Chapter 15: Of Dreams and Nightmares

The blade sank into Thorin's chest, shock and pain erupting in him as he fell to the ground, his body crushed by its own weight. "Thorin!" He could not tell who had shouted, but Kili and Fili were by his side moments later, he could see their shocked faces. Their voices came from afar… he was hardly able to discern their words.

So you have sired some spawn on a black dwarf of all things…

Thranduil's voice cut through the haze, as the guards pulled Kili away. Fili shouted his brother's name, but remained with Thorin. He spoke, but Thorin did not hear his words. It was so cold here; he felt a chill running through his entire being. Fili's eyes shone with tears, he tried to reach up, touch his face, comfort him… but everything became grey, fading away even further.

The room faded into grey, he thought he could still see Fili even when he vanished before his eyes, Thorin called for him, but his voice echoed into emptiness. Heavy steps came closer; he could hear them, dwarven boots marching on the path by the river.

What river? Where was he?

Thorin rose, finding he was standing in an eerie twilight by the side of a dark river. He shivered, legends of this place were told among his people since the dawn of time. The steps drew closer and now he could actually see a figure emerge from the grey-ish twilight. It was a dwarf, not quite as tall as Thorin, he wore leather armor, strengthened by steel, swords on his back, leading a white pony. Light hair, fair as spun gold, forming a wild mane fell around his shoulders. The figure was so painfully familiar and so long missed. Suddenly Thorin understood why all those who were on threshold of the Grey would willingly follow their guide into the darkness. It was a guide they wished to see most.

"Dari?" He asked softly, still not daring to believe it was truly his friend.

"Thorin," Dari smiled at him, much like in life. "it's been a long time."

Leave it to Dari to understate things, he died under the Orc blades for Thorin and when they met again, he'd still have a smile and some gentle greeting for him. Thorin bridged the distance between them and pulled Dari into a fierce hug. "Too long," he had missed his friend so much, it hurt.

Dari returned the embrace, wordlessly understanding the pent-up emotions inside his friend. He had always understood. After a while he pulled back, shaking his head slightly. "You should not be here, Thorin, this place is not for you. Nothing you did warrants straying into the Grey."

"If leading my friends to death and letting down my people counts, this is the place I belong." Thorin replied grimly. "But… Dari… why are you here? You deserved to find Mahal's halls." He could not imagine Dari wandering the Grey for time beyond reckoning instead going home to their father, to the one who's forge shaped them all.

"I am here for you, Thorin," Dari simply said. "you must not stay here."

And now Thorin understood, for whatever reason he was given the mercy to be guided from the Grey, he did not know how he could deserve it, but Dari came for him, like the friend he always was. "So I am dead?" He knew this had to be it, Thranduil killed him.

"Not yet," Dari told him. "Your time has not yet come, my friend. Your path still stretches before you."

Bitterly Thorin shook his head, why was Dari so calm? Why was he not angry? "As if that meant anything, Dari, no fate cared that the hour of so many had not yet come. Fate did not care that your time had not come when you fell under that Orc blade. Mahal's mercy, Dari… you left your home on the Reach for me, and all I did was lead you to an early and cruel grave…"

"Thorin," Dari's voice gently cut through his anger, through his bitterness. "My hour may not have had come there, but my life was given freely and gladly. I never regretted my path, not one day, I was blessed with your friendship, it was all I asked for."

For a long time they just stood, Thorin's pain slowly evaporating, like a weight lifting off his shoulders. "You are so much like your son, Dari. Fili… he takes after you so much. Fire and Flame… Fili… he still in Thranduil's hands…"

"Which is why you must go back." Dari said. "They will need you, Thorin. And who else to take back Erebor? You can't leave the boys to do that on their own?"

They walked together along the path through the Grey, the dark river to their left, Dari seemed to know the way and Thorin trusted him. "Why am I given such mercy?" Thorin asked, still not understanding why his life should be so much different from all those others who fell to the blade, to hunger, to the dragon.

Dari stopped in his tracks, turning to Thorin. "Is it so hard to believe that you do deserve a good turn of fate, now and then?" he asked. "I cannot claim to know Mahal's judgement, but he holds his hand over your line, Thorin."

They reached the end of the path, the Grey evaporating into colour. "This is as far as I can go, Thorin." Dari said. "But you can make it on your own from here."

Thorin did not go, he remained where he was, eyes on his old friend. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to ask. But his throat was tight; the words would not come out.

Again Dari read all there was in Thorin's heart in his eyes. "When you return to Erebor, seek out the Reach," he said after a moment. "My people still survive there, they wait for their King to return."

"Dari… I…" Thorin whispered, not knowing how to say goodbye to his friend again.

Stepping closer Dari smiled. "The next time we meet, I expect a long tale about dragon slaying and restoring Erebor, my friend." He said. "And I hope you make me wait for many many years." He raised his hands, palms down, touching Thorin's own, a warm light shining between their hands.

Thorin felt the warmth trickle into his body, shocked to realize the gift he was given. "No, Dari… you can't."

His friend smiled. "Take it, Thorin, I want you to. Now go, may your path lead you home." The warmth light enveloped Thorin and he closed his eyes accepting the gift, the gift of a candle doused well before it's time. They grey light faded and Thorin woke with a gasp. He lay on a blanket on a stone floor; he blinked into the semi-dark, groaning.

"Thorin!" Balin's voice came from the dark. "Mahal's mercy… you live…" The older dwarf's voice was hoarse, like he had been crying.

Pushing himself off the blanket, Thorin sat up, his hand went to his chest, finding the cut of the blade entirely gone. "It would take more than a haughty wood elf to kill me." He tried to grumble, failing at it when he saw Balin's distress.

"Thranduil had us thrown down here, saying you should die like a dog in a den…" Balin's voice held a wealth of barely constrained emotions. "When you grew all still, I feared you were going home to your fathers."

Thorin actually hugged the old dwarf, seeing the pained concern in his eyes. "No, old friend, I promised Dari to make him wait for a long time."

ADL

The sharp snap of the crossbow was the only warning he got, Thranduil ducked the bolt missing him barely, hitting one of the servants who tried to hide in the halls. The noise of battle ringing up from the great halls below, he took his bow, coming up behind the stone balustrade that gave him cover. In the hall below the royal guard fought a losing battle against the dwarves. Dwarves! Searing hatred rose inside the young Sindar. They had come for the Nauglamir, and their army cut swath through the ranks of Doriath's finest warriors. His arrows killed two more dwarves, before their crossbowmen had him in their crossfire again and he had to take cover behind the stones.

There was blood everywhere, the throne hall littered with corpses, there was blood everywhere, Thranduil stumbled forward, fearful to recognize his father in one of the many dead. On the stairs of the throne he saw Thingol's lifeless form, felled by a dwarven axe…

"Father, you need to wake up," A voice cut through Thranduil's dark dreams.

"Legolas, what happened?" The elf king sat up quickly, trying to hide any tiredness. Elves did not sleep like common men did, and their dreams were different. He would not have his son see that he had been deep in sleep.

"Prince Elrohir and his riders have arrived here, father." Legolas told him. "Do you wish for me to deal with them?"

Tiredly Thranduil looked at his only son, he was so much like the youth of the Eldar had been, and yet he too only barely escaped the touch of the shadow. "Why do you ask me that? Whom did he bring with him, that you feel I should not meet him?"

"He brought Aelin with him and refuses to leave him outside the city." Legolas' voice betrayed an amount of anger at that.

Duathaelin… the name sent a shiver through Thranduil. Blades clashing, they stood ten to one but they might as well have stood one to ten, for the one warrior overpowered them with the terrible ease of an Elf who had turned killing into perfected art. It was the cruelest thing of it all that the rebuilt Doriath should not be faced by the Dwarves or hordes of Orcs but by their own kind. A Noldor army battling them, giving neither quarter nor mercy. Thranduil's companions died left and right, the warrior whirling through one deadly dance, his sword never failing, each strike taking a life. Standing the last, Thranduil did not even find the strength to raise the blade to defend against the deadly attacker. The warrior halted his strike, only disarming him. "Learn to fight before you play the warrior's game, Sindar," he said in their tongue, pushing Thranduil aside to gain access to the upper halls.

""Duathaelin! Don't waste time on them, we need you at the gate!" the call came from above. The Noldor raced up the stairs, leaving Thranduil standing, wondering why he had been spared…

"Father, you better rest." Legolas said warmly, worry clear in his eyes. "I will speak with Prince Elrohir and ask him to remove his Noldor… companion."

"No." Thranduil said. "Do not contest with such a foe. He serves Elrohir out of a blood debt most likely… his ghastly kind did not deserve even that mercy." He felt the anger rise inside him, much like when he had killed that dwarf… "I will rest, my son and withdraw to the gardens." He said, sinking back on his pillow.

ADL

Elrohir paced in the small audience hall, waiting for Thranduil to make his appearance. It was unusual, if not downright impolite to make him wait like this. "He may make you wait until you comply, sending me away." Aelin observed, the warrior stood with his back to a pillar, if being in the middle of a palace where he was entirely unwelcome unnerved him, he did not show it.

"As I do not comment or critique his choice of company, I expect the very same from him." Elrohir replied. "and if my father can not only tolerate your presence, but forgive you, so can Thranduil. We are not here to celebrate autumn's return with him, we are here for tidings of war, for Dol Guldur, I would be stupid to send you away. It would be like cutting off my right arm."

Aelin accepted the compliment with an inclining of his head, sometimes Elrohir was still surprised that he had managed to win the prideful warrior's allegiance. When the Noldor spoke, his voice was lower, hushed. "But something is off here, this whole palace… these halls, there is something strange here, I can sense it."

Elrohir wanted to agree with him but they were interrupted by Legolas entrance. "If you feel a shadow on these halls, then it is the shadow the blood on your hands carries, Duathaelin." He said coolly before he turned to Elrohir. "I am sorry that my father was not here to greet you, Prince Elrohir, he has been occupied with other matters and will not be able to see you today."

"I understand," Elrohir bowed slightly as was proper. "And I regret he would be that busy. I was sent here by my einior emmel, the Lady Galadriel to speak to your people about the danger of Dol Guldur. On the way here I also learned of a number of dwarves that were caught by your people on the road."

Legolas arched an eyebrow. "The dwarves are captives; my father ordered their leader executed." He told Elrohir evenly. "As for Dol Guldur, the threat is contained on the southern edge of the road, we fight constantly against their forays, but it does not pose any danger for our lands."

"Your father ordered the dwarven leader killed?" Elrohir asked incredulously. "For what crime?"

"It would be none of your concern, Prince Elrohir. We thank you for your concern regarding Dol Guldur…"

Elrohir had known Legolas for nearly all his life, the woodland Prince was younger than him and he could tell that the Prince was trying to push them off, get them out of here quickly. Something was wrong and Legolas was trying to save face. "Aelin, wait outside," he told his companion before approaching the woodland elf. "Legolas… something is wrong here. Your father may dislike dwarves, even hate them, but ordering Thorin killed?"

Taken aback Legolas looked at him. "I did not say his name… have you been spying on us?" His posture got more defensive.

"No," Elrohir said. "But they passed through Rivendell no two months ago. And you still have not told me for what crime your father would execute him."

"He has suffered enough pain at the hands of Durin's house," Legolas said, but his heart was not truly in the answer. "Elrohir… I cannot go against my father. Please. Let it go. Stay as a guest, if you wish, but please… let it rest. These dwarves are none of your concern."

"Two of them are my friends, Legolas!" Elrohir said angrily. "And if your father killed their Uncle, then another blood vengeance may rise from that… do you want this? And Dol Guldur is not contained at all, we fought Night Riders and Mist Wraiths right inside the woodland realm."

Legolas gave him a sorry, sad glance. "You have an odd… choice on whom you call friends, Prince Elrohir," he said eventually. "Please leave. You cannot do anything here." He turned suddenly and left the hall.

ADL

Fili was finally asleep, exhausted and pained; sleep had taken its due as the night wore on. The young dwarf leaned against Boromir and the warrior had an arm wrapped around him. During the long lone hours in their cell he had tried to comfort Fili, little as there was he could do. Thorin struck down before they very eyes and Kili dragged off for questioning had left Fili desperate, pained and haunted with worry. Boromir had not shared with him what he felt from Kili through the bond, it was too strange. The bond would blank out for hours at a time, to be revived with pain and fear. Fear increasingly getting stronger with each time.

Fili's bitter tears for Thorin, had been all too understandable to Boromir and he had held the younger warrior, much like a brother would, through the worst of it. Boromir had long lost the ability to cry as openly, or to express sorrow with the same openness. He had not cried for his own father and he had not shed tears for the many others that had fallen by his side. The last one he had cried for like that had been his mother and maybe his grandfather, both dead during his childhood. He had sometimes wished he could express his pain like this, it would maybe make the hollow feeling in his chest less painful. But once unlearned tears could not be regained much as one might wish for it. He had held Fili, comforted him, another little brother needing his strength.

Now that Fili was asleep, Boromir sat unmoving, his mind going over all that happened. His mind did not linger on Thorin struck down and tossed into a cell to die alone. Cold as it may sound, everyone died alone, when the end came you had to face it alone with no one by your side. It was a grim truth. What worried Boromir was Thranduil. The Elven King behaved nothing like he had heard of him, nothing like his brave son Legolas. And there had been that expression in his eyes – the rage, the greed, the darkness. Boromir knew that expression all too well, he had seen it rise in his own father's eyes when Denethor had spoken of the Ring, he had seen it in his own eyes, reflected in the waters of the great river, when the Ring had been calling for him, when he had nearly fallen to the lure of the dark. What kind of darkness had reached the King of the Woodland Realm? How could the dark even reach the elves? They were beings of light, weren't they?

He sighed, his heart heavy. Thorin's death should not have happened… what had gone wrong? Had his own presence caused things to change? No, he doubted that he was of such an import. Yet something had changed, like fate itself was unraveling. Arwen had warned him to not to try and change the fate of the world, and thus he had left Bilbo alone, even as he knew the Halfling must have the Ring by now. The story of the ring's finding had been told at the council. The Ring… Boromir had not felt anything from it, no dreams, no whispers, no call, no lure. Was it because Sauron was not yet strong enough to call for it? Or did someone else hear the call? Was Sauron's presence already that strong that he could even influence the Woodland Realm? Suddenly Boromir realized something… Galadriel and Elrond both had been wearers of the Elven Rings, using their power to protect their realms, the Mirkwood Kingdom lay at the borders of Dol Guldur without any shield against evil. And Boromir knew how it felt to struggle so long in the shadow.

"Boromir?" he heard a whisper. "are you awake?"

Fili startled, sitting up fully. "Bilbo? Where are you?" he asked, looking around.

"You can't see me, I am a burglar after all," Bilbo's voice came from near the door. "are you two alright?"

"How can I be?" Fili asked, his voice nearly breaking. "They murdered Thorin… they have my brother."

"Thorin is not dead yet, Fili." Bilbo told them. "He was injured but he lived, they brought him into a deep cell with Balin. I was there an hour ago and he is recovering. You don't think he'd let an elf kill him, do you? He is too stubborn and bloody minded to die at their convenience."

"Bilbo… I could hug you," Fili said, his eyes shining with new light. "What about my brother?"

"I have not found him yet." Bilbo explained. "They have split you up along all their dungeons, which are excessive, I might add. I never thought elves would have use for so many dungeons."

Talking to an invisible voice did feel a bit strange, but now that Bilbo was here and able to move about freely was something of a ray of hope. "Bilbo… you found us, what is your plan?" Boromir asked.

"I hoped to discuss that with you," Bilbo said. "at first I had hoped to find a way to free you all, but you are so far apart from each other."

"But loosely guarded," Boromir pointed out. "There are long intervals between patrols and they never have many guards down here. Do you think you can steal a few knives and something to pick this lock with?"

"You want to break out of this dungeon?" Bilbo asked. "I have no idea how to get out of this mountain, we are underground…"

"We will find a way out of here, Bilbo, but to do so we need some weapons to defend ourselves and a way out of this cell. And we had better not tarry, before Thranduil remembers Thorin."

"You plan to kill the guards, do you?" Bilbo had seen Boromir fight in Goblin town; his question came without too much surprise.

"What other choice do I have?" Boromir asked. "I would try to take out the guard when they bring our food, but I'd prefer to have a weapon when tackling an elf."

Bilbo sighed. "I do not like this, Boromir… but after what they did to Thorin I understand. I will try to find an armory. Do not give up, I will be back."

ADL

"He knows something but he prefers to hide it than to ask for help," Elrohir strode down the long empty hall, only Aelin at his side. "Look at this place… they hide, they creep deeper into their woods, and they pretend that nothing is haunting them."

"Maybe it goes against their pride to ask for help, they wouldn't be the first elves to make that mistake," Aelin pointed out, and be it only for the sake of argument.

"Pride or foolishness? My grandmother will not be happy to hear of this, but maybe she can make sense of it." Elrohir replied, not slowing his stride. "And as we are so nicely unattended in this inhospitable house we will go and find the dwarves."

"You are angry about Thorin," Aelin adjusted his step to keep up with the Prince. "And while I understand your friendship with his nephews, he showed you hardly any liking and little respect."

Elrohir laughed, stopping. "Aelin, what would his respect be worth if it was not hard won? He is proud, stubborn and headstrong, brave and fierce, the world would be lessened without people like him. And to hear he was killed because a woodland elf did not know how to hold his temper…"

"They threw him into the dungeons when he did not die right away, if Thranduil never bothered to learn dwarven anatomy his stroke might have missed heart and lung." Aelin said. "So… the dungeons it is?"

Elrohir signalled him to be silent, the keen ears of the Prince picking up something, a soft footfall and something like a gasp. He whirled around, grabbing into the thin air to actually feel he had grabbed someone small but invisible. He could feel the wriggling in his hand, and then suddenly Bilbo became visible to him.

"Bilbo Baggins?" He asked, shocked. His men had reported finding no trace of other dwarves or a Halfling anywhere near the old forest road.

"Sh… keep your voice down; I would prefer to not be found." Bilbo told him. "You are the first to spot me."

Elrohir put the Halfling back down, surprised and glad to see him. "So you escaped the guards that caught your friends. Good work." He said. "You are going to free your friends, I take it?"

The Halfling nodded. "Yes. I found most of them, they are held in different parts of the dungeons. Thorin is alive, but injured and I cannot find Kili. Lachanar said he might have been brought down to the lowest levels."

"Lachanar? He is helping you?" Elrohir knew the former warleader and now patrol captain, he was one of Thranduil's best warriors.

"He is in a cell for refusing to execute Thorin, he is scheduled to die after him." Bilbo said. "And he is resigned to that, but he described most of the dungeons to me and will write down the watch and patrol patterns for Boromir to use, once I have gotten them some weapons and a way out of the cells."

"That sounds like half of a plan already," Aelin observed. "But we better make sure we know where all of them are, before beginning."

"We? You mean you would help?" Bilbo had been sure the two Rivendell elves would not give him away, but helping was something else entirely.

"We won't leave friends to rot in the dungeons." Elrohir confirmed. No matter what influence Thranduil was under, what had been done here was not to be taken lightly, and he would do all he could to set it right. "Aelin, find Sireán, have him secure a boat near the old river gate, pretend we want to leave the city on the river when necessary and set Pelingil to finding out where the Dwarves' possessions have been stored. Meet Bilbo and I at the dungeon bridge after, it is high time we inspect this dungeon."

ADL

Goeron sat on the edge of the table, watching the proceedings with his arms crossed in front of his chest. The dungeon master was not in a good mood, but it was not his task to be cheerful. He had been instructed to get answers about the company's destination from Thorin's spawn, and the dwarf proved recalcitrant. The first attempt to make him talk had been a generous dose of Wildberryroot Elixir but the brew that would have any Elf talk the truth properly had only managed to make the dwarf aggressive beyond control. The stubbornness of his race winning out over the Elven ways of finding answers.

Elves did not interrogate the prisoners the way Orcs did, much as Goeron would have preferred to give the dwarf a whipping that let him beg and whimper for a week, he would not sink to such levels. So other ways had to be found, and the means stood in the center of this very room: a simple stone chair, cut from a grey, unassuming material. The seemingly simply item had been cut in long bygone times to punish the rare cases of crime among the elf-kind. Elves neither killed nor maimed in punishment or justice, any criminal would be placed in the chair and made relive his deeds from the victim's perspective. The use of the chair was so rare that it had nearly been forgotten.

The dwarf sat in the chair, oblivious to the room and their presence, thick sweat running off his brow, his was writhing in a pain caused by something invisible. The lush long hair was wet with sweat and sometimes he screamed, his voice hoarse from too all the screaming he had done already.

"Six times under, no result," Midhior observed. "he is a tough one… tougher than any I have seen so far. His will is remarkable." The elf was the one to control the artifact, for Goeron had never learned to wield such powers.

"What is he seeing?" Goeron asked, wondering if Midhior went too easy on the dwarf.

"He is hanging in chains, naked, being flogged by a black Orc," Midhior said, his eyes never leaving the chair. "Their leader, a huge pale Orc already had his share of sport with him but is still eying him greedily. Not far away the other orcs have built a fire, hoping to roast him alive… he knows it's either them, or the leader again and this time I will not allow him to wake up early."

"Up the ante a little," Goeron said. "He already knows that one, make him survive and the Orc keep him… a nightmare unending."

Up on the ledge above the room Elrohir squatted, watching the events below, he could sense Kili's agony, what he was being put through, he had long learned to listen into artifacts such as this. All in him wanted to leap down there to free him. But he knew if he wanted to truly save Kili he would have to be smart. Staggering Elrohir made it back into an empty tunnel above the dungeons, his stomach clenched, he still could sense parts of what happened to Kili, and he wanted to throw up at the sensations. "How can they do this…" he whispered brokenly. No elf… not even the most vile of them should sink that low.

"Elrohir, are you injured?" Aelin had found him, kneeling down beside him.

"No… can you feel that, Aelin? How can they do that…?" Elrohir whispered, knowing the Noldor's keen senses should be easily attuned to the artifact that was used.

"I can feel it," The Noldor confirmed, gently guiding Elrohir away from the tunnel and out of the reach of the artifact. "He is still holding out, his mind is very strong."

"Aelin… can there be any explanation… any excuse for what they have done?" Elrohir asked, a hint of desperation in his voice, the shock still so close. "What they are doing here… it is something Orcs would do. Those are not elves…"

"I have done worse and you never shied away from me," Aelin reminded him, steadily meeting his eyes.

Elrohir drew a slow breath, exhaling slowly to calm himself. "You fought in wars, you have killed, you have even killed our own kind, Aelin. But you never sunk that low." He said firmly. "I will believe that Thranduil does not know what is happening here, for now. But something dark is at work in this land, influencing his people, it is the only explanation." He straightened up, the moment of weakness passing. "We will get them out tonight, once the boat is ready."

Author's Notes

Like always this chapter comes with a lot of thanks to Harrylee94, who patiently listens to my ideas and plans, reads my chapters wonderfully and develops an eerie sense of knowing what I am planning ahead.

Some of my readers have expressed worry about Thranduil being so bad… and while I will honestly admit that my love for the guy is limited, he will not be bad out of his own volition entirely in this story. There is a darkness working on him, that feeds his hatred and his pain. The events referenced in his flashback are the First Sacking of Doriath by the Dwarves, and the Second Kinslaying, when Doriath was destroyed by the sons of Feanor.

Why is the world so different from the original events? I got asked that a couple of times. This is not scientific time travel, this is magical travel, influencing fate, which IMHO follows a different logic. For one fate (or several fates) to be changed, other things must balance out again, thus things change, far beyond the reach of original traveler. It is the small scale version of the same effect Arwen warned Boromir about.