Dark Side of the Moon

by Hobbsy3

When the peace of the Shire is shattered by a frantic wizard and Darkness falls upon Erebor, the patchwork family of Kili Baggins is thrown into chaos. Sundered by distance and duty, they must each play a part in the war revolving around the Ring that has long dwelt in Bilbo's pocket. But a conspiracy forms in the shadows and the Ring vanishes, putting the whole world at stake. T/M

108. Chapter 108: The Truth in the Tales

Chapter One Hundred and Eight: The Truth in the Tales

They lost three of the strangers in the first night. Two men left during Frodo's watch, crawling into the shadows and springing for the door, and Frodo had not said a word. Not until he woke Sam to take over the watch, and murmured to him that they were down by two. The third, a dwarf, made his break when was Sam pretending to be sleeping, climbing deftly out of the window and disappearing into the night.

Behind him, the dwarf left silence, and a creeping dread that he – or indeed one of the men – might lead others to the little house. Sam had risen when the silence grew too strong, pacing around the edge of the room, away from the prisoners, and his eyes had remained staring through the window until the sky became the lighter shade of grey that seemed to indicate dawn in this forsaken place.

Then, he had woken the others.

Nelly wished so violently that he had just let her sleep.

Her night had been plagued by nightmares, but at least the pain had dulled to a throbbing ache when she was unconscious. When she was awake, her ankle and shoulder screeched and seared, and the torn skin on her face and hands and arms and legs and torso stung viciously. Nausea curled in her stomach, and her head ached, and her right eye had swollen almost completely shut.

And that was before they applied the salve.

She had known it was coming, that the boys would have no choice but to use the same, torturous ointment Frodo had applied to Taurion's wounds, but that did nothing to ease the pain as they slathered it onto her. For their sake, she tried not to scream, but animal instinct burnt through her resolve. Muffled by the cloak she bit down on, her cries made Bróin flinch like he was being whipped, and Frodo looked away, his fist pressed against his mouth. And Sam, wonderful, reliable, selfless Sam, wept as he treated her wounds, before finally falling back and gasping out that it was done.

Then, for the first time in her life, Nelly refused her breakfast. Her stomach was wrapped in so many knots that she did not think she could manage a single bite. The others ate meagre portions, and coaxed the strangers on the other side of the room into eating too. When everyone else had something in their stomachs, and Nelly promised for the third time that she did not want to eat, Frodo declared softly that it was time to go.

Once again, Nelly, Bróin, and Frodo rode on Toothy, with Sam marching steadfast at their side. The once-prisoners followed, with their heads bowed low. They never looked around them, or spoke – in fact, they hardly made a sound. After a while the silence grew so fierce that Nelly feared she would burst if she did not break it.

"Do you remember the first snowfall we saw at Erebor?" she asked, a small smile tugging at her lip at the memory. "How there was so much more snow than we had even before? And Kíli pinched those shields from the armoury..."

"They made the best sleds," Bróin said, so wistfully that there was almost no pain in his voice at all. "I thought I was going to fly right off the side of the mountain!"

Nelly smiled a little stronger. "And the wolves dragged us back up through the snow, and we slid down again and again and again... I'd like to do that again. To feel the air on my face like that, to feel like I'm flying again."

"We nearly broke our necks," said Sam indignantly. "And if Nori hadn't tackled you out of the way you would've run Pippin clean over!"

Nelly shrugged, smiling all the more at the thought of six-year-old Pippin's best 'furious' face. "And the teas Dís would give us inside... I'll remember the toffee apple tea until the day I die."

"I would kill for a cup of toffee apple tea," Bróin breathed. "Or that sweet coffee she used to make, the one with cream and cinnamon..."

"Oh, Hearth-fire tea! I haven't had that for years," breathed Frodo, and she caught a spark of life in his voice that she had not heard in weeks. "I love Hearth-fire tea."

"Though I still think it makes no sense to call it tea when it's coffee," said Sam.

"Hearth-fire coffee's too much of a mouthful," mused Bróin. "Tea rolls off the tongue better. Do you think Dís still know how to make it?"

"Of course!" Frodo sounded rather affronted. "She invented it!"

"Oh, and when Bilbo would sprinkle honeycomb on top," gasped Bróin, now entirely entranced by his remembered feasts. "That was just..."

"Now that really was something," Sam admitted. "What I'd do for a mug of that... and a proper meal to go with it - a nice roast chicken with chips, and vegetables and gravy to boot."

"And cake," moaned Bróin, "cake for dessert, cake and ice cream!"

"Uncle Thorin will throw a great feast when we get back," Frodo promised. "There'll be more than even Bróin can eat!"

"Better be, or you're not getting a look in," said Bróin.

Sam scoffed. "As if my old Bofur would let you get away with that!"

Bróin pouted, his tone laced with mock-offence. "He was my uncle before he was your guardian."

"But he just dotes on Sam," Nelly pointed out, and Bróin jostled the back of her leg with his knee – though he also hugged her tighter. She leant back against him with a soft sigh, and he rested his chin on her uninjured shoulder. Speaking so animatedly was exhausting, even for so short a time, and if the slow deep movements of Bróin's chest behind her were any indication, the same was true for him.

"Will you tell us a story, Frodo?" she murmured. "Please? Something… warm."

"I… alright," said Frodo carefully. "Let me think… What about the story of Hlín?"

Nelly shook her head, though she also smiled. Frodo knew that was one of her favourites. "Too sad."

"Alright…"

"Oh, I know!" said Sam excitedly, "Though you best tell it, Frodo, you've the best mind for stories."

"You're a fine storyteller, Sam," Nelly protested, but Sam had already hurried over to murmur in Frodo's ear.

"Are you sure you don't want to tell it?" Frodo asked, but Sam nodded, a grin slipping over his bruised face.

"I'm ready to hear it again," he said.

"Very well, then," said Frodo, his voice growing slower, almost melodic, as he slipped into the role of story-teller that he had learnt so well at Bilbo's knee. "Once, there was a brave lord of men, whose name was Beren."

Frodo's voice wove so clear a picture that soon Nelly closed her eyes, letting the story wash over her and carry her far away, to so long a time ago. When Frodo had finished the story of Beren and Lúthien, Sam launched into the tale of Nella and the trolls, a dwarven fairy-tale that Nelly had adored for years.

And when she glanced over her shoulder, behind her boys, Nelly could see the strangers walking a little closer together, with their shoulders a little less tight. When Frodo took over the story-telling again, with the tale of how good old Beorn met his wife, some of the others even began murmuring amongst themselves, whispering to each other beneath the open sky, and Nelly's heart smiled. By midday, they were walking a little closer behind, visibly listening to the stories, and with small smiles Sam and Frodo raised their voices so everyone could hear.

Between the two of them, the boys wore the day away with their stories, tales that were light-hearted and free, and jolly and kind. When night grew dark, and they were forced to venture to the base of the mountains by the road in search of shelter, they told tales of the wonder of Elbereth, and the magic of starlight, and they held the phial of Galadriel out before them to banish the shadows away.

Eventually, Sam spied a crack in the rocks that led to a small cave – one just big enough to shelter them all, though some of the men and elves had to stoop a little. They set up camp as best they could, but it soon became dark, and damp, and miserable.

The chill of the night set in, and Bróin began to cough again – a little at first, but then more violently, and Nelly's own nose began to run as she shivered. A couple of the women and men were also shivering, though she could see that they tried to hide it, and when Frodo encouraged them to make themselves comfortable, some huddled together in twos or threes for warmth.

Sam cast a dark look at the entrance to the cave. "I think we're going to have to make a fire," he said gravely. "We won't last too long into the night without one, not in this state." He paused, looking over the strangers. "Do you think it'd be too much of a risk?" he asked. "That there might still be orcs enough about to see a fire?"

They stared dumbly back at him, their faces showing a blend of shock, suspicion, and concern. After a long moment, Taurion spoke.

"My… my lord – there are orcs everywhere," he said, almost gently, as though he was explaining to an adamant child that the sky was not green, but blue. "They are the lords of all that is, they… they are all that is."

"First off," said Sam, his voice equally gentle, "we've been through this before – I'm no lord. Though, if you don't feel comfortable just calling me Sam, Mister Gamgee'll do. Secondly, I don't reckon that there are many orcs that are lords, either. Most've them are servants, slaves, even – and whether they're 'lords' here or not, they certainly aren't outside. And they're not everywhere. I promise you that– we're living proof! There are still good places in this world, green places, where the water's clear and the folk are good hearted. All I want to know is whether or not you've seen any more orcs since the tower fell, any more besides the ones we saw the other day I mean. Do you think more of them might have survived?"

The strangers shifted, glancing at each other uneasily, and Frodo gave a soft sigh.

"I don't think we have much of a choice, Sam. Orcs or no orcs, it's just too cold. We'll just keep a doubly vigilant watch," he said grimly. "If we do attract any unwanted attention, the fire might still work to our advantage. You better do it, Bróin. You're least likely to make it smoke."

Nodding, Bróin clambered to his feet, and Nelly winced slightly. She could see his knees trembling, unused to his own weight and weak from days upon days of violent sickness – a sickness so bad that it had not even passed, that it would have had him still banished to bed, if he were home. But still, now at least he could stand, and Frodo brought him the small bundle of kindling and firewood they had lashed to Toothy's saddlebags before they left the ruins of Barad-dur.

There was little. So little.

"Do you think that you can make it last?" Nelly asked, anxiety gnawing at the back of her brain.

He shrugged. "I can do my best."

It took a little longer than usual, given that they seemed to have lost their tinderbox, but soon enough Bróin managed to coax the sparks to the kindling, fanning them up into a merry, crackling flame. He fell back, nestling close to Nelly's side, and she let her head drop down onto his shoulder.

Frodo dug through the bags again, handing the little dinner portions up to Sam, who promptly distributed them around the cave. This time, not one of the strangers protested, digging into the food with slightly less wary eyes. Some of them – Red and Taurion, in particular – looked almost comfortable, and when Nelly met the eyes of the girl who had before been crying so bitterly the night before, she received a small smile. Nelly's heart swelled so greatly that she could not breathe, and she beamed back.

"Mari, wasn't it?" she asked, and the girl nodded, her smile faltering for a moment. "That's a beautiful name. One of my sister's best friends is called Mari – she lives in New Dale, at the base of the Lonely Mountain. Last winter, she bought a little puppy from a trader from the South, and I've never seen so fluffy a dog! He's tiny, too, a little thing only this big…" she held out her hands to the length of the terrier, coaxing another tiny twitch of a smile to Mari's lips.

Nelly glanced to the right, and caught sight of a dwarf staring at her, though as soon as he saw her see him, he dropped his gaze.

"Do you have a question, sir?" she asked, and he looked up slowly.

"Forgive me, Miss Took, but… the Lonely Mountain… what became of the dragon?"

"Smaug? He fell twenty years ago," said Nelly. "Thorin-" She paused, and turned to Frodo with a grin. "Time for one more bedtime story?"

Frodo raised an eyebrow. "Why is that my job?"

"Well, Nelly's got a bad habit of embellishing the action scenes," said Bróin with a grin, before she could reply. "Besides, when I tell a story I start at the middle, dance towards the end and then loop back to the beginning – and then I go backwards in time for a while before touching on something that happens after the end, and then, eventually, I get to the end itself."

"If you're lucky," Nelly teased, smiling at Frodo. "If you start with Bilbo, Frodo it is your family history."

Frodo sighed, but he also smiled, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall of the cave, his toes wiggling before the fire.

"Alright then… This is a story we all know well – in fact we play a little part in it. Very little, mind you, no more than a footnote, really, but anyway..." he cleared his throat, and gave a small smile. "In a hole, in the ground, there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty dirty, wet hole like this, mind you – this was a hobbit hole, which means good food, a warm hearth, and all the comforts of home. This particular hobbit's name was Bilbo Baggins, and he was, in many ways, much like any other Baggins. But in other ways, he was extraordinary – and the first thing that made him extraordinary was his son…"

Curled up against Bróin's side, Nelly listened to Frodo recount Bilbo's adoption of Kíli, and the Quest for Erebor and Battle of the Five armies, and of how the city had recovered and flourished in the years since – a tale whose telling took them deep into the night. Some of the strangers did not seem to believe parts of it – she had caught sight of a couple of split-second glances of scepticism between some when he described the thunder battle, and Nori's miraculous escape from Smaug's jaw, but she could hardly blame them. Of course it seemed impossible.

Everything about what her family had seen and heard and done seemed impossible, if she pretended that she was hearing it for the first time. But then, so did the legend of Beren and Lúthien, and the tale of Fëanor, and all the great tales. They all seemed impossible, until those living through the stories saw them done.

It was in the early hours of the morning that she was awoken by Bróin coughing. In sleep her head had fallen onto his chest, only to be thrown off by the deep, racking heave of the coughs. Wincing, she twisted over as best she could and reached out, rubbing his chest until the hacking eased into snores. She lay still for a moment, but soon it became clear that she would not be able to just drift back to sleep. Her shoulder was burning.

With a soft sigh, Nelly made tried to sit up, but as soon as she tried to engage her muscles they seized in pain. She slipped back down to the ground with a whimper.

"Nelly?" Frodo whispered at once, fear taut in his voice. "What's wrong?"

"Can't sleep," she whispered back. "Could… Could you help me sit up a little?"

"You should try and rest…" he said uncertainly.

"I can't. Please, Frodo. Just a little bit."

Frodo stared her for a long moment, and then sighed, standing up from where he was crouched at the mouth of the cave and hurrying over to her. His hands were gentle as a kitten's paws beneath her shoulders, but it still hurt as he lifted her upright, propping her up against her pack.

As she moved, she felt her waist grow cold as Bróin's arm fell away from her, and she pulled it gently back into place. He shifted in his sleep, but she pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and he did not wake.

"Is that better?" Frodo asked softly, his brow furrowed with worry.

She smiled back as best she could, though it hurt her face to do so. "Yes, thank you. If you want, you can get some sleep now. I'll keep watch."

At once, her cousin's face hardened. "Not a chance. You ought to be getting more sleep yourself."

"Frodo…"

"I mean it," he said sternly, but then his voice softened. "Can I get you anything, Nelly? Anything at all?"

She smiled sadly. "What could you get me, Frodo?" His face fell, and Nelly felt a pang of guilt. "No, I – it's alright. Thank you. But I can't sleep anymore. I – I won't sleep anymore tonight."

"Alright then… If you're sure," he murmured, glancing towards the mouth of the cave. "If you don't mind keeping watch for a moment or two, I might take the opportunity to poke my nose outside, check the perimeter. It's just too quiet."

She nodded. "Sounds like a good idea – but be careful, Frodo. Please be careful."

"I will," he promised, squeezing her shoulder. "I will. And I won't ever be out of shouting distance, nor more than a few steps away. If you need me, I'll be right there."

"I know," she murmured, and Frodo smiled at her, brushing his thumb over her cheek. With a careful nod, and a last, careful glance over the newcomers, Frodo slipped out of the cave, and Nelly shivered, tucking her cloak up beneath her chin.

Frodo was right – it was far too quiet. She could only hear breathing and snoring, and beyond it nothing else. It was unsettling. Very unsettling.

The coughing had stopped now, too, and she could see Bróin's chest rise and fall in the glowing of the fire, and his arm was warm. Sam was asleep nearby, his face pinched in concentration even as he slept. She sighed, hugging Bróin's arm closer.

One of the figures on the floor shifted, and Nelly watched silently. It was the elf, Red, and as she watched, he held his hand before his brother's nose. His shoulders melted against the ground in what looked like relief, and Nelly realised with a pang that he was checking that Rín still breathed. Apparently satisfied, the elf wiggled his toes, and then froze, still as stone. Nelly waited.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Red drew his legs up towards his chest, and he glanced over his shoulder, losing all colour in his face when he saw Nelly looking.

"It's alright," she said softly. "You're alright."

"Forgive me," he whispered. "I – I will go back to sleep, Miss Took, I swear it-"

"You don't need to apologise," she said wearily. "I promise. If you can't sleep, or would rather not, that's fine. If you want to go back to sleep, that's fine, too. You can sit up, if you'd like. It's up to you. It's your choice. You aren't a prisoner here, Red."

He stared at her, confusion wrought into his face, and after a long moment, he asked, "What would you like me to do, Miss Took?"

"Whichever you prefer," she said, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. "Go back to sleep, or sit up. Whichever you prefer."

For another long moment, he stared intently at her, and then slowly drew himself upright, clutching his knees to his chest like a child. His eyes remained wide and unblinking, fixed on her like a puppy waiting to see if it would be rewarded or kicked. As he moved, however, his knee moved away from Rín's, and in a heartbeat the other elf's eyes flew open, his hand flying out to grab Red's wrist.

Wordlessly, Red squeezed his brother's fingers, and shook his head slightly. "Rest."

Rín said nothing, sitting up shifting himself close enough to his brother that their knees touched once again. His eyes flickered up to Nelly, and then at once he ducked his head.

"Evening," she murmured, smiling gently. "How are you?"

Red looked up at her, his brows twitching down as though he did not understand what she was asking. He glanced at Rín, who kept his eyes on the ground, pursing his lips tightly shut.

The smile fell from Nelly's face, plummeting like a rock down through her stomach, and she bit back a sigh. She wanted to cry out that that was not what she wanted, she wanted to scream to the mountains that they were just trying to help, but she knew that would only make things worse. "It's hard to rest out here," she murmured instead. "It's so dark, and cold… and it just feels cruel."

Neither brother answered her. Rín's head was bowed, his face half masked in shadow, but the light of the fire warmed Red's features, and made it look almost like there might once have been a sparkle in his eye.

To her surprise, after a few minutes of heavy silence, Red began to fidget like a child with a thousand questions burning on his tongue. In contrast, Rín's body language grew stiffer, and when Red finally opened his mouth, Rín closed his eyes and bowed his head even lower.

"I… forgive me, Miss Took, but I – was it real?" Red asked breathlessly.

"Was what real?"

"The story, that Mister Frodo told," said Red, a little colour returning to his cheeks as he seemed to accept that she was not about to bite. "About Bilbo Baggins, and the dwarves of Erebor?"

She smiled. "It is. I know it sounds far-fetched, but then so does the tale of Beren and Lúthien, and all take that for the truth."

Out of the corner of her eye, Nelly saw Rín's fingers dig down into the dirt below him, and Red blinked a couple of times, but then the friendlier elf gave a tiny smile of his own. "And you – you are a hobbit akin to Bilbo Baggins?"

"I am. His mother's nephew is my Grandpa Adalgrim, and Frodo here is Bilbo's cousin and heir. His son, too, by dwarvish law."

As if on cue, Frodo walked back into the cave, a weary smile on his face. "Evening," he said, nodding to the two elves. "I hope we didn't wake you?"

Red shook his head slightly, his eyes going wider than ever "No, you did not wake us, sir."

"Good. It's all clear outside – no sign of anyone." He sank to the ground besides Nelly, though his eyes remained on the entrance to the cave.

Nelly nodded, glancing back at the twins. "Had you ever heard of a hobbit, before you met us?" The elves hesitated, and she smiled. "It's not a trick question – no one east of Bree had heard of us before Bilbo and Kíli put the Shire on the map."

Red shook his head, his eyes wide with cautious curiosity. "In the Before, there were stories of little people, beings smaller than dwarves who would dance in the moonlight and disappear in the blink of an eye, but I do not remember their name. The word 'hobbit' – it is strange to us." Rín looked up sharply, and Red's cheeks blazed the colour of his name. "I – I mean no offence-"

"And I take none," she assured him quickly. "None at all. I promise. I'm surprised you even had stories… Where did you live, before… Well… Before?"

"A forest," said Rín, and Nelly almost jumped. It was the first time she had heard him speak. Red glanced at him uneasily. "We do not remember its name."

"It was beautiful," Red murmured. "I remember that it was beautiful."

Rín looked away again, but then he spoke softly, so softly that Nelly almost missed his words. "Careful, brother. A silver tongue is not a tell of a golden heart."

Nelly blinked and Frodo frowned, and at once Rín went pale and flinched, bowing his head low.

"He, he means no offence, my lady, please-" Red began, but Nelly shook her head, and he fell silent.

"I don't take offence," she repeated quietly. "I can't imagine what you… to trust anyone other than yourselves after… I understand."

Red gave a weak smile, but Rín kept his head bowed low, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

"And… you weren't just talking about me, were you?" she murmured, and Rín's eyes flashed up for a moment, before looking down again.

"Some of those here believe that those who speak the elven tongue without flinching know no evil," he said softly. "It is forbidden in Mordor, to speak Quenya or Sindarin, and so they believe elves can do no evil. We know this is not true. We know that evil can wear a fair face. That men and elves and hobbits can be evil, even with the words of the Eldar on their lips."

Nelly felt like a great boulder of ice had taken residence in her stomach. She swallowed, but she had no idea what to say. To her surprise, however, she was not the one to break the silence.

"It is not the same," Red said quietly. "These people did not flinch at the name of Elbereth – they sang it."

Rín said nothing, and his fingers dug deeper into the dirt at his sides. Nelly swallowed, and looked at Frodo. He looked just as lost as she felt, his eyes fixed on the two elves.

"How long have you been here?" he murmured.

"A long time," said Red softly. "We do not know how long in years, or in decades, or centuries. We were children, when we were Claimed, and now we are grown… and we stopped growing many lifetimes ago. They bring in boys, sons of men, and the boys grow, and grey, and die. The men say that their sons fade faster in the mines, but we would not know. We have seen the greyings of many, many men. That is the only way to track the time."

"How did you survive?" Nelly whispered, the words leaving her lips before she knew that they were forming, and then she flinched. A lump rose in her throat, and she tried to shake her head, to apologise, but she could not speak.

Red studied her face for a moment. "I wished to fade," he said after a moment. His twin did not move. "Many times. Many, many times. To fade, or to drive a pick through my throat and die quickly… but then Rín would be alone. He is all I have, and I am all he has, and Rín does not want to fade. I cannot leave Rín alone."

Rín did not look up, but his hand closed around Red's, painfully tight.

"If we fade, they win," he said quietly. "They slaughtered our parents before our eyes. We tried to run to our sister, but by the time we reached her room the door was off its hinges and splattered with blood – and then they took us to the woods to die. But we did not die. As long as we do not die, we spite them. As long as we do not die, they have failed, and lost, and when we break at last and death takes us, we can tell our mother that we did what she said – that we fought for every moment. That is why I will not fade."

With a shuddering attempt at a deep breath, Nelly raised her aching arm and rubbed the tears out of her eyes. For a moment, the lump in her throat and pain in her chest were too intense to let her speak, and she found herself clinging to Bróin's arm like a child would cling to their blanket. She sniffed, and swallowed, and struggled to find her voice. "I – I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't… shouldn't've asked, that… that was personal, and I'm sorry…"

Neither twin replied, but Red gave a weak shadow of a smile, and silence fell back over them. After a long minute, Frodo spoke, and Nelly could hear pain tight in his voice.

"There's just one thing," he said, his voice trembling. "You said that you were 'claimed' – you were never claimed. You were taken. You can't claim something that doesn't belong to you, and you are owned by no one – no one. Orcs ripped you out of your home, and they dragged you miles away and enslaved you for years, but they did not claim you. They never claimed you."

Rín's face twisted into a bitter smile, and a chill ran down Nelly's spine. The pain in the elf's eyes was so intense that it stung her.

"The orcs did not take us from our home. It was elves that did that."

The breath flew out of Nelly's lungs in shock, and beside her Frodo stiffened.

"What?"

"It was a elves who invaded our home. Elves who slaughtered our parents, our people – elves, who spoke in our own tongue and shared our blood – elves who hauled us into the forest with hoods over our faces, and left us alone to starve there. The orcs only found us – and then they Claimed us. That was the end of Before."

"And why you cannot trust us," Frodo breathed, and Rín glanced, up, giving a short, sharp nod. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"

"Why?" asked Red, looking up with a flash of panic, and Nelly bit back a sob.

"He means we're sorry that you had to go through that," she explained.

"I have one last question," Frodo asked slowly, and Nelly frowned at him, squeezing his hand.

"They've answered more than enough," she murmured, but Frodo shook his head.

"Your names… are they shortened?"

The twins stiffened, and Nelly's frown deepened. Frodo's eyes were sparkling with tears and compassion, and he gave a slow nod.

"Are you Eluréd and Elurín?"

The names were unfamiliar to Nelly, but as they left Frodo's lips the twins grew paler than death, and Rín rolled up onto his haunches, moving himself in front of his brother. He looked like a wild animal spoiling for a fight, but fear shone in his eyes bright as moonlight

"No," he growled. "No, no, we are not-"

"If you are them, your sister is alive," said Frodo softly, and Rín's words died in his throat. His eyes widened, and for a moment he looked like a child, confused and afraid, but then he gritted his teeth and straightened his shoulders.

"We are not them," he snarled, and his voice shook.

Nelly grabbed Frodo's shoulder. "Whatever you're doing, stop it," she insisted, her heart pounding hard against her brusied ribs. "You're scaring them."

A tear ran down Frodo's cheek. "I don't mean to scare you," he said softly. "I'm sorry. I just – your story reminded me of theirs. Of the sons of Dior."

The name 'Dior' sounded familiar, but Nelly could not place it. Her eyes were still on the twins, but Frodo must have glimpsed her confusion.

"Dior was the son of Beren and Lúthien," he said, and then he looked down at his hands. "He had twin sons, Eluréd and Elurín, and he had a daughter, and when his parents died, he inherited the Silmaril that they had won form Morgoth. One day, the sons of Fëanor came to claim the Silmaril, but Dior did not want to sacrifice the very thing that had cost his family so much blood, and he refused. Fëanor's sons attacked the city. It was the second of the elven kinslayings. Dior and his wife were killed, and his sons were taken into the woods to starve…" Frodo trailed off for a moment, but he did not need to speak aloud for Nelly to fill in the blanks as she gazed at the silent twins.

Like you.

"But though three of the sons of Fëanor were killed in the attempt, they didn't find the Silmaril. A small group of elves fled Doriath, and with them was Dior's daughter. I think she was three or four years old, at the time, but when she grew older, the Silmaril was given to her keeping. She grew up, and married Eärendil, a mariner who – like her – was half-elven, and together they had two sons. Twins."

Red's eyes were round as the full moon, and his knuckles were white about his brother's wrist. Beneath the grip of his fingers, Rín's skin was turning red, but neither elf seemed to notice. Rín's jaw was clenched, but though his head was bowed, his eyes were turned up, watching Frodo with a burning intensity.

"Their names were Elrond, and Elros," said Frodo, and Red let out a sob. Rín seized his arm, but Red shook his head, leaning forward.

"Elwing survived?" he begged. "She, she bore children?"

"Red," whispered Rín, his voice cracking in fear, but his brother's eyes were fixed on Frodo. Her heart flying ever faster in her chest, Nelly realised that Frodo had never said Elwing's name aloud.

"Yes, she did," he said softly, his face growing even sadder. "In the Havens of Sirion. But the sons of Fëanor… they were consumed by desire for the Silmarils, and bound by their oath, and when Elwing's sons were around seven years old, they attacked the Havens. It was… it was a bitter attack, by all accounts, and there were few survivors – but when Maedhros and Maglor, the only surviving sons of Fëanor, came across Elwing's sons, they bitterly regretted the fate of Eluréd and Elurín. They took Elrond and Elros alive, and unharmed, but they took them all the same. With her sons captured, and no where else to go, Elwing took the Silmaril and threw herself into the sea. According to the tale, she was saved by Ulmo, and brought to Eärendil, who had been away sailing when the attack came."

"But she came back for them?" asked Red, ignoring his brother tugging on his sleeves. "She came back to find her children?"

Frodo swallowed, and shook his head, and Red began trembling, a grief as deep as Moria in his eyes.

"How?" he whispered, the hint of a keen in his voice. "How could she – how could she know what had happened to us, and still… how could she not look for them?"

"I don't know," Frodo replied tearfully. "I – I think that she was afraid that if she returned, Fëanor's sons would try and use the twins for leverage… Or maybe she thought they were dead. I don't know. I don't know if she even thought she would survive the fall. But her sons were luckier than her brothers. Though initially they were his captives, Maglor adopted them – it's said that he loved them like they were his own. Later, they would be given the choice of Lúthien – whether to live as elves, or as mortal men. Elros chose to live as a man, and it is his line of descendants that became the kings of Númenor, and the Dunedain. And Elrond…"

Frodo paused, a small smile passing his lips.

"Elrond chose to live among the elves," he continued, "and he is known as one of the greatest lore masters and healers of all the world. He is lord of Rivendell, the Last Homely House East of the Sea, and he has three children – a daughter, Arwen, and twin sons. Elladan and Elrohir. I suppose twins must run in the family. But he is a dear friend of Bilbo's, Lord Elrond, and Elladan and Elrohir are merry and kind and brave… Arwen I know less well – I've only met her once or twice, but she is beautiful, and kind, and very clever. The elves say that she is the image of Lúthien. They are folk that we know, and that we love, and… and I understand why, if Eluréd and Elurín did survive, they would not want any orcs around them to know that they were the grandchildren of those who stole from Sauron. Or any elves, for that matter. But I hope- I hope that if they had survived, they would know that they still had friends, and that, even after all this time, there was still a way home, to their kin."

"And the sons of Fëanor are long gone," Nelly added in a hoarse whisper, her voice barely escaping past the lump in her throat. This was a part of the story she did know – the dwarves had taught her all about the evils of Fëanor and his kin, and Bilbo had added in a few tempered points such as the fostering of Elrond and Elros. "They… they lost their following at the Havens of Sirion. Eventually, they found the other Silmarils, but they were so consumed by the guilt of what they had done… Maedhros is dead, and took his Silmaril with him. Maglor threw the jewel that he had taken to the sea, and then he disappeared. No one has seen him for thousands of years."

"Elwing," Red whispered, and Rín whimpered, covering his face in his hands and rocking in on himself. "Where is she now?"

Nelly glanced at Frodo, who was wiping his cheeks – a rather pointless exercise, given that fresh tears were still spilling from his eyes. "I don't know," he admitted. "The story says that she lives on an island, I think, near Valinor. And that she can speak to birds. But I don't think she's set foot on Middle-Earth since Sirion."

Red hung his head, pressing his forehead against his brothers. Rín was shuddering, and his breathing was beginning to hitch in his throat, and Nelly bit back a sob. Tears began to drip down onto her hands from her chin, and she took a shuddering breath of her own.

"Rín," Red whispered, shaking his brother's shoulder, and Rín drew in a rasping gasp, his head flying upright. His eyes were bulging and wild, fearful and mournful and angry, and he clutched Red's wrist.

"It – it – it's a lie!" he rasped, gulping for air like a man drowning. "We – we – too much spirit, it, it must be broken-"

Frodo's interruption was raw, and desperate. "No. I promise, I promise, I did not make any of that up, not one word of it! I promise."

"Frodo's really not that good of a liar," Nelly said, but she could feel her body trembling, feel control slipping to the very edge of her fingertips.

"If… if this is a trick," Rín hissed, fear white hot in his eyes as he held his arms out before Red, "If you want to crush us, if – if you take Red from me, I'll make sure that even my corpse is of no use for you I swear it, I swear it!"

Nelly could not help the sob that broke from her, nor the keening whine that tore from her lips. "For the last time, we're not trying to use you! We're don't want to hurt you! We're just, we're just trying to get out of here, I just want to get everyone out of here!"

As her voice rose in pitch and volume, the others in the cave jolted awake with varying levels of alarm. Beside her, Bróin dragged himself into a seated position, ignoring the way the blood drained out of his face as he did so and grabbing her shoulder, but and no matter how desperately he asked what was wrong or how gently Frodo murmured for her to breathe, something inside her had cracked the brokenness had to escape somehow.

"We're – we're trying," she sobbed, and as she sobbed her bruised ribs screamed and the slash on her chest ached and her heart burnt. Sam were propping themselves up on elbows and - in Sam's case – reaching for their weapons, and she had frightened them and it was her fault - "It – it was supposed – supposed to be over, we, we did it and we destroyed the ring, but we're still fighting to just keep breathing, and, and I just – I can't – I want to go home, we were supposed to be home, when it was over we were supposed to be home-"

"Nelly, Nelly, shh!" Bróin's arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, but it could not stop her. Not now.

"We – we're trying so hard, so hard but we, we can hardly keep ourselves together and it hurts so much, it hurts so much and we just, we just want everyone to get out alive and, and you're – you're so sure we're awful and I know why, I know, but I – I can't do it anymore. I can't do it anymore, it's – it's too much, I, I can't, I can't, I can't!"

She gasped for breath and at once Bróin poured quiet murmurs into the silence.

"Nelly, shh, I'm here, I'm here. I've got you, I'm here," he murmured, running his hand over her hair. Everyone in the cave was staring at her with fear in their eyes, and Red and Rín looked utterly petrified, and it was all her fault. Another small wail tore from her lips. "Shh, I'm here. It's alright."

"It's not!" she choked, gripping his arm so tightly that her scraped palms screeched at her to stop.

"No, it's not," he said softly, and she could hear tears in his voice. "But I'm here. Sam's here, too, and Frodo and Toothy. We're all here." But then he broke off, and coughed that wretched cough, and Nelly shook her head, gasping down breath after desperate breath – breaths that left her as cries she could no longer control.

"What happened – what's going on?" Sam demanded, his red eyes scanning the room fiercely. "Did someone-"

"No, no-one's done anything wrong," Frodo said quickly, though his voice was choked. "It's – Nelly – Nelly's got the longest rope of all of us, but she's reached the end of it. It's my fault, it's – it's my fault. I'm sorry."

Bróin pulled her even closer, tucking her head under his chin, so that even as she cried, she could feel his heartbeat against her chin. Here. He was here. Breathing.

"I can't do it, Bróin," she choked, her fingers curling around his sleeve. "I, I can't do it, I, I want to go home. I just want to be home. It hurts so much and I can't do it, I can't. Not anymore, I can't, I can't do it, I can't be… I can't be strong and calm and brave anymore, Bróin, I'm – I'm scared!"

"Me too," he said, swallowing hard. "But I won't let anything happen to you, Nell, I promise."

"Everyone just, just go back to sleep," said Frodo, surveying the group with weary eyes. "You too, Nelly. There's a few hours yet until morning, and we all need the rest. There's nothing to fear, now."

With the instant obedience of those following orders, the strangers lay down, though most of them looked incredibly uneasy. But Red lingered for a moment, leaning out from behind his brother and meeting Nelly's eyes.

"The guess was right," he whispered, and then he laid down on the floor of the cave, gently pulling Rín down with him.

"What was that about?" Sam mumbled, but Frodo shook his head.

"Just go back to sleep. All of you. I've got this watch."

Nelly gave a soft whine of protest, but Bróin cradled her carefully as he sank down to the ground, cuddling her to him and cushioning her head on his arm.

"We still think you're brave," he whispered in her ear, so quietly she knew that she was the only one to hear it. "We still know you're amazing. You're allowed to cry. You're still a warrior of Erebor." She whimpered, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her hair. Whispered quieter. "I love you, Nelly. I've got you."

Slowly, his murmurs managed to calm her enough that the sobbing stopped, living uncontrollable shivering in its wake. Bróin kept whispering, and he pressed kiss after kiss into Nelly's curls until she even the shivering ceased, and then he whispered the words of dwarven lullabies beneath his breath, until at last sleep took pity on her exhaustion, and dragged her down into murky dreams.

It was when morning came, in the moments between sleeping and waking, that she felt another come close, and a different voice whisper in her ear.

"My… my name is Elurín."

I hope that you enjoyed that chapter! We had some Silmarrilion-stolen backstory in here for old Red and Rin, so I hope those of you who don't know the Silmarrilion enjoyed it, and that it wasn't too confusing? My goal is to draw from all of Tolkien's works, but make the story accessible for everyone, including those who just watch the movies, so I hope I succeeded?

Honestly I don't know how long it will take me to update again, but I'll do my best for you. As ever, please do let me know what you thought - I adore hearing from you! Until next time, take care!