Hello all! Thank you for the wonderful response to the last chapter – a special thanks goes to those I could not directly respond to, including the unnamed guest who now feels blood lust (I'm so glad you're so inspired!) Hermione Granger (you are very welcome, and thank you so much) and the other unnamed guest (I'm so glad that you appreciate the moral complexity – I like making sure that my baddies are not just cookie-cutter villains and I'm glad when it goes appreciated ;))

Here is the next one for you, I hope you enjoy it!

Please forgive any mistakes and do read, enjoy and review.

Chapter Ninety One # Call of Home #

Gasping for air, Paladin pressed himself against the trunk of the tree and slowly sank down onto the branch. He had finally outrun the orcs – he could no longer hear them hooting and whooping behind him. As he slowly recovered his breath, Paladin massaged his scraped, bloody fingers and thanked the Valar that he still had all of them. The cuts were superficial, he knew that there would be no lasting damage, but they stung nevertheless.

He had to go back.

He had to go and help Fíli, he could not live with himself if he did not, but he had no idea what to do. Aching, exhausted and desperate, Paladin stumbled to the edge of the branch and kept going on. And then something caught his eye.

He took a deep breath, and despite every instinct in his body kept creeping forward. Towards the webs. Paladin could hear neither see nor hear any spiders, and he was hoping beyond hope that what he had seen was worth the risk.

Before he could notice, a sticky web kissed his foot and dragged him backwards, and Paladin lost his balance, tumbling straight down through a series of webs until he hit the forest floor below with a thunk.

Arching his aching back, Paladin moaned and struggled into a sitting position. When he did his heart almost stopped then and there, for he had found himself face to face with a spider as big as a hobbit hole. He could not stop himself from screaming, but it did not take him long to realise that it was dead, and it was alone.

Paladin took a deep breath and clambered to his feet. He tiptoed around the spider and towards what had caught his eye. To his disappointment, the metal was not from a weapon, but from an old coin. However, when he looked closer he saw another coin, and another and another, all spilling out of a coin purse lying on the ground beneath a large tree. He walked over to investigate, and what he found made him laugh aloud.

Weapons. And not just any old weapons – even Paladin could tell that they were good quality, and there were loads of them. A thought sprung into the hobbit's mind and he grinned.

Paladin had a plan.


Gimli stumbled through Mirkwood with a head that felt tighter than a bow string and a throat that felt drier than a desert. He was tired, so very, very tired, but he knew that he could not stop. They were lost, alone, and in the middle of the most hellish forest on earth – in his humble opinion.

A tiny hand wrapped around a lock of Gimli's hair and tugged gently. "Gimli?"

"Um hm?"

"I'm really thirsty," Pippin whispered. "Really, really very thirsty."

Sniffing, Gimli held the toddler a little tighter. "Me too, Pippin."

"Can we find something to drink? Please!"

Gimli looked desperately to Estel, but the young man did not seem to have any ideas. "There's nothing here to drink."

The little hobbit took a deep, shuddering breath and stuck his thumb into his mouth, dropping his head against Gimli's shoulder. Closing his eyes, Gimli tightened his grip on Pippin a little more.

"D'you want me to carry him for a while?" murmured Estel.

Gimli shook his head. "No. Thank you."

Pippin did not know Estel, not very well anyway, and Gimli was a much more familiar face for the little hobbit. That was not why Gimli was carrying him. Pippin needed him – it was not at all because holding Pippin stopped his own hands from trembling. No, no, it could not be that – of course not.

Gimli would not admit what was on his mind, not even to himself.

Gimli wanted his mother. He wanted his father.

But Gimli was in his sixties – he was too old for childish nonsense. He had to be strong and brave.

Something caught Gimli's ears and he paused.

"What is it?" Estel asked.

"Hooves…" the dwarf muttered, before looking to Estel in a panic. "There's someone riding this way, and fast!"

Estel's drawn face lost what little colour it had left. "Hide!"

Gimli did not need to be told twice. He darted towards a nearby tree, ducking down so that he was sheltered by its long, gnarled roots. Estel was with him in seconds, and the sound of the approaching hooves grew louder and louder.

And then it stopped. Right next to where they were standing.

The young dwarf's heart quickened and he pressed his back against the mossy bark, covering Pippin's mouth. The toddler was shaking like a leaf, and his grip around Gimli's neck was like a vice.

He heard a rider dismount.

He heard a voice call out.

"Estel?"

Tensing every muscle, Estel sent a frantic glance to Gimli.

"Av-'osto, Estel," the voice said, and Estel frowned. "Tolo ar nin - gi nathlam hí."

"It's an elf!" Estel mouthed.

"What did he say?" Gimli mouthed back.

"Do not be afraid. Come with me – you are welcome here."

Gimli shook his head slowly. Estel looked up and Gimli could see in his grace just how tempted the young man was, so he seized Estel's arm and shook his head once more. Elves could not be trusted at the best of times, and now they were vulnerable, lost and alone.

"Estel, odulen an edraith anlen."

"He says he is here to help us," the young man translated silently. "We need help."

Unfortunately, Gimli new that Estel was right. They could not survive much longer without assistance, but he could not fight off an elf if it came down to it.

Estel paused, and then communicated with mouthed words and hasty gestures. "You and Pippin stay here. I'll see who it is!"

Gimli nodded reluctantly, shifting his grip on Pippin to shelter the toddler's head in case they had to run. Crouching down, Estel crept a few feet away and then emerged from behind a different tree.

"You called?"

"Estel?"

"That's what they call me. Who are you?"

The elf replied in the strange, silvery tongue he had spoken before. To Gimli's irritation, Estel replied in the same language, and for the next few minutes all he could hear was nonsense. His fear was growing by the second, and his frustration was growing with it. He could feel Pippin's face nuzzling further into his chest as if trying to hide from whatever was going on.

Quenching his own fear, Gimli ran his hand through Pippin's curls and held the little one tighter. He had not really known the hobbits for very long, but they were all dear to Gimli now, as dear as family – he supposed that being with someone all day everyday could do that. He would not let anything happen to Pippin.

All of a sudden, the talking stopped and Gimli prayed.

And then Estel called out. "Gimli, Pippin – you can come out, it's alright."

Slowly and carefully, Gimli stood up and flanked to the road. The elf standing with Estel was tall and blonde – with unnerving, piercing eyes. Gimli did not trust him. Nevertheless, he walked out onto the road, standing by Estel's side.

"Gimli, Pippin," said Estel. "This is Legolas. Legolas, this is Gimli, son of Glóin and Peregrin 'Pippin' Took."

"It is good to meet you," Legolas bowed his head.

"Hello," Pippin waved shyly and tightened his grip on Gimli. The dwarf just nodded.

"He is here to help us," Estel told Gimli. "Bilbo and Kíli and the others arrived at Mirkwood, they're safe, and the elves sent out a search party."

"Then why is he here alone? If he was part of a search party he would've known that there were orcs, and lots of 'em, so why did he think it was a good idea to follow their tracks alone?"

Estel looked to the elf.

"Because there were tracks indicating that they had turned back. I knew that I could handle any stragglers so I followed your trail. I was concerned that I was only going to find your bodies, so I was relieved when I found your tracks by the secret entrance."

"Did you find my Papa and my Fíli?" Pippin hid behind Gimli's hair as he spoke.

"I'm afraid not," the elf admitted. "Nor did we find Glorfindel, or the sons of Elrond, though my kin are following some promising tracks."

Gimli hesitated, and Pippin took that opportunity to pipe up once more.

"Excuse me Mister Lego-elf, but do you please have any water? I'm really, really, really very thirsty!"

The elf's eyes softened and he strode forward immediately. "Of course! Here you are, little one."

Gimli watched with narrowed eyes as Legolas passed a water skin to Pippin. The little hobbit's clumsy fingers grabbed the drink and pushed it to his lips, drinking in quick, desperate gulps.

"Careful," murmured Gimli, grabbing the end of the flask. "Slow down, Pippin, you'll make yourself sick."

Pippin whimpered in protest, but he did slow down. After a long moment he stopped and licked his lips, sighing happily and then holding out the water skin. "Do you want some drink, Gimli?"

"Thank you," the dwarf smiled, taking a few swigs of what was the sweetest water he had ever tasted (though those words would never, ever leave his mouth) before handing it over to a grateful Estel.

"Come," Legolas offered his hand. "It is not safe to linger here – we should make for my father's halls."

"Your father?" Gimli's eyes narrowed. "Who is your father?"

The elf raised a delicate brow. "The Elvenking. Thranduil."

"Thranduil?" cried Gimli, aghast. "I am not going to the halls of Thranduil!"

"Why?" Pippin puzzled.

"I assure you, Master Gimli, you will be welcome there," said Legolas, a hard edge to his voice.

"Welcome?" Gimli laughed, but there was fire in his eyes and stone in his voice. "Like my father was welcome?"

"Your father?"

Gimli raised his chin proudly. "Glóin, son of Gróin. My father, and one of the company of his Royal Majesty, Thorin Oakenshield."

Pippin started tugging on Gimli's hair again as understanding dawned in Legolas' eyes. "Gimli, I don' understand, why isn't your Papa welcome?"

"This elf's father locked the Company up in the dungeons without due cause," he spat.

Legolas' eyes sharpened. "That is not true, Master Dwarf."

"Oh, so in the eyes of the 'fair folk' it is justified to lock away the starving, injured and travel-weary because they have lost their way and ventured a little too close to your home?" Gimli scoffed.

"That is not what happened," Legolas retorted.

"So what was their crime? Fighting against the spiders that tried to eat them alive?"

"Spiders?" Pippin squeaked, tightening his grip around Gimli's neck. "Gimli, I don't wanna get eaten by spiders!"

"Trespassing," said the elf shortly. "They were trespassing and they did not tell us of their intentions so we feared they planned some dark mischief-"

"And that's why you dragged Kíli away from the others and locked him up alone?" pressed the dwarf.

"Gimli," Estel's voice was harsh, but Gimli paid it no heed, and neither, apparently, did Legolas.

"That was not my doing-"

"Stop it!" Pippin whispered, but neither the elf nor the dwarf would listen.

"No, it was your father's! I would not trust him as far as I could spit-"

"Please!" Pippin began to cry. "Stop it!"

"That is not your concern, dwarf, and the matter was resolved between your king and mine," Legolas' voice was as sharp as the blades on his back.

"That does not matter!" Gimli's voice raised to a yell and Pippin whimpered, cringing closer into the young dwarf's coat. "I cannot trust someone like that, not with my life and certainly not with Pippin's! We're alone, in the woods of all places and he's relying on me and I can't take him to the kingdom of a selfish, cold, backstabbing leader who I can't trust!"

To his surprise, Legolas actually paused. "It is a matter of trust?"

Gimli snorted. "Well, I'm not yelling at you because I hate elves."

Legolas both eyebrows this time. "Aren't you? I thought that was the way of dwarves."

"Distrust and hatred are not the same thing." Gimli replied simply, his voice wavering despite himself. "But I can't trust an elf like your father. Not now…"

Legolas took a deep breath, regaining what little composure he had lost. "Very well. You should know, however, that your mother and the rest of your travelling companions are headed to the Woodland Realm for refuge. I am offering only to return you to them."

Gimli hesitated. He would give almost anything to be with his mother right now. Almost.

"Gimli," Pippin whimpered. "Gimli, I want my Mama!"

The young dwarf tried to keep his lips from trembling. He wanted his Ama too. Gimli did not know what to do.

"Come on, Gimli," Estel murmured. "He can help us."

When Gimli continued to hesitate, the elf spoke. "How about a deal? I will promise to take you and your companions under my protection – I promise that you spend no time in any dungeons and I will do all in my power to personally ensure that you arrive in Erebor unscathed. In return, you promise to listen to what I say, and to put your trust in me – unless I give you a reason not to. Would that suit you, Master Gimli?"

He considered that. "I… I think I could do that."

Legolas held out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Gimli shifted Pippin so that he could free his hand to shake the elf's. "We do."

"You must be exhausted," Legolas said. "I am sure that Tálagor will be happy to bear all three of you."

"Bear?" Pippin's eyes widened and he looked around worriedly. "I don' like bears, they nearly ate my sister. And what's a tlalagor?"

Estel laughed. "He does not mean there's a bear, Pippin. He is asking if we want to ride his horse, whose name is Tálagor."

"Oh, that makes sense," the hobbit nodded, before looking at Gimli. "Can we please ride the nice horsey Gimli, please?"

Gimli blinked, unsure why the little one was asking his permission but unable to resist Pippin's puppy dog eyes. "Alright…"

Estel mounted first, and then Gimli reluctantly handed Pippin to Legolas so that the young man could yank the dwarf up. When Gimli was seated safely in front of Estel, the elf passed Pippin back into his arms.

It made Gimli's stomach swim a little to be so high above the ground on the back of a creature with the potential to trample him to death, but his fatigued body was so grateful for the slight respite that he chose to ignore it.

The pace the elf set was a swift one and Gimli was impressed by how the elf managed to keep up without even seeming to lose breath. It was actually kind of breath-taking, with the forest flying past him and the ground beneath his dangling feet blurring into a river. Apparently Pippin was less impressed – he was soon snoozing once again in Gimli's arms.

Gimli glanced across at the elf, and then Legolas looked across and met his eyes. The intensity of his gaze was unnerving but Gimli did not look away. He stared back, keeping his jaw strong. Then Legolas did something rather unexpected.

He smiled.

"You know, I do recall your father."

"You do?" Gimli frowned, marvelling not only at the elf's recollection, but also at the steadiness of his voice, given the fact that he was jogging alongside a horse.

"I do," Legolas nodded. "You look very much like him."

Gimli narrowed his eyes, unable to think of a better compliment and unable to comprehend an elf granting him such praise.

Legolas laughed, a light, airy sound. "You need not search for any offense behind my words, Master Gimli, for you will find none."

Gimli blushed, unaware that he had been so obvious, and then he broke eye contact. The second that he did he felt shame flooding his gut – he had shown weakness in front of the elf – the son of Thranduil no less. When he looked back over, however, Legolas was once again looking to the front.

The young dwarf sighed and shifted.

This was going to be a long journey…


There is singing here.

"Through river, root and stone, the distant call of home, so far, yet always with us, inside our hearts and bones…"

Everything is so dark, so very, very dark but there are flashes of dull colour, and at first they are just blurred hues of red and green and blue but then they begin to sharpen into shapes, images, pulsing through his mind and changing with every beat of his heart.

"No breadth or sphere or white mountain sheer, shall quell the call of home…"

Sounds begin to latch onto the pictures, snippets of dreams and memories, but none of them linger long enough for him to place them and beneath it all the singing endures.

There is laughter, and it is bright and beautiful and it lightens the darkness to reveal a face, a woman's face with a frame of dark curls and eyes that held the sky in their irises, and she is laughing from a pink bow of a mouth and she is beautiful, so beautiful and he loves her, he loves her with all his heart but she is not his lover, no, not his lover, it is not that sort of love –

"Fíli," she sings, holding out her arms as she laughs. "Fíli, my sweetheart, come here! Come to Ama, good boy!"

Is he Fíli, is that his name?

"There is no hearth that is quite as bright, as the flame that flickers free…"

The woman's hair blows over her face and when it blows back she is gone, and the black curls fade away into nothing and he is afraid, so afraid, because whoever she is she is leaving him here alone, alone, alone –

"Though many roads lay outside my door, there is by one that calls to me…"

Her voice returns though her face does not and he clings to it, to the sound of warmth and life. "This is your baby brother, Fíli. His name is Kíli."

That name again, Fíli, is it his? Or is he Kíli? He does not know, and all he can see is a pair of burnt umber eyes and they are not the woman's but he does not know who they belong to or how he knows them but he loves them, he loves these eyes and he loves the one they belong to and then the long dark lashes pull them closed and the eyelids begin to fade and he can do nothing to stop the eyes from fading away, fading into the darkness and leaving him forever and ever and he wants to scream and cry and bring them back but he is not sure he even has a body anymore and all he can do is listen to the ever-playing song and watch as the darkness returns and then he can watch no more.

"Long I locked away a wanderer's heart, a flame that flickers free."

The sound of sobbing drags another face to his mind but its eyes are closed, not its, his, his eyes are closed and his hair is like spun gold and he is still, more still than the stone he lies upon, and he knows that this dwarf is dead and he wonders if this dwarf is him, this dwarf with a braided moustache and his hands crossed over his chest and he can hear so much crying, so many sobs and he is glad when the scene fades because if that is him then he is dead and he does not want to be dead, oh please he does not want to die-

"Through river, root and stone, the distant call of home, so far yet always with us, inside our hearts and bones…"

At first the screaming is coming from afar but then it grows closer and closer and he sees dirt, dirt and mud and grasp and trembling hands digging into the ground and clawing closer to a rushing black water, and the screaming has sharpened into words.

"No, Kíli, please! Help, help us, please help! Kee, Kíli!"

He does not know who was screaming or why but he feels a sense of urgency, urgency to help, because whoever Kíli is he is connected to the umber eyes and he has to protect the one with the umber eyes and he has to stop the black water but it was rising and it swallows all that he can see until blue eyes blink through the black and they look a little like the woman's eyes but they are not, they are darker and hollower and when the face comes into focus it is a man's face, a dwarf-man's with the wry smile of a weary soul and his eyes do not hold the sky, they are more like sapphires, hard and bright and colourful with a sparkle all the same and this dwarf brings a feeling of safety with him, and he is saying words that cannot be heard over the growing clamour of steel and squawks and cries.

"No creek or cave, no wild wind or wave, can quell the call of home…"

The man turns away, and even the grey streaks of his black hair disappear into the gloom and once again he is alone and the dark is getting darker and he can no longer hear the singing. He can just hear fighting and the gurgling shrieks of the dying and the dead, and he is glad when those noises die away, too.

Then something shifts, and the darkness grows just a fraction lighter.

"Fíli?"

The voice is loud, so loud, and it is different from the others.

"No, no, no Fíli, don't do this, don't leave me, wake up!"

There is that name again, Fíli, and then he remembers. Fíli is his name, he is Fíli! So why does this disembodied voice want him to wake?

"Come on, Fíli, wake up. Please, Fíli, you have to wake up, I cannot do this alone. Wake up, dammit!"

Fíli tries to put a face to the voice but he can't, and he doesn't understand why but he just can't.

"Please, Fíli. Wake up!"

There is another sound, the sound of a hand slapping against skin, the skin of a cheek perhaps.

"Dammit, Fíli wake up! I need you – Kíli needs you! Your mother, Bilbo, your uncle, my son we need you Fíli, so just wake up! Please Fíli wake up!"

I'm sorry, I can't, he thinks. I'm too tired I want to sleep.

"Fíli! I'm so sorry, Fíli, I'm so sorry."

PAIN! PAIN, IT HURTS IT HURTS OH, SWEET MAHAL IT HURTS OH MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP!

"Wake up!"

STOP, STOP, STOP OH PLEASE MAKE IT STOP.

"Wake UP, Fíli!"

IT HURTS, IT HURTS AND MY NAME IS FÍLI, SON OF DÍS, WHO HAS THE SKY IN HER EYES AND I AM AN HEIR OF DURIN AND OF THORIN WHO HAS EYES OF SAPPHIRE AND KÍLI IS MY BABY BROTHER WITH BURNT UMBER EYES AND THERE IS SO MUCH PAIN OH MAHAL WHY IS THERE SO MUCH PAIN

"Come on, Fíli!"

IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS

"Fíli, you can do it, wake up!"

I AM FÍLI SON OF DÍS AND HEIR OF THORIN AND I NEED TO WAKE UP

"That's it, that's it, come on Fíli, thatta boy!"

WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP

"Come on, Fíli, I've got you, I've got you."

WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP

Fíli opened his eyes, and a hobbit swam into his blurry view.

"Oh, thank the Valar…" the hobbit sighed in relief. "I thought you were dead."

When Fíli tried to speak all that escaped his mouth was a soft, rasping keen.

"Here," the hobbit pushed a water skin into Fíli's hands. "Drink this – it tastes foul but it might help."

There was nothing Fíli could do to stop the liquid from slipping down his throat, but it did replenish a little warmth through his veins and ease a little of the agonising pain wracking his body.

"I'm sorry, Fíli," the hobbit shook his head. "I didn't think they'd… I couldn't imagine that you'd be… so, so… Oh, Mahal, I'm sorry…"

Fíli was confused. He did not know why the hobbit was apologising, why he was using the dwarven name for Mahal at all, or why he even cared whether or not Fíli was awake. But, as he licked his lips, he knew there was a much more pressing questions to be answered.

"How… bad…?" he winced at how raspy his voice was.

"You're going to be fine," the hobbit promised. "But you're… not in the best condition I've ever seen you in…"

Fíli closed his eyes and took a deep breath, wincing as pain sliced through his chest. There was another question burning in his mind, a question that also needed an answer.

"Who…are you…?"

The hobbit's face went blank and only two whispered words fell from the halfling's lips.

"Oh, shit."

There we end it for today :D

The song in this chapter is Call of Home by Miracle of Sound, and it is what this chapter is named after. It's an awesome song about the Hobbit so if you haven't hear it I definitely think you should give it a listen!

I will update soon, I promise, but please do let me know what you think ;)