saw the skin for all the blood.

So he repeated his question. 'What happened?'

'He killed a Nazgûl, that's what happened.' Kíli rose from the chair on the other side of Elvaethor's bed so that Thoren could see him. 'And now he's trying to break the bones of my hand. Unsuccessfully.'

'He killed…' His mind was still a little sluggish – Maker only knew what Aunt Thora had poured down his throat – but surely he could not have heard what he thought he had heard.

He had. 'A Nazgûl, aye. Haven't you heard his admirers out the door, clamouring for a look of him or a chance to name their child after him or some such?' Kíli looked entirely too cheerful.

Maker help me. 'What happened?' he demanded. His voice did as he wished it to do – more or less – so he sounded distinctly annoyed.

Kíli took one look at his face and then decided that he had better do as Thoren asked. Out came the tale in all its glory, a tale of daring and heroics that Thoren had not known a thing about. He searched his memory for any recollection of the discussion of such a scheme, but came up empty. Aye, the funeral had tired him out in more ways than one, but he was sure that if someone had mentioned something like this, that he would have remembered.

'So the Nazgûl are both dead and we are all still alive,' Kíli concluded. 'If not entirely unhurt, but that doesn't count, because Elvaethor will be fine. He always is.'

But he wasn't yet. He had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the telling, whereas usually he would have had a great many things to add. His face was pale and he never relinquished his grip on Kíli's hand.

Maker be good.

'Almost done,' Aunt Thora announced. While Kíli had told of the night's exploits she carried on stitching Elvaethor's leg back together. 'You've done very well, my friend.'

Elvaethor inclined his head. 'Thank you, Mistress Thora.'

She wagged a finger at him. 'Oh, no, no, none of that. You'll call me by my name or, if you've need to put anything before it, you'll call me Aunt Thora, seeing as how you've taken up kinship with Thoren now.'

Thoren bit back a chuckle, because he did not believe for one moment that Elvaethor could bring himself to call her by that title.

He couldn't. For a moment it seemed as though he might, but for the sake of his own health he refrained; she was still holding a needle. 'Very well, then, Thora,' he said. 'I thank you for your services.'

'You'll thank me best by not needing them so much in future,' she replied pointedly. 'You could have been related by blood for all that recklessness you're putting on display, Elvaethor. How any with eyes could miss it, is beyond me and where in Durin's name do you think you are going?'

The last bit was directed at Kíli, who thought to make good use of the lack of attention on him to leave the room unnoticed. He halted reluctantly and looked over his shoulder back at her. 'Home?' Because of his surprise it came out as a question.

He should be so lucky. 'Don't think I've not noticed that your left arm is painful to you? Happened when you carried the elf, did it?'

'How…?'

'I'm a healer, my lad, that's how I know. Back on that chair with you. I'll have a look.'

There was a great deal of grumbling on Kíli's part and an equally great amount of grumbling on Thora's, about some folk having more beard than sense and how was it possible that any of them were yet living when they were so careless with themselves. Kíli wisely let her get on with it.

Then he ruined it all by opening his mouth. 'Do you reckon that I can take Elvaethor with me?' he asked. 'Only we have a council to attend and…'

That was as far as he was allowed to get. Aunt Thora frowned fearfully and then turned her attention to the two bed-ridden patients in her care. 'You are going nowhere.' Elvaethor, who had been about to test if he could stand at all and to that end had swung both his legs out of bed, wisely retracted them. 'The two of you are going to make me go grey before long. You can hold court from the comfort of your beds if you must. That is it.' A finger swung first in Elvaethor's direction and then in Thoren's. 'And not today either.'

For this he was secretly glad. The funeral had tired him out. His body refused to cooperate with any movement more taxing than breathing. The pain was dulled, but he had very little strength. He had bled most of it into the mud when he tried to end his life. If only he had known that help would come for him, then he might not have been so weak. Jack might not have felt the need to sacrifice his life…

Oh, Jack.

In the moments between sleeping and waking he still half expected his brother to be there, to come in, complaining about having to do Thoren's job every inch of the way and did he know what a thorn in his side the elves were? Then wakefulness would put an end to the illusion, leaving him exhausted with grief and regret.

Aunt Thora herded Kíli out of the room and left Elvaethor and Thoren alone. He meant to ask a thousand questions as soon as he had the opportunity, but it seemed he was not granted this chance, for Thora had only barely vacated the room when the door was pushed ajar and Harry peered around it.

'Hello, young Harry,' Elvaethor greeted. He was a little less pained, courtesy of the potion Aunt Thora had poured down his throat. 'What brings you here?'

The boy bit on his lip. 'Can I come in?'

Probably not, but if she disagreed Aunt Thora would make herself known. 'Of course,' Thoren therefore said. 'You are most welcome here.'

Harry came into the room and closed the door behind him. There he remained, hesitant, looking at his feet and then at the two patients, trying to work out where to go.

Thoren was the one who took pity on him first. 'Come on then, lad, my bed's spacious enough for the both of us. 'Sides, Elvaethor's legs got hurt. Let's give him some space or Aunt Thora will have all our heads served up for dinner.' She had been remarkably short with them all today.

Harry looked bad, Thoren reflected as the boy hoisted himself up on the bed. He was pale, which made his red and swollen eyes stand out all the more. The dark circles under his eyes completed a colour scheme in a way Thoren did not much care for. He'd looked bad at the funeral, curled up against Cathy, but he looked worse now. Thoren found that he could not resist the urge to wrap his right arm around the lad's shoulders. His ribs protested, but what was one ache when he had so many already?

'Are you warm enough?' he asked.

Harry nodded, then sniffled. 'Sorry.'

'No, Master Harry, do not be,' Elvaethor said. 'Do you recall what I said to you about your tears?'

Harry nodded.

'Then there will be no need for shame or apologies.'

Harry nodded again. 'But now your shirt will get all dirty.'

'No matter.' That was not his chief concern. 'It will be laundered and then no one shall see a thing of it. Now, where is Cathy? I believed that you were staying with her?'

Harry hid his face against Thoren's chest. 'Busy,' he muttered.

Yes, she would be. There was so much to organise and even more now that quite a number of the leaders of the Alliance were hurt. So very few remained now. Oh, he had no doubt that Elvaethor would smuggle himself out of these rooms before too long and take up the command again, but he was in no doubt as to his own abilities. When he had not taken one of Thora's remedies for some time his throat would cause him no end of hurt. The same was true for his left leg and his ribs.

'And I couldn't sleep,' Harry added.

It was still night then. These days he slept so much that he had lost track of time almost completely. The war did not care whether it was day or night either. It carried on at all hours and so, by necessity, did those who fought it.

'There is a good bed available here for you to rest on,' Thoren said. He was wide awake for now. 'Make yourself comfortable.'

Harry did snuggle up closer to him, but didn't close his eyes. 'Are you going to die?'

'No.' If he had been dying, his aunt would have been kinder for one. He knew that he had been in danger, but he had not been awake for that part. Now that he was awake it was unanimously agreed that he was out of danger, even if he was not yet well.

'Jack died.'

From what Thoren had seen of Harry so far he had been led to believe that the child could be quite talkative. He wasn't now. He had seen too much. His mother wasn't here and he kept being passed around from one person to the next with no guarantee that they would not also go and die.

'Yes, he did.' He could not deny it. 'But we will not.' It was a hasty promise, but one that he could give with at least a little certainty. Thráin would be close to his goal now. It had been some time since he was in Lothlórien. Surely he must be close. Once the Ring was destroyed, the Enemy would be defeated. Thoren did not know just what hold Sauron had over the minds of those who served him, but he reckoned that it was not inconsiderable. When that hold broke, their courage might well desert them.

'Promise?' Harry asked. He sat up straight so that he could look Thoren in the eye.

'Yes, I promise.' He recalled now that he had already made such a promise before, so even if he had second thoughts on the matter, it was now too late to change his mind. 'We shall not pass away.' He waited until he made sure that Harry looked at him. 'This war is nearly at its end and it is your mother and my brother who will make it so.'

'But there's all these orcs.' Harry was very doubtful.

'It is always darkest before the dawn,' Elvaethor said sagely. 'When all seems darkest, we are closest to victory.' He looked as though he might want to leave the bed to comfort the boy like this, but winced when he moved and so decided against it. 'I think that it must be very dark for you now, is it not?'

Harry nodded.

'Well, then. This is how you know that the end is near.' Elvaethor nodded. 'All will get better. I promise you this.'

Harry contemplated this for a few moments, expression far too serious for a seven year old child. 'But what if my mother…?' Doesn't come back? Dies? He said neither of those two aloud, but they were heard loud and clear.

'Then you will remain here in Erebor with us, should you so choose.' This was a very easy answer to give and he gave it without a moment's hesitation.

Apparently this answer was not sufficient. 'But where will I live?' Harry insisted.

Thoren was about to tell the lad that it would be Erebor, as he said, but Elvaethor's keener instincts interfered. 'Where would you want to live, Harry?' he asked kindly. 'If the choice were yours?'

Harry looked away. 'I don't want to be a nuisance.'

Ah, so that was the problem. 'You're not,' Thoren said immediately.

In hindsight he might have known that this was where the issue lay. Had Harry not said that his own father had abandoned him and his mother before he was ever even born? Was it any wonder that he believed that he was only a burden to be passed around, moved along when he became too bothersome? Cathy might herself inadvertently have given the same impression because her duties took her from one end of the Mountain to the other. And she had a child of her own on the way at that. Harry might well feel superfluous to requirements.

He saw his course clear then. 'Would you care to live with me?' he asked. Already he could hear Duria's complaining about how he invited first his elf and now his young mannish cousin to live with him and honestly, was his own kind not good enough for him anymore? 'My quarters are far too spacious for one body alone.' Soon to be two anyway, but the point still stood. He had more space than he knew what to do with and living people were better than the ghosts of the dead any day.

Harry blinked. 'Do you want me?'

The vulnerability in the words very nearly broke Thoren's heart, so he did not need to think on his answer. 'Aye, that I do.' From all that he had seen of Harry he was a good lad, one who needed a place to belong as badly as Jack had.

He was rewarded for that answer with the first true smile he had seen from this child since his return. 'Thank you, thank you, thank you!' he exclaimed.

'My pleasure, lad,' Thoren said, finding somewhat to his own surprise that he meant it. 'My pleasure.'

Beth

It wasn't quite first light when they left, but they set off just as the sun came over the horizon and that was close enough. It took a lot of time to get everyone out through the gates in the first place. The Mûmakil went first. They were the biggest and moved slow and lumbering when left to their own devices, so they were to set the pace of the army. They were now seven in number, because well, there were a few unharmed Mûmakil left and why let a good beast go to waste?

There was no such thing as overkill when it came to intimidating Sauron.

All three had been named and their names painted on their flanks. In alphabetical order they now had Elendil, Lobelia and Tolkien, the last of which was a cheeky little suggestion from Peter, who was enjoying all of this far too much. Merry and Pippin, excited to tower so high over everyone else, had enthusiastically accepted the offer to ride on Lobelia when it was extended to them. Pippin then invited Beth, remembered what had happened in Moria and rescinded the offer before she had to remind him that she really didn't like heights.

Instead she had been reunited with Folca to the disappointment of both parties involved. Beth hadn't seen him since he hightailed it out of Osgiliath without her and, quite honestly, wouldn't have minded it in the slightest if it remained that way. Folca for his part looked just as disappointed to see that she was still around, which didn't bode that well for their working relationship. Oh, he'd stood still when she mounted up and on the surface he was very well behaved. It was just that he took his cue from other horses and not from her commands.

Nothing new there.

Having said that, riding a horse did become easier now that she had done it a few times. Her muscles didn't cramp so much. Remaining in the saddle was significantly easier than it had been as well. Now it was Mary's turn to make painful faces and moan about the horrors of horse-riding. Peter, on the other hand, had known how to ride for years and so looked quite at home.

'Are Terrence and the kids all right?' Beth asked. Mary had returned last night with a few changes of clothes – and thank heaven for that, because Beth's hadn't been laundered for a while – and an assortment of gloves, coats and scarves to keep away the cold. She was grateful for that now, because the wind was icy. She had however been far too busy organising everything to sit down and have a bit of a chitchat.

'They're all right,' Mary replied. 'Not exactly thrilled about the whole thing, but it's not as if we can do something about that right now. Thomas wants to know how Harry is.'

Beth shook her head. 'No idea.' She pushed the vision of Harry in danger to the darkest recesses of her mind where she didn't need to think about it so much. This was not the road she wanted to start down again. 'I haven't seen him since he left for Erebor.'

'But you're sure he'll be all right there?' Mary pressed, not one to let such a promising topic go in a hurry.

'Yes.' Had it not been for that bloody vision and Saruman's horrible taunting, she would never have doubted that in the first place. 'Under the given circumstances it's the safest place to be. They have very strong walls and the best warriors in the world to defend them. He'll be safe there.'

Mary frowned. 'That's not actually what I asked.'

Beth knew that and so deliberately misinterpreted. She should have known that was never going to work on Mary. 'I didn't send him away because I didn't want him.'

'I never said you did.'

This she hadn't missed, this criticism of her mothering skills that she somehow managed to convey without actually speaking a single word of criticism. For someone who quite frequently failed at child-rearing herself, Beth found this vexing as well as hypocritical.

'What do you want me to say, Mary?'

'I just want to know if he's going to be all right,' Mary insisted. 'Listen, I know you couldn't have taken him on the quest and I know you weren't given much of a choice about whether you went on that quest or not. That's not the problem.'

'Then what is?'

'Well, I worry about Harry.' She was definitely laying quite a successful claim to the moral high ground and in doing so was making no friends whatsoever as far as Beth was concerned. 'I know it's not your fault and I'm not saying that it is, but Harry's been passed around a lot in his young life. First it was to me and now he's in a different world with people he barely knows and you are nowhere near. I worry about the effect that has on him.'

Beth had worried about that too, but only briefly. First, there was nothing she could do about it anyway and second: 'He likes the dwarves, Mary. He took to them straightaway and they to him. Yes, I know it's not ideal,' she pre-empted the comment her sister was definitely about to make. 'I know it's not. But he preferred it over staying with the elves.' And it was not as though Thráin had given her much of a choice in the matter. Besides, when she thought about it, she agreed with him anyway. Harry liked the dwarves, but he didn't know what to make of the elves.

'So he's with friends?' Mary asked.

'Definitely.' Unless they had since fallen in battle, but she wisely kept that thought to herself.

It was a good thing that Théodred called her over to join him before Mary could ask any more invasive questions and she had a good excuse to leave her sister to her own devices. Folca for once went exactly in the direction she steered him in so that at least she didn't look like a fool in public.

'How do you like him?' Théodred asked, gesturing to the horse.

This required a diplomatic answer. He had after all been a gift. 'We are still ironing out our working relationship,' she replied lightly. Judging by the look on Théodred's face, he understood exactly what she meant by that, but he was kind enough to let it go. 'How is your healing coming along?'

'Very well.'

She doubted the healers quite agreed with this assessment. So far it seemed that he mainly ignored the healers' good advice. He'd been fighting this war only half well – and often quite less than that – for so long as Beth had known him. But he was sitting on his horse without help, so the healers must have done something right.

'So, what must happen now?' Théodred asked.

It was interesting that of all the people she had met and who knew about her and her otherworldly origins, he was the only one who actually asked for her advice. He'd done it before they faced Saruman and, moreover, he had listened to the advice she gave. If she hadn't asked that Saruman was appropriately dealt with, the wizard might yet be alive to terrorise the living daylights out of the hobbits. She had made a change there because someone had actually asked for her recommendations.

So she told him. 'According to the book we're going to make our stand before the Black Gates in about a week's time.'

At first she thought that was a long time to make such a relatively short journey, but that was before she saw just how slowly an army moved. This was not the small force of Rohirrim riding from Helm's Deep to Isengard to Edoras in a decent amount of time. This was a huge army consisting of seven Mûmakil, numerous infantry and quite a large number of men on horseback. Then there were all the supply wagons, the craftsmen and blacksmiths travelling with the forces to keep them all functioning. Somewhere above their heads the eagles circled. This was going to take time.

It's good, Beth tried to convince herself. It'll keep Sauron focused. Once it got to battle he was sure to find out that Faramir did not have the Ring at all, so the ruse worked best so long as they never put it to the test.

'But I don't think we'll ever make it there before it's all over,' she finished. She had done the calculations. Thráin must be so close now, unless the Fellowship had been discovered and the Ring taken from them, but if that had happened, they would have found out by now. If Sauron got his hands on the Ring, the whole world would know. 'And that's all right. We're only the distraction anyway.'

Théodred inclined his head. 'That is as it should be.'

Nothing about this was anything as it should be, Beth thought wryly, but for once that didn't matter too much. The last thing she wanted was more people dying. She'd seen enough of that to last her a lifetime. 'The timeline's all skewed,' she said. 'If the book was right, which it's usually not lately, then we should be there at the gates at the exact moment the Ring's destroyed.'

'Is that not good?'

'It's very good.'

Somehow she had envisioned her own role as being a bit more proactive and it hadn't been. That didn't mean that along the way she had not nudged events in the right direction. She'd saved Boromir's life and somehow, she'd done her bit in preserving Théodred's as well and wasn't that making ripples left, right and centre? And then there was that thing with the dead people which was somehow down to her. Oh, and I've killed a Nazgûl. She shouldn't forget that bit.

But not everything was good yet. Even as she was patting herself on the back for a job well done, movement on the horizon caught her eye. At first she thought it was a cloud that went before the sun, just for a moment before it moved on elsewhere.

It wasn't.

Well, shit.

Gondor had been free of the Shadow since the death of the Witch King and the charge of the Rohirrim. Technically it still was. It was just that it was unclear for how much longer it would remain that way.

In the skies above Mordor something was happening. The clouds there had never left and flashed ominously on and off. Beth had observed the phenomenon from her bedroom window just two nights ago. But what was going on there now was more than just clouds.

Despite her many layers of clothing, she was chilled to the bone. If it hadn't been for the fact that Folca ignored her orders, she might have tried to turn him around there and then.

What was growing in the skies above Mordor now was not just shadow. It was not more clouds either. This was something else entirely, more dense than clouds and shadow and infinitely more terrifying. This was utter darkness, pure and simple. It originated somewhere behind the Mountains where she could not see and was pushed up in the same way an erupting volcano might spew its contents into the air.

This was not volcanic matter either. Beth had seen enough documentaries to know that much.

It never ended. More and more darkness was generated somewhere beyond her sight and all of it was pushed up into the air above Mordor.

All along the lines men stood and gasped and pointed. Fear washed over every single person who saw it happening. To their credit, no one actually turned around and ran. The whole army skidded to a halt instead. The only ones carrying on as though nothing was at all wrong with the world were the Mûmakil. They ambled along come hell or high water, probably because neither of those could even remotely slow them down in the first place.

Men and horses were more breakable and had therefore been blessed with more sense of self-preservation. Now everyone stood and watched and feared.

'Is this…?' Théodred asked.

Beth knew what he had been about to ask and spoke before he ever could get the rest of the question out. 'No. Nothing like this.'

So now what? She could only stare at what was happening in the distance. All around the men halted and whispered among themselves. She dearly hoped that what they were whispering about was not about the best time to make a run for it. She equally dearly hoped that they did not decide among themselves that now would be the best time for such a move. In the book Aragorn would dismiss the faint-hearted, but if they were to keep up the ruse that Faramir had taken command with the Ring, that would never do. No one who possessed the Ring – or had mastered it – would ever allow anyone to run.

Shit, shit, shit.

Now what?

No one ran. It was not because anyone gave a great speech or led by any great example. It was because the Mûmakil didn't stop. Goodness knew why their handlers didn't stop them. Perhaps wiser heads prevailed there. Either way, the beasts lumbered along at their usual pace, showing no signs whatsoever that stopping was on the agenda anytime soon. A gap fell between them and the rest of the army.

People looked around them askance. Beth saw men, still casting nervous glances at the east, begin to realise that no one had actually told them to stop. And the Mûmakil were still moving, so that had to mean that they were meant to continue on, surely? What else could it mean? All they needed was one person to actually keep moving.

No one was making any move to get on with anything either.

Oh, for heaven's sake!

For a moment it seemed as though the whole thing would founder on the rocks of indecisiveness anyway. People were still looking at the dark skies above Mordor with faces that betrayed that they really didn't want to be here anymore. If someone gave them a decent excuse, they'd turn around and be home in time for tea regardless of what the Mûmakil were or weren't doing.

So what's stopping you?

Well, the great darkness that loomed ahead for starters. Truth be told, Beth didn't like this any better than those around her. For now the whole thing seemed contained within the borders of Mordor, but this was a show of force that did not bode well for those trying to fight it. Sauron may not have that many orcs left, but that didn't mean that he was powerless. There was a huge difference.

But they had started this whole thing now. Turning back was no longer a viable option, so Beth bent over Folca's head and gave him some stern words. 'Listen to me, Mister. You and I don't always see eye to eye, but I've put up with your airs and graces for quite long enough now. Disobey me now and I will see you end in tonight's stew. Don't go thinking I won't.'

She dug her heels into his sides and clacked her tongue the way she had seen the Rohirrim do.

For what felt like an eternity Folca didn't move. Nothing happened, but then it did. Folca, perhaps realising the absolute sincerity with which his unwanted owner had spoken this threat, decided that perhaps he would be wise not to put this thing to the test. He placed one hoof in front of the other, then did it again and again and again. Beth meanwhile sat on his back, head up high and back ramrod straight. She didn't dare look behind her. For all she knew she was the only one who even thought about moving. If she looked back, she might lose her nerve and turn around.

They felt like the longest moments of her life.

Then at last more hoofbeats followed and voices shouted out commands as behind her the entire army jerked into movement again.


Next time: it's back to the Mordor boys for a close-up of what is happening in Mordor.

As always thank you for reading. Reviews would be lovely.

Until next week!