Thank you so much for the wonderful response to the last chapter. So many people voted, it was awesome! The voting is still open for one day more, though it looks like there's going to be a clear winner! I'll announce the winning nickname at the start of the next chapter! A special thank you to my guest reviewers who I can't reply to in person.
I Just Won a Free Toaster Oven – You're very welcome, thank you for reviewing again! I'm glad that you're enjoying it, and yes, I am being rather cruel to poor little Sam at the moment! I'm sorry :)
theLord'ssparrow – thank you so much! It's always lovely to hear that people think my characterisation is right – thank you!
Right, I apologise for any typos in this chapter!
Read. Enjoy. Review.
Chapter Seventy Three # By Any Other Name #
Dwalin often said that the best part about combat was the rush it gave you – the way everything in the world fell away and the adrenalin fuelled focus of the fight was the only thing that only mattered in the world. There was no time to worry about the state of your life when you had to worry about where your next blow would land.
For Balin, however, a fight was a different game. While his brother would feel just how fast he was moving, Balin always felt as though time was slowing when he fought.
The first stranger's sword came swooping down towards his neck and Balin lingered until the last possible second. Then he spun away to the side, deflecting the blow with his own sword and knocking his attacker off balance. He lunged towards the other shocked youth and began an attack of his own. The loud clang of metal on metal rang through the air as their swords collided with a series of well-placed strikes quickly gave Balin the upper hand.
Within moments the second attacker had been disarmed, but by this time the first stranger had rallied. He let out a pathetic attempt at a battle roar and lurched towards Balin's unprotected back. Unsurprised, the warrior turned and engaged the other's sword. For a moment, the alarmed youth gained the upper hand through the energy provided by his frenzied panic and he began to drive Balin back.
After a second Balin recovered himself and landed a blow to the stranger's poorly defended left arm. As his opponent howled, Balin spun around and threw a kick at the head of the other, who had been scrambling to grab his own sword. As the disarmed traitor tumbled to the floor, Balin returned his attention to the other who tried to collect himself.
A little pity fluttered in Balin's heart at the terrified expression of the youth as he raised his quavering sword but it was quickly quenched by the thought of all those who had been hurt – had been killed. Children, innocent, defenceless children had died as a result of this traitor's cause, and Balin's own brother was stuck in a bed for the foreseeable future with an injury that may never truly heal.
With a snarl, Balin drove forward, pressing the flailing traitor further and further back until the stranger's back was pressed against the wall. Somehow, the clang of his opponent's sword hitting the floor was louder than any clash of their blades, and Balin placed the tip of his sword beneath the stranger's chin as the lad raised his hands to the air in surrender.
The would-be attacker's eyes flickered over Balin's shoulder, inadvertently warning him that the second attacker was coming. Balin turned, thrusting his sword at the lunging stranger even as his left fist reached out to grasp the first attacker's neck and pin him to the wall. Had the other received any decent training, he might have been able to parry Balin's blow, but as it was the stranger's attempt at deflecting failed miserably, and Balin's sword sank into his opponent's stomach. It was a severe wound, one that would definitely be fatal if a healer did not attend to it with haste.
It was a wound to end a fight.
A strangled cry left the dwarf pinned to the wall as his companion sunk to his knees with bulging eyes. "Finni! Mercy, my lord, please, have mercy on him!"
Balin's heart gave a painful lurch at the name, though it did not show on his stony face. Finni. A common enough name, by dwarven standards, but one that held more memories than most.
"Hey, Finni, pass me an inkpot, I've run out!"
"Don't call me that!" a disgruntled young dwarf huffed, pushing his golden blonde hair away from his forehead as he tossed a small, sealed pot across the table.
Arnor grinned devilishly as Balin tried to keep a straight face. "Why not? You call me Arnie!"
"That's different!" Finn protested. "That's a pet name!"
"And your point is?" Arnor edged, and Balin rolled his eyes as Finn ran his hands up and down his bow.
"How would you like an arrow to the arse, Arnor?"
Arnor held his hands up in mock surrender and Balin grinned to himself.
"My sincerest apologies! I should have known better than to call you such a ridiculous name, my dear Fi-fi."
Balin roared with laughter as Finn turned bright red.
"Fi-fi?!" he shrieked.
"Now, now." Balin said mildly as his friend launched at a cackling Arnor. "There's no need for violence."
Clearly ignoring his younger friend, Finn tackled Arnor to the floor.
Chuckling, Balin returned to his book. Though the large tome on the Misty Mountains was heavy going, it was also incredibly interesting and potentially very useful. As per usual, Finn and Arnor's fight was over in moments and the pair stood up with mirroring grins.
Arnor sighed happily. "My I return to my letter now, Lord Finni?"
"Arnor…"
"It's Finni or Fi-fi, you take your pick."
"Drop it, Arnor."
"Or?"
Balin put down his book to watch his friend struggle to think of a punishment severe enough to match the crime.
"I'll… I'll…"
"Exactly. You won't do anything, Finni."
"I'll set my dog on you."
As if on cue, the dog curled up by the fireplace raised his head with a whine, before yawning widely and going back to sleep.
Arnor grinned. "Your dog loves me."
"Fine then, I'll set my son on you!"
Arnor raised his eyebrows. "The two month old or the five year old that calls me Uncle Arnie?"
"The five year old." Finn said confidently.
"Ah, alright. I'll just offer him some honey cakes to appease the monster and continue to call you Finni. Or Fi-fi. I'll ask him which one he prefers."
"Don't you even think about it!" Finn warned.
"You seem in a foul mood today, my friend." Balin commented with a wry smile.
Finn pulled a face. "You know how I told you the babe was sleeping through the night? Well, I was wrong. I was very wrong."
Balin chuckled softly. "It will get better."
Finn smiled slightly and his voice softened. "Oh, I know. He's just… he's still so small."
"He was born early in the middle of winter." Arnor pointed out, his expression much gentler. "It's only normal that he'd be a little smaller than other lads of his age."
"I know," Finn's voice was almost a murmur now. "I'm worried he's going to get ill…"
Balin shook his head, closing his book. "He won't. He may be small enough to fit in a pint tankard but he's very strong and very healthy. You know Orvar and Elin's twins, Austen and Auden?"
"Aye… They were positively tiny when they were born." Finn admitted.
"And for a good two years after that! But now they're growing like weeds. He'll be fine, Finn." Balin promised.
The cheeky smile that usually characterised his friend spread across Finn's cheeks. "Yes, he will. I know what I'll do now, Arnor."
Caution flickered behind Arnor's smile and Balin smirked. The young lord may think himself somewhat of a trickster, but he truly had nothing on Finn. "What?"
"I'll tell Alfr just how much Adad likes to be woken up when dawn breaks."
"You wouldn't dare!"
"I most certainly would."
"Balin! Tell him that's ridiculously unfair!" Arnor protested.
Balin snorted. "I know better than to get involved when the two of you get going."
Finn grinned. "That's why we love you so much, Balin. Others just try to get between us."
"Aye, and only your wives can outwit you in such games." Balin nodded. "I know."
Finn's eyes lit up. "Oh, Balin, did I tell you about the miner from Lake Evendim, the one who 'demanded' my friendship because he happens to know Glóin?"
"No…"
"It was brilliant!" Arnor enthused. "We were in the inn, just minding our own business…"
"When this huge, bulking ox of a fellow strides in and sits down beside us. Says his name's Kal, or something. Anyway, he pushes into our conversation and finds out who we are, and then he says-"
"Hello, Ada!"
Finn, Balin and Arnor all jumped as a little voice appeared from nowhere, and they looked down to see Finn's oldest son grinning up at them.
"Hello Fíli!" Finn bent over to scoop his bouncing little son off of the floor and into the air.
Fíli giggled, kicking and squirming. "Playtime, playtime!"
"Aw, little one, Ada's talking to Uncle Arnor and Mister Balin!" Finn made a sad face as he put Fíli down on his lap. "So if you- wait a second! Fíli, who let you out of your cot?"
Giggling, Fíli beamed. "I did, Ada! The noise wokened me up an' I got up to come and see you!"
"What? You mean you climbed out all by yourself?"
"Ah ha!" Fíli nodded excitedly. "I can show you, Ada! It's fun! Now playtime!"
"Fíli, you can't just let yourself out of your cot." Finn tried to put on a firm voice.
"Why not?" Fíli frowned.
"Because you might fall out and hurt yourself."
"But you dropped me on the floor the other day and it didn't hurt that much!"
Balin and Arnor snickered as Finn floundered. "That was an accident, mizimith, and didn't we say that would be our little secret?"
"Don't worry, Ada, I've only told Kíli and Mama." Fíli promised sagely, looking utterly confused when Balin and Arnor roared with laughter and Finn dropped his head onto his knee with a moan of horror.
Mercy.
This dwarf, trembling beneath Balin's fist, was asking him for mercy. This huge dwarf who had sentenced innocent men, women and children to death was asking him for mercy. Balin looked to the bleeding dwarf on the floor – Finni. Whether it was a pet name or a full name, Balin did not know, and he could not care less in any case.
But though his pulsing rage was insisting that he leave the traitor to die and take only one prisoner for answers, something stopped him. This stranger shared the same name as Finn, the husband of Dís, who had been killed only hours after little Fíli climbed out of his cot for the first time. The memory that had flashed through Balin's mind was that of the last time he ever saw Finn alive.
The Finni before him was not noble or strong or brave, like the Finn he had known. This Finni was a traitor and a murderer.
And by the looks of things, this Finni was also very, very far out of his depth. It was the youth of the two lads he had defeated that made up Balin's mind.
"Get up." Balin ordered the wounded dwarf coldly. Grey eyes flickered up to meet his, the weak hatred seething in them not nearly strong enough to mask the pain and fear. "If you do not get up, you will bleed out and die here. If you wish to see a healer, get up."
Confusion flashed in the dwarf's eyes as he looked over Balin's shoulder at his companion. Despite the fact that his defeated opponent was a head taller than he was Balin was having no trouble keeping him in place, but nevertheless Balin's fingers tightened as the worried dwarf licked his lips.
"Finni… Finni, get up!"
The dwarf on the floor tried to shift his leg but he curled in on himself with a howl of pain.
"Finni!" his companion glanced fearfully at Balin as the warrior shifted his sword in his hand.
"I can't, Ióni, I can't!" Finni wheezed, clutching his stomach.
Ióni looked at Balin, his chin quivering as he tried to make his face strong. "What are you going to do with us?"
"You are going straight to the dungeons, where you'll be interrogated by the King's High Guard and punished in accordance with your crimes." Balin kept his voice harsh and cold. "Your friend will go to the healers, if he lasts that long, before he will join you. If he cannot keep up, he will stay here and die."
Ióni looked desperately to the dwarf on the floor as Balin reached into his pocket for some rope.
"Turn around." He ordered, binding the compliant dwarf's hands behind his back. "Now, let's go."
"Ióni…" Finni grunted, looking up fearfully as they began to walk away.
"My lord, please, wait!"
"Why?" Balin kept on walking and kept his sword pressed against the back of the traitor's neck.
"Let me carry him! Please, just let me take him to the healers! I swear to you, I won't run, I'll come quietly, but please let me take him!"
Balin paused, looking to the injured dwarf on the floor. He no longer saw a traitor, an attacker. He saw a boy. A stupid, cowardly, frightened little boy.
Why those ones the traitor's turn only boys?
Cursing his own sympathy, Balin turned Ióni around roughly. "Give me one good reason why I should do so. Your group has killed countless innocent people – innocent children. You would have killed me. Why should I spare his life?"
Ióni looked to his companion, shaking his head slowly. "I don't… I can't give you a good reason, my Lord, other than this is all my fault. I dragged him into this-"
"Ióni-"
"I'll tell you everything!" Ióni interrupted his companion. "I'll do whatever you want me to do, just please, please, let me carry him."
"Tell me something, Ióni. If the parents of the dead children on the road were to stand before you and beg for mercy, would you give it to them?"
Ióni swallowed. "I would've…"
"But you didn't, and their bodies are now entombed in the mountain they should have called home! The youngest was still a babe in arms." Balin shook his head, allowing his fury and disgust into his tone and eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"Tell that to their parents, boy."
Ióni hung his head and looked at Finni.
Are they brothers? Cousins, friends? Balin wondered. He made to leave once more, but something in his gut stopped him. Now that the red-glazed fury of the battle was leaving his mind, his own instincts were starting to come into play. These dwarves – these youths – were in over their heads.
Something told him this was not what they had signed up for.
Balin stared at Ióni carefully. "Stay very still."
Deftly, Balin tied the rope around each of the dwarf's ankles, allowing enough slack in the middle for him to be able to walk, but not enough for him to be able to run. Then he cut through the bonds tying the dwarf's hands.
"If you try to escape, either of you, you will both be killed immediately. If he dies along the way then so be it. Pick him up, now." Balin ordered coldly.
"Thank you…" Ióni gasped, stumbling forward and hoisting the other dwarf into his arms. Finni cried out in pain and clenched his teeth. He was going very white.
"Just walk." Balin pressed the tip of his sword against the back of the lad's neck and Ióni stiffened.
They began to walk through the back corridors of Erebor, making their way towards the Healing Halls in the most direct route Balin could think of. He could hear Ióni's quiet murmurs to Finni, but he could not quite make the words.
It did not escape his notice that the lad's murmurs were growing more and more desperate and he began to quicken their pace. As much as he loathed the traitors before him, he did not wish death upon them just yet.
The door flew open with a deafening crash and Balin jumped to his feet in surprise. Dwalin stared at him, panting, his eyes wide with horror and his face covered in blood.
"Dwalin! What happened?"
"We were… we were almost back!" Dwalin's voice was hoarse and he looked lost – so, so lost.
Balin shoved his chair out of the way and ran around the table, grabbing his brother's arm. Dwalin had been away for almost a year, accompanying Thorin on an official visit to the Iron Hills. They had received word only hours ago that the long awaited king's party was on the horizon and an honour guard had rode out to meet them, including Finn and Arnor. Balin had wanted to go out too, as had Dís herself, but little Fíli had fallen into a barrel of ale and so Balin had stayed with her to look after the infant Kíli while she bathed his incorrigible older brother. The lads were now asleep and Balin had returned home, but here was Dwalin and he was all bloody and beaten –
"What happened?" Balin repeated, leading his brother over to sit down. To his surprise, Dwalin allowed himself to be manipulated into a chair.
"We were almost back," his trembling younger brother repeated. "There was an ambush, a raid. Orcs. I do not know how they knew we were coming, but they did. We had just reached the guard…"
Balin tightened his grip on Dwalin's arm as his brother trailed off. This was not Dwalin's usual post-battle behaviour – the last time he had been so shell-shocked was after Azanulbizar.
Oh, Mahal, Azanulbizar.
"Dwalin, who is it? It's not Thorin…?"
Dwalin shook his head. "No, Thorin's not… Thorin's fine…. It's Finn, Balin."
Balin's blood ran cold. "What?"
"Finn… He was fighting by Thorin's side, where I should've been… He did not… he didn't make it, Balin. He's gone."
Balin's head began to spin and he staggered backwards until he reached the next chair. "What?"
"Finn's dead." Dwalin repeated in a hollow voice.
Balin's heart froze with grief and shattered at the thought of Dís' reaction, and of little Fíli – how would they explain to him that his Ada was never going to come home? And baby Kíli – he would never know his father now…
Balin shook himself out of the memory. It was too destructive to dwell on such memories. Balin had mourned Finn for years and he had made peace with his friend's passing, but now he could not help but wonder whether he would have ever guessed then that Kíli would have a father in a hobbit…
"Finni!" Ióni halted abruptly, his voice snapping in terror. "No, no, Finni, wake up!"
Balin stopped his own steps as a howl of grief escaped the youth's lips.
"No, Finni, no!" It was as if Ióni had completely forgotten the lord's presence. He crashed down to his knees, gently lowering the limp body to the floor and tearing open his friend's blood sodden clothing. Then he grasped the top of Finni's tunic, shaking him roughly. "Wake up, oh, come on, come on! You have to wake up, Finni, please!"
Balin took a step forward, peering over Ióni's shoulder. "He's gone."
Ióni shook his head. "I…I… No…no…"
Sighing heavily, Balin softened his tone slightly. "He's gone, lad."
A sob broke from Ióni's throat, but when he looked back at Balin, there was no hate or accusation in his eyes. The fierce loathing that seemed to brand every traitor in the mountain was nowhere to be seen on this youth's face. There was only pain, grief and guilt. "I-I'm sorry. I'm s-so sorry! Oh, Finni, I didn't mean to… Oh, Mahal, Mahal, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Lord Balin, I'm sorry!"
The sincerity of the traitor's cries shocked Balin. Guilt and remorse were easy enough to fake, but Balin was a better reader of people than most could claim to be, and he would bet decent gold that the lad's tearful apologies were completely genuine. A slight twinge of guilt tugged at Balin's heart, but it was quickly nulled. He had been defending his own life, the blow would not have been a fatal one had the other dwarf known how to fight properly and the lad was a traitor.
There was reason to grieve his passing, perhaps, but no reason to feel guilt or responsibility for his death. Yes, that was how he would think of it.
Balin allowed Ióni several minutes to collect himself before clearing his throat. "On your feet, lad."
Ióni took a deep, shuddering breath, but he complied meekly with Balin, hoisting his friend's corpse into his arms. "What's going to happen to him now?"
Balin down the hall. "We are almost at the Healing Halls. He will be left in the mortuary for now."
Ióni bowed his head over the corpse. "Can I take him there?"
"For now." Balin conceded, and he did not even need to raise his sword to prompt the young dwarf into a walk.
The youth dragged his feet as they walked, but he kept his pace up and his head bowed down. It was as though he had lost all of his fight with the death of his companion.
When Balin ordered the lad to surrender his friend's corpse to the guards outside the mortuary, he did so without a word. When he was prodded into one of the dungeons most secure cells, Ióni made no noise at all.
Even as he informed the guards that their prisoner was a dangerous traitor who should be treated as such, Balin could not help but feel a little sorry for Ióni. He glanced one final time at the figure curled up in the corner of the cage as he left, wondering just how it was that so large a dwarf could possibly look so incredibly, vulnerably small.
I hope you enjoyed that chapter!
As a little side note, I used the name Finn for Fíli and Kíli's father in a one shot I wrote ("The Unofficial Anthem of Durin's Folk", check it out if you fancy a laugh and a little dose of feels) and I quite like it.
Since this is up a day before the 12th the voting is still open, thank you to everyone who has voted! The results will definitely be up in the next chapter, which should be relatively soon! I'm getting really excited now, there's a clear favourite!
Thank you for reading, please do leave a review if you can.
