Chapter 145

Revealing the Secret

Duria did wonder what Thoren wanted to discuss and especially why he wanted to do so at that precise moment. After all, it was late and there were no current threats. The traitors were gone. The orcs were all gone. Sauron was no more. Slowly but surely life was resuming its normal rhythm. True, there were an awful lot of people still around, but they weren't troublemakers. What pressing crisis could there possibly be?

Cathy had a fair few guesses, but that was because she was at this moment far better informed about the state of affairs than her sister was. The sheer amount of people under the Mountain was enough cause for concern for her, because she also knew how little food she still had available to feed them all.

True, Stonehelm had made sure that his people were on their way back to the Iron Hills two days after his chat with Cathy. A fishing party headed by Solmund himself had set off on the same day. But the Galadhrim were still there and apparently quite comfortable were they were. They showed no signs of leaving and many did not want them to go either; they were formidable healers. Guess what else, beside food, was in short supply?

Yes, you got it in one.

It wasn't just her own people she had to keep fed. She had the men of Dale and Esgaroth to consider, as well as the elves from Mirkwood and Lothlórien. Three of those four groups currently had nowhere to go and the remaining one could not be missed. But they could not all be fed either and it was this simple fact that had robbed her off her sleep. Well, at least until her body decided otherwise. Peace of mind however was still in short supply.

As was everything else, so at least it did not stand out much.

Cathy strongly suspected that it was this particular topic that Thoren expected to be briefed on. It was the reason that she declined Duria's order – only thinly veiled as a well-meant invitation – to bring her home. This was something that couldn't really wait. Little did she know, nothing was further from Thoren's mind…

Cathy

'You do know that I can maintain forwards momentum all by myself, do you not, Duria?' It took her every last scrap of will-power not to snap the words. She did however shake off Duria's arm with a bit of a huff. She was prepared to give Duria some leeway, but it was already close to breaking point. Work may be its own remedy, but Cathy had some questions about what Duria defined as work.

She didn't ask, but only because she suspected that the answer was her.

'You are not well,' Duria countered.

'I am tired.' Too little sleep would do that to a body. It was all perfectly natural. 'As far as I'm aware no one has perished from a little sleep deprivation.' Duria opened her mouth to no doubt list all the wretched souls who had suffered exactly such a death, so Cathy hastened to speak before she could: 'I shall keep the visit brief at any rate. It's late and there's more than enough work to be getting on with in the morning.'

Not to mention the fact that she had to initiate Duria, which would take up more time. She blamed the fatigue for that little lapse of judgement. Nothing she could do about it now of course. She'd promised. She was not a woman of the race of men that her word could be so easily broken. So she'd deal with that on the morrow. Right now it was off to Thoren she went, to calm his nerves, give him the briefest summary of her own activities and then she was off home. Everything else would have to wait, because she had trouble keeping her eyes open.

Best not tell that to Duria.

It wasn't far to Thoren's, so she did not have to bear Duria's incessant fussing for long. The guard on the door let them in without being asked. On principle, Cathy made sure to be the first one across the threshold, before Duria could barge in with her version of events. She'd probably set back Thoren's recovery by weeks.

'Evening,' she called out, adopting a cheerful tone of voice. Her equilibrium was a little wobbly these days, but she managed to sashay into the room with both confidence and balance, so she counted that a win. 'Apologies for my lateness. I'm afraid I fell asleep on your desk, but as you see, Duria's roused me.'

He did look better. Of course, given that she hadn't seen many folk at all of late, she hadn't seen him either. The last time she clapped eyes on him, he'd been unable to stand. Most of the time he was asleep anyway. Presumably he still slept a lot and his balance was far more wobbly than her own - and required the aid of a walking stick – but he rose to his feet to greet her when she entered.

He's on the mend. Just knowing that made her feel better.

That wasn't to say that he was not still in a right state. Every bit of exposed skin was marred by a crisscross of lines, either healing or scarred. Simply looking at him made her want to shovel food into his mouth, because he was far too thin. And too grey. A lot of his hair was still the vibrant red he and she had inherited from their mother, but right there at his temples was the first grey. It didn't suit him. He looked old and weary, not at all like the strong King under the Mountain who had not only achieved all his goals, but who also was set to write history when he finally wed his elf.

The elf in question was here too, looking altogether better than her betrothed. Cathy hadn't exchanged a word with her since she learned the news – through Duria – and so the whole setting had the potential of becoming awkward.

Cathy regarded her and honestly, still did not know what to make of her. Elves were guarded. Reading their faces was an exercise in futility. It had never been so with Elvaethor, who wore his heart on his sleeve, but then, he was a dwarf. He just didn't look like one. Tauriel had always been entirely other. Oh, no doubt she was the good sort, but Cathy never quite knew where she stood with her.

She's good for Thoren. Even a blind dwarf could see that. She's the good sort on the whole. She had gone above and beyond the call of duty. Cathy herself owed her life to her. For that simple reason alone she would keep her misgivings quiet and make Tauriel as welcome as she could make her.

Better make a start with that.

She embraced Thoren and tried not to wince when she felt his ribs and noticed the lack of strength in his grasp. He's on the mend, she reminded herself. He will be strong again. The fact that he could stand to hold her at all was testimony to that.

This done, she turned to Tauriel, holding out a hand in greeting. The smile she sent the elf's way to accompany the gesture was genuine too. 'Tauriel, good to see you once more.'

Tauriel did clasp the proffered hand, but her eyes were wary. Well, the only comparison she had would be Duria's horrified response to recent developments, so Cathy could not truly blame her. Cathy however prided herself on being nothing like her overbearing sister – despite recent evidence to the contrary – so she maintained her smile.

But perhaps a more dwarvish approach was called for. 'You're good for my brother,' she said. This unexpected development created the slightest crack in the elvish mask to reveal a startled expression underneath. 'And that is good enough for me.' Duria could have her own opinions, but Cathy had never been cursed with the tendency to stick her nose in other people's business. Her own life was interesting enough. 'Welcome.'

Relief flooded her features for just a moment. 'Thank you.'

'I wouldn't know what for,' Cathy replied airily, before turning to Thoren. 'Well, here we are. What can I do for you?'

'I would speak to you.' He sat himself back down with visible difficulty. 'Please sit. I'd mislike staring up at you.'

'It would be a novel experience,' Cathy grinned at him, but she did as she was asked. Something in his tone indicated that this was a serious matter.

Cathy thought of their dwindling food supplies and privately agreed that it was.

Duria was making some unintelligible noises indicating displeasure – presumably because Cathy had successfully side-lined her – but she too did as she was bid. Perhaps she had heard the tone of voice as well and had drawn the conclusion that what was about to be discussed was more important than her whinging.

'So,' she began when Thoren made no immediate attempt to do just that, 'what is the matter?' There was still the slightest possibility that this was not about the food supplies.

He took a deep breath, organised his thoughts and then spoke: 'During the war, the Lady Galadriel revealed something to me.'

Silence.

'Yes?' Cathy prompted.

More silence, but she didn't think it was so that he could build the suspense. He was genuinely struggling to find a way to speak of this matter – whatever that matter may be – in words that would do it justice. Words had never been his tool of choice – that was Duria's strength – so she was prepared to cut him some slack.

But patience only went so far and curiosity was already rearing its head.

'Do the orcs secretly dress up and have dance parties every full moon?' she asked. 'Because I reckoned that would be quite the revelation for anyone.'

He barked out a laugh. 'Not to the best of my knowledge,' he assured her. 'No, the thing that she told me is good for our people.'

'Let's hear it then.' It had been far too long since Cathy had heard any good news at all.

He didn't give it immediately. 'You'll recall that we were told that Thráin and his companions stayed for a while in Lothlórien.'

'I'm pregnant, not senile.'

Thoren did not take the bait. 'They came to the woods from Khazad-dûm,' he continued as if the route was somehow significant.

Duria clearly shared the sentiment. 'Aye, they would have. Only a fool would chance the mountain passes in the midst of winter.' This from one who never chanced a mountain pass, summer or winter. 'It would have been the best option for them to go underground, though I do hope they did not encounter Durin's Bane.' She took another deep breath so that she could make a good start on every bit of research that had ever been done on Durin's Bane.

She never got the chance. Thoren knew only too well what Duria was like once she got going, so he stopped her in her tracks: 'This is not the time for that, Duria. Durin's Bane was a Balrog of Morgoth and Gandalf has defeated him.'

If Cathy relished the shock on Duria's face when she realised that Thoren knew something she didn't know first, then she was wise enough not to say a thing about it.

In the shocked silence that reigned afterwards – Duria's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water – Thoren quickly continued: 'This is not important just now, Duria. What is important is that they briefly halted on the shores of Kheled-zâram and they all looked in the waters.' He barely halted between sentences, but the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Surely… 'Durin's Crown was revealed to Thráin there.'

Cathy knew the story as well as any dwarf. Durin the Deathless was the father of their people and every dwarf under the Mountain knew where he came from. She'd learned the song when she was just six years old. Her memory was good. She could still call the relevant passage to mind at the drop of a hat:

He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,

And saw a crown of stars appear,

As gems upon a silver thread

Above the shadow of his head.

Durin the Deathless had long wandered before he at last came to that valley and the crown was revealed to him. Thráin, likewise, had wandered for many a year until he at last reached that lake and was crowned with stars. Now that she knew the similarities were striking. Had they occurred to Thráin too?

There lies his crown in water deep,

Till Durin wakes again from sleep.

Durin walked again. Just thinking it sounded surreal or even a bad joke, but there was no amusement in Thoren's eyes. She didn't think there would be. If so, he would not have called them here so late at night. And surely the Lady knew what she was talking about. If she had not been sure, she would never have said something to Thoren.

Thráin.

It refused to sink in. Thoren was the dutiful one. Thráin was the one who took one look at responsibility and then took off in the other direction as quickly as his feet would carry him. Thoren was the one who knew how to talk to folk he didn't like. Thráin was the one who told them in no uncertain terms what he thought of them. Thoren had been born for kingship. Thráin had not.

And yet.

She opened her mouth and closed it again.

Thráin.

Out of all the dwarves who could have been Durin, it was him, a half mannish, rude, loyal, headstrong dwarf. This was her brother, not some legend. That was not him. Thráin was real and alive and Durin was a distant image, more legend than life. Not once had she ever believed that Durin the Seventh was someone who'd rise during her lifetime. It would be in some far-off time when she was long dead and buried.

Beside her Duria was rendered equally speechless, although that was bound to change soon. For the moment though she was doing a tremendous amount of blinking and gaping. She would. She was the one always harrying Thráin about his behaviour, always reminding him what a poor reflection he cast on them all.

Only now their wayward brother was Durin the Seventh and she did not know what to make of that.

'Who else knows?' she demanded at last, which was not the question Cathy would have started with, but Duria's mind worked in mysterious ways.

Thoren made to answer, but enlightenment had dawned on Tauriel. 'Elvaethor knows.' It was not quite a statement, but neither was it entirely a question. She sounded more as though she had at last put the pieces of a very complicated puzzle together. 'It is why you asked him to go south. Because someone who knows must meet with him.'

Thoren inclined his head.

Duria was not best pleased. How she loathed to find that she was not first in line to discover something she considered important!

Thoren knew this. 'Elvaethor was with me when I was told.' Those words quite possibly saved his life.

So now what?

Truth be told, she didn't really doubt that it was true. Yes, she had trouble reconciling her favourite brother to the image of Durin the Seventh, but she'd probably still be struggling with that even if she lived to be a thousand years old. So she put those thoughts away to digest more in private.

There were practicalities to consider.

'So,' she said. 'What does it mean? For us? For our people?' Because one thing the legend was very clear on was that Durin would be a King. And generally speaking there was only ever one of them at a time. Thoren was still alive.

Of course he'd thought about it. 'I'll step back.' The answer came too quickly to be anything other than planned. 'When Thráin comes home, I must step back.'

Cathy's first response was that this was not fair. Thoren was the one who held the Mountain, who provoked the Enemy to such an extent that he had sent what must amount to the vast majority of his forces north to strike down this defiance, leaving the way open for Thráin. He'd fought and bled for their people. Now he'd lose his crown? To Thráin? He had not asked for this any more than Thoren had, she suspected. He might not even want it. Knowing him, he was even now plotting his escape from this excess of responsibility. Even if he did want it, he shouldn't take it, because this really wasn't fair to Thoren at all.

He saw the direction her thoughts took, quite possibly from looking at her face and making an educated guess. 'Kingship is a burden, Cathy.' His gaze was a little too knowing for her liking. 'I think you understand that now. Laying down the crown and everything that comes with it will be no hardship for me.' Especially not after this war, which of course he never actually mentioned.

Honestly, she could rail and rage against the injustice of it, but something in his tone made her hold her tongue. It was his crown and therefore also his choice to make. He'd thought about this. She could tell.

She settled for: 'I'm not sure I like it.'

'I'm not sure Thráin likes it,' he countered. A grin broke through. It made him look younger. 'But it seems he doesn't get a choice.' Unlike him, who had actually made a choice, even if she didn't really agree with it. Thoren was good at what he did. He may not like it, but he was the right person in the right place. Thráin could not have done what he had.

But it wasn't her choice, so she shut up.

For now.

Elvaethor

'There they are again.'

Nori swore, colourfully. 'Where are they going?' he demanded.

'I wish I knew.' Lancaeron narrowed his eyes in the general direction of the orcs as though this would tell him what their motivations were. It did of course no such thing.

For a week now they had travelled behind the group of orcs still more or less making their way south. It did not now seem that they were heading for Dol Guldur, but where they were going was anyone's guess. South, so Mordor it was most likely, though Elvaethor was now convinced that they did more so out of habit than out of any made decision. There was simply nowhere else for them to go.

As a result of this indecisiveness they travelled but slowly, meandering this way and that. Their little company lagged behind to avoid being seen and by now all of them were getting thoroughly fed up with it. Even Elvaethor was about ready to heed Flói's endless suggestions to just pick a fight and have it over with.

'They have stopped.' This was Galu. He was not a talker, never had been either, but his sight was keen even among a race of folk that had sharper eyesight than all of the other races combined. Never once had he led them astray so when he said that the orcs were doing this or that, he believed him.

'Halt,' he told his friends.

Kíli was somewhat ahead of him. The moment that Galu told him that the orcs had stopped he jumped off his horse with a frustrated growl. 'With the pace they're keeping up we should be lucky if we arrived in Gondor before winter.'

'Or Thráin might meet us halfway,' Elvaethor said, trying to be slightly optimistic.

Nori scoffed. 'We should be so lucky to get that far. Didn't Thoren say something about making haste?'

'Did he?' Kíli asked. 'Can't recall.'

'Well, he's not going to be wed until Thráin's home.' Nori grinned a grin that was pure mischief. 'And I reckon he'd like to get on with that as soon as he can move properly again. I wouldn't mind wagering he's regretting now that he's agreed to wait so long, if you catch my drift.'

Flói made a face as he too dismounted. 'My ma's right, you know. You ought to get on with finding yourself a wife of your own. It's entirely disturbing how involved you are in folks' private business.'

'Don't know how a wife's going to help with that.'

'Well, at least you'll have something of a private life,' Kíli pointed out.

'I've told you, lad, I'm….'

'… Wedded to your craft,' Kíli nodded warily. 'Speaking of which, where've my spare socks got to? I recall sticking them in my pack two days ago, but I've not seen them since.' Nori was truly the only suspect in this little mystery.

'I haven't been near your pack.' Nori, as usual, had a blanket apology for any and all mischief. 'Might have been rolled into your spare blanket. That happened to me once.'

'You misplaced your socks?'

'Once.'

'Well, I don't reckon I've misplaced mine. And if you're as innocent as you would appear, then you won't object to me rifling through your pack just to make sure.' Kíli remained unconvinced, as did everyone else.

Nori, of course, had an objection or two on the matter. He clutched his pack protectively to his chest. 'I don't want you young rascals sticking your noses where they're not wanted. Ah, ah, stay back.'

'You're acting rather suspicious there, Uncle.' Flói regarded him with a healthy dose of doubt. 'I say we'll get to the bottom of this, Kíli.' The grin was not quite as abundant as it would have been a month previous, but it was making a return. 'The both of us should suffice.'

'It should indeed.'

'Oh, no, no!'

A wrestling match ensued. Elvaethor let them get on with it. Galu kept an eye on the orcs. If anything came close, they'd see it before it saw them. They'd earned the time to not be frightened, to do what came quite naturally to dwarves.

Lancaeron did not know this. 'This seems unnecessarily rough,' he observed when Flói tackled his uncle to the ground with a cry that would not be out of place on a battlefield. 'Is this… acceptable behaviour among dwarves?'

'Quite.'

Lancaeron blinked. 'Shall I retrieve my bag with bandages?'

'Perhaps.'

He blinked again. 'Will this not make our journey harder?' he tried again, clearly visualising dwarves being at each other's throats for weeks on end, fostering resentment every inch of the way.

'Most assuredly not.' This he could explain quite easily. 'Can you not tell that this is good-natured? In some minutes all will be forgiven and forgotten and all will be as it was.' He did not say that in this case it would resort to mutual verbal abuse and much bickering. He felt that this would not reassure his companion.

'It is a strange people you have chosen,' Lancaeron remarked. He witnessed the happenings before him with not a little incredulity. Flói sat on his uncle's chest while Kíli made a grab for the pack and started throwing things haphazardly to the ground.

'There's your spoon, Flói,' he cried in victory. 'And Elvaethor's gloves. Oh, Master Lancaeron, these do seem like your spare laces.' Several objects that had gone missing over the past fortnight made a sudden reappearance.

Kíli would have cheerfully carried on emptying the pack, but Galu spoke again: 'We have been seen.'

He too had been distracted by the bickering and subsequent fight, but occasionally he kept his eye on the horizon and the orcs they could not seem to shake off. It was more than Elvaethor and Lancaeron had done.

The fight ceased abruptly. Flói helped Nori to his feet. Kíli was already ahead of him, going for his bow and arrows. For all they knew the orcs were running as fast as their legs could carry them, but they made sure that they were ready.

The orcs were not running.

Whatever despair had dragged them under when Sauron died, they had shaken it off. Their sense of purpose remained gone, but the despair was a temporary thing. Given the choice between wandering aimlessly or setting upon a group of travellers who were far fewer in number than they were, they decided on a fight.

And perhaps a meal afterwards.

None of them were keen on being dinner.

'We could ride well out of their reach,' Flói suggested half-heartedly. The words were somewhat undermined by the fact that he was already reaching for his weapon. 'It's what Thoren commanded.'

He would follow the order if I gave it.

'No.' Thoren had warned him to be cautious, but he never said to not defend himself and his when he found himself set upon. He was set upon now. Besides, where should they go? It was south they needed to go. Any direction they might flee in led them further away from their destination. 'Take up arms. Galu, tether the horses to that tree, but leave their saddles on.'

Just because he did not wish to run did not mean that there might be no need to. He had taken a vow to take care and so that was what he would do. The time for laying lives on the line had come and gone. Peace was upon them.

Of course no one had seen fit to inform the orcs.

They took up position. His sword was on his hip, but his bow was in his hand. Lancaeron, Galu and Kíli were similarly armed. Flói had but a little skill in archery and so had not brought his bow along for this venture and Nori had never learned at all.

They waited for some time. The orcs had some distance to cross before they could get to grips with the foe. This put them at some disadvantage, but that had never stopped one of their foul breed before. This group had been in war, Elvaethor saw as they came closer. They all sported wounds. Some had lost pieces of armour, others pieces of weaponry. They were battered and bruised, yet still came at them with intent.

'It'd be like putting a suffering beast out of its misery,' Nori observed when Elvaethor relayed this information. 'They've got nothing to go back to, do they? Sauron's gone. I reckon his ghostly generals have gone with him.'

'They may believe that they may yet find shelter in Mordor,' Lancaeron said. 'It is all they have ever known.'

'If they hope for refuge there, I fear they may hope in vain.' Elvaethor did not know much of Thráin's mission – in truth, no one in Erebor did – but it was his belief that the land would either rebel as soon as Sauron's hold was broken or retaliate against the death of its Master. Either way, it would not be a safe place to be for any creature, abomination or otherwise.

The orcs at long last came within reach. The light had faded almost entirely now, but this was no obstacle to an elf and not as much of an obstacle to a dwarf, whose eyes were made to still see in dark mountain halls. Elvaethor shot at them with deadly intent, as did his companions.

It did not deter the orcs, though it did indeed kill a great many of them. They kept coming anyway.

'This is hardly battle,' Kíli observed between shots. 'We are the means by which they kill themselves.'

It gave Elvaethor a little pause. When he turned it over in his mind, Kíli's remark rang true. The orcs may have made for Mordor, but only because there was nowhere else for them to go. Even Mordor was not a good place for them now. Perhaps they knew that. Contrary to popular belief they were no fools. They did not think as the other races did and neither did they feel. They reviled what others held sacred and revelled in what most races found repulsing.

He'd never dream of seeking to end his own life.

Then again, he was not an orc.

He was not given the time to ponder this strange phenomenon. Soon enough he needed all his attention to deal with the matter in hand. The orcs may have resolved to die in battle, but they were determined to at least take their foes with them when they did. He made sure not to lose track of his companions, though it appeared that they had little need of this. Thoren had been wise in his choice of companions.

'This I've missed,' Nori declared between foes.

'Missed what? Battle?' Lancaeron's voice indicated that he was of the belief that Nori had lost his wits.

'Much better than being contained with a siege or fighting impossible odds.' Indeed Nori appeared as though he was perhaps not quite enjoying this, but not terribly opposed to this turn of events either. 'At last we have odds that are even.'

Fifty against six did not count as even odds, but these orcs fought with little skill and much desperation. They threw themselves at Elvaethor's party, fully expecting to die. They wanted to die.

If these had not been orcs, Elvaethor might have felt pity. He knew what it was to feel bereft, to be claimed by despair until life itself appeared bleak and unending and unappealing. Yet he remembered his dead kin. It was no effort to call the sight of battlefields to mind and so all thoughts of pity fled from his mind. Orcs were a threat by their very nature and, as he always told his friends, it was the duty of every sentient being to fight them wherever they were found.

The threat was right beneath his blade.

It did not however last for very much longer. The six of them made short work of their foes until not a one of them still drew breath. The survivors stood, covered in blood, but mostly unscathed. Kíli complained loudly about a cut along his right arm that had effectively ruined his coat. The fact that he did bemoan his fate at this volume reassured Elvaethor that there was nothing much wrong with him.

'Well, this is a waste of a perfectly good camping ground,' Nori grumbled, kicking an orc off his pack. 'And just look at the blood stains. Not even Dori could get them out.'

'I never thought you cared about appearances,' Flói remarked.

'What makes you think that?' Nori wondered.

His nephew had a very reasonable response to that. 'If you'd cared about what people thought of you, you'd never steal everything that wasn't nailed down.' He fished his own pack out from under another dead orc. 'I'm telling you now, I will not lay my head to rest here tonight.'

'None of us will,' Elvaethor agreed. The air was filled with the stench of orc. Already the stink pervaded everywhere, not least of all because they had all been drenched in blood. 'Let us move south for an hour and then make camp.'

'Make it an hour and a half and then we'll come upon a stream in which we can wash this filth away,' said Nori.

Kíli straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest. 'That's it,' he announced with an air of finality. 'I would know how you know all of this.'

Nori shrugged. 'Been here before, my lad. You'll have noted that I travel often.'

'All the way to Mordor,' tried Flói, although he was unlikely to get a straight answer out of his uncle anytime soon.

True to expectations, the responding silence was deafening.

'I like this not,' Lancaeron told Elvaethor under his breath. 'I fear that this is not the last of such groups that we shall chance upon. We are but a small party and these orcs travelled in greater numbers.'

Elvaethor did not like it himself. 'I mean to make for Lothlórien and acquire boats there that shall bear us down the river for a time.' He'd heard that this was how Thráin and his companions had taken their leave of the Golden Wood and thought it a good plan. 'I would not have them haunt our steps for the entirety of our journey.'

Lancaeron nodded. 'Very well.'

A triumphant cry redirected their attention. 'See, I told you!' Kíli waved a pair of socks over his head as though he was holding a banner. 'I have found them at last.'

'Rolled in your spare blanket?' Nori inquired in a tone that from anyone else would be called innocent.

'They were rolled in someone's spare blanket.'

'What luck.'

'Isn't it just? I'll leave you to pack your things now. We mustn't delay.' Kíli gave him a sly look. 'After all, it appears you are to be our guide on this venture, are you not?'

'I have ventured this way before,' Nori nodded. 'I had to break Thráin out of a Gondorian gaol once, did I tell you?'

'And did you make the detour to Mordor then as well?'

'Of course not. I had to break my sister's son out of a dungeon,' Nori protested with just the right amount of indignant outrage.

'So did you go later?'

On and on it went and Elvaethor's heart felt lighter for it.

Next time: Thráin honours a promise.

As always, thank you for reading. Reviews would be most welcome.

Until next week!