Disclaimer: The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings and all characters therein are the property of the Tolkien Estate and Wingnut Films. This story is for entertainment only and the author is in no way profiting from it, nor exercising any claims to The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings.
AN: Hmm… Did I say I would post on Sunday? Sorry about being a bit late this week, everyone.
Chapter 3: A Crown of Stars in Waters Deep
It did not take Thorin long to locate the hive of activity in the healer's wing, nor to find young Kifir, Kili's main aid, who stood with Ori, white faced and still shaking. That he did not see any of his blood kin only heightened the worry.
"How are they?"
"My Lord, we know nothing for certain yet, the healers still work."
It was only because it was Ori that Thorin bit back the response he wanted to snarl out. He knew it had taken time to bring in the wounded and limping remains of the caravan, and now more time as the healers puttered about! Could no one give him answers as to what had happened?
"Thorin! I have only just heard, and with your permission, I will aid your healers."
Thorin felt just a bit of lightness lift him at the sound of that steady voice, turning gratefully to give a solemn nod to Aragorn Elessar, Lord of Gondor and Arnor. The other king must have arrived on the heels of the princes, as Thorin had not heard the welcoming horns, nor had his seneschal at his side, wringing hands about his king being 'unceremonious.'
"Forgive me for not being at the gate to greet you-"
Long ingrained courtesies were not easily set aside, so Thorin mouthed the polite words, though both monarchs knew he lied. With his family injured, he did not care if it were Mahal himself coming to call, his place was here. Aragorn's hand cut through the air, dismissing the unneeded apology.
"Does anyone know what happened?"
Kifir grimaced, giving the king of men a low bow before answering him.
"A snake, I think; I didn't get a good look. About two hours ago, I think. Sapphire is as placid a pony as they come, and she bolted as if wargs were on her tail. Took the wagon with it, right into Prince Kili's pony, before he was able to grab the harness and stop them. Both Princess Vestri and Prince Fíli were thrown to the ground. Little Princess Kala was bounced around in the wagon itself."
Thorin immediately paled. Kili's wife was eight months pregnant, a time in which many dwarrowdams still traveled with little difficulty, but such an accident could easily kill both mother and unborn child. Without another word, Aragorn took his satchel from his wife, Arwen, and disappeared through the nearest door, leaving the others to wait for uncounted minutes in tense silence.
"Thorin!"
The king straightened at the call, grateful to see his oldest nephew's wife, Austri. He simply opened his arms, engulfing the 'dam when she was close enough and held her as her tears soaked the fabric of his clothing. If there was one major difference between the old Thorin and now, besides being more tolerant to elves, it was that he knew now how to at least marginally handle such emotional situations. Perhaps it was all the practice the other Durins had had! Finally, she sniffed, red rimmed eyes finding his.
"Vestri was thrown outright from the wagon, along with Fíli. He did what he could but it was so fast! She hit her head hard on a rock, then rolled onto her stomach. Fíli's forearm is broken clean through where he managed to protect the babe in the initial impact, but no one knows if it will be enough! She will not wake!"
It took a great deal of force to break a dwarf's bones, especially the skull. If Vestri was still unconscious, there might be a fracture…
"And Kala?"
Thorin asked in barely a whisper. Any of the earlier listed injuries would be enough for the tears, but if the little dwarfling was bounced around badly enough... Austri managed a tiny smile.
"Bruised and hysterical. She's barely said a word since it happened, just screams when anyone touches her. Fíli and I wanted the healers here to check her. They're waiting for a tonic to take effect to do anything else, so they're checking Fíli's arm and kicked me out. Kili's with him."
That provoked a faint smile. Where else would Kíli ever be but at Fili's side?
"The boys?"
Austri plopped down on the nearest seat with a little laugh that was very close to another sob.
"Fine. Or as fine as they can be with so much stress and no rest. Fílan was riding with Kíli, so the healers want to check him out just to be sure, and Kílan won't leave his cousin, of course."
"Then breathe, Austri, and rest."
The 'dam's eyes widened in further distress, instead, a hand biting into Thorin's arm. A flaming red haired head dropped wearily to his shoulder.
"I was so scared, Thorin. All I could think of was that the last words I said to him were angry."
"Oh?"
The king was careful to make the single syllable as nonjudgmental as possible, unwilling to step into the middle of a marriage dispute, though it was usually Kíli whose tongue led him to trouble, not Fili.
"He told Kílan he could ride with Kifir, and I thought it would be safer if he stayed in the wagon. That's why I was riding; I wanted to keep an eye on them. As if I didn't know by now that I could trust Kifir with my son's life! If I had been in the wagon where I belonged, perhaps I could have-"
"No!" Thorin was quick to cut off that line of thought, too familiar himself with the effects of such self-condemnation. "It was an accident, nothing more. You could not have known what would occur, and you might have been killed yourself."
Tears were soaking into the shoulder of his tunic, but at least his marriage-niece did not dispute him further. She finally broke the silence with a tearful murmur that carried through the small room.
"I owe Kifir and Fíli both apologies. I've not had the courage to say it to them yet."
The young aid had been pretending not to listen, but he spun around and hit his knees in front of the princess.
"You owe me nothing, Lady Austri! I'm only sorry I could not do more to aid when it happened, but we were too far behind."
Thorin found himself losing the thread of the conversation as the two younger dwarrow vied with one another for who owed whom an apology, truly. Instead, he was drawn back to the memories of that first Durin, and the years he, too, spent separated from family.
First Age, 11
Durin had few pleasant memories of the years that he wandered, endlessly searching; now, seven years after he had begun, he even started to question whether Mahal had spoken to him at all. How many rivulets of water had he followed through these mountains, slowing making his way ever south? Thank Mahal his bones were as strong as the stone from which they were made, or he would have broken them long ago, he had fallen so many times.
Eyes narrowed, he sighted his crude arrow, held ready upon a much battered bow, waiting for the deer to take a single step further forward. Before he could release, however, a roar resounded off the mountains, putting the entire herd to flight. The dwarf spun, and almost lost his arrow at the sight of his new foe. It was a bear, but larger than any he had ever seen, charging down upon him with snarling lips and enraged eyes. With a swipe of its massive paw, the bow in his hands was reduced to kindling and he was sent head over heels into the brush.
With a bellow of his own, Durin leapt to his feet, hands gripping the mighty war ax as he faced down the beast. The two circled one another wearily, then the dwarf managed to land the flat of the blade against the beast's skull, dazing it. Before he could close for a killing blow, however, the thing began to almost blur, seeming to reshape itself. Durin closed his eyes, shaking his head as if that had some chance of clearing his vision, only to gasp when he reopened them. Before him was the naked form of a being very much like to himself, only much, much larger. Long hair ran down his back, and a bristly beard enveloped most of his face, giving the look of the beast to him, but the hands were definitely not claws and the feet would not be mistaken for those of a bear. What sorcery was this? Some new creature of Melkor?
"You would do well to leave before he awakens. He does not care for those who hunt the animals he protects."
Startled, the king stared at the dark haired being who had silently stepped from the woods to watch him curiously. He was tall and so spindly that one heavy blow from Durin's hammer would probably break the creature in half, and when he turned his head, delicately pointed ears were revealed. An elf, then; that did not, however, explain the beast laying in the dirt.
"Who is he?" The dwarf asked.
"To my kindred, he is known as Beligbrog, the Great Bear. We know not what he calls himself, for he does not seek out others, preferring the company of the beasts of the mountains. If you leave those in his domain alone, he will not bother you; but should you disregard this warning, he will make a formidable enemy."
"Hmph. And you are?"
The elf laughed, light and merry.
"I am known as Eöl, you are Durin, and we still should not linger further. Come. There is a stream where we can refresh ourselves nearby, but beyond the boundaries of the bear."
Curious, Durin found himself watching this tall being as they walked, the words of his brothers about the race running over and over in his head.
'Overbearing?' Perhaps, though he would have reacted the same in such a situation. 'Arrogant'? That one had yet to be seen. There was true arrogance and then there was the pardonable pride of someone who is exceptionally good at something and knows it. As they finally slowed to a stop, taking seats on an old log next to the snowmelt stream, he found himself unable to contain his curiosity any further.
"So, you're an elf."
"What an amazing observation! I had not realized! Does that make you a dwarf, then?"
Durin snorted, leveling a glare at the other.
"You also have a pert mouth."
The elf simply laughed, a silvery sound quite unlike the hearty guffaws of the dwarrow.
"So I have been told by your brothers, many times, a thing my kin are too polite to say. Perhaps that is why I enjoy the company of your people more than my own."
"Ahhh…"
The pieces suddenly forged themselves together in Durin's mind. So this was the one called the "dark elf" by his people, the one who loved the song of hammer and iron more than the melodies of flute and harp, isolating himself in the forest of Nan Elmoth in Beleriand. It was said that he was good friends with Firebeard and Broadbeam both, aiding in negotiating the treaties between the elves and the dwarrow.
"And what would you be doing on this side of the mountains?"
Eöl shrugged, breaking off a piece of hard bread to share with the dwarf.
"Exploring. Searching for new metals." Suddenly, he grinned again, a wicked gleam in his eye. "Avoiding my kin, who seem to believe that pestering me will change my ways. Looking for wandering dwarf kings."
Durin grunted as he narrowed his eyes at the other, assessing. From all that his brothers said, this one was different from other elves, more open and honest. It would not hurt to learn what he could of the race, should he settle his people closer to them then they currently were. Hastily swallowing the last of the overly sweet bread he had been given, the dwarf grabbed up his pack and weapon, wishing he had some of his journey food left. The white mushroom might not taste the best, but it was filling enough, and stayed fresh for quite some time.
"Very well. We go that way."
He flapped a hand negligently in the direction that the stream was running, oddly drawn to the water. Perhaps it was the shiny black stones that ran like a ribbon down the center of it, sparkling in the soft burble of the waters tumbling around them. It must have its start somewhere in the heights of the three massive peaks behind him, lone sentinels a head above the mountains surrounding them. It would be dark soon, and they would need shelter from the storm Durin could see gathering to the north.
Fortunately, two hours steady march found them at the base of the tallest peak as the rain began to fall around them. Eöl's sharp eyes were the first to catch the dark opening that blended in with the shadows on the rock.
"There! A cave of some sort, I believe."
"Good enough, so long as it does not already have a tenant."
Durin gripped the dagger his new companion silently offered in one hand while easily sparking a torch to life with a snap of his fingers. Eöl's eyebrows shot up at that little display of magic, though again the elf said nothing, a reticence that the dwarf deeply appreciated. A thrust of the firebrand inside, however, proved that the shallow cavern was uninhabited and just large enough for the two of them and a fire. Durin remained silent as he swept aside two places for sleeping, rolling out their bedrolls and stacking the wood he had been picking up along the way to one side. Behind him, Eöl had already begun a fire and had produced a pot from within the packs he carried, humming softly as he broke apart something and added it to the rain water he had already collected. The dwarf's nose twitched in appreciation as a rich scent filled the air.
"I thought you lot did not eat meat."
The elf's laughter was bitterly mocking.
"That is but one difference between me and my kin, Durin-King. Though in truth, the High Elves will occasionally eat meat. It is our lesser kin of the woods who seem to find it offensive. They mock me and call me 'dark elf' for my tastes and my friendship with dwarrow of Gabilgathol and Tumunzahar." At seeing Durin's shock at hearing the Khuzdul names of the western dwarrow capitals, the smile grew genuine. "Aye, I know much of your tongue. Come, we eat."
After the satisfyingly rich meal, it did not take long for Durin to fall into slumber, weary with the long nights when he did not dare sleep unguarded, and so did not take rest at all. He did not hear the beginning of the storm, nor was it thunder that woke him from his dreams. No, it was a voice, calling in a deep rumble within the sounds of nature, and his heart could not resist. Stumbling, he left the cave, heedless of the startled call of his companion or the soaking water that soon saturated his clothing.
Perhaps a quarter mile from their place of rest was a pool, the stream that they had followed earlier pouring into it from a ledge of black rock twice Durin's height, yet the waters showed no ripple. Not a single raindrop marred the still surface, and as the dwarf approached, he was astonished to see the stars reflected there, as if no cloud were in the night sky. To the right was the constellation of Yavanna's fruit, lying flush with Illuvatar's harp and Mandos' scales; to the left lay Ulmo's ship and Orome's steed, Lady Nienna's hand, then the hammer and forge of Mahal, and in the center…
He gasped, knees hitting the rocky shore with bruising force as he looked into his own eyes, a crown of seven stars about his head. Then the sky split open as a great bolt of lightning struck down in the center of the lake and Durin froze, anticipating his own death as his vision went as black as the night.
Gasping, Durin's head broke the surface of the water and he tread there for a long moment, looking about in shock. How had he gotten here? And what had possessed him to do so in the midst of a lightning storm? Another flash of light, and he could just make out the silhouette of Eöl, standing upon the shore, staring out at him. Durin huffed, then began to drag his body forward, astonished to find that he wore nothing at all and bore a rough bag in one hand. Thankfully, the elf was waiting with a blanket, which he wrapped around the dwarf as he stared at him in stunned disbelief.
"What?" Durin snapped, shivering in the cold night air.
"How are you even alive?" Eöl whispered, awed. "When I touched the water, it burned like fire."
The king sighed, settling down inside the cavern, close by a newly rekindled fire.
"You are of Illuvatar, my friend, and this is a place of Mahal. Those of us forged in fire and water of stone do not easily break, especially as this is the place I have been called to find. This will be the new home of my people."
With that, he fell into slumber, and when he woke, the sun shone bright, the air warm and mild. Nearby, his discarded clothing from the night before was neatly folded, and he donned it, unheeding of his companion's presence. His eyes met that of the elf and he nodded to himself, knowing now why he had been drawn to follow that stream. One hand plunged into the rough bag at his feet and he withdrew a black diamond, rough yet, but already showing the beauty it might have if properly cut. This, he held out to Eöl, the one elf he knew as a friend to his people.
"Here. It's somehow fitting that the very first King's Stone go to one not of the dwarrow, though I think Illuvatar may have allowed a bit of stone into the mix when you were created. Carry it as a symbol of my friendship."
Eöl did not question the odd gesture, nor the strange words, instead accepting the gift with a solemn nod to the king. Somehow, Durin knew that this would be repeated upon the coronation of each king to rule here, for Mahal would always have a hand in selecting the king of Durin's Folk.
Years of backbreaking work, grief, anger, the endless search, done now. Here would he rule now and always.
*You have done well, my son.*
Durin was not surprised to hear the voice whisper in his ear as he stepped outside and lifted a hand, calling a raven to him so that those who had been left behind could share in the triumph.