I'm back again already, can you believe it?! I have another full chapter to post in a week or so, and then another started. I hope my Muse will come back (the witch left me again, dadgumit - I haven't been doing any writing at all the last couple weeks... stupid downswing on mood hit right as I was really starting to get somewhere; let me tell y'all, depression is a bitch).
Anyhoo, let me thank everyone who has stopped by to read along for your continued support. I give special shout-out to my Rockstar Reviewers: Sparky She-Demon, Robinbird79, SuperWhoVenger214, Nenithiel, djhay4, JayBird7567, Aashi, Guest, Celebrisilweth, Jubilee, readergirl4985, and dojoson41.
Aashi - And I am excited that you were excited, lol! Thank you for saying the story keeps getting better. Don't have too bad a feeling though, all will turn out well.
Guest - Thank you for the kind words! I'm chuffed you think this version of the story makes sense.
Jubilee - Don't fall off!
dojoson41 - I definitely appreciate your enthusiasm, but he's not. Remember that it was explained to Thorin before he even agreed to being sent back that giving up kingship of Erebor was the price he had to pay for being allowed to go back in the first place. It was a price he accepted, and ultimately comes to understand.
85. Farewell and Welcome
"Bloody hell, Thorin, will you tell us what the devil's got you so fired up?"
Thorin continued to ignore Dwalin as his mad dash carried him at last into the guest wing of the palace. Relief mixed with the dread in his stomach to find that Glorfindel and Ranárë had not yet taken their leave.
"Forgive the intrusion," he said breathlessly as he burst unannounced into the elf's rooms. "You must look at this."
He thrust the page from Hagen's diary at them. Glorfindel took it, his expression alight with surprise. It changed in an instant to one of shock.
"Where did you get this, Your Highness?" Ranárë asked, her tone calm but firm.
"Halvar. He brought to me a diary he found in Hagen's desk," Thorin replied. "That fell out of it."
"Where is the diary?" Glorfindel asked, even as Thorin held it up. The elf snatched it from him, and he and Ranárë flipped through it rapidly.
"Uncle, what is it? What's on the paper?" Kíli asked.
"The source of all your troubles, Master Kíli," said Glorfindel as he held up the drawing. "This is a palantír—one of seven 'seeing stones' rescued from Númenor by Elendil and his sons. They were used by the Númenóreans of old when they came to these shores as a means of communicating across great distances. Unfortunately, four of them were lost—though Hagen appears to have found one of those—and one of the three known to remain we believe to be in the possession of the Deceiver."
"Her Highness was right," spoke up Ranárë. "She said only a few days ago that if Sauron had gotten a hold of Hagen, he would be easily corrupted. He must have done so through the stone. This diary confirms nearly every one of the charges against him—the people of Dwarrowvale would certainly believe them now if they did not before, as the words are written in his own hand."
"You can read Khuzdul runes?" wondered Thorin, though he was little surprised by her confirming nod.
"I can read your writing as well, though not to the same degree of success as the lady," Glorfindel added. "I can also understand it spoken, if you'll recall."
Kíli stepped further into the room. "What about his ordering Lita to poison my amad?"
"This diary doesn't go back that far, but if there is one, there are bound to be others," Ranárë replied. "But here it does confirm your suspicion, Prince Thorin, that the main goal was control of the mithril—the Deceiver's minions could outfit legions of orcs with weapons and armor that are nigh indestructible if they could make them with mithril."
"I knew it!" Thorin all but exploded.
Now you know the full weight of your new destiny, my son, said Mahal in his mind.
This is why I was needed here, to keep Sauron from getting control of the mithril through Hagen?
Yes. The All Father revealed to me just enough to get you there—the rest you had to discover yourself so that you would truly understand why you had to give up the home you had fought to return to your kin. If Sauron could have used Khazâd-dubanu's mithril to armor his future legions—
—there would be no stopping him, Thorin finished the thought.
"If this sodding stone is how Sauron manipulated Hagen into doing his dirty work," muttered Dwalin, "then where is it now? I say we find it and destroy it so it can't be used by anyone else."
"I agree it is imperative that we find the stone," concurred Glorfindel, "but we cannot destroy it with mere weapons of war. It would take power of great magnitude to destroy a palantír."
"It will be somewhere in Eastfell Hall," Thorin said then, his attention returning to the others. "Likely Hagen's office or bedroom—somewhere he would go to be alone, that no other would know he possessed it."
"Then let us go there at once, Your Highness," Glorfindel said.
Thorin nodded resolutely, and the party set off. When they reached Eastfell Hall some twenty minutes later, they startled Lady Greti by their hurried appearance.
"Your Highness, whatever is the matter?" she asked.
"Hagen's study, where is it?" Thorin demanded.
"It-it's down this hall," she said, gesturing to her right. Thorin and his companions immediately started that way and the dam hurried to catch up. "Your Highness, please—what is this about?"
The study was found easily enough—the door stood open, and Halvar sat at the large, ornate desk that dominated the space writing what appeared to be a list. He stood immediately.
"My Lord Prince, what has happened?"
"Have you ever seen something like this?" asked Thorin, gesturing to Glorfindel, who held out the drawing from the diary. "Lady Greti?"
Halvar studied the drawing and shook his head. His mother moved around to view it as well and did the same.
"What is it, Your Highness?" Halvar asked.
"A stone that it is imperative we find," Thorin replied. "We have reason to believe, based on the writings in the diary you gave me, that the Deceiver used this to manipulate your father to his will."
"Do you mean he may not have committed all those offenses of his own will?" Lady Greti queried.
"It is likely that his mind and his will were already weak, my lady," said Ranárë. "The stones themselves cannot show lies, but if one user is stronger-willed than another, they can be used to make a person see only what you want them to see. Such magical objects can easily be used to twist blind ambition such as your late husband displayed."
"And you believe that the Deceiver has such a stone, and that through it he turned my father into the monster he became?" asked Halvar.
"Seems that way, lad," said Dwalin.
Halvar glanced at his mother, then to Thorin. "Let us find it, then, and be rid of it."
The study was quickly turned out; drawers were opened, cabinets and shelves moved, stones of the walls and floor probed for weaknesses. They found nothing save three more diaries, one of which did include the plan to send Lita to Erebor to "keep that Durin kanbûna from attempting to whelp another Heir of Durin."
Kíli cursed viciously when Glorfindel read those words aloud.
"Lady Greti, did you share a bedchamber with your husband?" Thorin asked when the study was deemed clear.
The dam scoffed. "Not in the last eighty years, Your Highness. Once I'd borne him an heir but no spare came, his interest in me was ended and his affairs with other females began. That's when I realized what a fool I'd been to accept his proposal."
"We know he's had it at least the last five and a half years," observed Dwalin. "Plenty of time for him to have secured the stone away from prying eyes"
"I'll be only too happy to show you where his room is," said Lady Greti.
She lifted her chin and marched with straight-backed resolution out of the room. The others fell in behind her as she led the way into the main hall, then up the grand staircase and down another to what she called "the family wing."
The door, they found, was locked. Both Greti and Halvar said they'd just not been inclined to enter the room since Hagen's death, so hadn't known it would be.
"How much do you care for this aged piece of wood, Lord Halvar?" Thorin asked.
"It's a door, Your Highness. Easily replaced," said the younger dwarf.
Thorin smirked. "Good," he said, then lifted a foot and gave a mighty kick.
The wooden door, though clearly very old, immediately splintered around the lock. Thorin kicked it again and it swung open to bang against the wall. All but Lady Greti stepped inside and began to search for the palantír.
Kíli alighted on the trunk at the foot of Hagen's bed as the others searched chests and shelves and a wardrobe. Having emptied the trunk of its own contents and finding nothing, he pushed it aside and saw that one of the flagstones beneath it had clearly been carved up.
"Uncle!" he cried as he reached for the loose stone.
"Take care, Master Dwarf," warned Ranárë. "If the stone is under there, do not touch it without some barrier between your hand and its surface."
He nodded and lifted the flagstone as Thorin knelt beside him. Underneath the floor stone they found another, smaller chest. Thorin lifted it out, then carefully raised the lid.
They had found the palantír.
For a long moment, Thorin found he could only stare at it. This stone, which looked to him to be made of glass—at least on the surface he could see, as the stone was nestled on a bed of velvet within the chest—had been used to cause so much damage. To his sister. To the people of Dwarrowvale.
To Rejna.
"This is why we came here, irakdashat. This is why I was needed—to stop the Deceiver gaining control of Dwarrowvale's mithril through Hagen," Thorin informed those gathered. "By ending his campaign against the crown, I protected the people of this peaceful land from being overrun by the Deceiver's minions."
"Sulladad has chosen well for us," said Halvar.
"Indeed, dashatê," said Lady Greti. "There were many of us what knew your father to be ambitious, but we were all of us blind to the true danger he represented. Prince Thorin was not the cause of our kingdom's troubles, but our salvation from them."
Thorin grunted, somewhat disturbed to be hearing such lofty praise from a dam whose husband he had killed only a few days ago—even if she did not hold it against him because the lout had deserved it.
"You are certain, Lord Glorfindel, that we cannot use an axe or a hammer to destroy it?" he asked gruffly.
"To my knowledge, yes. The magic used in their creation was no simple spell."
"What will you do with it, Uncle, if we can't just smash the bloody thing?" said Kíli.
Thorin recalled then his obsession with recovering the Arkenstone, and how he had hoped to use it to reunite the seven families with himself as their high king. Though his cause was noble and just, that same obsession had made him vulnerable to gold sickness—and that had nearly cost him everything that mattered.
Already it had cost him, his nephews, and his sister four years of their lives. He would not allow himself or anyone he loved to be made such a fool again, not if he could help it.
Slowly, Thorin closed the lid to cover the stone. "I would not have it here where any who found it might be tempted to use it," he said as he stood with the chest in hand. Turning to Glorfindel and Ranárë, he asked, "Do you think Elrond would know what to do with this wretched stone?"
They glanced at one another, then back to him. "I believe so, Your Highness," Ranárë replied.
"Even if all he does is lock it away," added Glorfindel, "I should say it will be much safer in Imladris than here. I should not wish to see any of your kin tempted by it again."
Thorin snorted as he flicked his eyes to Kíli and back. "Sauron will learn of our presence soon enough," he said. "I see no need to hasten his gaining that knowledge."
He then held out the chest. Glorfindel took it, then looked to Ranárë. "It would seem, my lady, that our presence here is no longer required."
She nodded. "Yes. I believe we have fulfilled our purpose."
"You may no longer be required at this time, my lord, my lady…but you will always be welcome," Thorin told them.
"Thank you, Your Highness," the ancient elf replied, then took the hand that Ranárë held out to him.
"Wait, what about Peré?" Kíli asked.
Ranárë smiled. "She will make her own way home, Master Dwarf."
With that, the elf and the wizard closed their eyes, and in a flash of blinding light, they were gone.
-…-
In the weeks that followed the discovery of the true source of Dwarrowvale's troubles, every nook and cranny of the kingdom that could reasonably be searched was examined thoroughly. Not knowing where or how Hagen had acquired the palantír—none of the diaries they'd found revealed the information—Thorin was determined that no one else should unwittingly come across another one, and like Eastfell's former lord be tricked into doing evil deeds. The increased military presence in all the districts also continued to curb incidents of unrest, until the crime reports in each were much as they had been before Hagen's campaign against the crown had begun.
A little more than a fortnight into May, as the first seeds planted for harvest began to bud, Brownie and Mist—Fíli' and Kíli's ponies—foaled their little ones, a colt and filly respectively. Fíli and Melindë also welcomed their daughter Meldís into the world.
Of course, in true Durin fashion, her entrance was not without its share of drama…
They had just settled in for the night when Melindë informed Fíli she believed herself in labor. He ran in a panic through their house to the guest rooms, where Orenna had been staying for the last week in anticipation of the birth. The Dunedaín woman, a trained midwife, was up immediately and in their room to check her patient as Fíli ran across the river to fetch Larkspur for assistance. Dwalin escorted his wife and their son, along with Asrân, over the bridge as Balin was dispatched to the palace to inform Thorin. Soon enough, the parlor was full of dwarrow ready to keep the anxious father-to-be in check, while Dís, Rejna and the hobbit assisted his wife.
Melindë did very well breathing through her pain the first couple of hours, but after her waters broke the contractions became much stronger. The more time that passed, the more painful they became as well. Fíli was ready to break the bedroom door down every time he heard her cry out, or just heard her crying. A great deal of unintelligible Sindarin was uttered by the birthing mother, and her husband was nearly despondent when he realized a full day had passed and his child still had not come.
An hour or so before sunrise the next morning, the voices in his bedroom fell silent.
Fíli was about to knock on the door when his mother stepped out of it looking quite worn out. If she looked this tired, he mused, Melindë was surely exhausted.
"Dashatê, there may be a problem," Dís said slowly.
Fíli began to shake his head as he backed away from her. "No. No," he uttered despairingly, stumbling and falling to the floor as he backed into a chair and missed the seat.
"Dís, what is the matter?" asked Thorin.
His sister kept her eyes on her son. "Orenna believes the baby has not turned into the birthing position," she said. "And your One is exhausted. She sleeps now, though fitfully."
"But…but are they okay? Will they… will they s-survive this?" Fíli asked, tears of desperation on his face.
Dís moved to kneel before him. "At the present the child is well, but if we cannot get her to move into the birth canal soon, she will become distressed."
"Amad, you have to do something! Please, you have to…you have to… I can't… Mel's mother d-died in childbirth. I can't lose them."
She grabbed his hands and gave then a strong squeeze. "You will not lose your One or your child, Fíli. I promise you this. Orenna wants to try turning the baby, but it will cause Melindë a lot of discomfort. If we are unsuccessful, we will have no choice but to send for a healer who can surgically remove the child."
Fíli's chest tightened painfully, and he was on the verge of hyperventilating. It was some minutes before he felt calm enough to nod his head and then push to his feet.
"I want to see her," he said.
Dís agreed with a silent nod and turned to lead the way. Fíli found his wife was all but drenched in sweat, propped up against pillows that were equally as wet as she.
"Oh, Ibriz," he whispered as he neared the bed.
At that moment, a contraction woke her and she groaned. Her eyes fluttered open, and when she took note of his presence, she began to sob.
"Oh, Fíli… I'm so sorry, meleth nín," she cried. "I'm so sorry… I can't do it. I just can't. We're nae gonna make it. Just like me mum and brother."
"No," he said fiercely as he sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. "I won't lose you. I won't lose our little girl. I'll fight Mahal himself if needs be to keep you here."
"But she won't come. Meldís won't come."
"Since Mel is awake," said Orenna softly, "I think we should go ahead and try turning the baby. Master Fíli, will you hold down her shoulders? Rejna, Larkspur, hold her legs. Dís, I would have you on her other side to assist me."
Fíli laid across his wife's chest as the others moved to where directed. It was all he could do not to bark at them to stop, to just stop hurting her, when Melindë started to scream as her friend and his mother pushed and prodded the baby around in her womb.
"I think… we've got it…" said Orenna after an interminably long moment. "Fíli, as tired as she is, your wife hasn't the strength to push, but we need to get the baby to move into the birth canal before she has chance to turn 'round again. Larkspur, Rejna, get the towels ready."
"What must I do?" Fíli asked.
"Wrap your arms around her, under hers, and hold her upright," Orenna directed.
Fíli nodded, then slipped his arms under Melindë and lifted her. "Come now, Ibriz, up you go."
"I'm too tired," she complained weakly. "I can't."
"I'm going to hold you, love," he told her as he got her up off the bed and onto her feet, turning sideways with her so that Orenna and his mother would have room. The midwife placed Melindë's feet shoulder width apart and then reached up between them to check the baby again.
"Excellent, she hasn't flipped back," Orenna said. "Madam Dís, stand on my right. With your hand on Mel's belly, push firmly but not too hard."
Dís chuckled as she moved into position and slipped her arm in between him and Melindë. "Do not worry, Madam Orenna. I have assisted with such births before."
"Why is this so hard for her?" Fíli asked. "Can't be because she's not a dwarf, can it? I mean, Lark labored half a day, but she didn't have near so much trouble."
"I suspect that is because my people are built much more like yours than Men—we're stocky and thick-boned like dwarves are," Larkspur said. "But I will say that even hobbit babes get turned around and cause trouble like this once in a while."
"As do dwarves—Kíli wouldn't stay turned correctly no matter what the midwife and healer did," added Dís. "His feet had slipped down into the birth canal at one point, so the healer reached inside me to pull him out that way."
Fíli shuddered at her description, then snorted and said, "Why doesn't it surprise me that Kíli gave you trouble before he'd taken his first breath? Reckless little brat."
"There is also the fact that some daughters of Men simply do not widen far enough for their babies to move into the birth canal," added Orenna. "Or the baby is simply too big to fit—that I've seen happen quite often in mixed births in the Valley."
"Oi," said Melindë suddenly. "Can ye stop yammerin' and get this babe out o' me already?"
"Of course, my dear," Orenna said with a chuckle. "On the next contraction, Dís, push down. Mel, sweetie, if you feel like you can push, do it."
Fíli glanced down to see his wife looking into his eyes. He gave her a smile and an encouraging nod, and much to his delight—and pride in her—she drew a breath and held herself off of him, then said, "All right. I can do this—my Fíli's here with me."
His grin widened, and he began to speak Khuzdul softly, words of encouragement and praise, and he cheered loudly when Orenna announced that Meldís's head was at last visible. Melindë began to cry again, though this time her tears were of joy, and she seemed to find within herself a renewed strength as she bore down to get the baby's shoulders out. When they were, Orenna only had to tug her gently a time or two, and then she was fully out into the air.
"The elf was right, you have a girl!" Orenna cried.
Fíli unashamedly began to cry along with Melindë, laughing with joy as the midwife held Meldís up by her ankles and lightly smacked her bottom. On the third swat, the baby at last gave a long, lusty cry. The cheers out in the parlor nearly drowned out those in the bedroom, though none crowed louder than the new parents.
"Oh, my Fíli!" Melindë said, her voice laced with fatigue but also full of joy. "We did it! Our baby girl be here!"
"No, my love," he rejoined. "You did it. I'm so proud of you, Ibriz. I know it was hard, and you were so scared, but in the end you didn't give up. And now our girl is here."
She took one hand from his shoulder and touched it to his cheek. "I didnae give up because ye were here wit' me."
Melindë's head fell to his shoulder then. "But och, I'm so very tired now."
"Come, let's get you back in bed then," he said.
"Wait just a few more minutes, Master Fíli," Orenna told him. "We're still waiting on the afterbirth to pass. Might as well keep her upright until it comes."
Just then his mother, who had moved away as soon as Meldís was free of Melindë, came up beside the two with a whimpering bundle in her arms. "Here is your daughter, my children."
Fíli and Melindë turned their heads to look. Meldís had a smattering of dark curls around her head, and her little face was scrunched up as though she were displeased.
Lifting a hand to touch a finger to her cheek, Fíli said, "Meldís, daughter of Melindë, daughter of Morren, I welcome you in the name of our Maker."
By the time he had finished the traditional Khuzdul blessing for a daughter, the afterbirth had passed and he was able to put Melindë back into bed. She barely made a sound, exhaustion having at last taken a firm hold; she'd fallen asleep before her head even touched the pillow.
Still, Fíli asked, "She's okay, right?"
Orenna checked her pulse and breathing, then offered a smile. "Yes, Master Fíli. Melindë is only having a well-earned rest."
He sighed with relief, then turned again to his mother, who smiled and silently transferred his daughter into his arms. Fíli felt nervous to take hold of so little a thing, moreso than when he had held Dwalar for the first time, but never had his heart been so full of love. He'd known the instant he saw her—no, before then; when he had first learned of her conception—that he would love this child deeply, and protect her fiercely.
He looked again to Orenna. "You'll look after Mel while I introduce the baby to the family?"
"You know I will," she said. "I only wish the Morren could have been back by now. Belador and Oradír will be sorry to have missed the birth."
"I'm sorry her brothers couldn't be here, but they'll not be gone too much longer," Fíli replied. His acknowledging the connection between the two families brought a smile to Orenna's face.
Moments later, Fíli was leading his mother, Rejna, and Larkspur out of the bedroom. Dís and Larkspur headed over to Balin to take over the minding of the two babies while he introduced his daughter to the males of the family. Fíli made sure his brother was the first to hold her after himself.
Kíli laughed softly as he looked down at his niece. "I'm an irak'adad. Holy moley, I'm an uncle." He lifted his gaze to Fíli's. "If any male breaks her heart, I'll break his fecking neck."
The family all laughed, thought they knew he was perfectly serious. "That's if her adad don't break it first," said Dwalin.
"Adad," whispered Fíli as Kíli was reluctantly handing Meldís over to Thorin. "I'm an adad now. I'm an adad!"
Larkspur shook her head as he offered a headbutt to every male in the room; she had never really understood why they did that. Thorin had handed Meldís to Balin before accepting the last one, then threw his arms around his nephew in a tight embrace.
"Congratulations, irakdashat," said he. "You have a beautiful daughter."
"Thank you, uncle," said Fíli. "I can hardly wait until Mel is feeling better. I want to make her dream come true—the one she used to have all the time? Just the two of us and Meldís, having a picnic together."
"Don't forget you were bouncing Meldís on your knee," Kíli reminded him.
Fíli grinned, as he was then taking Meldís from Balin. "Oh, I haven't forgotten that, brother. There will be loads of adad bouncing his baby girl on his knee, won't there, Meldís? Adad's little princess will love that, won't you?"
"Oh my goodness," Larkspur said then. "She is, isn't she? A princess, I mean."
Fíli looked to his uncle. "Is she? Am I even still a prince? I don't give a kakhf either way, but now Lark's mentioned it, I'm curious."
"Death and rebirth does not change who you were, dashatê," spoke up Dís. "You were born a Prince of Erebor, and you still are a Prince of Erebor. So is Kíli. So is your uncle."
"As a matter of fact," added Balin, "Daín himself has said that Thorin is still our king."
Thorin snorted. "You may tell Daín that flattery will get him nowhere," he said. "I'll not be taking over as head of the Seven Families no matter how much he tries to convince me otherwise. Remind him that I gave that up along with kingship of Erebor."
Fíli listened with half an ear, his attention devoted to the babe held gently in his arms. Princess Meldís, he thought. Well, even if she weren't a princess by birth, his daughter would still be a princess to him.