The trouble with knowing that Thor is going to have a secret meeting at the house, Fíli thinks as he walks back to the smithy, is that he isn't supposed to know about it. Fíli has never been good at deceiving his uncle, he can lie when he needs to, but Thor raised him and his brother to be honest and has always been able to tell when they were anything but. He takes a breath at the door, carefully pastes a neutral expression on his face, and goes inside just as the sun is beginning to sink below the horizon. Ori will join him later, they have it all planned, but if he leaves too early Dori will find out about it and they have no desire to have Ori's over-protective older brother turn up.
"Uncle?" He calls as he enters the house.
Thor is nowhere to be seen and Fíli makes his way down the short corridor that connects the back door with the entrance to the smithy and looks inside. The forge is already cold, and that is unusual in itself. Thor will normally work until long after the sun has set. Even were Fíli unaware of Thor's discussion with the wizard that would alert him to that fact that something is going on. Under normal circumstances the fact that Thor is nowhere to be seen would not necessarily be cause for concern but knowing that the wizard wanted Thor to leave immediately makes nerves coil in Fíli's gut. He knows that Thor would never leave without telling him, in truth his uncle has left Bree twice in Fíli's memory, both before Kíli was lost and both times Dwalin had come to watch over the two boys.
He makes his way back inside and ambles into the kitchen. A large pot of stew sits on the stove, bubbling occasionally as it simmers, several loaves of fresh bread, and a few rolls, and an entire wheel of cheese are already on the table and a keg of ale stands by the stairs ready to be broached. Wherever Thor has gone, he obviously is not intending to be gone long. Fíli absently picks up a roll, taking a bite as he goes to the stove to stir the stew and the smell of meat and herbs assaults his nose in a fresh wave. He hums in enjoyment, dipping his pilfered bread into the thick gravy so that he can take a taste.
"That is for later, lad," Thor rumbles behind him, though his tone is amused, and this is not the first time that he has caught Fíli sampling dinner when he should not be. Fíli turns and is relieved to see a smile on his normally stern uncle's face.
"What's the occasion?" He asks around his mouthful of food. The lightness disappears from Thor's expression.
"Sit down, Fíli," he says gently, so gently, in fact, that Fíli fears he may have changed his mind about allowing his nephew to go with him. "We have to leave Bree," Thor tells him. "I cannot go into the details of why, it is not safe for you to know them, only that it is important."
Over hearing that Thor was leaving and intended on taking Fíli with him had been exciting. Fíli has longed to have the chance to leave Bree and see more of the world and this would finally be the opportunity he has waited for. Perhaps, he had thought, they might even make it as far as one of the western dwarf settlements and spend time under stone. Now that Thor has confirmed they will be leaving, however, Fíli feels suddenly afraid. The world outside Bree is unknown and dangerous, it has already taken Kíli and his parents from him. Orcs and Men of dubious morality populate the wilds between towns and settlements. Thor has been training Fíli to fight from a young age, as he did Kíli, but the young dwarf has only had occasion once to put those skills to the test. He had not been good enough, then, and it had cost him his brother. What if something happens and he isn't good enough this time either? It could cost him his uncle or his friend this time.
"You will hear things tonight, lad," Thor continues, seemingly oblivious to Fíli's inner turmoil, "things you will not understand. Nor are you meant to," he lays a hand on Fíli's shoulder reassuringly. "It isn't time yet," he adds. "One day, though, when you are ready , all will be clear. I want you to pack a bag, just the essentials and a lot of those I have left on your bed, and as many of your knives as you want to bring. Hopefully we won't run into any trouble, but the world is not a safe place." Fíli nods numbly. "Go on, lad. The others will be here soon."
Fíli all but stumbles up the stairs, his mind whirling as he thinks about Thor's words and the sudden reality of knowing that this is it. This will be the final night he will spend, for Mahal knows how long, in the only home that he has ever known. He is still in a daze when he opens his bedroom door and sees what Thor has placed on the bed for him. A traveller's pack of dark leather and sturdy canvas sits there with a bedroll in serviceable grey already snuggly buckled to the bottom of it. It lies next to a pile of tunics and trousers and while the clothes are faded with age, and they clearly are not Thor's, they have been well cared for and will be better suited for travel than the burn spotted leather trousers and linen shirts he wears to work in. By far the most eye-catching thing, however, is the coat. Made of rich brown leather, it has a geometric design embossed around the edges, lined for warmth with soft golden fur that shows at the cuffs and forms a wide collar. This coat is new, received only a week ago for his sixty-ninth name day, although he has not yet had occasion to wear it. The garment had seemed too fine to wear around Bree, even though he knows that it was given to him with the intent that it be worn regularly. The geometric design matches the vambraces that Thorin had given him the year before, and now that Fíli thinks about it, he suspects that his uncle has been subtly preparing him to leave Bree for a number of years.
The sound of the door drags him from his thoughts and he quickly stuffs everything he will need into his new pack, adding a couple of extra knives just in case, before he makes his way down to the kitchen eagerly. Even though he had taken the roll earlier his stomach is now busily reminding him that lunch was some time ago and he is hungry. He has no idea how many others will be coming and no desire to miss out on food because he has been wool gathering upstairs.
"There he is," he hears Dwalin say as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. "You've filled out, lad."
Fíli grins at his uncle's friend. He has not seen Dwalin in seven years but aside from a little more steel in his beard the old warrior has hardly changed. Dwalin slings his arm around Fíli's shoulders, dragging him to the table where Thor sits next to a dwarf with hair and beard the colour of new fallen snow and eyes that glitter with intelligence. There is another there, too, and this one has auburn hair styled into three high peaks and sharp green eyes that seem to see everything as they run over Fíli. He grunts something into his ale and Dwalin shakes his head in response.
"My brother, Balin," he says, gesturing to the white-haired dwarf, "and Nori ." There is a note to Dwalin's voice that Fíli can't quite place, but it is one that seems to lie somewhere between affection and exasperation.
"Still playing that old game, husband?" Nori drawls. It surprises Fíli to hear that Dwalin is married, even as the dwarf in question drops into a seat next to his spouse. Nori is thin and lithe appearing for a dwarf. He looks fragile enough, in fact, that Dwalin could probably snap him in two without breaking a sweat.
"Nori?" Fíli asks, focusing on another detail instead. "Ori's brother?"
"So, you know my nadadith," Nori replies. "That would make you Fíli, then. He talks about you a good deal when I have occasion to go home."
Fíli spends some time talking with Nori about his brothers while they eat and await the arrival of the wizard. Dwalin contributes on occasion but his attention is caught more by his brother and Thor, who talk in hushed voices. Finally, almost an hour after they have begun eating, the wizard finally arrives with a sheepish looking Ori at his side. Fíli stares at his friend, they had spent hours planning when Ori should arrive, and this had not been it. Fíli will admit, however, that he had not expected the wizard to arrive quite this long after everyone else.
" You are late," Thor comments. The wizard sniffs.
"A wizard is never late, nor is he early," is the lofty reply and Thor arches an eyebrow. "He arrives precisely when he means to, and in enough time, it would seem, to apprehend eavesdroppers."
"Young Ori," Thor says, "what are you doing here?"
"I came to see Fíli," Ori mumbles, fingers picking at the hem of his cardigan. All of his confidence from earlier in the afternoon seems to have abandoned him, Fíli thinks with a sinking feeling.
"Did you indeed?" Thor rumbles in displeasure. "And packed for a journey as well." He turns hard eyes on Fíli. "What did you tell him?" Thor demands, obviously having concluded that Fíli must have overheard some of his earlier conversation with the man in grey. Fíli flushes.
"What could I tell him?" He asks sullenly. "I don't know anything."
"Go home, Ori," Thor orders.
"I don't think that would be the best idea, Thor," Balin interjects. He says Thor's name strangely, as though it is an incomplete part of a whole. "You and Gandalf may disagree, of course, but since we have no idea what the boy knows or has been told it might be safer to bring him than leave him behind."
"We cannot be too cautious in this endeavour, Thor," the wizard, Gandalf, adds. "It would be better if we did not leave anyone behind who might have any idea about our undertaking."
"He is young," Thor replies dubiously, "and untested."
"So is the lad," Dwalin points out. "Nori? He's your kin." The auburn-haired dwarf turns hard eyes on his brother and Ori shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny. Finally, Nori sighs and goes to him, tapping their foreheads together with a surprising amount of delicacy.
"You were never good at being sneaky, nadadith," he sighs. "Dori is going to lose his mind, you know. But," here he smiles, and Fíli is surprised at how dangerous it appears, "you're of age, and I'm hardly one to tell anyone what they can or can't do."
"Damned thief," Dwalin mutters, but there is a fondness to the way that he says it. Fíli has no idea how these two met, Dwalin has never even mentioned Nori, but his uncle doesn't seem surprised in the slightest at the interactions between the two. Ori, however, bristles slightly at Dwalin's words.
"Very well," Thor snarls before Ori can say anything, "let us sit and have done with it." His unhappiness with this development is very clear and the glare that he shoots at Fíli quite obviously says that they will be having words at some point in the future. It has been a long time since Fíli has managed to incur that kind of wrath from his uncle and he finds that he has not missed it.
They move away quickly, Dwalin and Balin sitting at the table with Thor, Fíli and Gandalf. Ori hovers nervously next to his brother, who is leaning on the back of his husband's chair. A knife flickers through his fingers near Dwalin's ragged ear and it speaks to how often he must do so in the way that the old warrior ignores it entirely. Gandalf unfolds a map and spreads it on the table. It is a well-used thing, showing signs of wear in the creases and even a couple of holes where two of the folds intersect. Fíli stares at it in fascination. He has seen maps before, of course, but those are generally of the immediate area, though occasionally they may go as far as Ered Luin or Rivendell. This map shows both sides of the Misty Mountains, going as far east as the Iron Hills.
Thor glares at it as though willing it to burst into flames, though his eyes are fixed on one point. "Explain, wizard," he says abruptly.
"I know no more than I have already told you, Thor," Gandalf replies mildly. "For further answers we would have to ask Lord Frerin, though I doubt we have time for a detour. All I know is that two weeks ago the former head of my order snuck into the halls and stole the thing which we seek."
"Speak plainly," Dwalin grumbles.
"I dare not," Gandalf shakes his head. "There are ears that should not hear our plans, and he has a way of hearing his name uttered in the wind. No doubt he will apply the same ability to the artefact he has stolen."
" How did he steal it, is what I would like to know," Nori says. "Thieves have been trying to get their hands on it for generations and none have managed it."
"You would know," the big warrior chuckles.
"Be nice," Nori chides him.
" That is something we would all like to know," Gandalf draws their attention back to the matter at hand. "How he managed to accomplish it is not the matter of concern at this precise moment. Our concern must be in retrieving the artefact before we attempt to prevent a repeat of these circumstances."
"Do you have any idea where he might have taken it?" Balin asks. "I don't know about the others, but I have little desire to journey to the east. The Haradrim will not welcome us, nor will our Stiffbeard cousins."
"What of the Blacklocks and Stonefoots?" Gandalf asks and Fíli stares, not quite believing that the wizard does not know the answer to that question.
"The Stonefoots have turned to dragon-worship," Nori answers, his eyes distant. "They are almost entirely consumed by their love of gold. As for the Blacklocks, their allegiance lies in the same place it has for centuries. They are allied, still, with Sauron, though all that remains of him is a powerless shade."
"Should have wiped out the lot of them after what they did," Dwalin growls.
"Mahal wouldn't allow it," Thor says softly, his eyes distant and pained. "Durin's folk came close, but Mahal stopped us."
Every dwarf knows the story and it was a favourite of Fíli's as a young dwarf, although Kíli preferred the tale of the slaying of Durin's bane. Thor has always told both with more feeling than any other Fíli has come across. The story goes that in the hour of the greatest grief of Durin's folk, as he lay trapped within Khazad-dûm after slaying the Balrog and ordering his son to take his sword and flee, the Blacklocks has descended and slaughtered Durin's children, thus ending the elder line. Only a cousin of the secondary line had escaped, and he had been unable to wield the king's sword. The refugees, driven out by the wrath of the Balrog and the orcs it had summoned to its cause, had made their way to the colony in Erebor, raised an army and marched east, all but destroying the Blacklocks and their Stonefoot allies and irreparably damaging their ties with the Stiffbeards.
"He shouldn't have," Dwalin hisses. "It would have saved us so much if He had just let us wipe them out! They slaughtered children ."
"And they were still His children, no matter their crimes against the rest of us not all of them were responsible," Thor replies. "It is not for us to question Mahal's decisions, then or now."
"Enough!" Gandalf shouts and his voice seems to come from everywhere at once. He no longer appears to be a weary old man in his threadbare robes, instead he seems ten feet tall and garbed in gleaming white that blinds the eye and smothers the fires of rage. "We are not here to discuss the old hurts of the ancient past. We are here to determine the best course to take so that we might retrieve the artefact." The wizard reduces as he speaks, becoming again the old man and the crushing weight of his presence dims with him.
"He would not journey that far east," he continues once everyone has calmed. "It would take him too close to Mordor, although I would not rule out the fortress at Barad-dûr as his destination. We know not where Sauron's spirit lies, though we know that he once desired the artefact. Our thief could be more closely allied with the Dark Lord than I had feared, or he could simply have taken the thing for himself having always been enamoured of it and returned to his fortress near Fangorn. His route, however, will be roundabout by necessity, for the Lady of Lothlorien would have been aware of his theft as soon as he neared her borders. Our best course would be to go to the bottom of the pass that leads to the hidden western gate and try to discern his direction from there. Such a thing as the artefact he has stolen will leave a trail that I can follow."
"It will take us past Rivendell," Balin notes, "perhaps Lord Elrond-"
"No," Thor cuts him off. "Elrond will convene a council and we will lose precious time while others debate what we know must be done. If the white w- if the white thief returns to his tower, or indeed to Barad-dûr, we will never get the thing back off him." Fíli glances up at Ori, who doesn't look quite as confused as he feels. Ori, however, has a greater grasp of the histories of dwarrow and Man alike than Fíli does. He has probably been able to glean more from this vague discussion than Fíli has.
"It shall be as you say," Balin bows his head. The sign of respect, and the fact that all of the older dwarrow defer to his uncle surprises Fíli and makes him wonder, again, if there is more to Thor than he has always known.
"We leave at first light," Thor declares, putting an end to Fíli's musing. The hour has grown late as they have spoken and debated, Fíli's eyes are sandy and tired, but his stomach flutters with nerves enough to keep him awake. Thor's eyes, when they turn to him, are hard and full of warning. His uncle is not happy. "Get some sleep," Thor orders, and though Fíli would usually chafe at being instructed as though a child, now he leaps to his feet so that he might avoid his uncle's inevitable ire.
"Come on, Ori," he says quickly, "you can bunk with me."
