Chapter 11: A Tale of the Reach
It was not the pain that kept Thorin awake; he told himself when he stood on the porch of Beorn's house. Like the others he had been warned to not go outside after sundown, but he cared little. The last days had left him cold, empty like he had not felt since Azanulbizar. He had nearly fallen to Azog's blade, had Bilbo not intervened. Having escaped the caves on his own their brave burglar had raced after them, arriving in time to stand between Thorin and certain death. The rescue by the eagles had been a miracle they had desperately needed. Yet, it had come at a price, of the fifteen members of the company only eleven had escaped the deeps of Goblin Town.
You will die down here and never be found! Down in the deep of Goblin-Town!
The words had become brutally true for four of them. Ori… so young, too young to die in those accursed deeps, their idealistic young scribe who had braved this journey in spite of his fears; Dwalin, brave, loyal, Dwalin, his friend of so many years… the thought of him perished drove hot tears to Thorin's eyes much as he tried to bite them back. Kili… his son, the only thing left of his Ida. At least Fili had made it out alive. The very thought made Thorin angry at himself, he hated that he was secretly glad that it had been Fili who had survived. Boromir, Thorin had not known him well, but seen the man was fiercely loyal to Kili and had come to appreciate him as a superior fighter. They were all gone; never making it out behind them out of the deep caverns and all that Thorin could hope for them was that they had not suffered long.
"You shouldn't be out here; it is late." Fili had come out to him, worry and sadness clearly echoing in his voice. "You need to rest for your wounds to heal." He walked up to Thorin to stand beside him. "Don't give them up just yet."
The dwarven King looked at his chosen son amazed, where did Fili find the strength to go on like this? "Balin saw them fall when the bridge collapsed," he reminded the younger dwarf, trying not to sound harsh. Balin had been remarkably calm about his brother's demise, Dwalin had fallen in the service of Durin's house and the old dwarf had said that his brother would not have wanted it any other way. Only Thorin did not feel very worthy of this loyalty in this moment. "Even if the fall did not kill them… there were legions of Goblins between them and escape. Kili… he was injured."
Fili actually put his arm around Thorin's shoulders, comfortingly. "I know," he said softly. "but… my heart cannot give up on them just yet. Something inside me keeps saying that Kili is not dead yet. And if he is alive, the others may be as well. We have to trust them to survive on their own."
And I do trust them to go on until we can return. Why did Fili remind him so much of his father? Thorin wordlessly hugged the boy close, glad for him to be there. "I will trust you in this, Fili… and not give up." He said eventually. "I do not know how to hope like you do, but I can trust your hope."
For a while they stood silently in the darkness, the summer night was warm with a fresh wind blowing from the river. "Will you come back inside?" Fili asked after a time. "You need to rest."
"I'd rather stay outside," Thorin said. "give Dori and Nori a bit more time to grieve." The two were expressing their pain stronger than Balin or Fili would. He could see Fili's near protest. "But I will sit down out here." He gave in to his nephew's worry.
The porch was broad, made of wood and he sat down at the far side of it. "Will you stay?" he asked Fili. "Just sit with me a while."
The younger dwarf joined him. "Gladly. I can't sleep either. What happened in Goblin Town… when they grabbed Kili… whenever I close my eyes I could still it happening."
Those pictures would not go away, if ever. Thorin knew that all too well, he could still see Thror beheaded, Frerin riddled with arrows and that fierce blade that took Dari, he still could hear the dragon's roar over the hot dry wind. And while he did not want to forget, while he made himself remember whenever he felt that they began to slip his memory, he would not burden Fili so. Not with the lad having so much to hope for still. "Did I ever tell you how I met your father?" he asked. "It was during one of King Thror's visits to the reach…"
Fili shook his head wordlessly, and Thorin realized all Fili had ever heard about Dari was about the brave death his father died.
"Is it necessary to take Thorin? I understand you have to visit them, but why drag the boy to a bunch of miners who are nearly as bad as surface dwellers?" Thrain's voice rang out through the wide halls of Erebor's Royal quarters. The Crown prince of Erebor was arguing with his father, King Thror.
"I want Thorin to know and value them, as you cannot bring yourself to respect them." King Thror grumbled, contrary to his usual appearance he had exchanged his robes for sturdy leather clothes with warm furs inside. The royal dwarven house was expected to excel at a craft and while Thrain was a superior gem cutter, his father never had the patience for such delicate work. Thror's expertise was in mining, he knew his mountain like the best of his miners, and he would often be down in the deeps to see the latest sources and new mines for himself, planning with them on how to expand their depths. It was something the King loved fiercely, and while his grandson showed all the signs of being an arcane smith, the old King enjoyed sharing the love for the deeps of the mountain with his grandson. It was good, he thought, that Thorin respected those who worked in the deeps, that he was not as haughty as Thrain.
"I do not say, don't take him to the mines," Thrain grumbled. "Someone has to know all there is about that and I won't rely on the overmen for that. But the Reach… do you have to take him up there?"
"The people of the Reach have sworn to our house," Thror reminded him. "And they have been at our side since Durin's days. It is time Thorin got to meet them." He noticed that his grandson was listening. "Ah, there you are Thorin, all changed and ready to go?"
Thorin looked down at himself, he too wore leather clothes, with furs inside, they were very warm and did not look very royal. "Yes, but why such warm clothes, Grandfather? It is summer."
Thror smiled at him. "Because we are going to visit the Reach, summer never touches the eternal ice, and it never gets really warm in the tunnels under freezing peak. It is a wonderful place, a marvel that the people of the Reach have built in their icy homeland."
Seeing his grandfather's happiness Thorin was happy to tag along, he was glad for days such as this when Thror was like he had been when Thorin had been small. "The people of the Reach are dwarves?" he asked, having heard of them for all his life but he had never seen one of them.
"Of course they are. When Mahal hid the dwarves under the mountains he placed the Blacklocks, Stiffbeards, Stonefoots and the Ironfists under the Orocarni in the east, they became darkish and distrustful, you know them. But one pair of the dwarven ancestors Mahal had hidden close to the top of the mountains in his hurry. The starlight touched them through the ice peak, before they woke and it changed them. Instead of the Ironfists that they had been meant to be they became the people of the Reach. Because the light touched them their skin is lighter than ours and their hair is like spun gold. They live on the peaks of the mountains, when they come down here into our city; they get homesick for the snows. And up in the icy reaches they mine rare materials and jewels under the ice, they build an entire city under the glacier."
Thorin listened attentively, fascinated by the idea of dwarves living in the barren peak of Erebor. "Have they always lived here?"
"Yes." Thror said. "Some of them aided Durin when he founded Moria, building the watchtowers in the heights on Zirak-Zigil, and they swore to Durin as their high King. But they have always lived on Erebor, it is their home. When Moria fell, it was them who aided our ancestor's journey to the grey mountains and later here."
They had climbed many stairs inside the mountain, until they came to a gate leading out onto the glacier of Erebor. The sun shone brightly and Thorin shielded his eyes against the glare. The reach was a white field of ice and snow with watchtowers indicating some habitation even in these lifeless ranges. They were awaited by a dwarf about the age of Thorin's father, he was blond and wore heavy armor. He and Thror greeted more like friends than King and liege man. Thorin learned that this was Rór, Lord of the Reach. "When I heard you were bringing Prince Thorin to see the Reach, I brought my boy as well." Rór said, introducing a boy maybe ten years younger than Thorin, named Fálki.
Visiting the Reach proved a fascinating experience indeed, the city was carved into the ice of the glacier and the mines delved into the rock under the ice, Thorin heard of a labyrinth of ancient tunnels running all through the peak, whispered to be older than even Moria itself. But the best was that Lord Rór was perfectly content with letting him and Fálki explore, accompanied by two guards, because the Reach was a dangerous place to be in, even under the best of circumstances. Fálki proved a good guide, for all his youth, he was only thirty-five, he was fairly serious already and could tell Thorin many things about the Reach and her people. Sometimes Thorin had to smother a smile, though, it was clearly visible that the boy was proud he was entrusted with showing Prince Thorin around.
When Thorin asked about a legend he had heard about the Reach – the dragon forge – Fálki had been happy to comply. "It is down in the deep reach, my Prince," he said as they walked down a long winding stone stair, into an icy tunnel. "It is somewhat of a lesser quarter today, rough craftspeople, lower ranked warriors and such… but they are the ones to keep the frostwyrms in check. There is no need for worry, they may be rough but they are honorable."
They had walked into ancient tunnels, a maze of several levels of rock and ice forming a lower class quarter, with forges, smelting pits and stone works. Thorin knew the simpler quarters of Erebor and he could see the difference, this place was not nearly as rich as Erebor, and it showed. Yet, they could move openly, and aside from a few people making room for them on the road, they did not attract much attention.
At least not until they reached the place where Fálki said the stairs went down to the labyrinth where the legendary forge was said to be located. Thorin had already guessed that the younger dwarf was having him on, and that he did not really know the legendary forge. From the tunnel ahead they heard a noise, like weapons drawn and then they saw two dwarves racing from the tunnel's mouth. "Frostwyrm!" One of them snapped. "Run, the barrel's lit!"
The guards grabbed Fálki, dragging him backwards, away from the tunnel. Thorin saw a glow, like a shimmer rise from the depth of the tunnel's mouth, something was moving in there, something shining like cold silver and moving like a snake. He could not help it; he walked closer wanting to see what kind of creature it was. "Prince Thorin!" He heard Fálki shout, but did not react.
A roar rose from the tunnel and Thorin saw something like a wyrm, enveloped in blue fire crawl from the shaft. The beast shot forward and only now did he realize that it had seen him. But he was unable to move, his body frozen much as he wanted to run. A paw came down at him, but before it could hit him, someone stood between him and the frost beast, two swords parrying the paw with crossed blades. One blade burying deep into the paw, the Frostwyrm howled and began to trash against the tunnel.
The next Thorin saw was a blinding light and he heard the Frostwyrm scream in agony, the armored tail of the beast crushing the ceiling. Someone grabbed him, pushing him down, and they slithered over the wet ground between the beast's paws and down deeper into the tunnel. Behind them the ceiling collapsed, further stones hailed down, he felt himself pushed over a ledge and landed hard. Someone held him down, shielding him from the rubble flying through the tunnel. He never knew how long it took for the ground to stop shaking, but finally the mountain calmed and silence fell.
The other dwarf got up and helped him to his feet. "That was close," he stated, lighting a torch. In the flickering shine of the flame, Thorin saw one of the people of the Reach, he might be older than him by a decade or two, wore rough leather armor, swords on his back, and he sported a bright blond mane of hair. Intense sea green eyes looked at him. "Are you injured, my Prince?" he asked. "You took quite a fall."
"No, I am fine, thanks to you." Thorin looked past them where piles of rubble blocked the tunnel; the ceiling must have broken on several yards of tunnel. Hundreds of tons worth of rubble blocked their way back. "We'd have found our grave there…" only now Thorin realized what had happened. "I should have run."
"Frostwyrms have hypnotic eyes, your Highness. T'was your guards that botched it to not get you out of reach." The other dwarf stated.
"Thorin, my name is Thorin." He said, this dwarf had just saved his life. "What is your name?"
"Dari, son of Nar." The other dwarf told him, raising his torch to inspect the cave-in.
That name was somewhat obvious, orphans and children out of wedlock were named sons of Nar, after a generous ancient dwarf who had allowed for all those children without a father to be called his. So Dari was either an orphan or fatherless. "Will they be able to dig through to this?" Thorin asked, looking at the cave in.
"Thirty yards of collapsed tunnel, that will take weeks, if they can do it anytime soon anyway." Dari said dryly. "We better go for another exit."
"Are there other ways out of here?" Thorin could only see a tunnel leading deeper into the peak. He had nothing with him, not even a weapon.
"We need to cross the labyrinth, but we can make it in a few days." Dari said. "Do not worry, my Prince, surviving in the peak is not all that hard."
"We do not have any provisions, not to mention any water." Thorin pointed out. "I did not bring a weapon to visit an allied city."
Dari handed him one of his swords. "There, you might need it if meet another Frostwyrm. And there is water coming from the rock in some places, we can find slugs, cave mushrooms and Frostwyrm eggs, do not worry, Thorin, we can survive this."
And he had been right. In the days they had needed to cross the labyrinth they had found food, even as Thorin found it disgusting, he was too hungry to care and there was water to be found, or ice that they could melt. On the third day of their march through the labyrinth they reached a catwalk spanning a wide chasm. In the middle of the dark, Thorin saw a glow, the only pillar in this chasm that was not uninhabited. His heart nearly stopped when he realized that he saw the legendary dragon forge – built on the rock in the dark and heated by flowing lava. He heard a hammer ring and echo through the darkness. "Who… is there truly someone there?" he whispered to Dari.
"Yes, do not go closer, unless it's the choice between death and entering." The other dwarf told him. "He who lives there tolerates my kind, but he bears no love for yours. He will tolerate some of us, but only few. My brother Skar, he can go there, but he knows when to stay away either."
Thorin caught a glimpse of a tall figure working on the anvil, red light blazing, bathing the smith in the light of flame. "Who is he?" he asked Dari in a whisper.
"No one knows," Dari replied. "it is said that our ancestors found him near the lava stream ages ago, beyond memory, as a matter of fact and they healed his wounds, nursing him back to health. He has lived here ever since. Few of us can come close, fewer that he will truly tolerate, but he is the greatest smith alive."
"And your brother can come there? He must learn a lot." Thorin meant that as an honest compliment.
"Skar is blind, the nameless one likes his harp music." Dari said. "Come, Thorin, we better not linger." And he had led him on into the darkness of the winding tunnels again. It was the hardest, most fascinating journey in Thorin's life so far. He saw the ancient places under the peak of the mountain and the veins of black iron, shimmering like blood in the dark, that ran through the rock. The dwarves of the Reach mined the material which they called the Blood of the Dark Lord, it was brutal work but when mined and processed correctly, it would make the best weapons and armor. Dari had smiled and claimed that not even true Mithril armor could compare. Thorin had not corrected him; he could see the fierce pride in his people's works in his companion.
That evening they had left the labyrinth and stood on an icy ridge, seeing the light of the watchtowers on the ridge beyond. Crossing the cold waste of ice was harder on Thorin than the tunnels had been, but Dari guided him safely, looking out for him until they finally stood back on the gates of the Reach. Thorin's grandfather had embraced him, glad he was alive. He had a good few words of thanks to Dari, but the warrior had quickly vanished into the crowd. It was Thorin's only visit to the Reach but he had never forgotten it.
Fifteen years later Thorin became 60 and was formally presented as a Prince to his people. Many houses presented their sons to him, offering service. It was a tradition to do that and not one that was reserved for nobility alone. Every house may offer one of their sons to serve a Prince, whether or not this service would be accepted, was an entirely different matter. In practice most of those offering would be from high houses and a few lesser houses ambitious enough to rub shoulders with nobility. Thrain had lectured Thorin all night on whom not offend, and on which house might prove worthy, because while he would be present, it was Thorin who would make the choices.
Thorin knew he was trying Thrain's patience, because the choices he was making were not the ones his father wished for. He had already politely refused two houses his father especially recommended. He simply disliked those, and he would not suffer them among his entourage. Luckily it was nearly done. He had chosen a healer, a scribe, and six of the seven required personal guards, which would be led by Dwalin son of Fundin. One spot was still open and he dismissed another whom his father had highly recommended. A small commotion happened at the hall's entrance; it seemed that there were a few more candidates. Dwarven law was quite specific, on the day of presentation, every house, every family, no matter how high or low, may present one of their sons to the Prince and ask to serve. The guards could not send anyone away, but such late arrivals happened rarely. "Let them step forward," Thror announced form his throne.
Two blond figures walked across the long walkway approaching the throne hall. Thorin's eyes widened, they had to be from the Reach. One was a woman in simple, practical clothing wearing a long cloak, the other was a warrior in leather armor. When they approached he knelt, both knees as befitted a commoner presenting himself, head down, the gold mane obscuring his face. The woman bowed low. "I am Frea, standing for Skadi, Dari's mother who cannot be here; I present my son to serve the high house."
Thorin could tell his father was short of a rant, and only good manners held him back, but Thror smiled from his throne. "It has been a long time since the Reach has sent someone to serve our House, and we are glad to see the love the Reach bears for us." He announced, signaling his approval of the offer, whether it was accepted or rejected.
"Look at me," Thorin commanded the kneeling dwarf.
Dari looked up at him, his sea-green eyes not giving anything away, no fear, no nerves, just calm and a small smile, which remained invisible for those standing farther away.
"I have need of a warrior for my personal guard," Thorin announced. "Present your weapon if you dare and bind yourself to our house."
The memories faded away, and Thorin found he could smile at Fili. The young warrior would always remind him of Dari, the same blond mane, the same fierce loyalty, the same care for others… only that he had the blue eyes of Durin's house. Thorin did not make the mistake to mix them up, Fili was a man in his own right, but he bore such resemblance to his father.
"So he became part of your personal guard?" Fili asked, smiling back at him. He probably had never heard so many new things about his father. "But… did he not miss his homeland?"
"Aye, he became part of my guard, Dwalin and him the only two who remained true after we lost Erebor." Thorin told him. "Dari's help was invaluable when we had to survive in the wilds and later to cross the Misty Mountains, but my grandfather had been right, his years with us were paid for with always being homesick for the snows. He rarely showed it, but he loved it when we crossed the Misty Mountains."
It all made sense to him now why he loved winter so much, why he had always been driven to wander Eriador when the cold time began. Something in him that he had never known was there, and longed for the cold. "What became of the people in the Reach?" Fili asked, wondering. He had never seen blond dwarves except for himself.
"They fell victim to the dragon's attack most likely," Thorin sighed. "We never knew what became of them, Fili. If they escaped, we never met them. But up there on the heights, they were exposed to the Dragon's first attack. I once asked your father whether he wondered, or worried for them, for his brother and all the others left behind. And he said, he did not, he knew in his heart that they might still be out there. And I do trust them to go on until we can return. Much like you with Kili."
Fili's eyes went out into the dark. "They are alive, somewhere out there, I can feel it." He said softly. "And I will trust them to make it back to us."
Such hope, such a bright light. Thorin put his arm around his nephew, like he had done when he was smaller on their countless travels. Fili leaned against him. Regardless of darkness and danger outside Beorn's house, Uncle and Nephew finally found some sleep.
Author's Note
The wonderful harrylee94 will roll her eyes about another repeated line of thanks for reading and input. THANKS! Your rock.
Canon mixes can be a mess. As the Hobbit Movie and the Books follow a different timeline, regarding events and Thorin's age, I have decided on a mix, mainly creating my own timeline version. This is a rough outline with amended dates that I am using so far.
2768 TA - Thorin born
2839 TA - Thorin's Age: 61 - Smaug attacks Erebor
2876 TA - Thorin's Age: 98 - Battle of Azanulbizar
2941 TA - Thorin's Age: 173 - Quest for Erebor