Chapter 152

Righting Wrongs

I think you could have counted the number of people in Minas Tirith who woke up the next day without a hangover on the fingers of one hand. I am sad to say that I was not among their number. I woke to the unwelcome sensation of an elephant pounding on my skull and a sense of nausea that made me unable to keep anything in my stomach for the next three hours. It was not a good way to meet the new day.

I was however in excellent company, because everyone else in sight felt more or less the same. This was true also for the elves, because somewhere in the cellars of the palace they had discovered barrels upon barrels of Dorwinion wine. They had fallen upon it with almost unelvish glee and had consequently rather overindulged. In an odd way, it made them seem more… well, human, not quite so above it all.

Just a pity really that I myself had partaken in some of that wine as well. Not that I knew what I was drinking, mind you. Someone just pushed a glass into my hand. They were handing it out to everyone passing by, so I figured that it was fine. I do remember thinking that this drink had a bit more kick to it than I was used to, but by the time someone told me what I'd been drinking, my glass was empty and I was quite beyond caring. Incidentally, the rest of the night is a bit of a blur.

I'm afraid I did not make a good impression.

It was a trial dragging myself out of bed, but we were to leave the next day and I needed to pack, not just for myself, but for Helm and Freda as well. I had given them the opportunity to stay in Minas Tirith, which they had vehemently declined. I suspected they had enough of being left behind and given that I was embarking on a mission of doing better at things like sticking close to my children, I did not object.

Naturally, there was one who was not only miles ahead in the packing department, but who also was one of those blessed few who did not wake up with the mother of all headaches…

Thráin

It was an odd sight still to see the sun rise over what had once been the land of Mordor. Ever since Fiona had deemed him strong enough to walk about on his own again, his feet led him here at times, to look out over the city beneath him and the Pelennor Fields before him. Perhaps he came here to remind himself that it truly was all over. Surely that must be the reason, for the sight of light on that horrible land kept taking him somewhat by surprise.

Somewhere lower down the celebrations were only just winding down. Some had decided to dance till dawn and had evidently succeeded in that endeavour. They were stumbling towards their beds, laughing and joking at a volume too loud for the early hour.

Thráin could not begrudge them their elation. This country had been long at war. They'd seen many a dark hour. If any deserved to celebrate, it would be them. He watched them go, clustering in groups of three or four, holding onto one another to maintain balance.

It is over.

His gaze wandered to the east again, where the sun rose steadily above much reduced mountains. Much of Mordor's natural border had come down in the aftermath of Sauron's fall, so the scouts Aragorn sent there a month ago reported. The land was much changed. Where once dust and ash had been, now mud remained. Some green sprouts had been seen raising their heads above the soil, although how any seed had found its way there, they dare not say.

The darkness is gone.

'It is a sight that gladdens the soul,' an unknown voice beside him spoke.

Thráin didn't have to look to know that he had been addressed by an elf. Something in the way they spoke the words always gave them away, as though every sentence was a line of poetry. They'd never talk plainly. And, true to expectation, there was an elf there. He bore such startling resemblance to Lord Elrond, that he could be none other than the elf lord's son. Which one of them he knew not, but he would find out. His promise to Beth was after all not entirely fulfilled just yet.

'So it is,' he agreed, because he could never disagree with such a statement. Of course that was as far as his small talk went. 'What brings you here this early? I thought most of your people had overindulged in your preferred wine.' Why hadn't this one?

'It is not in my nature to do so.'

Fair enough. 'So which one of the two are you?' he demanded. There was something about the elf that set his teeth on edge, probably the serene smile that elves as a race had perfected into a form of art. 'The one who had a hand in abducting my kinswoman or the other one?'

It vexed him beyond measure that he could not punch Lord Elrond in the face as he so rightly deserved, but he need make no such allowances for the true culprit. Even better, there were few witnesses about and none of them were sober enough to give a decent account of what they'd seen when they'd slept it off. If ever there was a time for a reckoning, it would be now. Provided of course that he had the right elf in front of him. In this it would not do to be mistaken.

The elf smiled. Again. He'd forgotten how much he did not like their ways. He did not find them so annoying now in Legolas, or perhaps he had simply become more agreeable and the rest of the elves remained as they had ever been. 'I am Elrohir,' said the elf. 'It was I who ventured to this strange other world to select an advisor for your quest.'

Fine words for one who had abducted a mother and her son for what Gandalf no doubt labelled as the Greater Good. 'Those are not the words I would use to describe what you did.' Dressing it up in flowery phrases did not change the facts of the matter. They only served to conceal and soften and none of that he was prepared to take. 'I would say that you are an accomplice to abduction. You went there and spoke with Beth, yet concealed your true purpose. You lured her to a place from which she was then taken, her and her young son.' He was gathering speed as he went, as though speaking of it reminded him of the severity of what Elrohir had done. And with it his anger returned. 'As a result of your actions, she has gone through much pain, as well as separation from her son. Now what do you have to say for yourself?' He didn't add that any explanation had better be good, but he reckoned that his tone implied it and so it would suffice.

Or maybe not.

The elf seemed wholly unperturbed by Thráin's anger, as though he was far above such emotions. The smile never wavered for even a moment. 'I see that the pain of your kinswoman affects you,' he said and if that didn't sound like the prelude to a dismissal of all the charges Thráin had laid at his feet, he did not know what would, 'and I hope it will comfort you to know that I derived no joy from her suffering.' His countenance did not reflect his words in the slightest. 'Even so, would you not agree with me that much good came of it?'

It was the last straw. All of a sudden the need to punch something was greater than he knew how to resist. He may become a King, but he was not a King yet. As such, the appropriate response to such words was to make the speaker pay for it.

'You. Will. No.' So he began, landing a punch in the elf's stomach with every word, so as to drive the point home better. The effect was as intended; Elrohir doubled over, as well he should. Thráin did not hold back. And now that the elf had so conveniently presented another target, he landed his next blows upon his head. 'Meddle. With. My. Kin. Ever. Again.'

Elves could withstand much violence, but six forceful blows upon their heads was too much even for them. Elrohir collapsed at his feet with only a soft groan and then moved no more. Thráin's concern, such as it was, for him was only to feel for a pulse, ascertain that it was still there and then leave him. Someone would find him in a few hours.

He did not realise that he'd gained an audience until he turned around and came face to face with his kinswoman. She stood there, holding the hand of her son, clasping a hand to her mouth, eyes wide in what could only be called horror.

Maker be good.

'Oh, my!' she exclaimed, clearly lost for any other words. 'What… how… why…?'

Since it was up to him apparently to fill in the questions, he answered them as he interpreted them: 'I laid the elf out flat, with my fists, for the part he played in the abduction of your sister. He seemed under the impression that his actions were justified. I disagreed with him.'

Violently.

No need to point that out, though. She was already pale enough.

She rallied. 'Well.' Some of the horror disappeared. 'Well, I suppose…'

'He's the one who took Auntie Beth and Harry?' the boy chipped in before his mother could complete her sentence.

If she was going to be able to complete it in the first place, he added to himself. Mary was not a woman who was often beyond words, so he'd come to see, but this display of violence had apparently done so. By the looks of things he had also sunken low in her esteem. This did not matter much, because in these past few weeks he had come to realise that she was quite like Duria in her ways. In fact, having observed her for some time now, he might go as far as to say that she was more like Duria than even Duria herself.

It was quite an achievement.

And not one he approved of.

'It was the wizard Gandalf who took your aunt and cousin,' he replied to Thomas. 'But this is the one who came to your world and lured her to the place from which they could be taken. The wizard, I believe, has already paid for the part he played. So has this elf's father.' And at the hands of Patrick and Fiona, as he had intended. 'Now so has he.' He made an arm gesture in the general direction of the elf behind him.

Right on cue, Elrohir moaned his discomfort.

'Will he go to prison?' Thomas asked interestedly and with perhaps a little too much delighted anticipation.

'Thomas!' his mother exclaimed.

She was ignored by both. 'No, lad, I don't think so.' More was the pity. He'd certainly earned a lengthy stay in some dungeon or other. 'Elves generally get away with things that have more severe consequences for other folk.'

'It doesn't seem to me like he escaped consequences,' Mary remarked wryly. 'Honestly!' The tone was so like Duria's that he could almost believe that it was his sister berating him for something foolish he had done. Except she was not Duria and his actions had not been foolish in the slightest.

'It puzzles me that you would not seek justice for the wrongs that were done to your sister, to you and to your kin.' Even after Beth had told him things about the place she came from, he found it hard to imagine what it must be like. Every time he thought he finally got a good grasp of it, some of his otherworldly kin would do or say something that made him question what he thought he knew all over again. Why would Mary not pursue justice? Did crimes not matter as much where she was from? Was it customary to let a wrongdoer go without him facing punishment?

Mary stared him down. 'It's not like punching him is going to turn back the clock and undo all of this mess.'

'No, but it will make him think twice about doing something like this ever again.'

'Possibly, or it could make him more motivated to do it again to spite you or to make you pay.' She let go of Thomas's hand to cross her arms over her chest. 'Perhaps, if you had simply ignored him, he would have lost interest and moved on. That's how you deal with bullies.'

'Hasn't really worked for me,' Thomas muttered, thus providing an insight into his life that Thráin did not much care for.

So he disagreed. 'No, lad, that won't solve many problems indeed. If you would like, it would be my pleasure to show you how to lay these villains that trouble you so on their back so that they will trouble you no further.'

Thomas's face lit up in delight, whereas his mother's face darkened. As far as Mary was concerned, this had been the wrong offer to make and his words had only served to incense her further.

'What do you think you're playing at?' she demanded. 'I am trying to teach him that solving his problems with violence is not the answer!' She grabbed an unappreciative Thomas by his upper arm to pull him behind her as if that might protect him from hearing Thráin's outlandish notions.

Kin she may be, but she grated on his every nerve. Was it any wonder that Beth and Peter seemed incapable of getting along with her? So he gave it to her straight: 'I reckon that it will work better than your ideas.' It was an effort not to raise his voice, but he managed it. Just. 'Looking away and pretending that the problem does not exist will not make it go away, as this world has learned to its regret.'

He had seen it everywhere: Thranduil ignoring the dark things in his woods, the men of the Lake trading with the Easterlings even as they plotted their ruin, Lord Elrond, safely ensconced in Rivendell, while the world came down around his pointy ears. He did not understand it. How could folk sit and hide and hope that all evil would just vanish if they wished it hard enough? Meanwhile braver folk had stood and fought, they had bled and died and they had defeated the evil, making the world safe for those cowards who had done nothing, but who now benefitted from the days of peace. Was it any wonder that his father had always begrudged those cowards who would not aid him in his quest the bounty of Erebor?

This shut Mary up, although if she truly was as much like Duria as he suspected, then it would not be for long. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her grip on Thomas's arm slackened. The boy used the opportunity to break free and get out from behind her.

'Can you teach me? Really?'

'If you would like to and your mother will allow it, then yes, it would be my pleasure.' He'd never had much tolerance for those cowards who hid their cowardice behind nasty behaviour and picked on those weaker than themselves in order to appear stronger than they were. Thomas ought to be able to defend himself.

Predictably the lad turned back to his mother to beg instant permission. 'Can he, mum? Please? I promise I won't use it to really hurt them.' Just a little were the words he didn't speak. 'Mum, please? It's only fair. Mr Thráin's a dwarf and Harry's stayed with the dwarves, so I'd bet they taught him loads and loads.'

Ah, he'd found something to vex Mary some more; her eyes narrowed. 'Would they?' she demanded of Thráin.

It seemed she had forgotten where she was. 'My kin would have been remiss indeed if they had not taught Young Harry to defend himself.' He'd heard a tale or two from Kíli and Flói that he deemed unwise to share. That child had seen more than he should have seen. 'It eases my heart to know that if he were to find himself in a predicament, that he would not be entirely defenceless.'

Mary snorted. 'What a world to live in when you want to place knives into the hands of schoolchildren.'

'What a world to live in where you give bullies free rein to go about their business as they please,' he fired back, not to be outdone by a woman who did not have the first idea of what she was talking about. 'I do not intend to teach your son to slay another, but I would teach him some tricks that do not involve blades. Contrary to what you so clearly believe, it gives me no joy to have to teach a young one to fight. But I've seen enough of the world that those who do not know how to fight when they are attacked are always the first to die.'

'Thomas's life is not in any danger!' Mary protested. She reached for her son again, but he saw her coming this time and danced out of her reach a mere moment before she could grab him again.

'Yet his well-being is, it seems.' He turned to Thomas. 'Have they laid hands on you? Have they hurt you?'

'Only when they know the teacher can't see.' Thomas stared at his shoes. 'And they take my stuff. All the time.'

'Are you content to let your child suffer such abuse?' Thráin demanded. He'd heard Beth complain about Mary's lack of mothering skills, but did not think then that it was as great a problem as she made it out to be.

'I…' Mary faltered. 'I did not know it was that bad. Thomas, why didn't you say something!'

It seemed as though this was turning into a conversation that did not require his presence. 'I shall do nothing without your permission,' he told the kinswoman he did not really want to have. 'But it would be my honour and my pleasure to aid your son in this endeavour. Think on it and let me know your answer.'

Before Mary could think of a decent reply, he brushed past them and left. Odd how he had spent his rage in violence only short minutes ago and yet all he wanted to do was punch some deserving soul more.

Duria

The man before them shuffled his feet, which he studied with singular intent. Because they kept on moving, just like the man himself, Duria's gaze kept being drawn there. She made herself focus and look at his face instead.

'You asked to see me, my lord, my lady?' He bowed to Solmund and then to Duria, nervously glancing from one to the other.

'Master Solmund asked to see you,' Duria corrected. 'I am here as an observer only.' Well, an observer and a little bit of a friendly face.

Mubul turned to Solmund. 'My lord?'

It might be some time before Solmund would be used to that title; he kept being startled every time someone addressed him as such. And then, he was still very young. He'd been wounded in war and the scars ought to have given him authority and gravitas, as it did with other men, but all his scars did for him was to draw the eye to how very young he still was. He ought to grow a beard, Duria decided. That would take care of that business far better than scars ever could.

He rallied. 'It has been brought to my attention that, now that the war is over, you will be in need of a place to call home.' Say what you will of him, but he had a way of speaking that made other folk shut up and pay attention. It was no different with Mubul, who straightened up as soon as the first word came out of Solmund's mouth. 'It has become clear to me also that you have been true to your word, that you have not betrayed us to our enemies and that, indeed, you overcame your fears and fought against them when you were not called upon to do so.'

A slight hesitation followed on Mubul's part. 'I did, my lord,' he then said.

Solmund nodded in agreement. 'And these past months you have aided us well in our endeavour to feed all those who dwell beneath the Mountain. This has not gone unnoticed.' He took a deep breath and continued: 'Now, I know that it was with the dwarves of Erebor that you first sought refuge, but it has occurred to me,' or rather Duria had made it occur to him, 'that you would perhaps like it better to live among those of the same race as you. You are a good fisherman and indeed a hard worker. I should like to offer you a place to live in my town when it is rebuilt.'

Mubul's jaw dropped as he stared at his benefactor in unflattering disbelief. 'My lord?'

'If you should wish to, of course,' Solmund added, because he most definitely interpreted Mubul's stunned gratefulness as hesitation. 'The choice is yours and if you feel that you should like to stay in Erebor or move to Dale once that is rebuilt, then you are free to do so, but I rather hoped that a man of your talents would like to make his living on the Long Lake. We would be pleased to have you.'

Mubul, perhaps sensing that this conversation was moving in a direction he did not care for in the least, hastily rediscovered the use of his tongue. 'My lord, I should be honoured to be allowed to live among your people!' And, perhaps sensing that he had better lay it on thick lest this wondrous opportunity vanished as soon as it had appeared, he added: 'I have no wish to return to the land of my birth, nor do I think I should find a welcome there did I try. I believed I had doomed myself to a homeless existence. Never dared I dream that I would be given such a gift!'

Solmund nodded, perhaps not entirely sure what to do with such a waterfall of words. 'Very well then.' He, unlike Mubul, remained very calm and businesslike. 'That is settled. If you'll excuse me, I have another appointment.'

He nodded once again to Mubul, who bowed back, and made a shallow bow to Duria. This was not at all to her liking, because truth be told she didn't know what to do with such an overabundance of enthusiasm either.

Not that she was allowed to escape it. 'My lady, I cannot thank you enough.'

'I did hardly anything,' Duria pointed out, which just so happened to be the truth. Fair enough, Thoren may have expressed dismay at the idea of an Easterling living under the Mountain on a permanent basis and she may have taken that as her cue to have a quick word with Solmund, but other than that, she'd only stood by the side-lines. The offer had truly been Solmund's.

'But if not for your efforts, I would not have found shelter here,' Mubul pointed out, which was also true. 'You have a kind heart, my lady.'

'It was common decency, not kindness.' Although she supposed she could not blame him for having confused the two; Easterlings as a people were not kind-hearted. 'I did what was right and that's enough.'

He pondered this for a moment. 'Nevertheless you have my deepest thanks,' he insisted. 'And I shall be forever in your debt.'

Perhaps he sensed that she had no wish to be in his debt, because he made himself scarce before she could object to that as well. At the very least this audience was over and this was one less problem for her to solve.

She set off down the hallway to deliver some documents to Thoren in his study. It was a relief to have him back there. As long as he sat down, she could pretend that all was as it had been before the war, when she would go in and talk to him about things he wasn't taking seriously enough and he would sit there with that long-suffering look that she hated so much. It hadn't been good, but it had been miles better than… this.

Somehow she couldn't shake the feeling that now that the war was won, all should be well again. They'd won. They should feel victorious. It shouldn't still be a struggle for survival and food. They should feel elated and light-hearted, not exhausted and fatigued. They should be alive.

Well, they were, those who remained. But the streets were emptier. Faces who had frequented those streets were no longer there and those who still lived were marked by the war. Some were visibly so, having left limbs behind on the field of battle. Those that hadn't had lines where there shouldn't be any. Even those that could hide the physical scars sometimes had not come off unhurt. You'd see it in their faces. It often hurt to look at them.

She was snapped out of her musings when she walked into someone and the impact sent both of them reeling. The other one, being a man, fell to the ground, while Duria only had to do a step back to regain her balance.

'Apologies,' she said, almost on instinct, and reached out a hand in the fellow's direction to help him to his feet. 'Oh.'

She froze in mid-motion.

The man, who had been about to take the proffered hand, stopped short a few inches of her hand when he looked at her face. Recognition, then horror flashed across his features. Rather than coming nearer to her, he pushed himself back until his back was against the wall.

'You.' Her usual eloquence abandoned her for once.

She hadn't seen him since the trial-that-wasn't-a-trial. She hadn't wished to and he had been wise enough to make sure he was never where she was. Even so, she hadn't been sure he knew what she looked like. The only time they had been in the same space was when Cathy had, at Thoren's orders, set him free.

He knew who she was. If he hadn't known it then, he certainly knew it now. 'My lady!' He pushed back against the wall as though he could break through it through sheer force of will. He looked on her as a small rabbit would on a starving wolf.

She wasn't that fearsome. She wasn't a fighter. She wasn't even that much good in a fight against starving men, as her experience with the traitors had proven. All of this did not mean that she did not want to be as terrifying as she was currently being perceived as. She'd disagreed with Thoren's assessment of his case at the time and some months of being able to think it over hadn't mellowed her disposition in the slightest.

'Get out of my sight!' she snapped at the hapless man at her feet.

'My lady?'

Was that all he was capable of saying? After all that he had done, this was the best he had? He'd made Jack's already hard life so much harder at the end. He could have had those last few months being whole and strong. Instead he'd spent most of his final months in a bed, recovering from the hurt Farulf dealt him. For that alone she wished she could rip out his throat with her bare hands.

She couldn't. Even when she was so enraged she did not forget that. Thoren had decreed that he was to be set free. He was her King still, and so his orders had to be obeyed. Besides, when it came right down to it, she did not believe herself to be the killing type. She did not have it in her.

That didn't mean she could not wish very hard that she did.

It seemed that Farulf had some last reserve of courage, because although he remained on the ground, he spoke without a tremor in his voice: 'My lady, I wish I could tell you how deeply I regret what I did,' he stammered to a very unappreciative Duria. 'I have long lain awake at nights wishing I could erase that day, but alas, that is not within my powers.'

'You ought to have entertained such notions before you plunged a blade into my brother,' she snapped, because now that he had started it, she couldn't turn away and let the matter lie. 'You ought to have thought in the first place.' She paused when another memory resurfaced. 'But you did. You did think. It took thought to devise the ruse you used to come close. You spent some thought on the identity of your victim too, if memory serves. A brother for a brother, was that not what you said?'

She'd heard the whole sorry tale from Thoren eventually. It had set her blood to boiling then and it set her blood to boiling now. It wasn't entirely done in the heat of the moment, was it, not when so much preparation had preceded it. It was one of the reasons why she'd always had trouble believing the story Farulf had told, because it rang so false. It was part of the reason why she'd been against his release as well.

'My lady, my mind was taken by madness.' For one who said he regretted what he'd done, he was remarkably adept at thinking up excuses to justify his conduct. 'It has since left me. I cannot undo what I did whilst I was in its throes.'

More was the pity.

'My bother decreed that you should be released to maintain peace,' Duria said. 'For that reason and that reason only I shall not lay hands upon you. It is required of me to suffer your presence in the halls of my people and I do because it is my duty.' Something this wastrel understood all too little of.

'I am grateful for your mercy,' he muttered, looking at his shoes again.

'It is not my mercy,' she corrected him. She had none for him.

'If I could make amends…'

And so another idea occurred to her. 'You cannot bring my brother back to life, nor can you undo the damage you did to him in his last months of life,' she began, for once actually trying to rub his nose in all the guilt, because if she didn't have the right to vengeance upon his body, then she had more than enough right to vengeance upon his mind, 'but there's something you can do which will greatly ease me and mine.'

'Name it,' he begged her. For a moment she thought she saw true remorse on his face, but then he returned to scared and she dismissed it as a flight of fancy.

'Leave.' It was a simple enough request. 'The war is done. Your life is not at risk when you step foot beyond the gates. Many of your folk are setting up by the Lake to see to our fish supply. It seems to me that they would benefit from having another pair of hands to do the work.'

She could ask this. Telling him to drag himself out of the gates was not a death sentence now, as it had been when Thoren had decreed that he was allowed to stay. Neither did they have the men of the Lake to appease now. Against all the odds, that situation had worked itself out. There was friendship again.

'My lady?'

'Has your hearing abandoned you or has your desire to make amends vanished as quickly as it has come on?' He had to leave of his own accord. Because of Thoren's judgement she could not force him. So why would he not take the hint and leave?

'Will that give you peace?' he asked in the tone of one hoping very hard that the answer was no.

Peace was hard to obtain these days and his departure would not grant it to her either. Since she could not say that, she gave him the next best thing in reply: 'It will give me peace of mind to know that there's no longer a murderer dwelling under this Mountain.' That was the truth too, even if it was not the whole truth.

'I am no murderer!' he protested, scrambling to his feet so that he could make that point from a position of greater height than she.

Though of course not from the moral high ground, for that still belonged to her: 'It was not from lack of trying that it is so,' she reminded him. 'You intended to commit murder that night. Had it not been for Thoren and his intended, you would have succeeded. You would do well to remember that.' Why would he not just stop arguing and do as she bid? 'Now, I shall ask you one more time: will you honour my request?'

He didn't want to. The reluctance was all over his face, but he had offered to do as she wished and he knew that too. So he nodded. 'I shall be gone before sunset,' he said. 'There's a group leaving for the Long Lake. I shall depart with them.'

'Don't return,' Duria counselled him. 'We dwarves have long memories. We do not forget the wrongs done against us.'

If he happened to interpret these words as a threat, then that was his choice. She saw no reason to disabuse him of the notion.

He was gone before the day was out.

Next time: there is time for remembrance.

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

Until next week!