Another Monday, another update! I rewatched all three movies this weekend so my Hobbit feels are stronger than ever. Rewrites are coming along steadily too so I can keep pace with the weekly updates. I'd love to hear from y'all about the update schedule, though; is weekly too frequent, or should I space them out more? Either way would love to know your thoughts, so please feel free to drop them in a review!
As always, thanks for all the new favorites/follows, and thank you to my reviewers from last time!
Chapter Thirteen
Maethor
Thorin lay awake as dawn light filtered through the branches of the trees surrounding the veranda, bathing everything in a rosy glow as he stared up at the sky, trying to get his thoughts together. They had been in Rivendell for a week already, and today marked midsummer, and the crescent moon; tonight he would finally get the answers he needed from the map.
He had barely slept all week, too consumed by his worries to fall into the blissful oblivion of nothing. When he did manage to doze off, his dreams were haunted by nightmares and memories, blending together into a symphony of fear and panic until he couldn't distinguish what was real or what was imagined. And then he would wake up in a cold sweat and go back to thinking about what lay ahead of them in the coming weeks.
That was what he was doing that morning as the sun slowly rose from its waking place on the horizon. It was only when he registered a figure standing in the entrance to the veranda that he sat up, frowning when Gandalf beckoned him over.
"Coming," he grumbled, pulling on his blue tunic from where he had tossed it to the floor last night and crossing the veranda, sidestepping the sleeping Company.
The wizard had been strangely absent for most of their stay in Rivendell, only appearing at mealtimes—and even those rarely—so Thorin was surprised to see him.
"Gandalf," Thorin said when he approached. "What bodes on your mind for you to come to me so early?"
Gandalf didn't answer immediately, instead leading him away from the veranda. They stopped at an alcove a short distance away, and Thorin leaned against a slender column as Gandalf took a seat on a carved wooden bench, lighting his pipe and beginning to puff on it.
Thorin took out his own and lit it. After he sucked in a long drag, inhaling the pleasant smoke, Gandalf met his eyes.
"You must leave tonight," the wizard said without preamble, and Thorin raised an eyebrow.
"Why was this so important to come to me about at this time?"
"Because we need to discuss a few things about your departure," Gandalf replied, blowing a smoke ring absentmindedly.
"Your departure?" Thorin echoed. "Aren't you coming with us?"
"Not at this moment," the wizard said, "though I do plan on catching up. But there are still a few things I must do before I can rejoin you."
"Like?" Thorin prompted.
"An order of business which I must see to here," he said, and Thorin inwardly sighed, knowing he would get a sort of vague answer like that.
"I fear Lord Elrond will try to stop us," Thorin said. "He suspects, I think, what we plan to do. And whatever answers the map gives us, he will surely put it together then."
"Which is why you must leave in secrecy," Gandalf said, nodding.
Thorin leaned forward. "What are you proposing?"
"I believe Elrond has summoned the Lady Galadriel and Saruman the White for a meeting of the White Council, which will take place tonight after the feast. He and I will be there, and then you have an opportunity to get away unseen and continue on with your journey. After the Council is adjourned, I will make after you for the Misty Mountains, and from there we will then travel on to the Lonely Mountain."
Thorin thought for a minute, his head wreathed in smoke. "I like it," he said finally. "But there is still the problem of Elrond's lackey—that Lindir fellow. He's been hovering around us all our stay, keeping an eye on us. No doubt he will be waiting for something like this to happen."
Gandalf shook his head. "Luck is on our side tonight. Lindir is ordered to be waiting at the South Gate for the arrival of Saruman from Isengard. You will be leaving through the North Gate, the path which will take you north to the High Pass. Balin knows those paths through the wilderness as well as I do, and he can lead you in my stead."
Thorin nodded. "All right. We will leave tonight at midnight. Where will you be joining us in the mountains?"
"Wherever I find you," the wizard said, smiling wryly as he put out his pipe and tucked it back into his cloak. "But you must not leave the mountains until I join you; that is my only request."
Thorin nodded again. "Then we have a plan," he said, and Gandalf nodded as well, standing from his seat.
"Tell the others today, and let them know they need to be prepared by nightfall," the wizard said, sweeping off down the corridor. "And do try to keep discreet about it."
Thorin said nothing as the wizard disappeared, putting out his own pipe and storing it away. Now that he knew they were leaving that night, a sense of newfound energy and vigor took hold of him, relief buoying him up now that they had a plan.
He came back to the veranda just as the sun broke over the high cliff-faces sheltering the valley. When he entered, he saw that everyone was still sleeping, save for Nori and Glóin, who sat in a corner quietly playing cards. They looked up as he came over to them, nodding their heads in silent greeting as he sat down, nodding back.
"We're leaving tonight," Thorin said as Nori shuffled the pack of playing cards and distributed them evenly amongst the three. They looked to him in relief, obviously as happy as he was that they were getting away from this quiet elven place. "Nori, you will be in charge of getting provisions for us today: food, waterskins, anything we're missing. But be discreet; no one must know that we are leaving."
Nori nodded, looking pleased with the prospect of stealing under the elves' noses one last time. They sat in silence for another half-hour, playing cards as the other members of the Company slowly stirred. Bombur began to fry some eggs and bacon as the other dwarves and the hobbit roused from their bedrolls. Glóin went over to tell them they were leaving that night as Nori snuck out of the veranda, already starting his task of collecting supplies for all of them.
Thorin ambled over to where the Company was assembled beside their small cooking fire, chatting and yawning as the delicious aroma of food wrapped around them. He sat down beside Fíli and Kíli, who were both still blinking sleepily, and they nodded to him.
"Morning, Uncle," Fíli said, stifling a huge yawn.
"Morning," Thorin replied, grinning as Kíli nearly slumped over to doze again. Thorin clapped him on the shoulder, and the younger dwarf jerked upright again with a crisp "Morning!", blinking hard against his drowsiness.
"We're leaving tonight," Thorin said. "Make sure you're ready to go by nightfall. We'll attend the feast for show, but we depart at midnight."
The two princes nodded as Bilbo walked up.
"So, it's true, then?" the hobbit asked. "We are leaving tonight?"
"You are correct, Master Baggins," Thorin said. "Is there a problem?" he added when he caught the anxious look on their burglar's face. He seemed conflicted, but he started at Thorin's question, shaking his head rapidly.
"Oh, no," he said quickly. "There's no problem at all. I was just making sure it was true we were, in fact, leaving tonight."
"Well, we are," Thorin said, suspicious about the hobbit's attitude, but he decided to let it go. If Master Baggins was fonder of the comfort of Rivendell compared to the idea of adventure, then Thorin would not force a decision on him. The hobbit needed to work out his conflict on his own, and soon.
Bilbo nodded once more, his ears twitching before he padded away, just as Alison entered the veranda.
She was dressed in her normal clothes, though without her coat, leaving her only in her black shirt, odd pants, and boots. He gestured at her, and she crossed the veranda toward the trio. When she got closer, Thorin noticed the bruises under her eyes and knew that he had not been the only restless one last night.
"We're leaving tonight to make for the Mountain Pass," he told her. "Be prepared with your things by nightfall, and meet us here after the feast, before midnight."
"Got it," she said, flicking back her hair—a habit he noticed her doing often.
"I hear you've recruited my nephews to train you as well," he continued, and she nodded again with a sheepish smile. "Good. The more you practice, the better you'll become."
"That's the goal," she said. "Is that all?"
"It is," he said, and she nodded respectfully before going to join Bombur at the fire. Thorin watched for a minute as she worked with the ginger dwarf on breakfast. Helping Bombur cook was where she seemed to be most comfortable in the Company, and he was glad that she was at least pulling her weight and helping.
He looked back to his nephews only to see them engaged in some sort of silent war of wills; Fíli stared hard at his younger brother, but Kíli glared adamantly forward, his eyes not straying in his brother's direction.
Thorin frowned at their sudden tension. "What's going on?"
Fíli looked to him, his mouth set. "Nothing. Why?"
Thorin shifted his gaze to Kíli, who had been sitting quietly beside them this whole time. He looked over, though, at Thorin's stare.
"What?" he said. "Fíli's the deluded one, causing problems where there should be none in the first place."
Fíli snorted. "Rich, coming from you."
Kíli scowled. "Just drop it, Fee. I'm not going over this again."
"Going over what?" Thorin asked.
Kíli looked to Thorin, his dark eyes flashing. "Fíli seems to think I've taken an interest in our human companion based on a single look."
Thorin's discomfort increased tenfold as he began to cotton on to where the conversation was leading to. He bit back a curse, suddenly wishing that Dís was there; their mother would know what to do, while Thorin felt like he was crossing into dangerous, uncharted territory as he cleared his throat.
"Both of you will listen to me," he said quietly, so the others in the group couldn't hear him, and they leaned in with some trepidation. "I don't care what goes on between Miss Ashburne or anyone in this Company unless it escalates to conflict. But she has a purpose on this quest, as do the both of you. You are the next heirs to the throne of Durin, and she is a warrior; though your paths may be entwined now, it is doubtful they will continue to be that way in the future. So, before you begin to form deep attachments, just remember your place in the world, and remember hers. Do we have an understanding?"
He looked to both of them seriously, and they nodded, though Fíli looked like he wanted to object at the fact he had been pulled into that conversation when it had only been Kíli involved in the situation. Fortunately, he had the tact not to say anything about it.
Thorin gazed at his nephews for a moment more, until Bombur began passing around breakfast and their discussion was broken up. Thorin clapped Kíli on the shoulder before standing up to go get his plate, and Fíli went with him.
"You're worried for him," Thorin stated, reading the frown lines on the blond dwarf's face.
Fíli looked up from his faraway staring. "Of course I am," he said as they made their way to the campfire. "He's just being reckless, as usual."
Thorin nodded thoughtfully. "I understand," he said. "Let's just hope Kíli comes to his senses and Miss Ashburne isn't easily courted." Fíli acknowledged this with a nod, and Thorin looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "Do I need to be concerned about your sentiments as well?"
"I view her as only a friend," he said stiffly, and Thorin let the subject drop as Bombur handed them plates loaded with eggs and bacon; Fíli, Mahal bless him, did not seem to be the brother who would end up aging him prematurely.
He and Fíli went to go sit back down; Kíli, it seemed, had left the veranda, and the absence of his bow confirmed Thorin's suspicions as to where his younger nephew had gone.
As he worked his way through his breakfast, he kept happy at the thought that they were leaving that night, and would finally be able to start their journey again once they had the answers to the map.
Even the sight of Lindir lurking outside the veranda could not squash his optimism, and he smirked widely at the elf, who narrowed his eyes before disappearing in a swirl of azure robes.
Alison was on her way back to her room when she sensed a presence behind her.
She turned, seeing Glorfindel striding down the corridor toward her, his steps light and swift. She paused outside her door.
"Blondie," she said, smirking when his face twitched in a grimace. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"You didn't come to train today," he said. "You've made something of a habit of it this past week, and Estel begged me to see if you were all right."
"Oh." She blinked, touched that Estel had thought of her. She'd grown fond of him during their brief stay in Rivendell, and it was nice to think that the boy had done the same for her. "Yeah, sorry. I slept in today." When he didn't answer, she raised an eyebrow. "Did you need something?"
"Come with me," he said, sweeping off before she could even open her mouth to ask why.
Sighing, she trailed after him, wondering what he could possibly want. To give her more cryptic anecdotes about her ancestors? It seemed that that was all Elves were good for: speaking in riddles and half-truths. She just hoped this wouldn't take long; she still had to pack and get ready for the feast.
Glorfindel came to a halt in a stone courtyard with a fountain in the center, and she did the same. It was a secluded area; away from the main houses and hidden by large, lush trees. The only sounds were the distant singing of birds and the bubbling of the fountain as the water fell into the pool through tiered layers of marble. She glanced to Glorfindel.
"You gonna tell me what this is all about?" she asked.
"Your presence was requested," he said, his face as expressionless as ever.
"By whom?" she demanded, crossing her arms.
"By me."
It was everywhere and nowhere at once; Alison could feel the voice in her mind, as if some unseen specter had slipped into her head and curled itself around her, whispering into her ear. It was ancient and heavenly, loud and soft, strong and serene at the same time. It made her bones quiver.
"We have waited many years for you to come to us, Alison Ashburne," it said. "Now it is my turn to come to you."
Alison whirled to Glorfindel, but he was gone. In his place, someone else stood, as if she'd been plucked from thin air.
"It gives me great heart to see you here, maethor," the strange woman said, her lips forming a small, gentle smile as Alison stared, bewildered.
She was certainly an elf, as tall and slender as Glorfindel, with pointed ears. But while the elves of Rivendell radiated a magic as gentle as their valley, this elf was power unto herself; she literally glowed with it.
She seemed to be made of starlight, with skin as fair as snow and long, golden hair spun like the finest threads of silk, tumbling down her back and resting gently on the simple white dress she wore. A silver circlet rested upon her fair brow, and her eyes were the deepest, most ancient blue Alison had ever seen, filled with wisdom and power that could crumble worlds and bend even the gods to her will.
"Who are you?" Alison breathed, equally awed and terrified of this new elf.
"Galadriel," she said, and a memory stirred within Alison. Galadriel…she'd heard her friend Kyle say that name before. She was a character from The Lord of the Rings. And, apparently, she was real, too. "Fate has come to pass, Alison Ashburne. Your choosing by the Valar was foretold by the stars thousands of years ago, and your presence brings great hope—yet great danger."
"W-what do you mean?" Alison asked, her voice cracking from nervousness. "I thought the Valar called on me because I was their only choice; the most eligible of Eleon's descendants? I don't know how they could have chosen me from so long ago—"
"Your path was already forged when Eleon the First crossed the veil into your world," Galadriel said, beginning to circle the courtyard with silent, smooth movements, not taking those ancient eyes off Alison. "No one could have foreseen the consequences Eleon set in motion from that one simple mistake. Your world was never supposed to collide with ours; there is a reason we had kept you separate from us. But the Ashburne Line has broken those boundaries; Eleon's Oath ensured that. As the Valar watch for strife in Middle-earth, they have upheld Eleon's promise, allowing his descendants to continue crossing the veil to help in times of need. But it is dangerous."
"Why?" Alison said.
"The Ashburnes have rewritten the course of history in this world," Galadriel said, her voice grave. "And although the Valar can see far into the mists of the future, it is constantly changing now; never certain, never stable. You and your ancestors have upset the balance between this world and the other. It is impossible to see what lies ahead now."
Alison shook her head, her brain beginning to hurt from trying to process what Galadriel was saying. "Wait. But you said I give you great heart, or whatever. How can you say that and then jump to talking about how I'm basically not supposed to be here, because I'm upsetting the balance and the future and everything?"
"You do give me great heart, maethor," Galadriel said gently. "Your path blazes as bright as a star. I have foreseen what you must do, though your ultimate fate is clouded from my sight. You will do a great many things on this quest. However, it is not the quest or your role in it that concerns me. It is your part in the greater tapestry of the world that bothers me."
"What? What tapestry? What role?" she demanded. "What the hell is going on?"
"Blood calls to blood," Galadriel said. "A Shadow watches you, maethor, a Shadow that will try to consume you. You must not succumb to it as your ancestors did. You will have to be the light that sees in darkness, or I fear you will fall, and these two worlds with you."
Alison felt as if she were slowly being strangled by a cold, rotten hand at the elf's dark words. "Why are you telling me this? None of it makes sense!"
"Because you are the catalyst that will change everything," Galadriel said, her eyes flashing with blue fire. "There is no telling exactly what the future may bring now. You have already touched so many fates in the short time you have been here. If you can influence them, you can shape your own. Everything has changed already; the future is now a game of chance."
"But why?" Alison said, tears welling in her eyes as panic and dread crept up inside her. "Blood calls to blood, a Shadow? What does any of it mean?"
Galadriel shook her head. "I cannot say. But just remember that you do have a choice, maethor. You create your own destiny in the end. Fate is there merely as an outline."
"But none of this helps me!" she protested. "You can't just give me a few cryptic warnings about my future and then expect me to be fine with it. That's not fair!"
Alison's initial shock was being replaced by a slow anger that surprised her. Between the Valar, Gandalf, Elrond, and now Galadriel, she began to realize that fair did not seem to be in their vocabulary. If life was fair, then she never would have been summoned to Middle-earth in the first place.
"But it is fair," Galadriel said as if she could hear her thoughts. "If I told you everything, would you have the strength to continue? Could you go on, knowing the outcome, even if it meant you failed?"
Alison stayed silent, her argument dying on her lips. Galadriel was right; if Alison still wanted to help with the dwarves' quest, it was better to be in the dark. If she found out that she would ultimately fail in saving the Line of Durin, she didn't want that baggage on her shoulders, that horrible sense of dread of knowing that no matter how hard she tried, she would lose everything in the end.
"You have courage, maethor," Galadriel said gently. "A great courage that has long since been forsaken in this world. Use it wisely, for you have many challenges ahead of you. Do you believe you are ready to face them?"
Alison swallowed hard, nodding. "I do," she said, relieved when her voice came out clear and strong.
Galadriel smiled again, her face brightening like the dawn breaking over the horizon. "Do not let fate define you, maethor. Keep your heart steady, and you will be the greatest Hero of them all."
And with that, she turned and drifted away, leaving Alison alone as she tried to process what had just happened and Galadriel's abrupt departure.
"Wait, Lady Galadriel!" she called. "What does maethor mean?"
But she had already disappeared in a haze of starlight.
Alison sat down on the edge of the fountain, her legs shaky as mind-numbing fear and red-hot hope burned and raged inside of her, fighting against each other as she realized how very real all of this suddenly was. This wasn't just an adventure around Middle-earth. She was going to fight a dragon; she was going to be caught in a war. And from what Galadriel had said, her journey wouldn't end there. Blood calls to blood. A Shadow. What did that mean?
"You have courage, maethor," she'd said. "You will be the greatest Hero of them all."
She let Galadriel's words wash over her, repeating them to herself over and over again until the fear subsided. She was a Hero. She could do this. She had to.
"Maethor," Galadriel's voice whispered to her, and Alison almost pitched herself into the fountain, startled at the voice. "It means warrior."
Though Kíli had taken his bow with him when he'd left the veranda, he did not immediately go to the training yard.
If he had to be honest, he didn't even remember where it was, but he didn't feel like asking any of the elves for help. Walking through the houses aimlessly at least helped him clear his head and soothe the annoyance that had flared at Fíli's insinuation that he was "taking an interest" in Alison Ashburne.
Of course, he was interested, he wanted to argue. She was from an entirely different world; descended from one of the greatest warriors who had ever lived, if the legends of the Ashburnes told true. And after watching her throw that apple, revealing a strength that should've been impossible for a mere human, he was more curious than ever. But always Fíli had to meddle, misinterpreting things, and now even getting their uncle involved. Kíli scowled. He loved his brother more than anything in the world, but sometimes he wondered if his head was filled with rocks.
He passed through a courtyard with a fountain in the center, now well and truly lost, but he stopped when he saw a figure perched on the edge of the fountain, their head bowed and their elbows on their knees.
"Alison?" he said, approaching the Hero warily. "What are you doing here?"
She looked up at his voice, and that was when he saw the red around her eyes. "Hey," she croaked. She cleared her throat a few times. "Nothing much. Just…needed to think."
He nodded, pretending not to notice when she sniffed and wiped her nose. "Same here."
She stood and gestured at his bow. "Were you training?"
"Oh, no." He lifted his bow lazily. "I mean, I was, but then I…sort of got lost."
"Here, follow me," she said, leading the way out of the courtyard. "The training yard's just this way."
He had no choice but to fall into step with her, not quite knowing what to say. It was clear he had walked in on her having some sort of private moment, and underneath his embarrassment, he wondered if he shouldn't offer her support or advice. He glanced over at her, taking in her tense shoulders and stiff lower lip. She stared straight ahead, looking determined despite her red-rimmed eyes.
"Are you…all right?" he asked hesitantly.
"You want the honest answer?" she said, casting him a dark glance.
He smiled faintly. "I think I can handle it."
"I'm angry," she said. She scowled. "Angry that I'm here; angry that I have to step into shoes that I'd rather leave unfilled; angry that I never got to say goodbye to my family." She shook her head. "I'm angry, but that just makes me more determined to get back home. To do what I'm supposed to do and then leave all this insanity behind." She suddenly looked to him, guilty. "Not saying that your quest is insane; just…everything else is."
He chuckled humorlessly. "I wouldn't blame you even if you did think this quest was madness. It is."
"You're trying to get your home back—"
"—From the clutches of a fire-breathing dragon," he finished wryly. "C'mon; you can say it. It's insane."
"Inspired, maybe," she said with a slight smile. "But it…has some flaws."
He looked at her, and at the same time, they both cracked up. Kíli clutched his stomach as he laughed, and Alison snorted heartily. This made Kíli laugh harder when her eyes widened in shock and mortification, but she laughed, too, despite her pink face.
They were still chuckling when they reached the training yard. It was empty in the late afternoon sun, but Kíli guessed that most of the elves were preparing for the feast that night. Good; he didn't particularly feel like practicing with them watching his every move.
"Well, here you go," she said, coming to a stop at the edge of the yard. She pointed to the archery range. "Knock yourself out."
He stared at her. "What?"
"Knock yourself out," she repeated. "You know. Like, have fun."
"You are so odd," Kíli said, baffled.
She grinned. "I get that a lot."
She made to leave, but Kíli said, "Do you want to practice with me for a bit?" She turned back to him, eyeing the bow in his hands quizzically. He nodded, holding it up. "I'll let you use mine. Just let me get some practice arrows."
"Okay," she said. As he passed her, heading for the shed where the practice arrows were kept, she smiled at him. It brightened her face completely; he hadn't realized how dour her features made her look all the time, perpetually stuck in something like a pout. He smiled back, and something in his gut flipped uncomfortably.
Ignoring the sensation, he grabbed a dozen or so dull-tipped arrows and picked out a straw target shaped in a vaguely humanoid form. Alison watched him as he dragged the target closer to them, then fitted an arrow to his bowstring. He drew the arrow back, leveled his shot, and let it fly. It sunk into the strawman's chest, dead-center, and he turned back to Alison, unable to hide his smirk. "Your turn."
"Show-off," she muttered good-naturedly as she accepted the bow. She plucked an arrow from the ground and fit it to the bowstring as he had done before raising it.
"Your grip's too tight on the bow," he said, and she loosened her grip slightly, spreading her feet shoulder-width, but he swooped down on her again. "Align your feet with the target, don't point them outwards." She shifted her feet, and he nodded when she looked to him for confirmation. "All right, now nock the arrow and make sure it's in the right position…good. Now, draw the arrow back."
She did, her shoulders following the movement smoothly. She was a lot stronger than he realized at first glance, and not just from her supposed Hero strength. He thought she looked rather scrawny, but now he could see the muscles in her back and shoulders working through the fabric of her thin undershirt.
"Align your hand with your chin," he said, circling behind her to check her stance. "Pick your point on the target. Let your eyes guide your hands and where you want the arrow to go." She shifted slightly, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Good. Relax your shoulders a bit so you're not so tense. And lower your elbow…there. Perfect. Take the shot when you're ready."
She breathed deeply before releasing the arrow. It shot forward, impaling itself in the right shoulder of the dummy.
"Excellent," Kíli said, grinning when she dipped into a curtsy that would be considered an insult to a royal. "It seemed your elf friend wasn't entirely useless this week."
"He's literally immortal," she said. "I think he has plenty of experience to teach me."
"Aye, but he's not as fun," Kíli said with a cheeky grin when she handed him his bow.
"Point taken," she replied as his eyes snagged on the brown leather wrapped around the middle and forefingers of her right hand.
"You remembered," he said, recalling the wrap he'd given her to protect her fingers from the worst of the blisters she'd gotten while shooting earlier in the week.
"Oh, yeah." She wiggled her fingers. "I didn't feel like losing any more of my skin."
He chuckled and lined up his next shot. "No, I don't suppose that's pleasant." His next arrow went through the dummy's left eye socket, and Alison clapped sarcastically.
They spent the next hour shooting and joking. Alison, it seemed, was much laxer than the initial impression he'd gotten from her when they first met, and he often found himself shocked but amused by her wicked humor and the number of curses that came out of her mouth in one sentence. She'd just finished describing the time her mother had caught her sneaking out of their home to attend what she called a "rock concert" when she was supposed to be in bed before her good mood suddenly evaporated, and she fell silent as she continued to shoot.
"You must miss her," Kíli said after Alison's arrow hit the dummy in its straw groin. "Your mother, I mean."
She nodded, her face tight. "I do." She handed him the bow, but he only held it loosely by his side as he debated something.
"Would you like to talk about her?" he asked. "About your family? I know it's not really my place, but maybe it could help with your…homesickness."
She stared at the target for a long time, chewing her lower lip, before she finally nodded.
"Her name's Emily," she said. "She looks a lot like me, but her eyes are brown, not green. I got those from my dad." She gestured to her eyes, pale green and almost luminescent as dusk approached. "She works as a nurse at our local hospital. She's not around much, since her job's so demanding and there's not a lot of nurses where we live, but she loves it. She's always been so caring, always helping people without prompt. Unlike me." She snorted. "I inherited my dad's wariness and trust issues, unfortunately. But that's my mom; kind, and compassionate, and always willing to lend a hand or a shoulder to cry on."
"She sounds lovely," Kíli said softly, and he meant it. "You have siblings, too, right?"
She nodded. "Brandon and Meghan. They're ten, and fraternal twins. They make my life a living hell sometimes." Kíli snickered, but she said it with such fondness that he knew the words contained no true malice behind them. "They're ridiculously smart, but they're always looking for new ways to torment me; crickets in my pillowcase, hiding all my bras, telling boys from my school that I'm madly in love with them and kiss their picture every night before I go to sleep." She rolled her eyes as Kíli grinned, recalling all the similar things he'd done to Fíli over the years. "Like I said, they make my life hell, but I miss them more than anything."
Those green eyes turned misty, and Kíli had the sudden urge to reach out and wrap his arms around her. He refrained, knowing that would be overstepping his boundaries. They hardly knew each other. But looking at her, and the fear and uncertainty and longing in her eyes, he had to at least say something.
"I don't know how this quest will end, Alison," he said quietly. She turned her head to him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "None of us do. But I do know one thing: No matter what happens to any of us, I will see you safely returned to your world. You deserve to be happy with your family, and I promise you that I will help you achieve that to the best of my ability."
A tear sprung forth and rolled down her cheek, golden in the setting sun. "Don't," she whispered. "Please don't promise me something like that."
"I will," he said, "and I did. You deserve a home to go back to, Alison; we all do. But if something were to happen in the end…" He sucked in a deep breath. "At least I know you will be happy, and safe, back in your own world."
As they stood, close together but not quite touching, Alison seemed on the verge of saying something. Her bottom lip trembled as another tear seeped out of her eye, and Kíli's hand jerked with the intention of wiping it away before he controlled himself.
"Oi!"
They flinched at Nori's unexpected voice and turned to see the other dwarf striding across the yard toward them. Kíli raised his hand in greeting while Alison hastily wiped her face before putting on an almost-convincing smile.
"Nori, hi," she said. "What's up?"
"Thorin wants everyone's things gathered before we head to the feast," he said. His sharp green eyes traveled suspiciously between Kíli and Alison and their close stance. "He asked me to check on you both and make sure you're ready to go."
Kíli nodded. "I'll be right there."
"I just have to freshen up and then I'll meet you all," Alison said.
Nori nodded, glancing them over one last time before he trudged away.
"I'll go get ready," Alison said, not meeting Kíli's eyes as she followed Nori from the training yard.
Kíli watched her go as the sun bled over the valley, the weight of another promise settling heavily upon his shoulders.
The Hall of Fire was aptly named. When Thorin and the Company entered the hall, they were enveloped in soft orange light and shadows, for the fire was the only source of light in the great room. Against the left and right walls were two large, long tables where elves sat drinking and talking, while others stood idly in the empty space in the center. Along the farthest wall was the fire, alive and hungry in a hearth that could easily hold five fully grown Men standing abreast.
Thorin led the others to a section of table that was unoccupied, scowling when he had to jump slightly to get up on the bench. Across from him, Bofur and Bifur had to hoist Bombur's wide girth onto the bench as an elf maid drifted over and set out tankards of ale before them. Thorin sniffed at the brew appreciatively, thankful that wine would not be the only drink of choice that night. It improved his spirits slightly as he took a sip, studying the hall.
Gandalf stood in a corner with three dark-haired elves, holding his own tankard and listening as the elves talked. Lord Elrond or Lindir were nowhere to be seen, but he recognized the golden elf that was Alison's companion as he slunk through the crowd, as graceful as a cat.
At the reminder of Alison, Thorin's gaze went to the Hero sat at the end of the bench, quiet and with a goblet of wine before her instead of ale. She'd dressed in the black armor Lord Elrond had gifted her—whether for the elven lord's approval or because she'd thought ahead for their journey, he didn't know—and she stood out like a sore thumb from the rest of the Company. The armor itself seemed lightweight and functional, conforming to the body's demands while still offering some protection, but he couldn't help wondering if the ancient Heroes knew anything about propriety, for the armor flaunted the lower body's assets for the world to see. He supposed the Heroes didn't want anything restricting their movement, but he still preferred mail and surcoat.
As they sat, waiting, food began appearing along the tables in rapid succession: full roasted pigs and chickens, venison, goat cheese, savory vegetables swimming in sauce, and other things Thorin had no names for. It was truly a grand feast, and the dwarves tucked in without so much as a glimmer of mistrust, the sight of meat overruling any of their prior misgivings. Thorin himself stacked his plate high with pork and duck and sweet, grainy bread; he even tried some of the vegetable medley being served, and found that he quite liked it.
The hall swelled with talk and laughter as food was passed around and more drink was consumed. The elves appeared to be enjoying themselves immensely; it was the first time since he had been in Rivendell that he'd heard them utter above a whisper. Though the fire crackled merrily in the hearth, the hall did not become stifling, remaining cozy and warm and intimate.
Lord Elrond entered the hall with Lindir on his heels, and the elves rose and bowed. Thorin nodded his head respectfully as the elven lord passed, and Elrond returned the gesture, taking a seat with Gandalf and two of the dark-haired elves he was speaking to earlier at the head of the opposite table. After exchanging a few words, Elrond rose from his chair, holding a flute of wine. The elves stood and raised their own goblets, and Thorin motioned for the Company to do the same.
"Mae tollen, friends, kin, and honored guests," Lord Elrond began with a nod in the Company's direction. "Tonight, we gather to celebrate Midsummer's Eve and the blessed light that has once again given us good crops and good health. We give thanks to the Valar and for the peace and plenty we have been granted, and for the light to come." Thorin thought the elven lord's eyes strayed to Alison at this last part, but he continued. "Tiro ven Elbereth."
"Tiro ven Elbereth," the elves echoed and drank.
Thorin drank from his own tankard. When he finished, the elves were sitting back down, and he followed suit as one elf stood before the fire, brown-haired and lithe, and began to sing.
The song was in Elvish, so Thorin did not pay much attention, but he caught some words he was familiar with, like love and sorrow and weeping. He grunted into his tankard. Must all Elves be so melancholy? Feasts were about cheer and merriment, not mourning. Even the feasts celebrating the ends of battles were boisterous affairs to Dwarves. The world was already filled with too much grief; why should they add to it?
When the elf finished singing, the hall erupted with applause; it seemed the wine not only bolstered the elves' spirits but their volume as well. Thorin thumped the table a few times when Balin gave him a pointed look, but he was distracted when Alison stood up and walked to the hearth.
She clambered atop the stone ledge and faced the hall, the fire to her back. The flames silhouetted her, limning her body in gold, and with her armor and the shadows cutting harsh lines into her face, Thorin could almost believe that she was an ancient warrior come straight from the verses of old legends until she smiled nervously, her hands fidgeting together.
"Um, hi," she said, her voice carrying through the hall. "I'm Alison, Alison Ashburne, and my friend Estel here was hoping I would share a story from my own world."
She gestured to the young boy sitting a few spaces down from Lord Elrond, next to a human woman with dark hair, and the boy gave her an encouraging nod.
"So, without further ado, here is the tale of the Dragon Queen." She cleared her throat. "Er, once upon a time, in a land far, far away…"
Thorin listened as Alison told her story, beginning with the birth of a girl named Daenerys Targaryen and the fall of someone called the Mad King. She recounted the girl's early life with her abusive older brother and constantly fleeing the assassins the new king sent after them to ensure they would not come back for the throne he had usurped from their family.
She went on to describe the girl's brother's efforts to raise an army to take back what she called the Iron Throne, which included marrying off the girl to a fearsome warlord who would provide said army. At the wedding, the girl was gifted a chest that contained three dragon eggs, turned to stone by the ages.
"Because where once dragons roamed the skies, they were now extinct," she said. "Gone, just like the warriors that had ridden them into battle and conquered the world with them."
While she was no storyteller like Balin or Bofur, Thorin found himself hanging on to her every word while he mulled over his drink. The world she talked about was so different from their own; where dragons could bond with humans instead of wreaking chaos and destruction for the sake of greed and evil. And though the girl named Daenerys Targaryen was young and naïve at first, Thorin silently rooted for her after she lost her husband and unborn child to blood magic, emerged from a pyre unburnt and with three baby dragons, and began to conquer the continent, breaking the chains off slaves and inspiring armies to follow her across the sea and beyond to reclaim her throne.
Alison spoke for so long that her voice started to become hoarse, and she had to pause and drink before she could continue explaining the Night King, the Army of the Dead, and the Battle of Winterfell. The tension in the room became palpable as she described the war between living and dead, and there was an audible sigh of relief when the war was won by the living, before she launched straight into the final conflict for the Iron Throne, with Daenerys Targaryen, half her army, and only one dragon left to the Dragon Queen.
"As the bells rang throughout the city, signaling surrender, Daenerys sat atop her dragon and thought of all she had lost in her quest to the throne," Alison said. Here, she paused, as if she could see it all playing out before her—almost as if she had been there. After another hesitation, she went on. "Daenerys flew straight to her target, the Red Keep—to Queen Cersei. And she brought down every last stone upon her head." She paused again, and suddenly her gaze locked with Thorin's. Alison spoke as if to him only. "Daenerys had a choice. She could fall prey to her family's madness and endanger the lives of so many innocents, or she could fight her supposed fate and rise to become greater than her ancestors—to break the cycle. She chose to fight."
Thorin stilled, his fingers tightening around his tankard. The way she spoke, the words she said… Did she know of the curse that haunted his family? Haunted him?
"What happened next?" Estel begged from his seat, squirming excitedly. "Did Cersei die?"
"Yes," Alison said. "Cersei died, and the Seven Kingdoms rejoiced. And Daenerys claimed the Iron Throne."
It was a lackluster end to the tale, but Alison seemed reluctant to say more. She nodded, signaling that she was finished, and the hall applauded again. She climbed off the hearth, but instead of retaking her seat with the Company, she grabbed her goblet and left the hall without another word. Thorin was confused for only a moment until he felt a hand on his shoulder.
Lord Elrond stood behind him as another elf took the hearth, a lyre in his hands. "The time has come," Elrond said quietly as the music began. "Let us see what this map of yours holds."
Thorin nodded and stood from his seat, gesturing for Balin, Dwalin, Fíli, and Kíli to follow him. Gandalf already waited for them at the entrance to the hall, and he and Elrond led the way as they left the feast behind.
They crossed over bridges and through many smaller houses until Elrond found a path nearly hidden by vines and lichen. No, not a path—a staircase carved into the very stone of the cliffs. He led them up the winding cliffside staircase, passing so close to waterfalls that Thorin could've reached out a hand and felt the spray on his fingertips as Elrond led them through a small tunnel carved into the cliff. They came out on a crystalline ridge overlooking the valley, where a small, dazzling waterfall took flight from somewhere above them and tumbled down one side of the cliff-face. The other side was devoid of any waterfall, giving a fantastic view of the open stretch of the night sky above them. Wispy clouds drifted across the crescent moon and stars, shining upon a sparkling plinth centered on the hidden ridge, which Elrond placed the map upon and waited.
The scant clouds over the moon suddenly shifted, and a strong beam of silvery light bored into the ridge. Thorin stepped closer to the plinth, having to crane his head slightly to get a better look, and he watched in wonder as the moon's rays revealed a small, silvery message in ancient Khuzdûl at the bottom of the map.
"Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole," Elrond translated.
"Durin's Day?" Kíli said, his eyebrows furrowed. "But that's not far away at all—at the end of autumn."
Thorin agreed. "This is ill news," he said. "Summer is passing. Durin's Day will soon be upon us." He couldn't bear to think of it; they still had months to go before they reached the Lonely Mountain. If they didn't make it—
"We still have time to find the entrance," Balin said, sensing Thorin's thoughts. "We just have to be standing at exactly the right spot, at exactly the right time." He swept his gaze over the assembled dwarves. "Then, and only then, can the door be opened."
"So, this is your purpose? To enter the Mountain?" Elrond said, and Thorin flinched. The elven lord stared hard at Thorin, his eyes calculating, and Thorin inwardly cursed himself; if the elf hadn't guessed their purpose before, he had now.
"What of it?" Thorin asked coldly.
Elrond folded the map and handed it back to Thorin. He took it with a faint flicker of surprise as Elrond said, "There are some who would not deem it wise."
"Who do you mean?" Gandalf said.
Elrond gave the wizard a significant look. "You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle-earth."
And with that, he turned on his heel and swept back down the cliffside.
Alison savored her wine for as long as she could, knowing there would be no supply of it once they ventured into the Wild again. All the same, she soon ran out, but she couldn't bring herself to go back into the Hall of Fire to get more. She was content on her little bench in the middle of nowhere, and she was consumed by what she had done tonight.
No one could possibly realize that she changed Daenerys's story at the last minute, leaving out her revenge against the innocents of King's Landing and Jon Snow's subsequent murder of her before she could truly become the Mad Queen. But standing before that fire, with the Company watching her—with Thorin watching her—she knew she could not let the story end the way Thorin's did in The Hobbit; blinded by sickness, thinking their cause was righteous, only to die in the end. She had to give Thorin hope; she had to give herself hope that she could change fate, just like Galadriel had told her.
"May I join you?"
Alison looked up from her intense study of the grass to see a woman standing before her—a human woman. She was dressed in a gray gown as dark and stormy as her eyes, and her thick black hair was braided up and away from her face, revealing a strong jaw and a straight nose. Striking was the first word that came to Alison's mind; not beautiful, but striking.
"Of course." She shifted to make room on the bench, and the woman sat. Alison realized that this must be Estel's mother; the boy had mentioned her several times during their training together. "I'm Alison."
"I know." The woman gave her a faint smile. "You introduced yourself in the hall. But my son has talked about you." She dipped her chin. "I am Gilraen."
"It's nice to meet you," Alison said. "Estel is a lovely boy."
Gilraen smiled fondly. "He is. He's quite fascinated by you, though. The Hero from another world."
Alison shrugged, uncomfortable. "I'm just me."
Gilraen hummed. "I'm not so sure about that."
Not knowing how to answer her, Alison remained silent and swirled the last dregs of her wine. Gilraen seemed content to not speak, so the two women sat quietly, listening to the distant sounds of the feast.
"Here in Imladris, the outside world doesn't seem to exist sometimes," she said eventually, and Alison glanced over at her. She had her eyes on the stars, the light reflecting silver off her irises. "That's why I brought Estel here when he was a babe. I feared I could not protect him from the many dangers of the world." She turned her silvery gaze on Alison, and though Gilraen's demeanor was still peaceful, still gentle, her eyes raged with lightning. "Your duty as a Hero is to protect this world; to protect the innocent, like Estel." She clasped Alison's hand, her skin warm and dry. "Make the world a better place for those like him."
Before Alison could even fathom a reply, Gilraen had squeezed her hand once more and whisked away, back to the hall.
Alison stared at her goblet again before standing and leaving it on the bench. She had no more use for wine tonight. The time of her feeling sorry for herself was over.
"Make the world a better place for those like him."
She walked back to the Hall of Fire and entered once more. She found him instantly, her eyes snagging on dark curls and gray eyes, so like his mother's.
"Alison!" Estel called when he saw her. He raced over with a wide smile on his face. "Your story was amazing! Daenerys is gr—cool," he said, looking to her for approval. When she nodded, grinning, he puffed out his chest slightly. "Do you have any more stories?"
"I do, but not for tonight," she said. "But one day I'll tell you all of them. Every single one I know."
He smiled, and on impulse, she reached out and wrapped her arms around him. After a second, he returned the embrace, burying his face in her shoulder, and it took all her strength not to cry. God, he reminded her so much of Brandon.
"You are a light, Estel," she said. "Don't ever let it fade."
He pulled back, quizzical, but that was the only farewell she would allow herself. Anything more, and she didn't trust herself not to walk away.
"I'll see you again," Estel promised, and then he was gone, off to enjoy another song at the hearth.
Maybe one day, she decided. After everything was said and done, and if she lived, maybe one day she would see him again.
"Retiring so soon?" Glorfindel asked, sidling up to her shoulder silently.
"Parties aren't really my thing," she replied. She looked up at him. "Thank you, by the way. For helping me train. I'm sorry I was such a pain in the ass most of the time, though."
"It was bearable," he said with a shrug. The corners of his mouth twitched in what she now recognized to be considered a smile amongst the elves. "And your talk with the Lady Galadriel?"
Alison's face slipped into a scowl at the mention of the she-elf. "Peachy."
Glorfindel nodded. "Well, then, Ashburne, until next time. Harthon gerithach raid gelin a chwest adel thraw lín."
"Um, back at you." And before she could rethink, she squeezed the elf in a tight hug. "Goodnight."
Glorfindel stared, shocked, but he recovered his wits quickly and bowed his head. "Goodnight."
He moved away through the crowd, and Alison caught one last glimpse of him, Estel, and Gilraen before they were blocked from her sight again.
"Make the world a better place for those like him."
She turned and left the hall.
Thorin wandered a few hours before midnight, wanting to enjoy his last moments of solitude before they restarted their quest and made for the Misty Mountains. He slowly made his way up a back staircase and paused on the landing, propping his elbows on the ledge as he looked out at the small sliver of the valley before him.
He knew he should be resting, but he couldn't bring his body or his mind to be still, so moving around in the darkness helped him clear his head a bit. He was tired of thinking; whether it was about the Durin's Day deadline, what else faced them on their quest and what would happen by their journey's end, Alison's story and what she might know of him…he just didn't want to think about any of it for a moment. He wanted to bask in the silence and the moonlight until it came time to leave.
Naturally, his good fortune lasted all of about five minutes.
"Of course, I was going to tell you!" Gandalf's distinct voice said from below him, and he looked down from his spot on the shadowy staircase to see the wizard and Lord Elrond walking on the pathway below him, unaware of his presence.
Thorin thought about walking away; he didn't particularly like eavesdropping, but Gandalf's next words rooted him to the spot, and he found himself listening in interest despite himself. "I was waiting for this very chance. And really, I—I think you can trust that I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?" Elrond replied. "That dragon has slept for sixty years. What will happen if your plan should fail? If you wake that beast—"
"But if we succeed!" Gandalf interrupted. "What if the dwarves took back the Mountain? Then our defenses in the East will be strengthened!"
"It is a dangerous move, Gandalf," Elrond said gravely.
"It is also dangerous to do nothing!" Gandalf argued. "Oh, come—the throne of Erebor is Thorin's birthright! What is it you fear?"
Thorin wondered when his name was going to crop up. He slunk back further into the shadows as they came nearer to the staircase, but he was still not able to bring himself to walk away.
"Have you forgotten a strain of madness runs in that family?" Elrond said, and his words were like a heavy blow to Thorin, knocking all the air from his lungs. "His grandfather lost his mind; his father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?" The wizard remained silent, and Elrond pressed on, his voice fading a bit as they drifted out of earshot. "Gandalf, these decisions do not rest with us alone. It is not up to you or me to redraw the map of Middle-earth…"
And then they were gone, leaving Thorin alone in the shadows of the night. He felt hollow, cold, as if someone had taken out all his organs and left him as a corpse, save for the single flame of fear that burned deep in his gut. Though he had kept the fear at bay for weeks now, it raged inside him now in full force.
"A strain of madness runs in that family…Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?"
That same question had been plaguing him for days—years, even. Reclaiming Erebor was his destiny, his birthright, but he also knew of the gold-sickness, and he feared it. He'd watched his grandfather slowly spiral into madness over the love of treasure, watched as it had consumed him from the inside out, and he had noticed it in his father as well. Thráin's lust for restoring the dwarves to their former glory had been his drive for trying to take back Moria, and it was ultimately the sickness that had led him into the Battle of Azanulbizar, where Thrór's life was taken, and, ultimately, his own as well. Thorin had watched the sickness torment his family, and Elrond's words haunted him. How did Thorin know that he wouldn't succumb to it? How did he know he wouldn't destroy this quest by falling prey to the illness inside of him?
The thought terrified him, though it was soon battling with the newfound sense of determination that took hold of him. He was not his father or his grandfather. Though they were great kings, he would not follow in their footsteps and allow himself to be consumed by that disease. He was stronger than that; he had to believe he was stronger than that. He couldn't destroy the hope of his Company, of the rest of his people, by succumbing to the gold-sickness; they deserved their home back, and they deserved a king that would be strong enough to lead them. He had to fight this weakness.
"Thorin," a voice said, and he started a bit, turning around to see Dwalin on the stairs behind him. "It is nearing midnight. We should go."
Thorin nodded, struggling to fight down the panic and fear. "Tell everyone to get their things," he said. "I will join you shortly." Dwalin nodded, heading back down the stairs; though they had been friends for over a century, Dwalin respected Thorin enough not to push him to talk if he didn't want to, which Thorin was grateful for.
As Dwalin's heavy footsteps retreated, Thorin faced the valley again; the moon had fully risen from behind the cliff-faces, bathing everything in an ethereal silver glow, and Thorin took out his father's key from his cloak pocket, holding it up until it gleamed in the light.
Seeing the key filled him with a sense of hope, and he let it wash over him, smoothing down his last shreds of fear until he could think clearly again.
"I will take back our homeland," he vowed. "I will not fall, and Erebor will rise again."
Silence greeted his words, and Thorin tucked the key back into his pocket after a few moments, turning and making for where the Company awaited him. No matter what Elrond's fears—or his own—were, he would see this quest through.
He repeated his vows over and over in his head as the Company made their way out of Rivendell from the light of the moon, the words keeping him going as they climbed out of the valley, fortunately with no interference from the elves.
As they reached the rim of the valley, just before crossing back into the Wild, dawn was breaking over the horizon, and Thorin paused, glancing back to Rivendell. The Hidden Valley gleamed in the pink and gold of the rising sun, and he felt a flicker of amusement as he imagined Lindir finding out they had gone. His eyes flicked to Bilbo, who stood a few feet down the cliff-face, and Thorin could admit that he was surprised that the hobbit had chosen to continue on after all. He had seemed overly fond of Rivendell, and Thorin wondered what had changed his mind about staying as he watched him look back to the Last Homely House, much as he was doing.
"Master Baggins," Thorin said, and the hobbit looked up to him from his place on the cliffside path. "I suggest you keep up."
Bilbo nodded, continuing up the last few steps of the path and passing by Thorin, his eyes downcast as he walked ahead.
Thorin looked one last time at Rivendell and felt the weight of the key in his pocket. Then he turned, making his way after the others, out of the valley and into the Wild as the sun rose like a beacon before them.
Translations:
Maethor - Warrior
Mae tollen - Welcome
Tiro ven Elbereth - May Varda watch over us
Harthon gerithach raid gelin a chwest adel thraw lín - I hope you will have green paths and a breeze behind you
A whopper of a chapter, but so ends Alison & Co.'s time in Rivendell. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did while writing it!
Thanks for reading! Until next time!
