Finished a story, so time to start on a new one. *sweatdrops* Honestly, this fic is unlike anything I've made before and I'm super excited to explore this world.
Trigger Warnings: This chapter is all about Bilbo and Thorin's past lives, and they will die in this scene. So Character Death, Blood/Violence
Each of the races have their own views on soulmates and how you go about finding them. However, all seem to agree that to find a soulmate is a very special thing. To find the one person who you can trust with your whole heart and soul. That's why to the dwarves, they called these people, Ones. None would ever consider betraying their Ones as that seemed a cruelness beyond even that of the orcs. Which is why King Durin VI stood in the high chamber of the court of Khazad-dûm staring down at the small figure below with such shock and fear, many feared a light breeze could topple their usually infallible king.
The curly haired creature in chains returned the king's stare with heartbreaking indifference. Many of the court began to chant prayers to Mahal that this was not to be so. That the One of their dear king wouldn't dare do that which he was accused. Durin's flat and breathless voice finally spoke, silencing all in the hall.
"Madoc, son of Maloch of the Holbyta Tribe Fallohide, you stand before the King of Khazad-dûm as the sole conspirator and thief of the Arkenstone. One of the great treasures of our kingdom. What plea do you make in your defense?"
With no hesitation, no change in emotion, the small being stated the same line Durin's heard since his capture.
"I love you."
The king leaned forward to bow his head as he gripped the stone podium tighter.
"Madoc, this is serious!" Durin's most trusted advisor, Gelbim, spoke up. "You have taken a sacred relic from our halls, and not just any, but the one that has the power to bring ruin upon our city and our people! Your crime is punishable by death. For the love of Mahal and the great Valar, please, tell us where you've hidden the Arkenstone."
Durin slowly brought his eyes up as the silence persisted to see a small break in Madoc's mask. His jaw trembled and a single tear leaked from his soft hazel eyes that Durin had loved from the moment he met him.
"I...love...you." He sobbed.
That was the moment Durin's heart broke. Not shattered completely though. No, unfortunately that particular pain would come later that week when Madoc's sentence was being carried out. But this...this was the first of a pain that would never desist.
"How can you when you hurt me so?" Durin asked softly, yet his words carried through the chamber as Madoc bowed his head in defeat. "You are given a traitor's sentence. Death with no chance to appeal. Your name will not be spoken aloud again, your hair will be shorn and removed of any braids and beads, and your body will be burned rather than returned to the land and stone. In the Eyes of Mahal, so mote it be."
Gelbim, his dear friend, told him he didn't need to attend. None would think less of their king. Durin wished he had listened. He couldn't bear to watch, but the sound of the axe going straight through his One's neck would haunt him for the rest of his life. As it was, he stumbled to his chambers to fall and not rise from their marital bed for weeks after. When he resumed his reign, the toll of losing heart and soul was apparent to all.
Durin became hardened in the final years of his reign. He demanded every ounce of mithril in the mountain to be pulled up and sold it to his allies for too high a price. What he didn't sell, he forged. Weapons, jewelry, a particular handsome mailshirt, and if it were all the same size as his beloved holbyta? Well, none had it in them to point it out to their fading king. As demanded of a traitor's death, the name Madoc was stricken from all records and replaced with the Amrâb Hufrel or "the soul's betrayal of all betrayals". The rest of the Fallohide tribe which was camped near the Misty Mountains was forced to pack up and resume their nomadic lifestyle west or face war with the dwarves. The sorrows of Durin were not to stop there.
"The goblins of the Deep grow bolder." Gelbim remarked as they watched the latest battalion return battered and worse for wear.
"Without the Arkenstone, they will not stop." Durin growled.
"Durin, my friend, we've sent quest after quest after the gem. Wherever M-the Amrâb Hufrel has hidden it, we may not ever find it. It may be time to consider...alternatives."
"What alternative is there aside from leaving my mountain and my mithril!" Durin spat.
Gelbim raised an eyebrow at his answer. "And is that worth more than the lives of your kin?"
Durin froze before spinning around quick as a flash. "Leave if that is your wish! This has been the home of MY line since the reign of Durin I and I WILL NOT GO!"
Go, Gelbim did, taking a third of his kingdom with him including the young Prince Thrain and his mother. Crown Prince Nain, Durin's only son, could not be moved to leave his father to his fate even as he saw the heartless path he wrought. For in their quest for more mithril, an ancient evil slumbering deep below the rock was awoken. The king led a frantic charge against the beast and was slain almost instantly. The war against Durin's Bane lasted a year longer, but when the newly instated King Nain, was slain, the mountain and its riches were abandoned. In the lore of Durin's folk, this was the first great curse of the Amrâb Hufrel's theft.
Durin, who welcomed his death with open arms, awoke expecting to find the Halls of His Father. Instead, the nervous face of his treacherous One amongst a starry plane was the first sight he was graced with.
"Oh Durin, my heart…" The holbyta began taking a step forward.
"You!" The king snarled, moving away as quickly as he could.
The Amrâb Hufrel looked miserable as his face twisted in anguish. "Please let me explain…"
"NOW YOU WISH TO EXPLAIN!" Durin boomed. "You had your chance! You had every opportunity to tell of your nefarious schemes, and instead you mocked me. You mocked my kingdom, a kingdom you once called yours. Well look at it now! All because of you!"
The creature before him was truly wretched and small as he hunkered against every blow Durin dealt. And the dwarf was yet to be finished.
"Peace, my son." Came a great voice from above that Durin instantly recognized as His Father even having never heard it before. "You have made your point. Now let your Sanâzyung (Perfect/True Love) say his piece."
"NO!" Durin roared against the very heavens themselves. "I don't want to have anything to do with this...this...Amrâb Hufrel!"
Thunder rumbled, shaking the entire platform they stood upon. And while the holbyta trembled in the face of such power, Durin's anger was too great to be cowed.
"You would reject this gift we offer, son of Aulë?" A female voice demanded, who could only be Thatrûna*, icy and iron.
"What gift?" Durin sneered. "Unless you offer me the chance to sever his head myself this time, I see no gift here."
The other creature of blood released a gasp that was more like a sob, but Durin had no more patience for the likes of him. In fact, he had nothing left to give to him. Something that became apparent to the Valar watching.
"You have become cruel." Another, softer female voice, Madakh-khatûna*, soothed. "You know only the truths you have seen with your own eyes."
"And it is enough for me to condemn that thing and the Great Valar that thought to join my soul with it! Damn him and DAMN ALL OF YOU!"
If Durin expected the same booming show of power he received previously, he was sorely disappointed. Instead, it just all seemed to fade away. The stars, the platform, and the holbyta. His sorrowful face full of tears was the last thing Durin saw before he was swallowed by the darkness. The darkness allowed no sound, not even from Durin's own voice, and no escape. He was unsure how long he wavered in that place: hours, weeks, years? He was utterly and completely alone until finally the voice of His Father broke through.
"You have shamed me, my uzfakuh (great joy). You have shamed me, you have shamed yourself, and you have shamed your Sanâzyung."
Durin knew he could not speak back, but he still fumed at the Great Smith's words.
"We have thought long and hard on how you can atone for the atrocities you've committed today."
And what of the Amrâb Hufrel's atrocities?
"Your path will not be an easy one, especially if you hold tight to the stubborn slights of your mortal heart. For a soul is worth so much more. You and your Sanâzyung shall be reborn over and over as many times as needed until you can right the wrongs between you and hear the truth of his soul."
Durin felt a burning on his breast and looked down to behold his oak tree, glowing and wrapped in chains of ink.
"You shall carry this mark in every life of yours henceforth, and it shall remember the mark of Madoc in return. Only free of the chains that bind your soul, will you be welcome in my Halls."
Bestowed his curse, Durin burned in the Great Forge to be reborn once more. Only two truths could not be wiped from his soul: his mistrust of other species, and the unfairness the Valar of the World deemed justice.
"And so my young prince…That's the story of the great shame in the Durin's line: the curse of the Amrâb Hufrel." Balin explained gravely.
Thorin shifted uncomfortably in his chair, pouting a bit. He supposed he had asked Balin why everyone had a tendency to stare at him funny, including his grandfather.
"How do we know about the Mahal parts?" Thorin asked.
"Because Durin's reincarnations are given memories of their past lives." Balin answered, his voice touched with sadness.
"I don't have any memories! Maybe everyone got it wrong and I'm not Durin's heir!" Thorin argued venomously.
Balin carefully picked his way towards his prince before falling to a knee to put himself even with the other's beardless face stubbornly doing its best not to cry.
"I wish with all my heart it was not so." Balin finally murmured, putting a hand on Thorin's shoulder before letting it drift to his covered heart. "But this mark is well known to us as Durin's mark. The same oak tree from the story. I'm sorry, lad. But the curse is yours to bear, fair or not."
Thorin's head fell in confirmation of his worst fears. Balin felt for the lad. If not only in bearing such a heavy burden, but due to King Thror's adamancy in removing Thorin from the line of succession. Prince Thrain had been doing his best to win over the council, but even goldmad, King Thror knew how to win a debate. Besides, he knew better than most the bitter endings of Thorin's past lives. In the eyes of Erebor, there was a life without love and a death wish hanging above the small pebble's head. No one would want such a burdened king.
"But you said the curse can be broken…Mahal provided a way." Thorin sniffed, stubbornly hiding his tears as he raised his head hopefully.
"Well…" Balin hummed. "It's always been rather vague what exactly Mahal wanted Durin to do in his next life. 'Right the wrongs' but it's the Amrâb Hufrel who…"
Thorin suddenly gasped, causing Balin to startle.
"If all this started with the Amrâb Hufrel, then maybe…I can find the Arkenstone! Right the wrongs!"
Balin gave the young prince a bitter smile. "Many have tried and failed at that task. Without the Amrâb Hufrel, I'm afraid such knowledge is lost to us."
"I can do it!" Thorin assured, his blue eyes now red and swollen but still burning with determination. "And I don't need help from a malkân (halfling) either!"
Balin chuckled as he clapped his shoulder and stood back up.
"You still have a fair bit of growing yet, my prince. Best not make vows until you know for certain you can keep it."
"I'll do it." He repeated. "You'll see. I'll make everyone proud."
Balin felt a shiver travel down his spine at the iron held in the wee pebble's voice. He didn't know if it was an influence of his past lives or something entirely Thorin, but he found himself believing in him. Yes, if anyone could break the curse, Balin would take the bet that it would be Thorin, son of Thrain.
And as Balin predicted, the deeds and accomplishments of Thorin Oakenshield were almost unprecedented in spite of his handicap. Thorin became interested in lore and history, especially surrounding the fall of Khazad-dûm. When the duties and responsibilities as third in line for the throne bypassed him to his brother, Frerin, he became even more enthralled in his studies. Maps littered his rooms, ink stained his fingers, and candle wax meddled with his desk. As skilled a scholar Thorin had become, he was almost unmatched with a blade. Lifetimes of muscle memory buried in his soul. Some say it was Dain I's very own vengeance that seeped from Thorin when he managed to turn away the dragon, Smaug, from the gates of Erebor. Likewise, his defense of the valley against the army of Azog that would come to be known as the Battle of the Five Armies, earned him his epithet and heralded him a hero in spite of their numerous losses. So when Thorin turned to his own king father with a plan to take back the Arkenstone, how could Thrain refuse? Thorin gathered a Company of dwarves and the brave fourteen set off for Khazad-dûm.
Meanwhile, to the far West, lived a hobbit born with a much different perspective on curses and destiny. For there are some fates that are not so easy to escape, and the longing of a soul is a powerful magic indeed. Too powerful to be ignored for long even in the quiet of the unassuming Shire. No, Bilbo Baggins was about to learn that such ripples were already set in motion the moment he chose to invite a wizard in for tea.
Please tell me what you think! I'm trying to get this fic up and running this month and then will probably go back to some of my other ones next month. We'll just have to see.