Author's Note: My apologies for the missed update late week! As such I will be putting up the missing chapter as well as the one scheduled for this week.

Chapter 34

The force of the gatehouse explosion had damaged every building around it. Such was the strength of the blast that its cone of sound and force were even felt in the palace.

Laraga gasped and gripped her husband in shock. Wide emerald eyes stared in horrified awe as a wave across signalled that the chain was sinking and flailing. And if a spy was able to destroy that defence...

"They're coming in," she whispered.

Thorin held his wife tighter, "We'll throw them out again. The Navy is holding the harbour. The Army is holding the forts and the city. Your brothers and their brothers-in-arms will defend us."

He prayed to Mahal he was right. It was not in his nature to sit back and watch. Had he been Crown Prince, he would have insisted on leading a company himself. But he was the King now, his life was, unfairly, more valuable. Something to protect. As was she.

He wrapped her tightly in his arms and made her a promise he wasn't sure he could keep, "We will survive this."

His words and his arms soothed her fears, but only so much. An enemy was literally their gates, they intended to destroy them. And their defences were falling. A real dragon might as well be knocking down their door.

Laraga prayed for her brothers, in the thick of the fight. She prayed for her people, trapped between cannon fire. She held him close, and thought that even if they didn't survive she was grateful for what time she had with him.

Thorin prayed, prayed that they were going to be right about this. Prayed that it would work faster before more blood was spilled. He could hardly bear to watch as the Navy ships began to fire.

He glanced down at the streets, a movement distracting him, and he caught sight of a figure in grey and black directing his subjects to the higher ground, the public halls where there would be space for everyone to fit in various shelters.

The Ranger also caught the guards trying and failing to calm the people and gave them crisp orders about how to fortify the roads once the citizens had vacated their quarters. Thorn made a note to himself to reward her after this was done for her selfless bravery. If they survived. A Ranger was a good friend to have.

With the chain down, the swifter, small ships began to make their entrance into the harbour proper. Though they didn't yet fire, they were ready. Once the flagship gave the signal to begin, they would take out any foolish resistance.

Some figures on land began to fight the patrolling army. Most of the fights ended in a knockout, some ended in death.

Orla took effortless control of the Royal Guard, none of them wanted to argue with her and they were too well trained to ignore someone clearly adept at giving orders. She arranged them in five man squads on all the major streets, staggered distances, with orders to engage with the pirates, cut them down, and then fall back. Pull the pirates further into the city to stretch out their forces and make them easier to pick off.

Her people moved fast, the Dúnedain, and she had been able to call for some more warriors of her Clan. The archers took to the roofs of the city and picked off pirates one by one with their expert aim while the other fighters worked in seamless teams to press the pirates into narrower streets where they could control the fighting better.

Thorin revised his thought, he didn't need to reward her. She needed a fucking medal if they survived this.

Some of the invaders seemed to be avoiding certain buildings. Expensive stores, taverns, some homes, they were not touched. There was no pillaging going on, not yet as it was too early. But they seemed to have a knowledge of the city already, and were following a plan. Whoever their spies were, they had prepared the enemy well for this attack.

The Rangers made note of this and worked to isolate who was leading each charge so they could capture instead of kill. The Rangers would work at getting answers once this was done. They ran along the roofs and leapt to the higher ground so they could track the pirates through the city and try to follow their intent.

On shore a strange, booming horn could be heard across the water. Low and rolling, it rippled across the waves. No, not across the waves. From beneath the waves. A sound like thunder, like a mournful wind, a conch shell being blown from the heart of the sea.

The pirates, famously superstitious, paled. They hesitated for they knew what it was. Ulmo Himself blowing His Ulumuri, the great conch horns of the deep. That moment of fear allowed some of the soldiers to beat them back. For the warriors of the land might honour the Valar, but tales from the deep were not of concern for them.

On the Warmaster, the fury raged on. To them, the horn was clearly a sign that Ulmo was on their side.

Dwalin used all the shot on him. And when that ran out, he bludgeoned men with the butts of his pistols. After that took too long he drew his vicious looking sword and ran it through throats and guts alike. In the dense battle he even took down Bolg, not that he bothered to notice or care.

He was a man possessed and nothing mattered but revenge.

Without the backup of the fleet, the skirmish parties were quickly overwhelmed. They had been counting on a two-pronged attack. And now, that was evaporating.

Lars Byrd led a particularly bloody charge, cornering the invaders at the edge of his fort. They had two choices: jump off the cliff or surrender. All laid down their weapons and accepted the manacles.

Aboard the Crimson Dragon, a spidery lad watched as the pair of Easterling and Erebor privateer slowly bloodied Mr. Azog. But, for the boy, it wasn't doing the trick. He wrapped his bandaged hands round a rope and bit down on a knife. Then he let fly, landing on the giant man's back.

And drew the blade across his throat, his battle cry being the name of the brave woman that had drowned a Dragon.

Up in the palace, the queen wept silent tears of joy. She could hardly believe it! Something had visited them, something ancient and unknowable. Hardly able to comprehend the feelings within her, she pressed her hands to her mouth.

Thorin watched a miracle happen. The sound of the conch horn had settled in his bones and he longed for the freedom of the open water, the freedom of the sea, but his wife in his arms reminded him that his heart was hers, not Ulmo's to command.

And he held her tight, "Laraga, look. Look!"

She nodded and drew her husband down into a fierce kiss.

There were tears on Thorin's cheeks as he kissed her back, fingers twisting in her hair to hold her against him, to crush her to him in the joyous passion of survival.

When they broke apart, he buried his face in her shoulder, deep, shuddering breaths wracking his body as he let his emotions pour out of him. They had survived. They had won. There were sure to be injuries, but that mad woman's plan had worked and Thorin could breathe again. Erebor was safe, had been protected. And he wept.

It was the rigging rats who turned to mutiny first. They saw their only parental figure hit the water and their reaction was swift and without second thought. Those that could swim dove into the water, desperately trying to find her. Those that remained began cutting lines, disabling the side sails and wickedly calculating which ropes to sever so that they snapped with deadly velocity. Men were screaming and blood hit the deck as rope severed flesh.

Micoz and Nori led the mutiny. This had been part of the plan, once the fighting got distracting, for the crew that knew and loved Glaes to turn on the officers that brutalised them and beat them into obedience.

Glaes falling over the side was not part of the plan. And she was gone, as far as any of the swimmers could see. Vanished into the ocean's depths with the captain.

Micoz and Nori looked at each other, fear in their faces. All men who sailed the seas knew the water was unpredictable. Glaes had called to the Lord of the Deep as she fell, had He risen to defend her? Or seek revenge against the pirates that sought to turn His waters into their butcher's table?

The crimson sails of the fleet ships were being pulled up, white flags were raised. They had been willing to fight Erebor. They hadn't been willing to wage war against the Lord of the Deep Himself.

And the boys, Glaes' boys, the riggers and the rats and the cabin boys, and even those among the crew that were more her friend than they were the officers', threw down their weapons and let the Marines swarm over their ship and take down the officers.

Clean up after the battle began after every pirate had been taken into custody. And that took hours. Bodies were numbered or identified. Death tolls were taken. Wounded were brought to hospitals. And ships brought into dock.

Dwalin saw to all that he had to. Nori suggested the boys be given a special pardon, and the Commodore agreed.

Balin awaited them at the pier. And at the sight of children weeping for his sister-in-law, he instantly offered his home to them for recovery.

Dwalin permitted it. And then...he went home. Alone. Save for a bottle of whiskey, which he began to drink down to the dregs.

With her hair pinned up and fancy clothes set aside in favour of basic wool and a linen apron, Laraga helped her people take stock. She knew how to handle bulk shipments, how to organise orders according to most dire needs. Medical supplies to one line of carts, masonry to another. And food for those whose homes were damaged were to be gathered under a massive tent in the town square.

She worked hard, even if she felt faint during most of it. No doubt it was a reaction to the emotional toil. No one dared ask what became of the Commodore.

Thorin needed to take charge and he couldn't do that with his wife clinging to him so, while he insisted that she let him go, he didn't let anyone take her from whatever room he was in. They handled this as best they could with each of their strengths. She was good with the people, he was good with the nobles and organising the powerful lords of the court to give aid and shelter and support, whatever was needed.

He laid his crown aside and worked among even the poorest of his people as an equal, doing all he could as a man and as another set of hands.

He heard the news from a wounded Marine from the Warmaster. The man told the King what had happened. What had been sacrificed for their victory.

"No…"

He sat down, hard. It had been her plan. Her brilliant, brazen, beautiful plan. In some way it was poetic that it had required her life to see it through. But was it worth it? Her wicked smile, her impish laughter, the way her amber eyes glittered. That was gone. She had bought their freedom and their victory with her life. He put his head in his hands.

The Rangers were indispensable, with their knowledge of herbs and medicines, to help Oin and the other physicians tend the wounded. And once there were enough healers and enough of the wounds were tended, they spread out across the city to take stock of the damage and form a plan to make the rebuilding as seamless as possible. Orla took to the beaches with another of her kin, scanning for any bodies that washed up or anything that could be salvaged.

Night began to fall.

The Queen ordered great braziers lit, to warm the many still working in the cold, autumn air. She also had some of the wood mixed with incense, to cover the scent of decay which would no doubt start soon as bodies slowly came to land.

When word finally reached her of Mrs. Fundinul's death, she had been preparing for bed herself. After tending to her people, and discovering her brother Ragnar had lost a hand in the battle, she was not prepared to lose a friend. She cried herself to sleep that night.

Thorin curled around her as she cried and he stroked her hair, trying to convince himself that it was worth it. That the lives of the many valued more than the few, or even the one. But the words were ash in his mouth and they never were spoken aloud. For all he grieved, he could not imagine what his old friend was experiencing.

They remained together for the entire night, holding tight to one another and then into the morning. Breakfast was taken in bed, away from the eyes of the still frightened court. Duty would pull them away soon enough, but after the horror of the day before, the couple needed those hours with only one another. King and Queen were drinking their coffee and tea when their haven was interrupted.

A knock at the door sounded and he glanced to make sure his wife was decent before he bid whoever was outside enter. Imagine his surprise when the door opened and the Ranger, Orla, stepped inside. She inclined her head in a shallow nod to them, for they were not her rulers, and greeted them, "King Thorin. Queen Laraga."

Thorin rose, "Ranger. You've caught us unprepared for your visit. Is there something wrong?"

She shook her head slowly, "No, King Thorin. But there is a matter which requires your attention. Both of you. He's waiting down in the great presence chamber."

She and the other Rangers had laid him out on a table, the better to let the people see him and see him dead, and stood guard over the body all night to keep his spies or any sympathetic traitors from coming to steal his body away.

He was ashen white. The air around him smelled of salt water. No blood stained him, that had been washed away long before. Two awful wounds gave insight to his causes of death.

A pistol shot Laraga expected.

The dagger wound she did not.

"She must have done that," Laraga said softly.

Thorin wouldn't force Laraga to get closer to him than necessary, but he needed to see the details. He crossed the hall to stand at the side of the table. The only thing Orla had changed was that she closed his eyes. No one needed to see the horrible, empty look in his green eyes.

"It's too much to hope she washed up with him," Thorin said mournfully, glaring down at the corpse of the evil man who had taken his friend from him and taken a wife from Dwalin. "Perhaps Ulmo Himself bore her body down to His hall and let her rest among His Chosen. Perhaps He claimed her and now she is in the waves, free as she always wanted to be."

His finger traced the dagger wound on his chest and he murmured, "Brave until the last."

The Queen said a prayer for her fallen friend. To have the bravery to take her enemy down with her, that was the stuff of epic poems. Laraga could not begin to imagine how Glaes' family was doing. Her husband, mother, and brothers. So little time they had with her, it was a tragedy.

"How long must we keep him?" She asked, hugging herself against the chill of sorrow. "And what will we do with his body?"

"We brought him to the palace," Orla said with her usual calm, immovable composure, "That your people may see he is dead. That they may see with their own eyes that he has been killed and will no longer harm them. This is the way of my people. Enemies are displayed as proof that our strength is greater, to show the world they were unworthy to take what they could not claim or keep. My people and I will continue to comb the beaches for other war-dead, from both sides."

Thorin nodded his head, "There is wisdom in what you say. We will keep him two days that our people may bear witness that the Dragon has been killed. But this monster does not deserve a proper burial. We will take him far from this city and leave him for the animals and for the elements to take. The nutrients of his decaying flesh will manage to do some good to the earth. That is the best we may hope for."

Word went out. Hordes of people did indeed come to see for themselves that their great enemy was dead.