The Stranger in Middle Earth

I do not own the rights to Lord of the Rings

AN: I've decided to re write this chapter as I myself was not satisfied with the last one and I think that this will be a slight improvement.

Also, my heart goes out to those murdered in the cowardly terrorist attacks which occurred in Paris. My next statement is from my heart, and I know the hearts of every person across the world who believes in the values of freedom, long live democracy and no act of terrorism will ever destroy it! Long live France! The people of Britain are with you.

Chapter Twenty

Erebor

It was a long way from Minas Tirith to Erebor. To be exact, close to nine hundred miles. It would take around a month of hard riding to reach Erebor but it would be worth the long journey. While we were away Robert had agreed to act as leader of the Council until my uncle returned. We left Minas Tirith a week after the coronation with the Dwarves to begin our long journey north.

I won't bother describing each day of the journey in depth. Instead I will briefly describe to you the route we took. We crossed the River Anduin at Osgiliath and then rode North West, staying close to the Anduin. We kept riding that way for a long time until we'd passed the Falls of Rauros. After that we turned North East, hugging the edge of a mountainous region called Emyn Muil. After that it was a long trek across the Brown Lands. It was an empty desolate land with next to no trees or plant life. It was made that way thousands of years ago by Sauron before he was defeated by the Last Alliance of Men and Elves. We travelled across that land until we reached the southernmost border of Mirkwood. After that we journeyed along the edge of the forest going north again and then we went up the river Celdiun. After a long journey we reached the Long Lake. The name fit it perfectly. The lake was about twenty miles long and five miles wide. At the north tip of the lake was Esgaroth, a city built on the lake itself and beyond that, standing tall into the sky, was Erebor. It was the tallest mountain I had ever seen and stood alone, dwarfing everything around it.

When I and my family saw it our jaws dropped. It was amazing.

'No wonder Smaug wanted it,' Rickard remarked. On our way to Erebor, Gloin had told us of the Quest for Erebor.

'No wonder my father chose to stay there,' my uncle said distantly.

'He would have gone back to England if he could,' Gloin told my uncle. 'Let's keep moving. If we ride through the night we'll be in Erebor by dawn.'

'Is it wise to ride at night?' Markus asked the old Dwarf. 'The terrain doesn't look easy.'

'It will be fine,' Gloin assured us. 'We have good roads leading up to the mountain.'

'Then let's get on with it,' said my uncle.

With that we started riding again. As you have guessed, it was late in the day, the sun was hanging low in the sky and I was tired after a month of riding. Yet we still rode on. We rode past the Lake and up into the hills. Through the night we went up the mountain road, passing a few men and dwarves as they went about their business. They nodded to Gloin when they saw him but didn't pay much attention to the rest of us. The cold night air bit at us so I kept my cloak wrapped tight around me with its hood up. Gloin didn't lie about the roads, they were well built and maintained but we still wanted to be careful, there were occasional steep drops and the only light we had was from the torches a few of us carried. These factors made our progress through the night slower than we would have liked it. By the time the first hint of sunlight appeared over the horizon we were on a rocky outcrop which overlooked Dale, a city of men which sat just a stone's throw from Erebor.

The Easterlings had invaded the North and sacked the city of Dale. Sadly, during the battle Dain II Ironfoot, King of Erebor and Brand, the King of Dale, were both killed. Now their sons ruled in their fathers places. Dale was already being rebuilt with the aid of the dwarves. Our eyes rested on Dale for a while until our gaze moved towards the Gates of Erebor. At the very foot of the mountain, between Erebor and Dale, was a wide plain covered in grass and a few trees. In the wall of the mountain I saw a set of gates made from the very stone of the mountain itself. Above the gates were battlements with Dwarf soldiers standing guard. On each side of the Gates stood a twenty feet tall stone statue of a Dwarf carrying an axe. The Gates of Erebor and the statues next to it were pockmarked from a long and heavy attack of catapults and ballista's.

'Erebor,' Gloin proclaimed. 'Welcome home my son,' he said to Gimli.

'Those damned Easterlings,' Gimli then growled something in Dwarvish.

'Come on,' said Gloin. 'I can't wait to see Bartholomew's face when he learns you're here.'

My uncle didn't say a word back. Instead he just let the smallest of smiles form on his face. He quickly moved his remaining hand up to his eyes to wipe away a tiny tear before anyone could see it properly. We moved down the road towards Erebor. We rode straight across the grassy plain towards the Gates where we were ordered to stop by the dwarf warriors on the battlements. After Gloin shared a few words in Dwarvish with the soldiers they let us enter and I was amazed. Inside was a vast city carved out of the mountain itself. Tall pillars held up the vast cavernous roof and stone bridges crossed the caverns linking the whole city together. Our horses were taken to the stables while we walked with a few guards deeper into the city.

'Where are we going?' I asked Gloin.

'To the throne room,' he answered. 'I told who you are to the guards and we are now going to see Thorin, the King of Erebor.'

'When can I see my father?' my uncle asked quickly.

'Soon,' Gloin assured him. 'I sent messengers to Bartholomew and Thorin. He'll meet us there.'

'Excellent,' my uncle said with what he tried to make sure was a calm face but I could tell he was a mix of excitement and worry.

The throne room wasn't really a room but a cavernous hall. The throne was on the very edge of a walkway in the heart of a cavern. Sitting on the throne was a Dwarf with a large ginger beard and hair which had a tiny amount of grey in it. On his head was a finely made crown. Sitting around him were a few Dwarf nobles and a handful of Dwarf soldiers stood on guard.

'Majesty,' Gloin said with a small bow which all of us copied, 'we have returned.'

'And not alone,' said Thorin as he looked at us with a small smile. 'Is it true that before me stands the son and grandsons of Bartholomew Harris?'

'Yes,' my uncle answered as he walked forwards. 'I am James Harris. These two are my sons, Markus, my eldest, and Rickard my youngest. He is my nephew, John Harris.'

King Thorin looked at each of us and then he asked another question.

'What of John's father. Where is Daniel Harris?'

'He fell in battle many years ago,' Gloin answered for him.

'Damn,' said Thorin. 'I'm sorry for your loss James Harris. And you as well John. Still, I am glad that Bartholomew can be reunited with at least one of his sons and now he can see at last his family.'

'James?'

The voice was shaky and wearied with age. At the same time it was filled with so much joy and hope. It was almost disbelief. Yet it sounded so much like my uncles. Slowly my uncle turned around, keeping his wounded arm beneath his cloak, and faced the man standing haf way across the bridge. He was so old and weathered. He rested heavily on an ornately carved gilded walking stick. His face was covered in wrinkles but most of it was hidden behind a beard and main of wispy white hair. Yet, even through all of it I saw his face was the same as my uncles apart from the different eye colour.

'Can it be?' Bartholomew asked himself as he stepped forward slowly. 'Can it truly be?'

My uncle didn't say a word. He started walking forwards slowly and then at a slow run.

'Father!' he sobbed as he wrapped his arm around his father.

The older man sobbed as well, dropping his walking stick and wrapped his arms around his son for the first time in so long. Everyone nearby was smiling at the scene before them. They stood there for who knows how long until they stepped back from each other. My uncle picked up his father's walking stick and passed it to him. He took it and smiled as he looked at his son again. His eyes then turned to my cousins and I. It looked like he couldn't stop his smiling.

'Sire,' he said to King Thorin, 'may I leave and take my family to my rooms?'

'Of course,' Thorin happily approved.

The five of us left the throne room and walked through the labyrinth of corridors that was Erebor. Eventually we found our way to my grandfather's rooms. He had a large living room which looked more like a library with hundreds of books stacked on top of each other against the walls. His shelves were overflowing with books and stacks of scrolls. Scattered around the room were couches and chairs with a table and in the wall was a roaring fire. Hanging over the fire was a sword and shield while in the corner stood a suit of armour.

My grandfather sat down on one of the chairs with a groan he breathed heavily in his chair.

'Sit down,' he told us. 'I've sent for a servant to bring us some food. I'm sorry about the mess in here. You should see my study.'

When we all sat down, each of us in a different chair, my grandfather reached to the table next to his chair and picked up a pipe and started smoking.

'Daniel,' my grandfather said to me. 'You are his image. I overheard that he fell in battle. Is it true?'

'Yes,' my uncle answered for me as he took off his cloak.

'Your arm!' my grandfather shouted. 'What happened to it?'

'A Troll. I fought a Troll and it took my arm.'

'I never liked Trolls. Worse than my in laws. What happened to her?'

'Who?'

'Myrtle. What happened to your mother? Did she marry again?'

'No,' my uncle answered. 'She didn't marry again. She died thirty years ago.'

'She was a good woman,' my grandfather said with a distant look in his eyes. 'Did she make sure the arrangements I made were done right?'

'Yes she did,' my uncle assured him. 'The marriages you arranged for us went ahead.'

'Good. I see they were successful,' the old man said as he gestured at my cousins and me before looking at his son again. 'How did you come here? I spent years trying to find a way home and I never could find a way.'

'We came through the same way you did.'

'You didn't have to fight a dragon did you?' he asked with some alarm.

'No. Just Orc's and Trolls,' Rickard answered with a laugh.

My grandfather chuckled and then started coughing.

'Father?' my uncle asked in alarm as he stood up.

'Sit down James. It's just my age boy. I'm surprised I'm still alive now after all these years. It's something in the water I think.'

He started his hacking cough again and picked up a goblet from his table and drank deeply from it.

'Medicine,' he explained. 'It's an interesting tale of my life since I came here. I practically ransacked what was left of Erebor's Hall of Records looking for anything that could tell me about this world.'

From there he told us of what happened since he arrived in Middle Earth. He talked for hours as if it was a tale he knew off by heart. The four of us listened intently as he talked, a Dwarf woman, who had a beard, walked in with some food for us, and then left. When he reached the point of when they were captured in Mirkwood by Legolas we were all surprised. Not long after that he told us what he said to King Thranduil and Rickard started barking with laughter.

'I wish I could have seen his face,' I laughed.

'He resembled a fish actually,' my grandfather told me and started coughing again. 'That one moment was as funny as last Christmas.'

'You celebrate Christmas here?' I asked him.

'It's just a party with me and my friends,' he explained and then continued his story. 'It's just them humouring me really. Now, back to the story. After that I was being escorted back to the dungeons when the oddest thing happened.'

A week after we arrived in Erebor a feast was held in one of the many halls. It was to celebrate Gloin and Gimlis return, as well as the end of the war and the destruction of the Ring. The food was arranged on a long table that went most of the length of the hall. There were mountains of freshly baked bread, piles of cooked chickens, pheasants and sausages were stacked on silver plates next to steaming chunks of pork, barrels of ale were standing ready against the walls, bowls of vegetables, including a few I didn't recognize, were sitting for us. All along the table were Nobles from Dale, Esgaroth and Erebor, waiting for King Thorin to enter and for the feast to begin. I was sitting to the left of my cousins. To their right sat my uncle and then my grandfather. What surprised me most was how close to the centre of the table we were sitting. We were nowhere near the edge but we were close to some of the most important people in Erebor and Dale. My grandfather and uncle were talking to each other, my uncle explaining what happened after he left. As you can imagine, he was happy to learn we won at Agincourt but was disappointed that England fell into civil war. The chatter in the room ended suddenly as the main doors opened and the King walked in. Every one stood up, apart from one Dwarf who was, well, too large to stand up. Bombur he was called. When the king reached his seat he made his speech.

'Tonight we remember all those who died defending Erebor and Dale. We were in the right to fight for our people and homes. I hope war will not fall on us again for a long time but when anyone threatens our freedom we will fight again to the very end! Now eat and enjoy yourselves. Durin knows we deserve it!'

This speech received cheers from around the room as the feast began. Music played and the hum of talk filled the room, mixing with the delicious smell of food. I helped myself to some of the meat, including chicken, pheasant and sausages, taken from the plates closest to me, with some bread and a mug of beer.

'Your feasts impress me Gimli,' I told the Dwarf, a little along the table.

'I knew they would,' he said as he stifled a chuckle.

'They impress me,' Rickard declared before he gulped down his beer.

I took a large bite out of my piece of pheasant and almost spat it out. That said, the disgust was evident on my face. The pheasant was so salty.

Gimli and Gloin started bawling out laughter as I realised what they'd done and I started laughing. Rickard ate some of his own pheasant and his face scrunched up. He turned his head to the two laughing Dwarfs and then at me.

'You told him about the salty pheasant didn't you?'

I nodded my head in response.

'Oh John.'

The rest of the night went by brilliantly. Fortunately they'd only put the salt on the pheasant close to us so the rest were fine. I enjoyed myself and remembered to not drink too much after what happened the last time I was drunk at a party.

I talked to some of the local nobles, confirming I was Bartholomew's grandson, and telling them about what had happened in Rohan and Gondor, although I left out the details about my sword. Markus was in a discussion with some of the Dwarf librarians while Rickard tried to sample every type of ale in the Hall.

My grandfather talked with many of the nobles warmly who introduced my uncle to, including the King of Dale, friends of his I guessed. I heard him discussing his will with one of them. He wasn't well at all. Every few minutes he started coughing and then drank his medicine. Later we learned from Gloin that my grandfather's position in Erebor, as Chief of the Royal Armoury, had taken a lot out of him. Added to that was the strain from the siege and his health had taken a turn for the worse.

Three months after we arrived in Erebor, late one night, I was woken up by a servant. I was staying in a small guest room near my grandfather's rooms. I was told I had to go to my uncles rooms. I didn't know what the problem was but I hurried anyway. When I got there I found my uncle and cousins were already there with a small group of older Dwarves. I recognised some of them, Gloin, Gimli, Bofur and a few others. They were all crowded around my uncles bed where the old man himself was laying down. He looked pale and weak. A servant helped him drink his medicine.

'Father,' my uncle said as he gripped onto his father's hand. 'Stay awake. Please.'

'James,' he whispered. 'James. I'm tired. So tired. I had a strange dream. There was a dragon in it. Where's your brother?'

'Asleep,' my uncle told him after a few seconds of silence. 'He was very tired.'

'Me and him both James. Me and him both. I think I need a long sleep.'

'No father,' my uncle told him. 'I've only just found you again.'

'Really? Where was I? '

He chucked a little but they quickly turned into coughs again. No one said a word for the next hour as my grandfather fell asleep. When his eyes closed and his chest stopped rising and falling my uncle let go of his father's hand. He slowly pushed his face into the sheets and cried, sobs coming uncontrolled from him. I let silent tears fall down my face while Rickard hugged his father. Markus stepped away from the bed and looked away as a few tears leaked from his eyes. My uncle's Dwarf friends sadly shook their heads as they left to give us some privacy.

'Father,' my uncle sobbed. 'Please no.'

AN: I hope you liked this version better than the last version. As ever, have a nice day and I'll see you next week.