Hey everyone! Thanks for the awesome reviews for the last chapter. This is Chapter 100! I'm absolutely stunned that we're here, when I look back at where I was when I started Strangers, but I am so insanely happy and grateful that this is where we are. To those of you still following this story, thank you so, so much - it means the utter world to me.
As ever, please forgive any mistakes or typos in this chapter, and I hope that you enjoy it!
Chapter One Hundred: Of Triumphs Great and Small
Mordor was worse than Frodo could ever have imagined. By day it was hot as the forges, and by night it seemed cold as Caradhras. The scent of rot and death and decay was all about them, and only rarely replaced by the stench of some foul bog, or refuse, or sulphur. There was no sound of running water, no stream or brook in which they could wash their weary feet, and the sky above their heads was ever smothered with thick, black cloud. It was a wasteland, but one that still crawled with twisted life. Orcs infested the land in numbers so great they drained Frodo of any lasting hope. They seemed to dwell in villages built of mud and iron, little clustering mockeries of the towns of men, and their roads were seldom empty, forcing the remnants of the Conspiracy into the barren wasteland, into plains with little cover, or caves cluttered with corpses.
In the three days they had trudged through this hell, Frodo had seen more orcs than he had encountered before in his entire life. Somehow, so far, they had snuck through unseen, but it could not last. He knew it could not.
Especially not with Bróin.
That was the worst part of being in Mordor, without a doubt. Watching what Mordor was doing to Bróin. Frodo's desperate hope that the dwarf might have recovered after vomiting the foul water from his stomach was laughed away by the ring, shattered to smithereens against every retching, hacking cough that wreaked through Bróin's body. When he was not coughing, his breath was rattled and strained, and now he shivered by both night and day. His skin was clammy, and ever beaded with sweat, but even as he complained of cold, Bróin's skin was burning with a fever hot to the touch.
He could not even sit up anymore. Instead, the young dwarf lay slumped over Toothy's back, drifting in and out of uneasy sleep.
Frodo had never seen a dwarf so sick.
He's going to die, crooned the ring. We grow stronger, and he grows weaker, and soon he will choke on his own bile. He is going to die. You are all going to die.
It was getting louder. Stronger. The ring was so heavy now that the chain was tearing away the skin around Frodo's neck, so heavy that it was exhausting just to stand. His hope had been bled from him entirely, and the ring adored it. In every restless night, the last thing he heard before his step was the soft, cruel laughter of the Ring, and every morning he woke to its crooning refrain.
You are doomed. You are going to die.
You are all going to die.
We are so close.
We are home.
If it were not for Sam and Nelly, Frodo was sure that he would already be dead. The pair marched on uncomplaining through all the stretches of land before them, their jaws set and their eyes strong. Nelly led Toothy as a man might lead a horse, and when they hid from the roving bands of orcs, she would hold her hand gently over Bróin's mouth, muffling any noise he might have made. Sam kept close to Frodo, very close, and any time the older hobbit started to slow down, Sam would take his arm, or start to chatter quietly about home.
"We'll get some strawberries and cream, next time we're in the Shire, and we'll tell my old Gaffer all we've seen. He won't believe it, I bet, but we'll tell him all the same. And Thorin will throw us a great ball, Frodo, you know he will – you being his favourite, after all. Don't give me that look, you know Mister Thorin's awfully fond of you. There'll be a great ball, with food and drink and enough flowers to mistake the mountain for a garden."
But by now, Nelly and Sam were tiring. Even Toothy seemed to be drained by the very aura of Mordor. His head hung low, and his tail was between his legs.
As the darkness grew deeper around them, signalling the end of the fourth day, Nelly paused, murmuring something in Bróin's ear before turning to Sam and Frodo.
"We can't stop here," she said wearily, pushing a few loose curls out of her face. She was shivering slightly as the cold of evening drew in, but her cloak was tucked around Bróin. "There's no shelter – we'd be spied in a heartbeat if anyone came by. We'll keep going until we can find somewhere to bunker down for the night."
"And if we can't?" asked Frodo, staring at the ground.
"Then we just keep walking," she said. "If you're tired, you can ride behind Bróin."
"I'm alright," said Frodo, but Nelly and Sam both raised their eyebrows at him. "For now," he amended wearily. "I'm alright for now."
Nelly gave a slow nod, and then she began walking again. Soon, the night wrapped around them, suffocating tight, until Frodo could barely see her just a few yards before him. For another three hours or so they walked, until at last Nelly said they could stop.
"There's a little rocky hill here," she said. "Wait here, don't move until I get back."
Frodo nodded wearily, and as he did his knees buckled beneath him. Sam grabbed his arm, easing him down to the ground before he could fall.
"Frodo?"
"I'm alright," he breathed, resting his head on his knees. "Just tired. So tired."
Sam said nothing, but he rested his hand on Frodo's head. After a few moments, Nelly returned.
"There's a little crag around there we might take shelter in. It's not much, couldn't be classed as a cave for a mouse, but it'll keep us hidden from two sides, at least. Come on."
Frodo forced himself back onto his feet, ignoring Sam's attempts to steer him onto Toothy. They followed Nelly around the rock to the promised shelter – no more than a slight slant leaning into the rock, with the smallest hint of an overhang above them.
Stumbling through the aching and fatigue consuming him, Frodo took Bróin's arm, looping it over his shoulder. The young dwarf moaned, resting his sweaty forehead against Frodo's for a moment as Nelly hurried around, bringing his other arm over her own shoulders and easing him down off of the warg. Together, the trio collapsed against the cold stone, and Bróin slumped against Frodo's side. His breathing was laboured, and then it hitched, and Frodo braced himself, closing his eyes and squeezing his cousin's arm.
Bróin shuddered, violently, and then he began to cough – deep, wrenching coughs that brought up bile and a little blood. Frodo kept his eyes closed. He could not watch anymore. He could hear Nelly humming, hear her murmuring to Bróin and he knew that she was rubbing his back, but he could not watch. He could not watch Bróin choke any more.
Finally, the coughing subsided, but as it did Bróin's weight slipped away from Frodo's side, and the hobbit looked up in a panic. Somehow, Bróin had tumbled into Nelly's lap, and she stroked his hair gently, even as she twisted him onto his side.
"If you lie on your back everything will just sit on your lungs, won't it? That's it, just breathe. I'm here. I'm here. Breathe, now, Bro," she murmured.
Without a word, Sam pulled out their provisions, passing Frodo and Nelly a little lembas and a couple of nuts each. To Bróin, he gave a small corner of lembas, and nothing more. He did not seem able to stomach anything else, and there had been a couple of times even the elven bread became too much for him.
Tonight, though, Bróin seemed able to handle the lembas, and a small sip of water too, and then he closed his eyes, and seemed to slip straight into sleep.
After a short while, Sam spoke quietly. "This's gone far enough. Bróin can't go on any longer, not like this."
"Then what do you suggest we do?" asked Nelly wearily. "We can't leave him here."
"He should go back," said Sam. "Nelly, I think you should take him back, you and Toothy."
She let out a hollow laugh. "Right. Because that would be easy."
"I didn't say it would be easy," protested Sam, and Frodo glanced at him. Sam's face was ashen grey, and he looked ready to throw up himself. "We're one cough away from being caught by orcs, Nelly, and he can't fight, not like this. They'll kill him! We have to get him out of here."
"Can't," mumbled Bróin, and Sam and Frodo jumped. So, the dwarf was not asleep at all… "That'd mean Nelly... Nell'd be all but alone. I'm bout 's useful as a shoe shop in the Shire, I know, but that's why we can't go back. It's too dangerous. If the orcs get me... well, that's what I signed up for."
Sam shuddered, and Nelly clicked her tongue gently. "They won't get you, Bro. I won't let 'em."
Bróin winced, and opened blearily eyes to stare at Sam. "Perhaps you're right though, Sam. Perhaps I should stay, should stay here. Wait for you to get back."
Sam bristled, but Frodo could catch a glint of alarm in his eyes. "Well now, that was never on the cards in the first place! I wouldn't say such a thing and you'd be a fool to say it too. Stay here indeed – that's madness."
"But I am a threat," protested Bróin weakly. "To the quest-"
"No," said Frodo, his voice catching in his throat, and the others all looked at him. "The ring is a threat to you. It's... it's doing this, I know it is."
Nelly and Sam exchanged a glance, and Bróin frowned up at Frodo.
"What do you mean?"
"It's making you sicker." Frodo's voice came out as a whisper. "It's killing you, Bróin."
The young dwarf's eyes widened, and Nelly drew back her shoulders.
"Well, we better just hurry up and kill it first, then. Because no one is splitting up and no one is dying."
Bróin winced. "Nell-"
"Don't you 'Nell' me, Bróin," she said sharply. "Do you think I haven't thought about I else we could do? We can't find somewhere to hide - nowhere is safe enough, round here, and we would run out of water before Frodo and Sam could get back to us. You're dehydrated as it is, but if we keep moving we have the chance to find something drinkable, and even if we don't, we have five water bottles - we can only share them evenly among the four of us if we're together. And we can't go back. I can't fight you out of Mordor on my own, even with Toothy, it's too dangerous. So, we have one option. We have to keep moving, as a pack. It's the only way, so stop fighting me."
Bróin sighed and closed his eyes, his fingers curling around Nelly's arm. "I'm, I'm so tired, Nelly."
"I know," she murmured, her voice instantly gentle again. "I know. You should be in a nice warm bed with a hot water bottle or two, but as it is you've just got to hold on, Bróin. That's all we ask. Just hold on."
"It's going to be alright, now," murmured Sam, though there were tears glistening in his eyes. "We're going to be fine, just fine. You'll see."
Sighing, Frodo curled up with his knees beneath his chin, and dropped his head down onto his arms. He could feel tears stinging at the back of his eyes, and hopelessness creeping up his throat. He was certain that he had never understood the word 'despair' before. How could he? Even in the worst moments of his life, he had had family, and hope, but now…
What hope did they have left?
Mount Doom was still miles away, miles, and even if they did not get caught along the way, could Bróin make it that far?
No, laughed the ring. No, he won't. He is dying, and we grow stronger. You are taking us home, Frodo, taking us home.
This whole thing had been a terrible idea. Frodo should never have left Rivendell, never dared to believe that he could be strong enough for this. He never should have brought his family with him, he never should have trusted Gollum – how could he have been so stupid to have trusted Gollum?
If he had not, if he had just listened to Sam, then they never would have gone near the great spider. He and Bróin would never have been stung, or captured, and Bróin would never have been dunked beneath filthy water until he had no choice but to drag the poison straight into his lungs.
If it was not for Frodo, Bróin would not be coughing up blood.
We will take his life, whispered the Ring. We will drain it from him, we are draining it from him, and he will die. Then we will take the girl, and then little Samwise, and then we will take you. But if you put us on, they will be saved.
Liar, Frodo thought, clenching his fists, but the ring's voice grew both softer and louder in the back of his mind.
Put it on, and we will save them. Carry us to Barad-Dur and we will reward you, beyond your wildest dreams. We will drag the sickness from Bróin's lungs, we will give Samwise and Pimpernel such strength that illness and fatigue will never lay a finger on them again. If you resist, we will take them all, but if you carry us home you will be rewarded.
No, Frodo thought fiercely, but fear struck his mind as his heart's resolve wavered. It was a trick, he knew it was a trick, but if there was no other way to save his friends, would he do it? Would he give in, betray the world, for the sake of Bróin, and Nelly, and Sam?
Yes, whispered the ring, you would. And it's your choice – you can either deliver us of your own will, or beg for the chance to do so when you are dragged before the greatest Lord of all. You will reap the rewards of your courage, or you will burn in the fires of Mordor as we flay you alive. You will deliver me home, Ring-bearer, or we will tear you apart with our teeth, and you will beg for death, but it will not come – not until you have watched us devour every soul you profess to love. We will rip the flesh from their bones before you, we will slaughter each and every one of them, and you will watch, and then, only then, when you are alone beyond all reckoning, will we drag your soul from your body –
"Frodo! Frodo!"
Fingers dug into his shoulders tightly, painfully, and he sobbed as the hands shook him.
"Frodo! Wake up! Look at me, dammit!"
They will all die!
With a gasp, Frodo opened his eyes. Sam's face was merely a foot from his own, and his eyes searched Frodo's face quickly. "What was that?"
"I, I wasn't asleep," Frodo gasped, grabbing Sam's arm as a shudder of horror ran through his body. "It, it was talking, talking to me, it – it – we're all going to die!"
"What? What are you talking about?" asked Nelly, pulling Bróin closer. The dwarf was watching Frodo with wide eyes – fearful eyes – bloodshot eyes, and Frodo sobbed, falling back against the cold stone.
"The ring," he moaned, tightening his fingers around Sam's arm. "It, it says if I do not take it to Sauron, they will kill us, all of us."
"Of course it'll say that," said Nelly, but her voice trembled. "It's not going to be happy about what it is we're doing. And it can't communicate with him, Frodo, Gandalf was sure of that. It can't give us away, it can't do anything!"
"It can make Bróin sicker-"
"Can it?" asked Nelly. "How do you know?"
Frodo shook his head slightly, and Sam pulled him forward into a rough hug.
"Breathe now, Frodo," he murmured. "It'll be alright, Bróin'll be just fine. You'll see."
But Frodo shook his head. "How? How will anything ever be alright? We're doomed, Sam, we're doomed. We can't do this, we can't! Why we ever thought that we could… We're all going to die…"
Sam paused, and then pushed Frodo gently back against the rock. His fingers brushed Frodo's neck as he grabbed a chain, pulling it until a small medallion of mithril fell into his palm, glinting even in the overwhelming darkness.
"This is why," he said, pressing the small shield into Frodo's hand. "Why we thought we could do this. Because they're counting on us back home, they all are. And because whatever we can't do for ourselves, we can do for them. By rights we shouldn't even be here, it's not fair, but we're here so Dis can have her baby, and Bilbo can be there with her. We're here so the Shire can continue to bloom and grow, so that my Old Gaffer can fatten up Orla and Ola and Bodin on strawberries and cream. We're here so that one day, Pearl can throw that great hobbit party in Erebor. So that Nelly can one up Nori, so that you can finally turn around to Fíli and Kíli and claim to be the most reckless brother. We're here because of our family, Frodo, and that's why we can do it. That's why we can win. Because they can't afford for us to lose."
Frodo stared down at the glittering shield. He could not breathe for the lump in his throat, and the ring was still hissing in the back of his mind, but it was quieter, and well of despair boring through his soul seemed a little weaker. Though tears still slid down his cheeks, they no longer felt like they were burning him, and when his palm shook, it made the mithril catch what little light there was in left in the sky, and it twinkled in his palm like a star.
"Don't listen to the ring, Frodo," murmured Nelly. "It's just evil. Nothing less– and nothing more."
Frodo thought of Thorin, of the dwarf's pride and resolve and bravery, and he swallowed. "What… what if I fall?"
"We won't let you. We won't let you fall – no matter what you do. Wherever you go, no matter where you are or what you've done, we will be there, and we will not let this thing destroy you. And we will not let you destroy us." Nelly paused, looking down at Bróin and smiling a little as she brushed his hair away from his pale, sweaty forehead. "We won't let it kill Bróin, or anyone else. We just have to keep going. One day at a time."
Sam nodded eagerly. "And if that's too much, then just one step, Frodo. One step at a time, one minute. We're almost there."
"Something equally supportive and inspiring and sickly sweet," mumbled Bróin, a grin tugging at the side of his lip even as his eyelids drooped.
And despite himself, Frodo smiled.
When Arndís, wife of Thrór, gave birth to baby Thráin, the King Under the Mountain carved out a passage behind the statue of Durin at the end of the main corridor of the Royal Chambers. It stretched down in two forks, one which exited via an invisible door into one of the servants' corridors, and another that ran deep into a cavern in the very heart of the mountain. Both were protected with every spell that he knew, and both were known only to his closest kin, and the most trusted of his guards.
Over two hundred years later, the passages still stood, and though the dwarves who knew the truth and held the keys had changed, they were still the king's closest guards and kin. The doors could not be opened without a key, nor easily found by anyone who did not already know where they were – so someone Thorin trusted had unlocked the door.
It made him feel sick, and violently so, to think that he had been betrayed in such a callous act, to know that someone he had entrusted his life to had let a pack of orcs in to where his family sheltered, and as he hurried down the passage, all he could think of was revenge.
The passage itself was dark, and cold, but as it began to curve and the door to the servants' corridor neared, it grew lighter, and Thorin could see bodies strewn across the ground. Some were orcs, but others were dwarves – maybe two dozen of them, and three, at least, were children. A lump grew in Thorin's throat, and he moved faster, and then he caught sight of the face of a dwarf lying in the doorway, and his heart twisted.
Covered in blood, with his broken body wedging open the secret door, was Joren – Joren who Thorin had known since before Smaug took Erebor, Joren whose son Ehren had been close as kin to Fíli and Kíli all their lives. Joren, who was now draped over another, huddled body, his head tilted back, and his eyes closed. Blood dripped down from the corner of his mouth, and his arm had been thrown across the woman beside him. She was lying on her stomach, hunched over the same huddled body as Joren, and even before he saw her face, Thorin recognised the dark, black curls of Thora, Joren's wife.
As Mikel and Colburn checked every dwarven body, pressing their fingers to even the bloodiest neck in hopes of finding a pulse, Thorin knelt at Joren's side and reached for his wrist, his heart stuttering with hope as he felt a pulse.
"Joren?" he said, shifting his grip to take his friend's hand, and shaking his shoulder gently. "Joren, can you hear me?"
Joren shifted, and his eyes fluttered open, finding Thorin through a haze of pain. "Th…Thorin?"
"Joren…" Thorin shifted his grip, holding the dwarf's hand tighter. "Breathe now, my friend, it's alright. We will get you to a healer soon. Just hold on a while longer."
"Thora?" The name broke painfully from Joren's lips, and Thorin glanced at the woman slumped at Joren's side. Mikel was kneeling over her, his hand putting pressure on a wound to her back.
"She's alive, Joren," the guard said. "Unconscious, but alive."
Joren sobbed, and closed his eyes, his hand growing tighter around Thorin's arm. "Ehren… where's Ehren?"
Thorin glanced over the bodies on the floor in alarm, but he caught no sight of Ehren's face, nor even of his curly hair. "He is not here," he said carefully. "Was he with you at the door?"
Shaking his head, Joren took a deep breath. "No… I… I don't, I don't… know where he is… My king… forgive me… I meant not… to betray you…" A sigh rattled painfully from Joren's chest, and he opened his palm, revealing an old, bloody key. "No… nowhere else to go… surrounded… I thought I, thought we would… would make it. B-but the orcs… their arrows struck me down, I, I blocked the doorway… tried to move, but… but they s-struck me again, I… I couldn't move… forgive me. Forgive me."
His heart growing heavier by the moment, Thorin glanced over the dwarves lying dead on the floor, at a child lying just feet away from him with her eyes wide open, and unseeing. He understood now, understood as clearly as he understood his own name. If he had been in Joren's shoes, with children to protect and but one chance to save them, Thorin would have taken that door too.
A tear ran down Joren's cheek and he coughed, his head tilting down towards his life. "Tried… I tried, but… couldn't… couldn't protect… them all… Just… just a few…" Joren breathed, pulling himself up towards Thorin. Carefully as he could, Thorin pulled the other dwarf into a sitting position, and a small whimper came from the body below. At once, Balin was there, ripping aside the large cloak to reveal two tiny dwarflings, no older than toddlers, cowering over a small bundle that squirmed beneath them. A baby.
"By Mahal," breathed Balin, and at once Colburn swooped past him, bending down and scooping the trio of sniffling children into his arms. The oldest, a red-haired boy, gave a small sob and clung to him tightly, but the girl looked catatonic, and the baby barely moved at all.
"F-forgive me." Joren shuddered, clutching at Thorin's arm. "My king…"
Thorin shook his head, easing the warrior back down onto the ground and bundling the old cloak beneath his head. "Hush, my friend. There is nothing to forgive. You did well – you did what I would have done. Hold still, now. Colburn, go back up to the Royal Chambers and leave the children in the charge of Dana. Fetch five more guards, have them come down to help us move the injured back up into Kíli's room."
"I'll be quick, my lord," promised Colburn, disappearing back up the corridor.
As Colburn left, Joren took another shuddering breath, and whispered, "Please… Please, Thorin, don't… don't tell… Don't tell Ehren… he… he would be ashamed."
"No, he wouldn't," said Thorin sharply, even as he peeled away the blood-soaked dressing gown clinging to the dwarf's torso.
When he saw the wound, Thorin felt like a sword had been driven through his own gut. It looked like an axe blow, and on sight alone, the king knew that no dwarf alive had any chance of healing such a wound. Perhaps an elf might try, but the only elves they had were barely conscious, and in no state to heal. A miracle might spare Joren, but Thorin knew all he could do was pray
"Ehren will not be ashamed," he said, more softly, and he removed his coat, tucking it around his friend's chin to try and make him a little more comfortable. "He will know of the heroics of his father, and the lives you saved. Those three babes live because of you, Joren. Without you, they would have died, and the orcs slew no one upstairs. You committed no treason, you have caused no harm to your king. You have nothing to be ashamed of."
Joren shook his head slightly, his face twisted in pain. "Ehren… I just… just want to… to see Ehren… Thorin, I, I just want to know, to know he's alive… Just for a moment…"
"Then hold on." It took every ounce of Thorin's strength to keep his voice calm, to stop himself from begging. "Just for a little while. We will find Ehren, we will bring him to you."
"Please," begged Joren, opening his eyes and searching for Thorin through a haze of pain and tears. "Please… I just… just want t', t'see Ehren. Just once… just once… please..."
Behind him, Thorin heard the thundering footsteps of the other guards, but he did not turn to look at them. He knew that they were lifting away the survivors, clearing the corpses to the side, but he kept his eyes on Joren, and held his hand close in his own. "You will. Ehren will be here soon."
One of the guards knelt down and murmured to Mikel, who nodded, and then eased Thora up into his arms, rising steadily and disappearing back down the tunnel.
"Thora…" whispered Joren, as the new guard turned to Thorin, nodding down at Joren, but the king shook his head.
"They are taking her to be healed," Thorin said, looking back down to meet Joren's eye as the new guard moved on. "She will be with Dís, and Dana, and they will care for her."
Joren sobbed, his eyes meeting Thorin's once again. In that instant, Thorin knew that Joren understood why no one was taking him, too, why Thorin kept him lying on the stone floor. Tears welled in his eyes, and he swallowed, grappling for Thorin's hand with weakening fingers.
"Ehren…" he pleaded. "Just… just till Ehren… Ehren…"
Thorin pursed his lips as Joren's eyes fluttered shut, and his head slipped down to the side. He drew in a weak, rattling breath, and then another, and Thorin swallowed.
"Balin-" he broke off, and closed his eyes.
"Thorin?" Balin pressed, and when Thorin shook his head, he sighed. "Do… do you want me to search for Ehren?"
Though he did wish it, though he wanted Ehren to reach them more than almost anything, Thorin shook his head. "It's too dangerous, and there's little chance of your finding him," muttered Thorin, dashing his sleeve against his eyes and then tucking the coat tighter around Joren's chin. "He could be anywhere."
"Understood," said Balin, his voice trembling. "But do you want me to try?"
"If…" Thorin swallowed, and closed his eyes for a moment. "No, Balin. No."
Balin took a deep breath, and then turned away, pressing his fist to his mouth.
"Hold on, Joren," Thorin murmured, squeezing his friend's hand and leaning closer, but Joren's breathing grew shallower, weaker. "Joren? Hang on my friend, just a little while longer. Ehren is coming… Ehren is coming…"
But Joren's last breath rattled from his lips and his hand fell limp, and Thorin hung his head. He pressed his fingers to Joren's throat, but the pulse was gone. As his heart crumpled within him, he eased his arms beneath Joren's body and shifted him to the side of the tunnel, pulling his coat up over his friend's face.
With a heavy sigh, he stood, and glanced up at Balin. The rest of the guards had all returned up to the royal chambers, which meant that at least five of the dozen dwarves on the floor were breathing, and that Balin and Thorin were alone.
Thorin sighed. "We've lingered long enough. I am going back to the battle – I don't like the thought of those explosions we heard. If this mountain is to fall, I'm going to fall in the fighting."
"Agreed," said Balin, though Thorin noticed that he was shifting his injured arm.
Together, they raised their swords and slid out of the door, but they found no orcs in the servants' corridor, nor did they see any when they reached the main streets of the city. They saw several corpses, mainly of orcs, but no living goblins, and with every moment of their absence, Thorin's skin crawled a little more.
"Let's work our way back 'round to the stairway," murmured Balin. "See if the bastards have done any damage to the door yet, or if we can slow them down. "
"Agreed," said Thorin, adjusting his course towards the main entrance of the Royal Chambers. As they drew nearer, Thorin began to hear the shouting – urgent yells in dwarven voices, and he ran faster, ignoring the pain in his leg and hurrying around the corner with his sword raised –
And he saw the aftermath of a battle.
His jaw dropped open, and for a moment the King Under the Mountain was so stunned that he could not speak. Sprawled over his marble staircase and littered across his halls were the corpses of nearly a hundred orcs, and standing above them was a small company of dwarves, no more than a dozen or so. Bombur was among them, and several others Thorin recognised, and then with a start he saw Bofur and Dori, both on their knees at the base of the stairs.
And then he saw Nori cradled in Bofur's lap, spitting up blood as Dori pressed down on his leg.
"I said get me a damn healer, now!" Dori yelled, his face red as his brother's spilling blood, and Thorin stumbled forward.
"What happened?" he demanded, hurrying to Dori's side even as he dodged the twisted, charred corpses of the orcs. "I thought you had left!"
Nori gave a harsh laugh of indignation, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "We're desperate, Thorin, but we ain't desperate enough to leave our kingdom while it's being ripped to shreds. And I think, what you mean to say was 'thank you.'"
"Stop talking," ordered Dori, snatching a belt offered by Bombur and looping it deftly around the top of his brother's thigh.
"Why? The damned thing went through my leg, not my throat," Nori complained, staring bitterly down at the wounded limb. "Fat chance I have of reaching Nelly now."
Thorin shook his head slowly. "I don't understand. We heard explosions, we thought the orcs had their great flash-flames within the mountain."
"Nope," said Bofur, and when he looked up to meet Thorin's eye, the king saw a jagged, angry slash carved into the miner's face, missing his right eye by less than an inch and sweeping down towards his throat. It was still oozing blood, but Bofur was grinning with grim satisfaction. "Those'd be our great flash flames. Courtesy of Nori here, and of a couple of orcs."
"We wanted to turn back the moment we saw what was going on at the gates," Dori said grimly. "But Nori had another idea."
"From what we heard and what we saw, I figured they must've used some kind of explosive," said Nori, grimacing as his brother twisted the tourniquet tighter. "Something big. And the timing – that was a dead giveaway – ain't gonna be a coincidence that they figure themselves out a way to break down the gates of Erebor the day after a messenger from Saruman turns up at the door. I also reckoned that there'd probably be more than one. Not loads – the uruk-hai must've hauled them from Isengard, and there wasn't exactly an army of them, but they'd want more than one. Ow! Dori, so help me I will rip out your beard!"
Dori scowled. "Forgive me for trying to save your sorry life." He sighed, wiped his forehead, and looked up at Thorin. "We thought that the other explosives would most likely be in Dale."
"We?"
"We all know you were the one that figured it out, Nori," said Bofur, wincing as Bombur began to dab at the wound on his face with a clean handkerchief.
"Well, it made the most sense," the spymaster grumbled. "They'd want to stash 'em somewhere safe, wouldn't want to use 'em all at once. And Dale was the best bet. So we snuck in."
"You snuck into Dale?" asked Balin, his eyes widening. "But – but the city's been crawling for weeks."
"They'd sent most of the forces out," said Bofur. "Probably hoping to wipe us out in one fell sweep. There were a couple of men left behind, but nothing we couldn't take care of."
"Dori earned himself a stab or two in the old marketplace," said Nori darkly, but his brother shook the words off with a shrug. He had already moved onto ripping apart Nori's trousers to start cleaning the wound.
"I'm fine. Just a couple of flesh wounds. It took us an hour or two, but we found them – great balls of iron, they were, like a flash-flame ten times the normal size, and spiked like a mace. There were four of them."
"And we took them straight to Dale's catapults," said Nori smugly. "Remember those things, the ones that'd fling their load at the drop of a coin? Well, Mordor left them be – seemed to think their own catapults better."
"So, we loaded up the explosives, and made a fuse or four," said Dori, pulling a vial from one of his pockets and flicking off the stopper. As he began to smear ointment onto the edges of Nori's wound, he too gave a grin of satisfaction. "And we flung them into the army from behind."
"That was the best part," said Bofur, grinning so widely that fresh blood began to dribble down his cheek, and Bombur swatted the back of his head lightly. "The damn orcs thought the Easterlings had turned on them, so they started laying into them, and soon they were all fighting amongst themselves! We managed to slip out of the city and Nori nicked a horse-"
"A horse?" asked Bombur, earning him a withering look from Nori.
"Well, the Easterlings hardly brought war goats with them," he said. "We reckoned we couldn't quite take on an army with just the three of us, even from behind, so we made for the Hidden Door, but by the time we got there the Easterlings had wiped out a few hundred orcs themselves, and our catapults did no small amount of damage. When we made it back in, we ran into Bombur, who said Fíli was holding down the wall well enough, but that you'd last been seen with a hundred goblins on your tail, so we turned this way."
"Made a stop at the armoury to grab some more flash-flames first though," said Bofur. "And it just so happened that Nori had taken a vial or two of the powder from Saruman's weapons, so we sprinkled some of that in there too."
Balin made a startled sound in the back of his throat, and Nori snorted. "Dori gave me that look too, but do you see any living orcs here?"
Thorin glanced at the corpses around them. One of the nearest orcs' faces seemed to have melted, and Thorin's gut turned uncomfortably. He was getting too old for this.
"One lived long enough to put a sword through your thigh," said Dori, but before Nori could retort, Thorin held up his hand.
"Thank you," he said, slowly putting his hand over his heart and bowing. "Thank you, for coming back. I know… I know it cannot have been easy. If we survive this, I will do everything in my power to bring Nelly and Bróin home, and make sure this delay has not cost them."
At once, the smile in Nori's eyes died, and he nodded, staring down at his wounded leg. "Aye," he said quietly. "I know… I just hope it's not too late."
"What I don't understand is why they didn't wait," said Dori, pausing in his work to cast Thorin a worried look. "There was supposed to be time for someone to pay the randsome – even if they thought we wouldn't, it's a simple enough strategy, to let us stew and suffer for a while."
Thorin nodded slowly. "That thought had passed my mind too. But the battle here is not over yet – we must see it through before we start another fight. You said Fíli was still holding the wall?"
"The last we saw," confirmed Bombur.
Thorin bowed his head. "Very well. Dori, Bofur, Bombur, get Nori up into Kíli's room. If anyone else is wounded, go with them, but the rest of you, follow me."
Without waiting to see who was coming with him, Thorin began to head for the gates, running as fast as he physically could. Something dangerous was stirring in his heart – a blind hope that this battle might not destroy his entire family, or raze his whole city. The hope pumped through his veins with every beat of his heart, and as they drew closer to the gates, he realised that the sounds of battle were indeed far less than what he had left.
Instead, a cheer was rising, a swell of dwarven voices ringing out in what might even be victory, and Thorin ran faster, pushing until his knee buckled a little with every step, but he did not stop until he reached the gate, and burst out onto the balcony. All about him, his soldiers were cheering, punching the air with their fists and leaping up and down on the spot, and Thorin felt his heart soar within him.
The battlefield was far from empty, but instead of rows upon rows of orcs and Easterlings ready for battle, there were only corpses, and the last of the hosts of Mordor were fleeing back into Dale, pursued by an army of dwarves that roared 'victory!' to the skies.
"What happened?" Balin breathed, and the Captain on the balcony turned with a laugh.
"The prince led a charge!" he cried. "The armies of Mordor were struck from behind with the malice of their own design, and they began to slay each other, and when he saw what was done Prince Fíli led a charge, the likes of which I have never seen! The enemy fled before him and he cut them down as though they were but dolls – it was as though Durin himself was leading us once again, and our army rallied, and – I think that we've won!"
Thorin's heart pounded fast and fierce against his ribs, and he watched the tail end of the group of dwarves disappear into Dale behind their foes. Even as the call rang through the mountain that the battle was won, Thorin clutched the railing of the balcony with white knuckles, and looked to Dale.
He stared, and stared, until at last he saw it – the army of dwarves marching back, flooding out of Dale and towards Erebor and singing as they came, singing angry songs of victory and vengeance and justice, and at their head was one with golden hair that glinted in the rising sun.
But Thorin lingered in fear, refusing to add his voice to the shouts of relief and pride that surrounded him, and he strained his eyes as far as they could reach, until finally he made out the face of the warrior with the golden hair, and his knees gave way beneath him. Beside him Balin sobbed, and a pride more strong and pure than any Thorin had ever felt rose within him.
Fíli.
He was alive, and he was standing – marching, even. He was whole, and he was alive, and Thorin felt tears sting at his eyes as he raised his shaking sword towards the heavens.
Then, at last, Thorin threw back his head, and let his own voice join the chorus. "We have victory!"
I hope you enjoyed that chapter! I hope the battle ending this way didn't feel like much of an anti-climax – aspects of what happened will be shown in more detail later, but I'd like to think this chapter stands on its own well enough too.
If you fancy reviewing, I would absolutely adore that – I hope to update soon, but life is being rather inconvenient towards my fanfiction right now, so I'll just have to do my best.
Until next time, please take care!