PART TWO: ANAMNESIS

Chapter III: The Songs of the Dwarrows

A painfully long silence filled the room, only the crackling of the fireplace and the soft winds outside could be heard. I tugged at the hem of my tunic and then glanced over at Balin. His gaze, intense and demanding, was fixed on Thorin.

I could only imagine what thoughts must be running through Thorin's head. He had refused to go to war with his father when it began two years ago. I suspected that decision had something to do with my arrival in Bree, but I knew better than to ask about it in front of Balin.

Thorin had never been comfortable as heir to the Lonely Mountain. While, as recent events had shown, I didn't know everything about Thorin, I knew that at least (yes, I was still angry about being lied to). Even if he didn't want to be the next King Under the Mountain, Thorin missed his home, longed for it even. There had been several evenings over the past two years where, after having a couple ales, Thorin recounted to me his memories of the Lonely Mountain, of the carved stone pillars laced with gold, of the ever-burning furnaces in the forges, of the dwarven celebrations that would last for hours, of his mother's elegant singing voice, of his father's sword-fighting lessons, of racing his siblings through the halls.

He wanted all of that back, but at the same time, he didn't trust himself. He'd never spoken those words aloud, but I remembered his reactions when I told him of his future-self clinging to the Arkenstone; he'd been horrified, a shadow passed through his eyes. He didn't want to be a leader like that; he didn't want to betray his people and be consumed by gold. My guess was that, to him, joining his father's war would mean accepting his role, accepting that one day he would be the King Under the Mountains and the future I had told him about would come true.

The silence had stretched on long enough and clearly the other two weren't going to break it, so finally, I said, to no one in particular, "I don't like war."

Balin turned to me with that no-one-asked-your-opinion look in his eyes. Then, he turned to Thorin and said, "Where did you find this woman?"

"I did not find her," said Thorin with a wry glance in my direction. "She found me."

I smiled at him. "Your majesty called to me. It was like a beacon in the night."

Thorin shot me a warning glare that now was not the time or place to discuss his majesty. He was probably right, but a part of me wanted to say that there was never a wrong time or place to discuss majesty.

"What do you know about war, Anren?" The scorn in Balin's voice was unmistakable. "What does a scrawny human know about the war of dwarrows and orcs?"

"What do I know?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light. "Oh, it's not like I haven't fought orcs before. It's not like I wasn't at the siege of Helm's Deep or the Battle of Pelennor—"

Thorin kicked me.

"Ow." I rubbed my shin. "Was that really necessary?"

The look he gave me was scathing. Once again, Thorin was right. I had been so worried about Balin recognizing me in the future that I'd worn this ridiculous scarf, but now here, I was being careless. Talking about the War of the Ring was probably not a good way to hide that I was actually Ana, not Anren.

Balin glanced between us, but in the end, he said, "Your father camps in the Coldfells as the troops regroup. He will rest there for the next fortnight. He requests your presence, Thorin."

Thorin showed no sign of agreeing with Balin. Instead, he said, "The halls of Moria have been occupied by goblins, orcs, and something much darker for almost a thousand years. I have no interest in reclaiming those lost lands."

"That is not your father's intent," said Balin.

Thorin raised his eyebrows.

"He does not call the houses of dwarrows together for that purpose," Balin corrected himself. "He wishes to avenge your grandfather, but if the opportunity arises, King Thráin would reclaim the lost kingdom." He hesitated. "Moria is no more lost than the Lonely Mountain."

"I would much rather fight to reclaim the Lonely Mountain than Moria," I said. "There are worse things than a fire-breathing dragon."

Balin glanced at me; I could see him getting ready to dismiss my opinion.

But before Balin could speak, Thorin said, "She is right. The shadow that dwells in Moria is beyond our reckoning." He hesitated, his gaze resting on the floor, then he said, "However, the orcs that inhabit the Misty Mountains have long raided the western lands. Perhaps it is time that the goblins and orcs answer for their cruelties and violence."

He looked at me, waiting. At first, I didn't know what he was waiting for. Was I supposed to do something funny? Was I the halftime show? But then, slowly, it dawned on me that Thorin was waiting for my opinion. My opinion mattered to him. A warm, proud feeling formed in my chest. I knew Balin was glowering at me, not at all pleased that I had a say in Thorin's decision, but right then, I didn't care what Balin thought of me. My opinion mattered to Thorin. Of course, two seconds later, my happiness drained out of me and was replaced by a feeling of "Oh shit, I can't screw this up".

"Well, um, the orcs and goblins are bad." I sounded stupid to even my own ears. "So is war. War is very, um, bad. People you know and love die in war. Brutally. So I hate war, but um…" Oh God, I was failing. "But this is going to happen anyway. So maybe it would be better to go… Even if people we know die—brutally. Because maybe we might be able to do something to make the war less bad."

Balin was staring at me as if I'd suddenly transformed into an elf, and Thorin was looking as though he regretted asking me anything.

I tried again. "I hate war, and if the world worked the way I wanted it, there would never be any wars, but I'm not in charge of the world."

Balin might have muttered, "Thank Durin for that," under his breath, but I couldn't be certain.

Thorin, on the other hand, regarded me carefully, and then said, "My father has waged war against the orcs of the Misty Mountains for over two years now, whether I join his cause or remain in Bree will not end this war. However, perhaps, my presence can inspire the dwarrows."

"Yes." I pointed at Thorin and grinned. "Yes, you get it. That's what I wanted to say."

"You do not receive credit if your words are unintelligible," said Thorin.

I scowled. "You knew what I meant. You just stole my idea."

His smug smile appeared for only a moment. Then, the realization of what we agreed upon seemed to touch him, and his smile faded. His blue eyes met mine. I knew what was going through his head even if he didn't say it aloud. We had built a life here in Bree, me and him. Was it the best life? No. In fact, if given the choice, we both would have wanted something much different… Still, our life here in Bree was ours, and it was not an easy thing to give up.

"What say you?" asked Balin, his question dragging me out of my thoughts.

"I will answer my father's call." Thorin's voice was even, betraying no hint of his feelings. "Balin, you should depart ahead to tell my father that I am coming. I must close my affairs in Bree first. In a fortnight, we begin the long road north."

Balin made a sound that lay somewhere between disgust and outrage. "We?"

I gave him a smirk of triumph.

Thorin did not bat an eye, of course. "We will cross Midgewater and Weatherton to the Trollshaw. We should reach the Coldfells in a fortnight." He glanced at me and frowned. "Perhaps a little later than that. Anren can be rather slow."

"Don't blame your poor sense of direction on me," I muttered.

"You are bringing a woman to battle?" Balin was still looking at me in open-mouthed horror.

"She is competent enough," said Thorin. "She can use a crossbow, and she is skilled with a knife she calls the Sword Breaker." He glanced at me and added, almost gently, "She has been in more battles than most."

"B-but she is not even a dwarf," spluttered Balin.

"I'm one-quarter dwarf," I said proudly. "My grandfather was Geirfast the Stone Biter."

Thorin shot me a warning look, and I tried to remember if I'd told future-Balin who my grandfather was. Hopefully, future-Balin forgot this exchange or, for some reason, couldn't put two-and-two together. Maybe he'd think that Anren was some long-lost cousin of Ana's.

"She cannot go to the Coldfells." Balin folded his arms across his chest and set his jaw with stubbornness. "The dwarven-kings will not allow it."

Faint amusement flickered in Thorin's eyes. "I would like to see the dwarven-kings attempt stop her."

I pictured that. It would probably involve my life being threatened with swords, resulting in me running away and Thorin finding it all very entertaining. I fought back a shudder and instead tried to look confident as I said, "I inherited my grandfather's dwarven stubbornness and my mother's nagging skills. Where Thorin goes, I go—there's no disputing that."

"Unfortunately," said Thorin.

"Hey, you shouldn't be mean to your wifey."

"If you call me 'hubby' in the Coldfells," said Thorin grimly, "I will feed you to a troll."

"Exactly," I said. "I have to use this marriage thing while I still can."

While Thorin and I bickered, Balin looked from one to the other. I don't know what he was thinking, but during that time, he must have realized that I was coming with Thorin to the Coldfells whether he approved or not, because with a heavy sigh, Balin asked, "What should I tell your father?"

Thorin glanced at me. "Her name is Anren, a one-quarter dwarf. She appeared in Bree two years ago from a foreign land. I heard her story and took her in out of kindness. She can hold her own in battle, and where I go, she follows." Thorin's face was hidden from me as he spoke to Balin. "That is what you will tell my father."

Balin frowned. "That is not the whole story."

"No," Thorin agreed. "It is not. But that is the story my father will have to accept."

It was probably better I remained silent, since I had the unfortunate ability to annoy Balin. Actually, I had the unfortunate ability to annoy most people, but it seemed even more effective on Balin for some reason. It was strange, because the Balin of the future was a much friendlier dwarf. He'd been one of the few dwarrows open to the idea of Bilbo being a member of Company from the beginning. A lot must have happened during the War of Dwarrows and Orcs.

His shoulders slumped forward, and Balin ran his weathered hand through his beard. "You father will not be pleased."

Thorin said nothing.

"Personally," I said, unable to help myself, "I'm excited to meet King Thráin. I've heard a lot about him."

"It shall be an interesting meeting if nothing else," murmured Thorin.

It seemed that there was nothing else to say on the matter of me going to the Coldfells, and the conversation soon shifted topics. Thorin and Balin spent the remainder of the evening catching up on each other's lives. It had been almost four years since Thorin had departed from the dwarven settlement in Dunland. Balin told Thorin about how the dwarrows would travel to different villages, offering their craftsmanship in return for coin. It was a mean living, and the dwarrows did not enjoy it. Songs were still sung of the days in the Lonely Mountain where the dwarrows' lives were filled with gold and jewels.

Thorin listened to Balin wistfully, the image of the Lonely Mountain dancing in his eyes.

I remained uncharacteristically silent, my anger growing with each passing minute. Now that the question of Thorin joining the war had been settled, my rage and frustration at not being told about came flooding back. I couldn't hear a word the two dwarrows said as knots formed in my chest. Who was Thorin to keep a secret like this from me? I had told him everything I knew about the War of Dwarrows and Orcs. I'd told him how important it was to history and how it was how he earned the name "Oakenshield". And yet, he didn't have the nerve to tell me that the war had already started.

Urg. I was going to punch him or kick him or something. He needed to know how angry I was. Only a couple hours ago, I'd been bragging about how Thorin and I kept no secrets from one another, and yet Thorin had been keeping a secret like this for as long as he'd known me. When I thought about it, punching and kicking him was too kind—I was going to feed him to one of the trolls in the Coldfells. He could reflect on his actions while the trolls were gnawing on his bones.

However, despite my brewing rage, I was able to restrain myself until Balin had retired for the night and I was left alone with Thorin.

After showing Balin to a cot in the armory where he could spend the night, Thorin collapsed into the chair opposite me. The orange firelight flickered across his face. Normally, I'd make a joke about how majestic that lighting made him look, but I wasn't in the mood.

"So," I said, my voice quiet with the knowledge that Balin was just down the hall, "your father's been at war for the past two years, and you were going to tell me when?"

The grimace was already forming on Thorin's face. He wasn't looking at me but at the flames dancing in the fireplace.

"I mean," I continued, "it's not like we've been living together for two years. It's not like we're friends or anything. It's not like my opinion matters to you at all. Except, unless I'm crazy and I'm hearing things, you wanted my opinion on whether we should join your father's war or not. And you obviously expect me to come with you. What would you do if I said no? What would you do if I had called your father's war stupid and said I was staying in Bree?" I glowered at Thorin, daring him to answer.

Then, almost inaudibly, he said, "I knew you would tell me to go."

"What?" My head was ringing.

Thorin lifted his gaze from the fireplace and met mine. "I knew you would tell me to join my father's war. Because you know I take part in it in the future, and keeping the future intact is important to you."

"You're an asshat. You're a majestic asshat but still an asshat."

He didn't disagree with me. "Two days before you arrived in Bree, my brother Frerin visited with news of the war. I did not support this war. It is common knowledge that Khazad-dûm has been lost to the goblins and orcs for an age. I did not wish to sacrifice dwarven lives for a land long lost." He glanced at me before quickly looking back at the fireplace. "Upon hearing my brother's pleas, I decided to put aside my personal feelings on the matter. I had intended to join my father and brother for the attack on Gundabad…but then you appeared."

The pain in my chest grew with each word. I scowled. "So pretty much I was a convenient excuse so you wouldn't have to fight in this war."

I expected Thorin to deny it. Or perhaps I hoped he would deny it, that he would tell me that he took me in because he believed me. But instead, he nodded once. "Yes, you were. You were some woman who appeared in my life and told me that we would be friends in the distant future. Do you think I took you in because I believed your story?"

I said nothing.

"In the days after I took you in," said Thorin, "I regretted my decision."

"Oh, jeez, thanks," I snapped, unable to stop myself. "I feel so loved."

Thorin wisely decided to ignore me. "I thought that I should have answered my father's summons. I am his heir. Even if I do not agree with this war, I should stand by my father's side and fight with my people. One month after you arrived in Bree, I had planned to tell you. I would have even asked you to come…" He stopped.

Even if he didn't say it aloud, I knew what had stopped him. I'd had nightmares since I'd arrived in Bree, but for the first month, I'd done a good job of hiding the nightmares from Thorin. And then that night came. The dream had been of Thorin's death. The dreams were almost always about Thorin's death. For the first time, I'd screamed, and Thorin had opened the door, expecting to see me being murdered or something, but instead, I'd woken from the nightmare, frightened and scared of blood and swords and war.

I stared him now. His face was still turned towards the fire, not looking at me.

"As if I would ask you to join the War of Dwarrows and Orcs after that," said Thorin. "And so, we stayed."

"And you made me learn how to use a crossbow," I muttered.

Thorin nodded. "After a year in Bree, I considered telling you that the war had begun, but you were still having nightmares."

It was true. I have them even now. There are somethings that I will never heal from just as there are somethings you will never heal from. You know that. But, being the people that we are, we just go on, pretending that these wounds don't exist.

I leaned back in my chair and surveyed Thorin. "You should have told me, you majestic asshat."

There was a pause, and for a minute, I thought Thorin wasn't going to answer. Then, he said softly, "I should have. I knew you would want to go. Even as you had these nightmares and cursed war, you would have wanted to go with me to fight in the War of Dwarrows in Orcs." He glanced at me. "I did not want to put you through that."

"Of course I'd want to go with you!" With a wince, I stopped myself and glanced down the hall at the armory. This was not a conversation Balin should be overhearing. In a lower tone, I said, "You know you're supposed to be a part of that war. I told you as much. And I told you how important every little thing is to the course of history. What if you mess something up and the Ring is no longer destroyed? How can you just decide not to join the war?"

"Do you think I wished to know about the war?" hissed Thorin. "Do you think I wished to know how my life would end? That I would reclaim my homeland one day only to—" He stopped speaking. Instead, he glowered at me.

Before that moment, I had never stopped to think about the burden I had placed on Thorin. When I'd first Skipped to Bree two years ago and seen Thorin alive, I'd just been so overwhelmingly happy. I'd told him everything I knew about the future. I'd just wanted him caught up so that our relationship could go back to the way it had been. But at the time, it never occurred to me that this was a different Thorin. It wasn't until weeks later that I'd realized our relationship needed to be built from the ground up once again, and it wasn't until today that I realized how much pain the knowledge of the future must cause him. He knew how he would die, how his nephews would die, how his father would die...

"Do you wish I'd never come here?" I asked. My voice was thick. "That I had stayed on Mount Doom?"

"No." Thorin answered almost immediately, and I actually jumped a little with surprise. He stared at me, his eyes startlingly blue. "I may have thought that in the beginning—I will not lie to you—but I do not think that anymore. These last two years would have been dull without you." He hesitated. "And I should not have neglected to tell you about the war."

We stared at one another, and I was relieved to see the truth of his words. It'd be horrifying to think that the dwarf I'd lived with for the past two years didn't even want me. But he was telling the truth now (better late than never). And he said that he wouldn't lie to me. I took those words to mean a promise for the future, that he wouldn't lie to me anymore. The anger drained out of me. I couldn't stay mad at Thorin for long.

With a sigh, I said, "Don't ever do something so stupid again. Or you'll see how good with a crossbow I've become."

Thorin smirked. "Your aim is not yet good enough to be threatening."

My eyes narrowed. "You're still on shaky ground, mister. I'd be extra nice to me if I were you." I paused, something just occurring to me. I couldn't stop the grin from working its way onto my face even if I tried. "You know…now that I think about it, I know a way you could make up lying to me for two years."

Thorin tensed. His hands rested on the arms of his chair as if he was prepared to flee at any moment.

My grin grew even bigger. "Balin said that the dwarrows were singing their war songs, like drums in the deep…"

Thorin was already half risen from his seat. "Yes?"

"We're going to war," I said, "so why haven't you started singing?"

"I am going to bed," said Thorin. He somehow managed to be halfway across the room in less than a second.

"Sing to me, Thorin!" I cried, twisting around in the chair and stretching out my arms to him. "Sing to me in that beautiful voice of yours!"

With the slam of a door, Thorin had disappeared into his bedroom.

He was sorry, but not that sorry.