Title: Of Fire and Stars (Part 12a)

Author: Ro

Warnings: Some angst and dirty humor.

Disclaimer: I'm not making any profit off this. With the exception of a few of the original characters, all characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien (who's probably spinning in his grave as we speak).

Summary: Gandalf finds out what happened to Gimli in the year while he and Thorin's company were away on their Quest. Takes place during "The Hobbit", don't like Dwarves or Gimli then don't read this fic!

Notes: This is based on the books, NOT the movies. I also dedicate this chapter to Little My, my wonderful acrobatic beta!

More notes: Again, this chapter has not been beta-read yet. So yes, there are LOTS of mistakes. Please bare with me.

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"On Dark Wings"

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Two days had come and gone in the Lonely Mountain before Thorin Oakenshield was finally laid to rest in his cold tomb of stone. The dark chamber was now empty, the funeral over, the mourners gone, leaving Thorin to rest in silence, the dazzling Arkenstone at his breast and the shining sword Orcrist upon his tomb.

After the somber ceremony, King Dain before Bilbo and all those gathered, again repeated the agreed dividing of the hoard. Though both Bard and Thranduil had already received their agreed upon shares.

"We will honor the agreement of the dead, and he has now the Arkenstone in his keeping." Dain said in his deep voice, now clad in immaculate and kingly garb of gold and crimson, his long dark hair clean and braided with many mithril and gold beads.

This was followed by the Warrior King giving his ultimate thanks to Bilbo, bowing deeply before him and pledging to him aid and ultimate friendship, offering the little burglar anything he would desire.

"This treasure is as much yours as it is mine: thought old agreements cannot stand, since so many have a claim in it's winning and defense. Yet even though you were willing to lay aside all your claim, I should wish that the words of Thorin, of which he repented, should not prove true: that we should give you so little. I would reward you most richly of all." He told the Hobbit reverently, bowing again to the flushed and abashed halfling, that stood no higher to Dain then a small Dwarfling.

In the end he would beg for Bilbo to take more then the two small chest of silver and gold the Hobbit insisted upon. But Bilbo graciously declined him, wishing for nothing more, just wanting to go home. The simple life of the Shire and his beloved Hobbit hole calling him home again, now that he had his fill of adventure.

It was later, in a much smaller ceremony that Fili and Kili where laid to rest next to Thorin. The brothers had been inseparable in life and so to in death they would lie together, side by side in one tomb. While the remaining members of Thorin's company had felt deep and true sadness at Thorin's funeral, their sorrow seemed ten fold as they lay the young princes to rest, their grief stricken faces stained with tears.

Like with all such great events, the news of the retaking of Erebore, the death of the Dragon and the following battle, spread throughout the land like wild-fire. And so it was not a day after the funerals that a strange Raven arrived, carrying news for Thorin from Ered Luin's court including grave tidings from the surrounding region. With Thorin and the two Princes next in line for the throne dead, it fell once again to Dain to hear the messenger.

Now, the day he was to finally open the Lonely Mountain to admit the many Exiles and Wanderers that patiently waited outside, found him in a dark mood. The dark haired and powerfully built Dwarf now sat, his head lowered, his massive arms clad in heavy mail resting upon the thick arms of the carved stone throne, his great red battle-axe across his powerful legs, looking every bit the Warrior King. His burning eyes narrowed as he brooded over the dark news that had just been relayed by the tired, yet dignified Raven that now perched on the raised forearm of the silent guard standing next to his throne. By the bird's smaller size he was not one of the Ravens that lived around the Lonely Mountain, but one of those that lived in the Blue Mountains.

Aside from her demand for the status of the Mountain and Thorin's company, Lady Dis' news from the Blue Mountains was grim. More of their kind and many other innocents were dead at the cursed claws of the goblins and orcs, betrayed once again by the greed of Men. It made his blood boil, Men, their race was so strange! They could be so brave and honorable, like Bard and others-- yet so many more where simply weak and greedy, ruled solely by their own wants and base desires. As for the orcs and goblins he only wished that there had been even more of the twisted and evil creatures that he could have felled with his axe. Once again Dain found himself the victor, but feeling as if he clutched nothing but a handful of bitter ashes.

Must all my people's victories be tainted by sorrow?" He mentally cursed Mahal and all the Valor, the leather of his thick gloves creaking with the crushing grip he now had upon the armrests of the throne.

"My King?" Came a voice, shaking him from his dark thoughts, his grip automatically loosening at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Yes, Laina?" he asked, looking up at the armored and red-haired Dwarrow-dam standing nearby. She was one of his best warriors, military advisors and drinking partner. She was also his cousin and closest companion, the two of them having been together since they were children and had been at one another's side for every battle and adventure since.

"If you would allow me," She asked, coming forward and dropping to one knee before him. "You have many other tasks to attend to my King. With your leave, I will take the messenger and brake the news to Thorin's company." She looked up and they both gazed at one another across the space, a silent communication between them, no words needing be uttered.

Above all others Dain valued her thoughts and advice the most, the two holding a deep bond. Only Dain's Queen, the elegant Lady Dradiss could account herself closer to Dain that Laina, and even she was rumored to hold a deep jealously of the ruby-haired warrior.

He flashed her a thankful look before nodding his permission, once again grateful to have her along as he watched her stand up again. He made a mental note to himself to see if he could procure a bottle of Elven wine from the Wood-elf's camp for when they were alone later that evening, able to finally relax and talk freely. Personally he preferred ale, but she had developed a taste for the watery stuff on one of their travels through Lindon, disguised as simple envoys many years ago. The snobbish Elves that had barely tolerated their prescence having no idea that they addressed a King and his closest companion, it still made he and Laina laugh.

Dain turned to the bird patiently perched on the arm of the statue-like guard next to his large carved stone throne, silently motioning for the messenger to join his second lieutenant. With a bow of it's head the Raven took flight and landed on Laina's broad armored shoulder. With that she gave the Dwarf King a bow then turned sharply on her heal and marched out of the echoing chamber, her heavy boots clicking smartly along the polished marble floor.

After the massive doors had shut behind her, Dain turned his dark gaze to the cavernous and gilded throne room around him with its massive and intricately carved pillars of red marble and the huge stone relief depicting the creation of Middle-earth decorating the vast walls. At the five main corners of the room stood towering sculptures of great warriors from the past, three males and two females, partly armored, rendered in jaw dropping detail, seeming to hold up the massive room itself. When it came to the art of sculpture none could surpass the Dwarves, famous for their "living-sculptures" that seemed as if they would be able to draw breath and move at any moment, their stone eyes seeming to eerily follow one about. The high dome above was inlayed with dark blue stone, incrusted with many brilliant jewels that flashed like so many stars in the night sky. His elite royal guards stood like silent statues in their flashing armor and weapons, flanking his throne and other strategic points around the cavernous room. Most of the debris and charred bones had been cleared, though many scorch and claw mark still defaced the walls and pillars, they would be fixed and cleaned in the coming days. A few crystal lamps that they had managed to salvage illuminated the massive room, while the foul reek of dragon still permeating the air, a constant reminder of the Lonely Mountain's previous resident.

Dain then looked at the ancient red axe that resting across his knees, absently running a gloved hand over the wicked crescent blades and the tight leather wrapped haft. Remembering the day he had taken up his father's beloved weapon after watching in horror and rage as his father was killed by Ozog's filthy hands. Now once again he found himself with another unwanted crown, a crown meant for his cousin.

Dain the IronFoot, hero, King of the Iron Hills and leader of one of the mightiest armies of Middle-earth, now found himself the newly crowned King under The Mountain… and wishing for none of it.

He had never wanted any of this, never desiring the unwieldy mantel of power. In his heart he was nothing but a simple soldier by nature, a warrior who wished for nothing but for his people to prosper, a full mug of good ale with his friends and his family to be happy and near, with plenty of orc necks to test the sharpness of his axe with. But no matter the conflicts of his heart; his deep desire for a simple life, he would not shuck his duty. In the end Dain's ultimate loyalty was not even to himself, but to his people and if it was needed he would move the very heavens themselves with nothing but the might of his bare hands if there was need. And Valar help any Orc, Man, Elf or Dwarf that got in his way!

In the cavernous room it was deathly silent and none save the silent guards saw the mighty Dwarf King slump in his cold throne of stone and tiredly lay his head in his hand as if the weight of arda it's self had doubled upon his broad shoulders. If one were to see him then they would not see the powerful and charismatic Dwarf King, but instead a tired and weary soldier.

All hail Dain the IronFoot, reluctant King Under the Mountain…

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In a echoing hall that splintered off in three directions from the massive treasure room where Smaug had slept not days before atop his horde, Gloin and Oin wandered about. Both making sure stay out of the way of the busy Dwarves that worked to clear away the worst of the grisly remains, scattered debris and filth from Smaug's long occupation. The massive and heavily fortified doors that had once barred the way to the high ceiling treasure room, as well as many of the other large doors that lead to the other larger halls and chambers had been splintered and destroyed by the Dragon. Some of the smaller halls and passage ways where the worm could not fit had been clawed and scorched black by Smaug's fiery breath as he tried to get at the many frightened Dwarves that found them selves trapped within.

After the Dragon had first come to the Mountain, it took Smaug a week to track down and kill or eat all of the remaining trapped Dwarves that tried to hide. Those he could not snap up with his snout or claws because of some narrow crevice or small passageway, he burned, letting a deadly belch of flame through what ever pitiful hiding place the survivors tried to huddle in.

Now that the Dragon was dead and the Mountain won, the dazzling glow of gold and jewels within the open treasure room had ceased to grab Gloin and Oin's awestruck attention as it had done so many days before. Now back in their worn and dusty traveling clothes and hoods, their spirits once again lifted in anticipation for what the future might hold, though both were still very sore. Especially Oin, who's wounded shoulder pained him badly. Yet the wound was healing well and the brothers now spent much of their time exploring, marveling at the awesome architecture around them. Both having been unable to truly appreciate it before, scared and worrying that Smaug would discover them and eat them, then later being preoccupied with the battle. Both had almost forgotten what it was like to be in a proper Dwarven kingdom, so long had they wandered under the sky and lived in poverty, the halls of Ered Luin seeming paltry and small in comparison. But now everything seemed bright, even though only a few torches and lamps illuminated the various halls and chambers, most of Erebor's grandeur still cloaked in shadow and darkness.

Taken by a thoughtful mood after Thorin's funeral, Gloin thought about their leader's strange behavior and how he had fallen so quickly under the gold-sickness. How the silver-haired Dwarf had became obsessed with the Arkenstone and the rest of the treasure, changing from the pompous, yet good King they knew-- to the hoarding and ill-tempered stranger they had suddenly found in their mists.

Later as he sat on large chunk of stone ruble that had once been part of a large sculpture, Oin sitting on the ground at his feet while Gloin brushed and braded his long inky hair, he got to thinking about Thorin's character. Thorin Oakenshield had many noble qualities, all in all he was a good ruler and he truly cared for his people, pulling his weight and not afraid to get his hands dirty. He was of the LongBeards and was of noble blood, his family hailing from the line of Durin. He was a blooded warrior, skilled with knife, bow, sword and axe, and had a sharp mind. Meeting challenges head on, having earned his title Oakenshield at the battle of Azanulbizar.

The silver-haired Dwarf was also quite full of himself, overly prideful and was a well known blow-hard. But there was something else under all that haughty pride that he and all his siblings had in excess, there was something darker. Ever had Thorin been unhappy, seeming unable to except his lot. Always acting like he was some gilded emperor, nose in the air and full of puffed up pride even as he slogged through the mud like the rest of them, like some golden King that had somehow found himself forced to rule a paltry kingdom of mud and dust.

Even when he and his family became better off, living in the relative comfort and ease of ruling Ered Luin, while so many others such as Gloin's family lived in depressing squalor and back braking poverty. It never seemed enough somehow. Thorin's eyes always seemed far away, always looking back to the glorious past. Defiantly unwilling to admit his clothes were stained with mud and his hands with dirt, unwilling to admit that King or no, he was nothing more then just another dirty Naugrim to the eyes of Men and Elves that looked down upon them. Always was there a tension with Thorin, a need for better... more

There was also a deep bitterness there, like he still couldn't believe he was in exile. Maybe it was because he did remember the grandeur of Erebor when he was a child, his younger brother and sister too young to really remember. So terribly different from the surroundings he now found himself in, unable to understand how so many of his people could take a small measure of pleasure in a simple chipped mug of watery ale shared with friends or of eagerly excepting the meager copper shillings they had earned for weeks of back-breaking labor down in some dark coal mine. The joy of sharing a fresh loaf of bread with ones family, of being able to buy a new pair of shoes or a warm blanket. Ignoring and enduring the ever present taunts of those that looked down upon them in disgust. "Greedy Naugrim! Dirty Dwarves! Job stealing dirt-rats! Stubborn Naug! Gold grubbers! Beggar-beards!"

Like Thorin, many Dwarves did not like their fate and desperately wished for better, but unlike he, they endured what they must, trying to make the best of what little they had. But not Thorin, he had never been able to do that.

In a way Thorin took it personally, as if the Dragon had come solely to take away his birthright, taking all that had been rightfully his. Making he, a Prince into nothing but a wandering peasant, his people homeless and while compared to many Thorin and the rest of his family did well for themselves, eventually coming to rule the Mountain halls of Ered Luin. It was never enough.

For Thorin would find himself many years later the exiled King of an exiled and impoverished people, his grandfather murdered in Moria, his father tortured to death in Dol Guldur, the last of the Seven Rings stolen and half his entire race dead from the Great War (1.). How the bitterness grew in Thorin's belly.

Perhaps having come so far, having finally regained what had been thought impossible, all that he had ever dreamed of and had wished for, finally back in his grasp- he became dangerously possessive of it. In his mind as he stood there looking down at them, maybe Thorin hadn't really seen Bard or the Elf King's emissary below wishing to parlay those days ago before the battle. Maybe in his mind he saw not Men and Elves, but more dragons come to take what he believed was his. Causing him to snap and lash out at friend and foe alike if any dare speak of taking or sharing any of what he deemed was his!

Would things have been different if Thorin hadn't let his foolish pride and selfishness get the better of him? Could the battle have been averted-- would young Fili and Kili still be alive if Thorin hadn't fallen under the Dragon's spell?

As Gloin thought of Thorin's behavior it made the raven-haired Dwarf snort and sadly shake his head as he finished braiding Oin's shiny black hair. Changing spots with his brother, he realized how heavy his own many pockets were, filled with the gold and jewels he had managed to stuff into them days before. Like most of the Dwarves of Thorin's company, after cautiously and fearfully following their burglar into the massive room, both he and Oin had rushed to fill their pockets with jewels. Yet unlike Thorin's and Bilbo's thinking, he and the other Dwarves hurriedly filled their pockets thinking that if they managed to escape the Mountain and the Dragon, they might be able to go back to their families with something. For at that time few of them actually believed they could take back the Mountain, even as they hide and cowered, trapped within the Mountain itself, thinking Smaug would come back and finish them off at any moment.

But where before the treasure seem to comfort Gloin, the merry clinking of it pleasing to his ears-- now it seem to weigh on him terribly. The thought of having anything in common with that mad gleam of the gold lust he had seen in Thorin's overly bright eyes, made his stomach roll. So it was that after Oin had finished braiding his hair into a long tail, he got up and wandered back to the massive treasure room, his brother following. The heavily armed sentinels that now guarded the room allowing any of Thorin's company to come and go as they pleased. Dain having ordered all his soldiers and guards to give them free rein. So with the occasional good-natured ribbing and heckling, they where (for the most part) left alone and many times simply ignored by the various warriors.

It wasn't until Gloin had stopped in the center of the massive room that had served as Smaug's bedroom, standing atop one of the tall hills of treasure, he began to empty out his many pockets. With each coin and jewel that merrily clattered with the rest at his feet, Gloin found himself feeling lighter, both in body and spirit.

Oin, who had watch him in total confusion, not understanding until his brother finally turned and shared his thoughts of the treasure and Thorin. It was not long after that that Oin happily began to do the same, even going so far as to take out two small gold beads he had braided into his shiny black hair. With matching smiles, safe in the knowledge that they were guarantied a safe and secure home, as well as a portion of the treasure, the brothers stood there free of any burden, feeling oddly pleased with themselves.

That was until Oin, feeling suddenly playful and in the mood for some mischief, promptly shoved his elder brother off the mound of treasure.

"Now I am King of the Mountain!" he crowed. Standing triumphant with a devilish grin upon his smooth face as Gloin tumbled down the mound of treasure with a loud clattering avalanche of coins and jewels. Oin's triumph however was short lived as he gave a yelp when he looked down and saw his elder brother charging back up the hill. Needless to say the younger Dwarf raced away, his long black braid whipping behind him, unable to stop his laughter with a growling Gloin in hot pursuit.

If Bilbo or any Elf or Man had been there they would have been stunned two see two grown Dwarves running around and acting like children. The two soldiers that guarded the entrance to the massive room holding heavy lances, watched in silent amusement along with a few of the other Dwarves that just happened to be there. The brother's chase finally came to an end when Gloin managed to corner his smaller and faster brother and get him in a headlock. Followed by giving the struggling Oin the torment of all younger siblings as he rubbed his knuckles mercilessly on the top of his brother's head, that had poor Oin squirming and pleading (2.).

The only thing Gloin did keep from one of his pockets was a small fire-stone earring he had found. For some reason finding himself unable to part with it, no doubt it's twin was somewhere within the very chamber amongst all the other treasures. His beloved Nei had loved fire-stones, when she had lived she wore a large polished fire-stone set in a thick collar of interlacing knots of silver about her throat. He remembered how he had made it especially for her when he was still courting her (3.), to this day it was one of his greatest masterpieces. Before she had died, she told him to take it and not burn it with her body, instead she bequeathed it to their last remaining child, telling her husband to wait until Gimli had reached his first one hundred years before giving it to him.

True to his word, Gloin had carefully kept it hidden and safe until it was time to clasp it around Gimli's neck. But for now he found himself holding the small fire-stone earring, once again painfully feeling the absence of his mate at his side. He knew he should put it back, it was only one earring after all, not even a proper pair. Knowing she would never be able to wear it, her body long gone, nothing but a simple earn full of ash in her tomb, yet… He was simply unable to make himself part with it, instead he kept it in his pocket, taking it out every now and then to gaze at it. Sometimes he could imagine a small flame dancing within the blood-red gem.

Balin and Dwalin, who had also happened to be in the chamber, debating over the age and possible artist of an ancient Elven vase they had found (both the white-haired Dwarf and his blue-haired brother where scholars as well as teachers), saw what Gloin and Oin did. Upon hearing their reasoning's, they wholeheartedly agreed with their cousin's actions. Wanting nothing to do with the sickness and greed that had stricken Thorin. Sagely saying as they empted out their own heavy pockets, that they to would trust the wisdom of King Dain and his council to fairly divvy up their promised portions of the horde. For now was the time of new beginnings. Not hording dragon infected gold! Though they did scold their younger cousin's childish behavior afterwards.

Big and powerful Dori and Nori did the same later that day, though Ori only did so under protest and much grumbling. Like Gloin and Oin, Bifur also returned her share, emptying out her pockets after hearing about Gloin and Oin doing so, but Bofur and Bombur had staunchly refused. Calling the others fools, holding tight to their loot.

It just so happened that it was the same day that all the waiting Dwarves outside the Mountain were to be let in and the messenger Raven had arrived, that Oin and Gloin planed to go down to the abandoned living areas deeper in the Mountain to look for a possible dwelling that would fit their needs. The two brothers caring not for treasure, but for the simple want and seeming novel experience of having a place to call their own again. At the moment however they milled around the dark hall that intersected several other adjoining halls before the massive treasure room that the Dragon had used as his den. They and several others of Thorin's company, rested and fed, idly walked around and traded the latest news they had gotten from Dain's troops.

Their burglar however had spent much of his time after Thorin's death with Gandalf and the Elves, whenever there was a delegation of the fair beings in and around the Mountain. For whatever business, the little Elf-struck Hobbit seemed to tag along, almost seeming to purposefully be avoid his Dwarven traveling companions. Which happened to suite Gloin just fine, the cranky Dwarf having his utter full at the moment of the Hobbit's constant sighs and whining.

The two raven-haired Dwarves however stopped talking and looked up as King Dain's second lieutenant, the Lady Laina marched over to them, having come from the direction of the King's throne room. The sound of her boots seemed to echo in the dark hall as a messenger Raven rode upon her shoulder, her eyes telling all that she bore grave news.

Her long braided hair was a true blood-red, looking as if someone had crushed garnets and rubies and strung them into thick wavy hair. Which was a highly prized color, for while red hair is quiet common, especially in the various FireBeard clans, true blood-red hair was not. She also wore mithril beads in her intricately braided beard stating her high rank in the army, her shapely and muscular form clad in shinning armor befitting her station, a deep green cloak about her broad shoulders.

As she approached them, the brothers immediately lowered their postures in open respect. Dain might have given all of Thorin's company the title of Lords in honor of their achievement of their Quest, but it was in title only.

"Gloin, son of Groin?" she asked politely, having just come from speaking with both Balin and Dwalin, who now watched from nearby. Their good cheer now gone, both looking rather gray at what they knew the Dwarrow-dam was to tell Gloin and Oin, their countenance bleak as they stood there in the darkness of the hall.

"Aye, I am he," Gloin answered, taking as small step ahead of his younger brother, being the head of their family. "And this in my younger brother, Oin. Groin's sons are at your service my Lady," He said graciously as both he and his brother gave her a stiff, but respectful bow. She bowed in turn and waited for them both to straighten up again before speaking.

"I am Laina, daughter of Lain. King Dain has just received news from our brethren in the west. The Lady Dis of the Ered Luin's Halls has brought us news of a disaster that has befallen the towns and colonies of the Blue Mountains." At the mention of Thorin's sister's name both Gloin's and Oin's dark eyes narrowed, but otherwise continued to listen with trepidation.

"For some time chaos and rumors where the only things known, but several months ago a lone message come from the town of Telgor." It was then that she stopped and motioned for the Raven on her shoulder to continue.

"I am Wey, hatchling of Wenry. I have been dispatched by the Lady Dis's councilor, Frini son of Friri," he introduced himself, his voice croaking and clipped. Gloin and Oin said nothing, both of them seized by a cold chill as they stared at the dark bird, Gloin feeling the blood slowly drain from his face. For the next fifteen minutes they listened in sickening dread as the Raven told them his grave news.

"Only a few managed to escape to nearby towns like Harlond and Telgor, to send word," the bird continued flatly, his sharp black eyes flicking sharply back and forth between the brothers. Neither Dwarf being able to move or say a word as sharp fingers seem to wrap around their hearts.

"The Lady Dis sent out an armored force, but it and the two contingents of Rangers were far to late. Only being able to help the few survivors to be found. They did eradicate two small bands of goblins still roaming the area, but unfortunately the rest of the foul folk had already scattered and fled.

"Of Black Hallow, Turquoise Hill, Rangutch and Shiprock there is nothing left. They have been raised to nothing but ash." The Raven finally finished, his dark feathered breast heaving after speaking for so long.

"I am truly sorry for your loss, Gloin." Laina said, speaking up again.

But Gloin could not speak and stood there motionless, staring at her yet not truly seeing her. Oin beside him was not much better, his mouth opening and closing as if unable to find the words to say something.

"No, it is a mistake," Gloin then whispered in denial, shaking his head as he took a weary step back from her.

Nearby the rest of Thorn's company watched in hushed silence, the low burning lamp on the wall above them cast their faces into strange masks, their eyes glowing eerily in the dark. Balin and Dwalin also continued to watch from nearby, almost completely hidden in a deep shadow. After a few moments Dwalin whispered something into his brother's ear before he sadly wandered away to see if he could find Tharkun, leaving Balin there to continue to silently watch.

"Nay. As much as I wish it were so… Sadly, it is no mistake," the Dwarrow-dam said with a sigh, her eyes full of compassion, though her face was a mask of stone. "Of Black Hallow only five escaped the flames of the mine. And of those… only two made it to the safety of Telgor to tell their tale. A Svior, son of Svie and a Nidi, son of Esnire, were the only souls to survive that doomed mining town. Their three companions Hanar the Scarred, Ulfr, son of Ultrey and Gimli, son of Gloin escaped the fire… but did not escape the hungry claws of the pursuing orcs.

"Take heart in the knowledge that he died with honor," she added, even though she knew that it was of little consolation to one who had lost their child. She patiently waited for the two to digest what she and the Raven had told them, until she finally saw the true realization sink in, watching with the all too familiar look of loss enter their dark eyes, where moments before there had been disbelief.

"May your son have found his way to Mahal's great hearth and his ancestors welcome him. Deep peace of the quiet earth to you, deep peace to you , Gloin's son." She said reverently, her deep voice was almost a whisper as she softly recited the ancient Dwarven prayer.

Hearing it seem to drive a nail through the remains of Gloin's heart, causing him to almost stagger at the feel of it. The quiet blessing was the last thing Laina said before she gave the very still and quiet Dwarves a low bow, taking four steps back with her head still down, it was a bow of ultimate respect. The Raven perched on her shoulder also respectfully inclined his head, though he had to spread his wings to keep balance. She straightened up once again and thumped a heavy gloved fist over her heart, then turned and walked away, leaving them both to greave in peace.

For several long terrible moments neither moved, only able to stand there pale and wide-eyed, listening to the sound of her footsteps fading into the distance. In Gloin's mind suddenly came the memory of Rowel, the mine owner's spoiled son and his strange words to him that finally day in Black Hallow a seeming lifetime ago.

Watching with narrowed and suspicious eyes as the tall attractive human with the immaculate white cloak about his shoulders, tossed his long wheat-gold hair before turning to look back at him, the ever- present smug smirk on his lips. .

"Pity. I was just thinking… It's a shame that you and your brother will not be here to take part in the upcoming festivities," the human said in a tone of mild disappointment before giving a shrug. With that the Man turned and strolled away, heading towards the tavern.

It was only now as Gloin now stood there, his face pale, his brown eyes lost, that he finally realized the terrible truth of Rowel's words. The terrible irony.

"I left Gimli there…so he would be safe…" Gloin whispered brokenly, his world feeling as if it was icing over as the remains of his heart shattered in his chest. "He is dead…I have doomed all my children--I've killed all my children as surly as with my own hand!" he cried, his hands coming up to fist his long dark hair.

He moaned from the agony in his heart, stumbling unsteadily over to one of the massive pillars as if for support. Oin followed without a sound, his hand clutching Gloin's cloak in numb shock. Most of the hall was still cast in darkness, only a few torches and lit lamps on the walls to guide the way. A small part of Gloin was thankful, the many shadows perfectly suited the darkness that now threatened to swallow him from the inside.

A memory came of looking back and seeing Gimli and his friend Ulfr standing on the top of a rise in the distance, watching him and the rest of Thorin's company walk away from that miserable gray mining town.

Unfortunately the next image that came crashing into his mind was of his eldest son, Daria and the last time he had seen him. Remembering the terrible day they had been ambushed by a raiding party of starved and half-mad orcs in the woods near Lindon. How the beasts had boiled up out of seeming nowhere, descending upon them and separating them in a dark tide. Hearing the deafening screams, the sounds of agony his eldest son had made over the roar and shrieks of the orcs as they desperately tried to reach him through the stinking and foul press of cold gray bodies. Never in his life had he so furiously fought, his knife covered in hot black blood as he and his brother fought to reach Daria, but they had been too late. So terribly late. Not even Nei and Gimli who tore into the orcs like demons could reach him in time.

It seemed like yesterday he had fallen to his knees next to his trembling mate, looking blankly at the remains of what had once been their child. Unable to comprehend what he was seeing…the pieces of him scattered about in the gore soaked grass. Daria, his first-born, to this day he could not understand why he had not the ability to cry out that day as he sat their numbly cradling his son's decapitated head in his arms. Staring down into his pale and ripped face, looking into those lifeless eyes that stared blankly back at him, unable to move. Listening to Nei's, Gimli's and his brother's howls of grief, listening to their screams of rage as they morbidly clutched and collected the various scattered parts of Daria as if they pathetically wished to try and somehow put him back together.

Was that Gimli's fate too? Had he desperately tried to fight them off until the beasts has simply over whelmed him, tearing at him with their clawed hands and teeth, ripping him to pieces even as he screamed and struggled?

It was all Gloin could do to stifle the scream of grief and rage that threatened to bubble forth as he put his face in his trembling hands. The thought of Gimli ripped to pieces, the hungry and greedy mouths of the Orcs painted red as they gleefully feasted on his child's flesh made him squeeze his eyes tightly shut in a futile attempt to block out the horrible images racing through his head as his mouth twisted into a sorrowful grimace. In the dark shadow of the massive pillar his legs suddenly had no strength in them and he sank heavily to his knees, taking his younger brother with him, who silently clutched his cloak like a small child scared of becoming lost. Oin unlike his elder brother however was unable to stifle the series of cries from escaping his tightly clenched teeth as tremors of grief began to rack his body, tears falling freely from his tightly clamped eyes.

Balin, who had kept a respectful distance while the messenger and Lady Laina told them their grim tidings, finally came over and tried to put a comforting hand upon Gloin's shoulder.

"Do not touch me!" He hissed, jerking away as if burned before his anger gave way once again to crushing sorrow. With an utter wariness of the world Gloin rested his forehead on the cold stone of the pillar he and Oin knelt before. None save Balin and Oin saw the tears that welled from his eyes like drops of liquid silver.

"By Mahal! He is gone… They-they are all gone… My beloved Nei, my beautiful mate… Daria, my earth, Mano… my little spirit. Sweet Minal, my daughter…my sky. Nin, my clever water, Now…Now Gimli, my last…My fire…my star. I have lost them all!

"I'm cursed!" Gloin finally cried, clawing at his black beard before casting his hood over his face, Oin only berried his tear streaked face into his brother's shoulder.

A little distance away near one of the only lit lamps in the otherwise dark hall, the small group of Thorin's remaining company had gathered. Including Bilbo, who had just toddled over to the group after following a small group of Thranduil's people about much of the day, drawn over by the activity.

"My word, what is going on!" The wide-eyed Hobbit gasped, coming to stand with the group, a few of them glancing down at him.

"Whatever is the matter with Gloin? He and Oin surly aren't fighting again, are they?" Bilbo asked, having no idea of what was taking place. A note of disapproval now in his tone as he squinted at the two by the pillar, just barely able to make out what was happening.

Having traveled with this unusual group of Dwarves, he had seen quite a few arguments and fights on his long journey with them. And though none of them were considered warriors in the least, they where all much stronger and bigger then poor little Bilbo, who had more then once been knocked over accidentally or brushed aside as if he weighed no more then a leaf. He was also all too familiar with Gloin's rather cankerous disposition and sharp tongue, which had been the cause of more then one of those fights.

"Shush!" Dori ordered. Looking down at the curly haired Hobbit with a glare before looking back at Gloin who was now leaning heavily against Oin, who held onto his older brother and was now babbling something to him.

Bilbo just gave Dori a confused blink before turning to watched Balin step away from the two strangely acting Dwarves and come over to the gathered group looking sad and weary.

"Oh, does this sadness ever leave us?" Balin was mumbling to himself, running a calloused hand over his face. Looking down and seeing the open confusion still on Bilbo's round face, he explained, giving his white beard a harsh tug. "In the mists of our joy we find ourselves once again saddened by grief. And so soon after laying Thorin, and Fili and Kili to rest…a sad day indeed! But I fear it is a sorrow that Gloin and Oin will find the hardest to bear." Balin said quietly to the Hobbit, a truly sorrowful look in his dark eyes.

"Sorrow? What do you mean?" Bilbo asked, still very much confused as he looked up with round eyes at the seeming hulking Dwarves around him. All the Dwarves of Thorin's party stood a good head or more above him (being a Hobbit and all), it was still a bit disconcerting being around so many of the Big People, and it was only worse being around the Men and Elves!

"A Raven has come bearing ill news from the Blue Mountains. Many are dead and their fate truly terrible for King Dain has not yet the will to speak of it," said Balin, his indigo-eyes shinning with unshed tears.

To Bilbo the white-haired Dwarf looked haggard as he watched Balin pull his red hood up and cast his kind face into shadow and walked back two the two grieving brothers. This time Gloin apparently excepting his comfort for he allowed the older Dwarf to pull him into an embrace.

"Gloin's only remaining son is dead," Bifur whispered to the stunned Hobbit with a sad shake of her head. One whole side of her face was still badly bruised having taken a glancing blow from a goblin's mace, her left eye however was no longer swollen shut, though it was bloodshot. The Hobbit still having no idea that the slender and smooth-faced Dwarf with only a long braided goatee hanging from her chin, was female.

Bombur, who had the injured Bofur standing next to him, sniffed and loudly blew his noise on a hanky, that Bilbo noticed with some annoyance was one of his. The fat cook couldn't stand Gloin's hyper fly-weight son, disrespectful smart ass, but even he didn't think the little shit deserved such a fate.

Bifur gave a sniff of her own before angrily wiping at a tear from the corner of her eye. Poor Fili and Kili and now young Gimli. Why are so many of our young ones taken from us? Was this somehow in Mahal and Iluvatar's great plans? Did he not know that at this rate there would be none to continue on and pass their skills to? She silently cursed to herself, biting her bottom lip as she looked in the direction of the mourning brothers.

"Gloin has children? Why I had no idea!" Bilbo finally said in astonishment, who was utterly shocked that the sharp-tongued and cranky black-haired Dwarf was even married, let alone had children! He suddenly felt rather embarrassed, realizing that he knew almost next to nothing of these people that he had traveled and been through so much with. Being thoroughly "Elf-struck" since Rivendell and preoccupied with his own worries and complaints.

"Had children," Bofur corrected with a shake of his head, his light-brown hair held away from his round face in a simple pony tail. "Still it is not dignified to act so," he said, shifting to a more comfortable position as he leaned against Bombur's bulk before looking over his should with a disapproving look.

His dark-accustomed eyes watching as Oin now rocked his brothers' visibly shuddering form as Balin sat with them, softly saying something. Bilbo's vision however could only just barely pick out the dark shapes of the three grieving Dwarves, but the Halfling's sharp ears could easily pick up the sounds of their misery.

"Shut your face, Bofur!" Dori hissed from Bilbo's other side, deep warning in the large Dwarf's eyes. "You have never had children and you have never felt the crushing sorrow of their loss," He growled. His light brown eyes burning holes into the now contrite smaller Dwarf before he turned and stormed away from the group in disgust, heading away from the sounds of Gloin's and Oin's grief.

The group silently watched him walk away, surprised by the usually gentle and good-natured Dwarf's sudden change of behavior. As soon as Dori was out of sight, Bifur promptly reached out and smacked Bofur on the back of the head. Causing the other BroadBeam to yelp, then turn and giving her an innocent "What?" expression as he rubbed the back of his smarting head and in turn getting a glare of exasperation.

Dori meanwhile had not gone very far before he stopped and stepped into a completely unlit side chamber. It was with a tired sigh that he leaned his muscled back against the smooth stone wall, now partially destroyed and blackened by one of Smaug's destructive tantrums. Once within the safety of the darkness and free of watching eyes Dori put a dirty broad hand to his face and bowed his head, his tired light-brown eyes closing as he remembered his own heartbreak. He knew all too well what Gloin was no doubt feeling right now.

For he too had lost his children and mate. His two little boys, his black-haired Drori and ginger-haired Ari. The loss of them as fresh now as the day he held their small lifeless bodies to his chest, his cries mingling with his mate's broken wails that terrible day.

The searing loss of their children driving his poor beloved Ola to throw herself from a cliff five days later. He found her boots and gloves set in a neat pile next to the edge of the precipice, as if she had taken them off for a short swim. Only the intervention of Ori and Nori had prevented him from trying to join them in Mandos' Halls soon after.

After four years the three big BlackLocks had moved to the farming town of Shiprock, making a living of hard and mind-numbing manual labor. Porting and unloading the heavy shipments from neighboring towns like Black Hallow, when he and his brothers were not stuck digging wells, ditches and graves. But for now the large Dwarf allowed himself to mourn not only for Gloin's wild hot-tempered son and all the good people lost in both Shiprock and Black Hallow, but also to finally mourn for himself and his own terrible losses.

They had done what was thought impossible. They had taken back the Mountain, Smaug was dead and the battle had been won! But for Dori and many others the victory felt hollow, Iluvatar's bitter curse to his unwanted children. For every victory… a terrible price.

In the depths of his shadowed corner, non saw the salty tears that fell like drops of silver to the dusty and cold stone floor.