Chapter 150

Solving the Mystery

Joy and grief so often go together on the same day and yet people are always surprised when it does happen. Still, that's life. Cathy spent a night awake for one of the best reasons imaginable. Thráin sat awake for one of the worst.

Not that I slept much that night, all things told. Most of our Fellowship didn't sleep a wink all night. We, as well as Thráin's cousins and uncle, camped out in the kitchen – the staff had all done the wise thing and had gone to bed – where Sam assumed control. The moment I brought Thráin back Sam had a hot meal ready for him. Then he hovered over his shoulder until Thráin had eaten every last morsel.

Then we sat with him for a bit, in silence first. Then at some point, at no sign that I could discern, Gimli launched into a childhood story about Jack. Initially Thráin sat silently, but after a little while he began to chip in with little details here and there. By the end of the night most of those who had actually known Jack had contributed to the whole thing in one way or another. Thráin himself did not necessarily speak much, but he listened, he laughed and he spoke a few words here or there. If now and again a tear slid down his cheeks, everyone had the good grace not to say anything about it. Indeed, the only acknowledgement of such occurrences came from Sam, a firm believer in the principle that good food and a decent cup of tea solved most problems under the sun. Without fail he'd plonk something edible or drinkable down before him and insisted that Thráin consumed it.

Which he did.

In all of these going-on it took me a while to realise that we were missing someone, which is rather strange, given the fact that our missing person is not an easy one to overlook. Fortunately Peter was a little more observant…

Elvaethor

The darkness over Mordor was gone. Elvaethor stood on the edge of the highest level of this city, watching the sun slowly rise in the east. He only had to close his eyes to remember dark clouds, the scent of fire and the taste of ash on his tongue. For an endless seven years it was all he had known. I fought to ensure none would ever have to again. His endeavours had not been successful. Thráin's had.

So now he stood and watched the clear skies over Mordor. He barely recognised it as such now. There was no more darkness, no more fire, no more ash. It had all gone and Thráin had walked away from the wreckage.

How he hated having to be the one to bear such news to him.

'Sir!' He was pulled out of his thoughts by the very man whose presence had revealed the news before Elvaethor even opened his mouth.

He turned around. 'Master Peter, was it not?'

A different name for a face he knew and missed. Even though he was prepared for it now, it took him off balance once more. If Jack and Peter had ever had the chance to stand side by side, even he might not have been able to tell them apart. They wore different clothes and Peter's attempts at beard-growing were only progressing well on the left side of his face. Other than that, they were the same.

In looks at least.

'Yes. Hello.' Peter waved sheepishly. 'Sorry, don't know why I did that. Should I bow to you instead?'

'That is not necessary,' Elvaethor assured him. Valar help him, even their voices sounded alike. 'How may I help you?'

'Well, I was hoping to help you,' Peter announced, holding up a flask of some kind. 'Tea. If you want it of course. Everyone else is in the kitchen and Sam's pouring tea down our throats like there's no tomorrow, but since you've been out here since sunset I guessed you could do with a little pick-me-up.'

He smiled despite himself. The voice was much like Jack's, but the speech patterns were not unlike that of a friend who'd died eighteen years ago. 'That's very kind of you.'

'I don't know about kind,' said Peter. 'But it's decent. Besides, I don't even know if you like it. I don't think Legolas has taken more than a sip altogether, but that's possibly because Gimli chucked in enough sugar to send even a Mûmak into a diabetic coma. Or perhaps elves just don't like tea, which would be a crying shame. But would leave more for me.'

'I would very much like tea, if you would be so kind.' Truly, perhaps he was more dwarf than elf, how else could he wish to laugh and weep in the same moment?

Peter handed over the flask. 'No cup, I'm afraid, so you'll have to drink it straight from the bottle.' He waved his hand around uselessly the moment he had it free again. 'Right, I'll be off then.'

Elvaethor frowned. 'You are leaving?'

Peter indicated his face for reasons unknown. 'Didn't think my face was one you'd really want to see right now, considering…' He trailed off, but Elvaethor knew they both cast their minds back to that afternoon. 'Well, you know.'

'I apologise,' Elvaethor said.

He felt ashamed of his conduct now. His only excuse, if excuse it was, was that he had been taken so completely by surprise. He'd known to expect a kinswoman of Kate's, but never once had he suspected that another one might be here as well. Nor had he anticipated the many resemblances.

One moment he'd been reuniting with his brother and the next it was as though he had been punched in the stomach. To see that face once more, when he never thought to lay eyes on it again? It could not be. How could it be? In his long life he had seen many things, but never once had death unhanded what he took.

'No need.' Peter waved his apology away. 'It must have been a bit of a shock. You seem better now, at least. So… ehm… I'll steer clear of you a bit, until you've found your feet. Beth says Thráin said that it's still all right if I come north for a bit, although if everyone is going to respond the way you did, maybe that's not such a great idea.'

'You are welcome,' Elvaethor said without thinking. 'It is true that your appearance startled me and indeed will do the same to many of my kith and kin.'

'Yes, that's why…'

Elvaethor didn't let him finish. He suspected he knew where the protest was headed. This man was not as different from his dwarvish kin as at first appeared. 'But though you greatly resemble Jack, you are not him. In truth, now that I have spoken with you, you remind me more of his mother.'

That took him by surprise. 'I do?'

'Kate too was inclined towards speech patterns such as your own.' Many a speech he'd only half-understood. 'Oftentimes she would do something kind for the folk around her, but deliver the kindness in such a way that none but her closest friends would ever recognise it as such. And, much like you, she would forever insist that what she did was not kind, only decent.'

'Well, if you think I'm just being kind, then you haven't really seen much kindness, have you?' Peter pointed out. 'Just so you know, I tend to ruin people's lives for a living, although it's still doing the decent thing in a way. The right thing to do at least. And usually it's not with the aim of ruining people, if that helps any.'

'How can that be?' Elvaethor wondered.

'I do investigative work, of sorts.' He grinned. After a moment's deliberation, he sat down on a low wall and invited Elvaethor to do the same. 'Specialising in financial matters, so businesses are usually quite keen to hire me. You see, there's all sorts of firms and companies that get into trouble sometimes and then they call me in to see where it all went wrong and what they can do to make it right again. Usually it's just a little game of Follow the Money; people taking more than they should, things like that. There was this one firm in Spain where the boss lady hired me to prove that her secretary was stealing money. Which I did. Only she didn't want me to also prove that she herself had absconded with loads of money as well to buy herself a nice little place somewhere exotic. Honestly, after that mess I decided to get out of her way for a bit, so I ran off to South Africa, where…' He trailed off. 'Right, you don't know where that is or even what I'm talking about, right?'

No, he did not or rather, he understood some of those words. 'It seems to me that you ensured that justice was done.'

Peter considered that. 'Yeah, suppose so. Not that the boss lady in question agreed. People don't always like justice as much as they claim beforehand, though.'

'And wise as well,' Elvaethor added.

'Not wisdom, just common sense, sir.'

'Dwarvish wisdom, then,' Elvaethor allowed. 'It gladdens me to see so much of it in this world.'

'You should meet my mother, then,' Peter grinned. 'She's got more than enough of that to go around, even if it is just to tell you what is and isn't good for your health. Which reminds me, since she's already invited everyone and their mother to Christmas dinner, you're invited too. Christmas dinner, in England, probably at my sister's house.'

Elvaethor blinked, then blinked again. 'I'm afraid I did not understand all that you sought to convey to me.'

Peter kindly elaborated: 'Christmas is a holiday where I'm from. I won't bother you with all the religious ins and outs, but we usually exchange gifts, have a massive dinner and make sure we have a good time. There's singing too sometimes, but only after the alcohol's come in.'

He was rendered speechless for some time. When he found his tongue again he said: 'Why?'

'Why what?' Peter asked.

'Why would you invite me?' Elvaethor clarified. True, he had not been as eloquent as he could have been.

'Well, because it's usually a bit of a family affair,' Peter explained. 'And you're now sort of related to Thráin, who is related to us, so that makes you family. You'd be a cousin, I think… Just don't ask me to put it on a family tree, because that could get messy. Besides, you've never been to England, but I've been to your world. Seems fair that you get to see the other side after hearing about it for eighty years or so.'

'Seventy-eight,' he corrected, almost absent-mindedly.

'Like I said.'

It was true that over the years he had heard much of Kate's world, though, not having seen it, he'd never been able to imagine it very well. The images her words conjured remained blurry and devoid of detail. He never understood. And here was a young man, offering him such a chance after so short a time.

'Your people must be very trusting,' he observed.

'Not that I know of. But Thráin knows and trusts you and he seems to have a good head on his shoulders.' Peter shrugged. 'You don't have to come if you don't want to, but you'd be welcome.'

'It is a strange thing to find such a welcome among those who were not born of the same people I was.' It shouldn't surprise him by now. The dwarves had drawn him in and had indeed been very persistent in doing so. And now here was one of Kate's kinsmen, inviting him to a celebration he didn't understand.

'Well, if I hadn't got to you first, I'm fairly sure my mother would have invited you anyway.' He stood up. 'I'm going to head back inside for breakfast. You coming?' He hesitated. 'If you're not, I'll bring you some food later.'

He decided then. 'No, I shall come.' He regarded the man before him. 'If you will, I would like to hear how you came here. I only knew of a woman who had come to advise.'

'We weren't really meant to be here,' Peter answered when Elvaethor too had risen to his feet. He told the tale of how travel between this world and his was now possible. 'Don't think Gandalf counted on that, to be honest, or he might have thought twice before he allowed it. And I don't think it helped my father's case that he broke Gandalf's nose, so there's that.'

He allowed the young man to talk, something that came to him easily, Elvaethor expected. How interesting that it should be this exact man who had come to draw him in to even more kin that he never thought he'd have.

That one day shall be gone, while I must remain.

But not yet. His thoughts were too heavy at any rate. He'd had time to accept this state of affairs that Thráin had not yet been given. Get a grip, said a little voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Kate.

Peter led him to the kitchens. The Fellowship and those closest to them had congregated around a table, now shoved into a corner to give those working here space to do so. Even so the man Elvaethor took for the head cook kept shooting them poisonous looks that suggested that he would be much obliged if all these fancy folk would take themselves off to do all their chatting someplace else. Given that his King was one of them, he did not. But it took some effort.

He was given food and more tea once he took a place beside Legolas, who indeed had not touched his brew. Sugar piled up at the bottom, so he did not long have to wonder why.

'Good to see you, Elvaethor,' Legolas said. 'I had wondered where you would fight this war and it seems my estimation was not far off.'

Elvaethor laughed. 'Why then did you not lay some money on it and profit from it?' That was, after all, the way a dwarf would deal with such a matter. He himself had, on one or two occasions indulged in it. He must remind himself to do so more often, all the better to integrate with his chosen people.

'You are the elf who became one of them, Elvaethor, not I.' Legolas pretended to horror at the notion, but Elvaethor had heard that he now enjoyed the company of both Thráin and Gimli and so knew it for the show that it was.

'Have you not befriended dwarves yourself?'

'They grow on one,' Legolas allowed. 'Rather like mushrooms.' The insult in the last words was of course no more sincere than his earlier words.

One of the hobbits, who only caught the tail end of that remark, perked up immediately. 'Mushrooms!' he exclaimed. 'Of course! That's what's missing!'

The one Elvaethor took to be Sam because he was walking around and serving everyone as soon as he realised their plates were going empty, groaned: 'I clean forgot!' he cried. 'We should've had some mushrooms!'

'With breakfast?' required Beth.

'It's not breakfast if we've never gone to sleep,' the first hobbit pointed out. 'It's more like…'

'Second dinner,' declared a third hobbit. 'Breakfast is only for when you've slept before it.'

'Yes, but you sleep before supper sometimes, Merry,' said the first, whose name Elvaethor had not yet heard. 'And you don't call that breakfast, do you? Do you?'

'It's not a proper sleep if you don't go to bed,' Merry retorted. 'Everyone knows that, Pip.'

The discussion between the four of them deteriorated into good-natured abuse that Elvaethor would never have known for what it was had he not spent so much time among dwarves. Even Lancaeron and Galu seemed to understand this now.

'Well, at least we have decent meal times again,' said Sam eventually. 'Not that you'd really want to in Mordor, because everything tasted foul.' He sighed contentedly. 'Everything is right again.'

'Begging your pardon, Master Gamgee, but it's not.' Kíli rose to his feet. 'Though I thank you kindly for mentioning Mordor, for you see, there's a matter we ought to settle sooner rather than later.'

Suddenly Elvaethor was fairly sure that he knew where this was headed. He bit down on a smile.

Flói cottoned on too. 'That's right.' He nodded fervently. 'We should settle this once and for all. Not so fast, dearest uncle,' he said when Nori – who knew where this was going just as well as Elvaethor did – began to slip away. 'I think we all have a right to know the truth at last.'

'What truth is that?' Gimli asked.

'The truth on the matter whether Uncle Nori's been to Mordor or not.'

Thráin

'He has what now?'

Thráin's mind had been on another conversation, but Flói's words – spoken at volume for good reason – had drawn his attention.

'He's been to Mordor,' Kíli said, crossing his arms over his chest. 'Or so he claims.'

If Nori had, then this was news to Thráin. As far as he knew, his uncle never ventured this far south on the sound principle that everything south of the Misty Mountains was too hot for four layers of clothing. Thoren, when first confronted with this notion at the tender age of nine, had casually observed that the only reason Nori did not like wearing less than four layers of clothing was that he couldn't sneak all sorts of stolen goods invisibly away in less.

The response to that had been ringing silence.

'Seems unlikely,' Thráin observed. He knew his uncle very well. 'Mordor's too hot and there's nothing to steal.'

Nori grinned.

Flói was not so easily convinced. 'He knew too much about that place.'

Thráin shook his head. 'Conjecture and guesswork.' He turned his gaze on Nori. 'Uncle, you should not vex them so. It is unfair.'

'Kept me well entertained on the road,' Nori said.

'So you've never actually been there?' Kíli asked, arms crossed over his chest.

'Didn't say that now, did I?' said Nori.

Thráin could feel the whole thing coming on all over again and so saved his cousin from his uncle: 'He has never been to Mordor, Kíli, and I'll bet you that he has never said so in those exact words. He'll have implied it and then left your own imaginations to do the rest.' He was well familiar with Nori's antics by now. 'And in doing so I am sure he killed many an hour on the road.'

Flói considered this, then nodded his agreement. 'Aye, you're probably right. Sore shame, though. I'd have liked to know what it was like.' It took maybe ten seconds before he realised that he was talking to the undoubted expert and he added: 'What was it like?'

'Hot and dusty,' Thráin said, although that did not do it justice by a long road. 'Ash on the air and the taste of sulphur on the tongue.' That completely failed to convey the utter sense of hopelessness that pervaded everything, but he'd sooner forget that wretched land in its entirety. He'd speak no more about it.

Fortunately this answer seemed to satisfy his cousin for the time being. He returned his attention to the meal in front of him.

Thráin did the same and for a while they ate in relative silence. In between bites he regarded those seated around the table and his gaze rested on Flói. For most of the night he'd sat… not alone, but there was an empty space beside him reserved for one who'd never sit there again. Yet when Peter came in with Elvaethor he'd claimed it without so much as a by-your-leave. For a moment Thráin feared that Flói would say something or would move away, but he had not.

Interesting.

Now that the worst shock had passed it was not hard to look on Peter. In looks he perhaps resembled Jack, but his nature was entirely different. Peter was all ready smiles and witty remarks whereas Jack had been slow to smile and reluctant to engage in small talk. Whereas Jack had, for much of his too short life, been of a melancholy disposition, Peter seemed to consist of joy for life entirely. He'd not mistake one for the other in a hurry.

As for him, the news was still fresh. The ache would not leave him be and yet at the same time he felt relief, though he hated himself for feeling it at all. Deny it however he could not. The days of worrying over Jack and what he could possibly get himself into were over. The worst had happened at last. Jack would never get himself into anything ever again.

He's gone home. Elvaethor believed that and so did his cousins. At the very end Jack had known who he was and he had been at peace. It made his grief easier to bear.

Still, after so many hours of company, he craved the quiet again. And rest. He worked again most days, and perhaps that fooled the Fellowship, but he did not fool himself. His strength was slow in returning. Even now he was not as strong as he had been when he set out from Rivendell. Much of it was down to that final march, he suspected. Maker only knew what foul magic the Ring had worked during that climb, but it must be the vilest of tricks. He tired more easily and work he could once have done for hours without a break, now left him weary after only an hour or two.

Time will see an end to that, he knew.

But not quite yet.

'I'm for bed,' he announced when he had cleared his plate. 'No, don't rise on my account,' he added when the whole table rose as one, to hopeful looks from the cooks and his subordinates. 'I'll go and rest.'

He would not say that he needed it. Most of them would probably surmise that he simply wished to be alone. Which he did. But only to sleep.

Most of them sat back down again, but Aragorn did not. He announced that he would accompany Thráin some of the way and that he himself would head to bed then as well. Indeed he followed Thráin out of the kitchen.

'I presume that you are off to see your betrothed before she assumes that you have lost all interest in her,' Thráin said. Now that he had occasion to think on it he realised that Aragorn had left the long-awaited presence of his lady to offer his support to him. While grateful, he did not possess the words to give voice to that sentiment.

'We have waited a long time,' Aragorn replied. 'A while longer will do no harm. Your need was more pressing.' There was a question in those words.

'I am well.' I shall not fall to grief as my father did and his before him. 'Truth be told, I never truly believed that he would live to see the end of the war. Jack was ever… reckless and at odds with the world.'

And when he was no longer either of those things, he had been taken away. Thráin did not have the words to give voice to the unfairness of that either and so he kept his mouth well and truly shut.

Aragorn accepted this with a brief nod of the head. 'You'll recall that in Lothlórien you offered your views on my impending marriage.'

'I recall that you asked for those views,' he retorted. 'Given that your lady is currently here, I'll take it that a decision was made.' He did not truly mind one way or the other. He only wished Aragorn to think about what he was doing.

'It was,' Aragorn said. 'Nevertheless, I am grateful for the information you offered. It was not lightly discarded.'

'But discarded all the same.'

'Your parents enjoyed a happy marriage,' Aragorn pointed out. 'Do you believe that your mother ever regretted her choices?'

Thráin gave that the deliberation it deserved. 'I think she was intimately acquainted with regret,' he replied at last. 'Yet she also believed that even if she was offered the chance to do it all again, she would not have chosen any different. Her life was not always easy, but she loved my father and she loved her children and, after a fashion, she loved the people she had chosen. It took some time, but eventually they loved her in return. She made sure that they knew she was on their side. She fought for them. My kith and kin never let anyone forget that she had accompanied my father on his quest when they had not.'

'You are very frank.'

'I am a dwarf,' he said. 'I would not know how to be any other way.' He waited a moment, but when there was nothing more forthcoming, he said: 'I wish you joy of your marriage, Aragorn.' He meant it too. 'Your private choices are none of my business at any rate. You're old enough to know your own mind and your own heart.'

'I mean to wed Arwen,' Aragorn said. He'd been solemn throughout the night, but now a boyish grin broke through. 'And she intends to wed me.'

'Then do so,' he said.

'And soon,' Aragorn grinned, before the grin slipped from his face. 'We intend to wed at my coronation. Yet I would speak with you. We had intended to celebrate next week, but…'

He understood where this was going. 'Do not delay on my account.' He would not cast a pall on his friend's happiness. 'I will be there and I shall cheer you. Tonight you were sad for my sake. At your wedding and coronation I shall be glad for yours.' Aragorn opened his mouth to utter something Thráin did not wish to hear, so he cut him off: 'Do not think to thank me for doing what any good friend would do. Now, I shall head off to bed and you shall head off to find your soon-to-be wife. Good night.'

He walked off, but it did not seem that he was allowed peace and quiet just yet. Barely had he reached his room when there was a knock on the door. 'Just a moment!' he called, pulling his tunic back over his head.

He opened the door and found Lord Elrond on the other side.

Maker be good.

'Yes?' he said, regarding the elf lord before him. In vain he searched for any evidence of regret for the part that he had played in Beth's abduction. 'Why are you here?' A more well-mannered person would have asked if they could be of service, but Thráin had no intention to be anything of the kind.

'I have come to pay my respects,' Elrond said, which was nowhere near as enlightening as Thráin would have liked him to be.

'Why?' he asked again.

'It has come to my attention that I have been remiss in recognising who you are.' Elrond inclined his head. 'It is my wish to extend the hand of friendship to Durin the Seventh.'

Thráin folded his arms over his chest to hide his surprise. 'I suppose that would rather depend.' Elrond entirely failed to inquire what it did depend on, so Thráin carried on: 'On whether or not you intend to aid in taking folk from their proper places without their knowledge and permission.'

'The fate that befell your kinswoman was regrettable,' Elrond said, which was not the apology Thráin wanted. 'Yet I believe that much good came from her presence here.'

If friendship was what he was after, this was not the way to achieve it.

'It is my belief that it will not need repetition,' Elrond continued. Perhaps he sensed that he was digging his grave deeper with every word that came out of his mouth. 'And so that is an assurance I will be able to give you.'

Thráin did not think of himself as devious. In his family it was Cathy who fit that description. His mother had been good at it and evidently her blood ran in his veins as well, because a plan just occurred to him. It was not within his powers to exact punishment, but perhaps he did not need to do so. Perhaps he could re-direct the elf to someone who had no reservations about making their displeasure known.

'I have no wish to become your enemy,' he said. 'We have been on the same side in this war and all who were on the right side have by necessity become friends. That is how I count you. Yet a wrong has been done and this I cannot forget.'

He let the silence linger. Elrond completely failed to show any discomfort, if he felt it at all.

'The wrongs done were not done to me.' Debatable, but he was not the main injured party. 'Have you spoken to Beth and her family?'

He was sure that the elf had not and indeed a denial followed his question.

'Then do so.' He was in no position to demand it, but in saying it he made it quite clear that his goodwill depended on Elrond doing that. 'It is to her and hers that you owe an explanation and a justification, if you indeed persist in this mindset.'

Beth was too well-mannered to give this elf his due, but if rumours were true, the same could not be said of her father and her mother. Patrick was a gentle man, but apparently he had broken the noses of Aragorn and Gandalf both in his rage. Fiona had then added insult to injury by spitting in Gandalf's face. Maker only knew what they would do to the elf who had enabled it all, but he was prepared to wait, sit back and let events take their proper course.

'Once that is done, and their questions have been answered to their satisfaction, then I am willing to let this matter lie.' And he would. He'd never bring it up again. He would however not make the mistake of forgetting what had been done. That Elrond had been willing to allow it – worse, had allowed his son to take an active part in this whole affair – told a story that Thráin did not particularly care for. Wretched elves.

'I understand,' said Elrond. He made it sound as though he had understood a great deal more than Thráin had said.

'Very well,' Thráin replied. 'Perhaps we shall speak after. And now I should like to retire and rest for a while.' It had been a very long day and he had no patience for elves bending his ear. He should like to lay down his head and forget all the ills of the world for a time.

They would be there when he woke to be sure.

Elrond understood this perhaps. He did not remark on Thráin's rudeness. Instead he only bid him farewell and removed himself. Thráin closed the door behind him.

And so he was alone at last. He'd been alone before Beth came to find him, but now he truly felt it. Tears were not usually in his nature and so they did not come even now, when he felt the loss so keenly again. Instead he simply sat down on the bed, dry-eyed.

'Farewell, brother,' he spoke into the silence. He was doubly glad now that he was on his own where no one could hear; they would have rightly berated him for addressing thin air. 'Until we meet again.'

Then he removed his boots and braided his hair for bed. He undressed and lay down. It was not long until sleep claimed him. Just before he drifted off to sleep, he thought he heard Jack laughing in the distance.

Next time: would you believe it? We've got an actual party!

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

Until next week!