Chapter 22: Stronger than blood

"Someone braid my hair up and call me a dwarf," Asbiorn whispered. "They are really camping on that shore as well." Squatted behind the shielded lamp at the boat's bow, the blacksmith had his bow ready to shoot, peering intently into the dark on the shore they approached.

Having realized that the Woodland army was blocking their way out of the city, the people of Dale had taken to crossing the lake with boats in the dead of night. Thought they had come across another problem, they had spotted firelight on the other side as well. The first boats were to assess the threat, while the main bulk of the boats were still out on the water.

"Only one fire, it might be a scout post, a lookout." Bard pointed out. He too was on the first boat, along with a number of fighters. They might have to force their way out, but would prefer not to be the ones to start the bloodshed. He turned to Galfeir of the longboatmen. "Bring us in, we cannot lose more time. Hagil, Aiken, you are with me."

Once the boat hit the shore, guided there by the steady hand of Galfeir, Bard jumped into the shallow waters and walked ashore, he knew Hagil and Aiken were with him. The fire truly belonged to a camp, and one they had startled up, that much was obvious. Whoever was in that camp had not been on their lookout. A numbered of people got to their feet, having sat by the fire, then swiftly approached Bard.

The Bowman's heart sank, for a moment he had hoped they might be traders or dwarves from the Iron Hills. But they were clearly elves. Two of them approached him directly, both wore a type of armor he had never seen before and had dark hair. "Well met, strangers," one of them spoke, his Westron very melodious. "If we have trespassed on the grounds of your city we apologize. My people and I will be gone by morning, you have our word."

"You are not with the Host of the Woodlands?" Bard asked, surprised. Maybe they were here to join with Thranduil, who knew what kind of help the Elven King could call upon?

The other elf, who had icy blue eyes shot a near glare at Bard. "No, we are not with our esteemed brethren,"

"Peace, Aelin," the first raised his hand, forestalling some more words from his friend, before turning to Bard. "I am Elrohir, son of Elrond. I am on my way North with my people."

ADL

Thorin opened the door of the cell, it was a simple, clean, empty stone room without anything in it. He was not surprised to find Lachanar sitting near the door, calmly and unmoved. He knew it was partially a façade, Lachanar had been a warrior for too long to not attain that iron hard, cold mask that would come out once in enemy hands. And elves could out-wait nearly anyone; their patience would drive guards easily up the walls. He stood up when Thorin entered. Their eyes met and Thorin pointed to the door. "You can go, Lachanar, if you are swift you should be far away before the army arrives."

The elf arched an eyebrow. "What happened with needing my knowledge?" he asked not unfriendly. "There are a few captains in the host that may be swayed, or become hesitant if tackled correctly and Malenior, for all his bravery has never seen a major battle…"

"We are not enough to put up a major battle, Lachanar," Thorin pointed out. "There won't be any help from Dáin, if you think he may assist, he made it clear that retaking the mountain was my task and mine alone."

"I am not surprised," Lachanar replied in regards to Dáin, he had heard enough of that Dwarf Lord to know what to expect. "but… back… back then, when we returned from the Withered Heath you said that the fortress had extensive siege engines, catapults, traps to fill whole halls with fire, that practically the entire outer layer of the fortress was a maze of deathly traps. The Silvan army is only lightly armored; they are not exactly the troops to storm any fortress, once inside they will be at a disadvantage…"

Thorin could see the former Captain-General of Mirkwood had already taken to think about this, about strategies, even as they meant to kill his own people. "Why?" he asked gruffly. "Why are you helping me? I did not make you welcome here."

Lachanar crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Because that's what I should have done in the first place." He stated calmly. "When I realized that Thranduil would not be swayed, that he was too afraid to risk the battle."

"No," Thorin shook his head, ever since what had happened the previous evening; he had the time to think hard on his own actions. "You were trapped between your oath to your King and your loyalties to a friend… not much of a friend, at that."

"But still a friend," Lachanar interjected. "Shadow above, Thorin, I knew Thranduil could be as bad as Amrir when it came to battlefield control, but…"

"No," Thorin bridged the gap between them, his strong hand touching the elf's arm. "You had to keep your oath… you could not have aided me. Not with your king turning back. Forgive my anger…"

"Your anger was more than justified, Thorin." Lachanar said. "And it's all in the past now, we have a battle ahead of us."

"You truly intend to stay?" Thorin asked, still not believing Lachanar would fight against his own people. He could see the answer in Lachanar's gaze. "Then… welcome back to the Mountain."

There was a true smile on Lachanar's scarred face. "It is good to be back here, Thorin."

ADL

Three days later Thorin found Lachanar and Dwalin on one of the towers by the upper battlements. "I'd not see a thing if it were not for the dust," he heard the dwarven warrior grumble.

"Three marching columns," Lachanar confirmed, pointing them out. "Malenior is spreading them out for the march, there is a fourth, I think, but they are so far off, I can hardly see them."

Dwalin barked a laugh. "Your elven eyes see more than ours would anyway, Lachanar. But why spread them out, it's not a smart thing to do."

The Elf shrugged. "Most of the meaningful books on warfare have been written by Noldor, Dwalin and most Sindar have refused to learn from them. This is what cost us so many lives during the last Alliance." And those who had been willing to learn from Gil-Galad's troops had quickly found themselves at conflict with their Sindar brethren.

Dwalin turned around when he noticed Thorin. "Thranduil is less than a day away, Thorin." He said, pointing at the clear autumn skies and a small cloud of dust marring the crisp cool color.

Thorin did not need an explanation to know that the dust was the sign of the approaching troops, and unsurprisingly Lachanar could see them with his keen elven eyes. He looked to the side, where Kili and Boromir where studying the same view. The last three days had been spent preparing, formulating plans and then getting ready for them. Thorin had considered going to the Reach but he had found the stairwell leading up destroyed and blocked by rubble.

"Armory, everyone," he ordered. It was time for them to gear up, to arm themselves for the fight that lay ahead of them. Their plan was more than a bit crazy and desperate, but it was not entirely hopeless. In all honesty, Thorin had been shivering more than once when he had seen the plan take shape between Dwalin, Boromir and Lachanar, they may be of three different peoples, of the most different backgrounds, but warfare was what they had dedicated themselves too, and when they threw their knowledge and experience together, they came up with a scary plan.

Erebor's main armory had been broken open by the dragon long ago, but except for creating some chaos it was still in good shape. "At least the dragon did not drag it all out into the main hoard," Dwalin grumbled, as he surveyed the place. "Fili, Kili, give me a hand, we need to move this." The two younger dwarves assisted Dwalin to move aside a stone chest that had been pushed before the adjacent door that led deeper into the armory. Kili opened the chest and grinned. "At least I will not run out of arrows quickly," he observed, seeing that the chest was stacked with long steel arrows.

Thorin approached his sons, seeing Dwalin grin at Kili's comment. "Fili, Kili… help the others, some of them will need it." he said, being well aware that a number of their brave companions had little experience with this. The brothers at once turned to Bofur and Bifur, aiding their comrades to find armor that would fit them and their respective fighting style. Not far away Thorin spotted Bilbo conversing with Bombur, who was donning a studded leather armor. The Halfling was too small for most of the armor stocked here, most of it was made for dwarves, but there were a number of pieces meant for trade that would fit Boromir, but for Bilbo nothing here would fit. Except…

Thorin strode through the armory, reaching the back end of the main hall, he turned towards a door that had been smashed much like the others. The room behind was fairly untouched, the dragon had been unable to get in there. Swiftly Thorin found a black stone chest, adorned with griffins cut into the dark stone. Although it had been more than a century Thorin's fingers found the mechanism to unlock the chest at once, he needed both arms to lift the lid still. The upper half of the chest was stacked with various armor pieces, all of them familiar and most of them not what he was looking for. Thorin put them on a half empty shelf that had been placed there for exactly that reason. When he dug deeper he found what he had been looking for. Two near identical bundles encased in heavy leather. He lifted them out of the chest and placed them on the closed lid of another stone box to his left before carefully unwrapping the bundles. They held two small chainmail shirts, they were near identical, except that one was made for a slightly broader frame and had full arms, while the other had been made for a lighter frame and was only reaching down half-arm, to the elbow.

It made Thorin smile; he remembered the day Frérin had worn this the first time, only ten years old and so proud that day. The small bracers had been in the bundle along with the belt. Tarvi had made them; Thrór would only have the best make these… Tarvi who had taught Thorin the art, and who had died fighting beside Frérin in Azanulbizar. His work still could protect a life dear to Thorin. "Bilbo, come here!" he called out for their Hobbit.

Bilbo came into the room, nearly stumbling over a bundle of shields Dwalin had put into the doorframe. "Can I help you with something, Thorin?" he asked. "Not that it really seems necessary; most of the company seem perfectly at home in an overstocked armory."

"You can get rid of those rags and put this on," Thorin replied. "It should fit you and not be too heavy either."

Bilbo shook his head. "Thorin, I can't, I never learned to wear something like that, I am not used to the weight…"

"It was made for a child, to grow into the habit of wearing armor," Thorin pointed out. "And it will keep you alive once the fighting begins."

The Hobbit sighed but gave in. "I will look ridiculous indeed," he proclaimed, but there was humor in his eyes, like he was waiting for Thorin's reaction to a bout of Hobbitishness.

Luckily Dwalin joined them, his eyes falling on Bilbo who vanished behind a rack of shields to change. "Frérin's?" he asked softly. "Yours would never fit him."

"Frérin's," Thorin confirmed. "I hope it will keep him alive once the fighting starts." He could see understanding in Dwalin's eyes; they knew all too well what they were in for.

"I found your armor," Dwalin said, changing the subject. "It should not need adjustments, the dragon had it stacked with some of the other pieces in the outer hall."

Thorin knew what armor Dwalin spoke of, it was the same he had worn when he had been officially presented as a Prince to his people. He had been fully grown then and knew it should still fit, but… he felt hesitant to don the same armor again. "No, Dwalin," he said eventually. "I am not used to plate armor any more. Find me a soldier's chain and scales in the armory."

He could see the protest in his old friend's face but then Dwalin nodded curtly and did as he was bid. Thorin followed him back into the main armory, where he could hear Kili's voice. "Mahal's jewels, Boromir, that thing will slow me down too much!"

"It will protect your body while not taking away your agility, Kili," the Gondorian replied. "It leaves your lower arms and hands free, for use of the bow but will protect you in close quarters fighting." The warrior had helped Kili with a combination of chain mail armor with scales reinforcing the chest and sides.

Fili was getting similar help from Lachanar but with chainmail reinforced with a real plate layer, being a primary melee fighter this was the best option for him and he was not squirming like Kili. Dwalin had found what Thorin had asked him for and Thorin changed swiftly, the familiar weight of a full armor settling on him. When he was done, he saw Kili having tracked down a harness that would fit Boromir above the black chainmail he wore, along with steel gauntlets.

And he heard Fili snort derisively at something. "That chainmail of yours ought to get the armorer hanged, Lachanar, whoever thought that was something to not be tossed back into to the melting pit? I wonder if there are some armor pieces left here from back when Erebor was trading with your people."

"The other side of the armory," Thorin observed. "And Lachanar, stop being difficult. Fili is right, that chainmail is an atrocity and bad armor cost your people more than a few battles in the past. I won't have one of mine in such things."

ADL

The setting sun found Thorin up on the battlements above the closed gate again; the elven army had arrived, their host spreading out along the valley of Dale and Ravenhill. He had been called up here by Dwalin, because a single troop of about one hundred elves led by their King had come into range of the gate, the typical opening of a parley. Thorin had climbed onto the battlement, standing visibly above the gates, seeing Thranduil again on his elk, brought back memories of that other day. No. Thorin did not allow himself to think of that anymore, he would not allow the past to rule him any longer. He had made too many mistakes already.

"Elves of Mirkwood, what brings you to the gates of the Kingdom of Erebor?" It was Balin who had shouted, when the elves had come to halt.

Thranduil gestured the elven warrior beside him, who looked up. "We are here to demand justice for those you murdered in Mirkwood and to regain the Whispy you stole from the Palace." He called out. "If you return the Whispy undamaged our King will be magnanimous and spare your lives."

Thorin frowned, what was a whispy and why did Thranduil think he had it? "Lachanar?" he asked in a whisper. "Any insights?"

"A whispy is a willow seedling, he might want his tree spirit back," The elf replied as hushed, but the fine ears of the elves down below had picked up his voice.

"And we demand the traitor back for justice." Malenior, for he was the speaker, added.

Thorin shot him a glare. "We did not take anything from the tree, Thranduil." He replied loud enough to be heard but not shouting. "So I cannot give you what you wish for and I will not hand any of mine over to you, either. Nevertheless, I will offer weregild for those we killed during our escape or that were killed by our allies." He was sure Elrohir had not killed someone, his blade had been clean, but Aelin's had been bloodied and others might have fought as well.

Thranduil raised his eyes so he could see Thorin where he stood on the battlements. "You lie, I know you took the Whispy," he said his voice echoing clearly through the cold evening. "And even if I were inclined to leave the traitor to you to do as you see fit… you are not in a position to negotiate. You have barely a dozen fighters on these empty walls, you stand abandoned by your cousin in the Iron Hills…"

The soft swishing sound of a crossbow being fired cut through the air, moments before a well-aimed bolt form above hit Thranduil's mount in the eye, killing it. The elf only just managed to jump off his dying beast. "Our King does not stand alone!"

Thorin had to crane his neck to see the figure rising on one of the icy shoulders of rock above. It was the short figure of a dwarf, clad in dark armor, the light of the sinking sun touched his hair making it shine like molten gold. Demonstratively he reloaded his crossbow, while behind him, from cover behind rocks and ice more and more warriors rose. Another was on a spot nearly as exposed; he was armed with a crossbow as well and had an axe on his back. Thorin's heart jumped painfully, the people of the Reach! It had to be… there could be no doubt. He could not see the entire rock face above the gates but judging by what he could see alone they had come in number.

"You have heard us, elf-king!" The one with the axe called out. "You are not welcome at these gates. Turn your army around and leave this land."

"I will not!" Anger marred Thranduil's voice. "No matter how many dwarven rabble may be hiding under the ice and rocks. Your so-called King will pay for his crimes."

"Send out your champion and we will take care of that right away!" The one who had shot the elk called out. "Or do you fight for yourself? It will be a pleasant duty to send you home to your ancestors."

The one with the axe laughed grimly. "You have heard him, elf-king. Belfionn fights for us and for the Reach, who fights for you?"

Thorin frowned, he knew that the tradition of having two champions fight to clear a conflict was ancient elven, but had certainly fallen out of practice long since and the name the dwarf had just been called by was not dwarven either. "If it came to that I should fight him myself," he said it loud enough for all to hear, eliciting a bright laughter from the shooter.

"Now, Sindar-King, where is your courage?" He baited the Elf further, cheered on by his own people along with Thorin's company.

Thranduil pulled himself up to his full height. "I do not concern myself with vermin," he spoke icily. "This mountain is under siege now, see how long you can hold out. Hunger will teach you humility." He turned around and with him his men as they returned to their camp.

Thorin turned towards the dwarves on the height, wondering how they could reach them. With the stairs full of rubble and the stairs of the sky broken, there were not many ways for them to come down to the gate, let alone onto the battlements that led into the mountain. "The winding stair is collapsed," he called out to the one with the axe.

He saw the hands raised in confirmation, before a quick series of Iglishmek gestures followed. Thorin read them and suddenly understood. "The great dome," he whispered. Of course! The Dome had been broken by the dragon, who had used it to fly out of the mountain, creating a hole reaching up to the ice. Thorin and his company had been unable to make use of it yet, but it would be easier from above. Leaving some of his people to guard the gate, Thorin hurried through the halls towards the cold and frozen hall on the highest levels where the great dome had been. With the passing years the glacier had pressed ice down into the hall, making it even harder to pass.

When he arrived there he saw already several ropes dangle down, the dwarves of the Reach climbed down swiftly, they all wore black armor and rough leathers beneath, all of them were well armed but Thorin did not fail to notice their hard appearance. Many were scarred, their faces rough, and the way they moved bespoke a lifetime of fighting.

The one with the axe had led one of the first groups down, another came with the crossbow shooter with the strange name, while the second group had given the first some distance and clear precedence by keeping at the back of the proceedings. Searching the face of their leader, Thorin found only a vague familiarity in the face of the dwarf with the axe. He approached them, stepping into the light of the crystal torches they had brought.

"Thorin?" The words of their leader were barely a whisper, like he could not believe it.

While he would not recognize the face, the voice woke memories in Thorin. He could hardly link the face of the eager young boy he remembered with the hardened warrior standing under the broken dome, but he knew that voice. "Fálki?" His mind knew that the son of Rór would have grown into a man by now, but… but his heart still saw that young dwarf guiding him through the Reach.

Their eyes met and he could see true recognition dawn in Fálki's eyes, a moment before the dwarf knelt before him, his warriors following suit, the second group only a moment later than the rest.

Thorin's throat tightened, after more than a century, after being abandoned on the heights, after having survived the dragon's reign, the people of the Reach still would see him as their King, Durin's House the High Kings of the Dwarves. He clasped Fálki's arm to pull him up. "I never dared hope to see you again or your people…"

Fálki actually smiled, giving the hardened warrior's face an echo of the boy he once had been. "I knew you would come back one day, Thorin… you'd never give up on our people. And… when we saw the dragon crash into Dale, we knew the time had come." He straightened up, remembering the situation they were in. "We better have the troops move down here, in case the elf wants to storm the walls before the night is through."

"How many did you bring?" Thorin asked, did he dare hope that the Reach's people had survived in numbers? Could they have survived on that icy peak with all the dangers lurking there and a dragon on top of that?

"A few hundred," Fálki replied. "I did not want to weaken our defenses unduly, the chasm is worse than it ever was. And I will have to ask Belfionn how many Dragonblooded he brought."

Belfionn had approached them and seeing him made Thorin's heart nearly stand still, for he bore too great a resemblance to Dari, to Fili, only that he had two strange, silvery marks shaped like flames on his temples. "Fálki, I think we can cut stairs into the ice," he said, ignoring Thorin entirely. "I'll go with some of my men to do so, we will be faster at it. Should allow us to move supplies down here as well. I'd hate having to run back to the peak for every Frostwyrm-egg we might need."

"Have your men cut the stairs, ours will assist," Fálki decided. "But stay please, King Thorin's warmaster will have question on how many people you can bring… and whether they will stay."

The warrior's stance tensed slightly. "Fálki, we never disputed who was the King of the Mountain… that being Smaug for the last century." He said calmly. "But I will not begin a dispute on the true King now. He has your allegiance and our support. Our Lord may never swear to him… oh, Ashes and Blood, can we sort that when we are actually rid of a cowardly elf on the front gate?!"

Thorin could sense there was much that must have happened on the Reach and the young warrior standing here did most certainly not feel up to it. He smothered a smile; he knew such reactions from his sons, only that this one might be a few decades older. "I would like to know who shot Thranduil's noble mount and proclaimed me King so bravely, still." He said to the dwarf, whatever confusions existed up there, they could be sorted in time.

"Belfionn, Blade of the Dragonblooded…" The warrior stopped, realizing something and beginning again. "Dari, son of Skar, at your service," this time he bowed as would be proper among dwarves.

Son of Skar... Nephew to Dari, now Thorin understood why he would look so familiar. "Dragonblooded?" he inquired, remembering Bilbo having heard the dragon speak of his crazed children. The dragon could not have sired children… could he? No, that was impossible.

"That's a long tale," Belfionn said. "And not one that is mine to tell, either." His eyes went to Fálki, who was clearly uncomfortable with the topic.

"It is yours to tell, Fion," Fálki said slowly. "It was by my mistake it all happened."

"You did what made most sense at the time and we survived," Belfionn replied. "You did what was necessary to protect the people of the Reach… even if it was from us." He looked at Thorin. "Is there any way to explain to a stubborn dwarf that he did nothing wrong?"

There must be a wealth of hurt and tension in that story, Thorin could see it and he could read it in Fálki's eyes that had taken a haunted, pained expression. "Walk with me," he said to them, gesturing Dwalin to take matters in hand here. He led the two dwarves away from the smashed hall and down into the warmer parts of the mountain, stopping in an empty hall. "The dragon spoke of his crazed children before he died," he said. "But… I cannot believe he would have…"

"He did not sire any children, none of the great wyrms ever did that, no matter how much girl snatching the ballads attribute to them," Belfionn said.

Fálki met Thorin's eyes. "The day the dragon came… he melted our city, many died, my father among them. After he could not leave the main gate anymore he raged in the mountain. Two days later he smashed the dome and came for us…" His eyes had taken a dark, haunted quality, ast he remembered the dark, brutal hours. "My father was dead, with many others and we were trying to retreat into the deeper tunnels but the dragon followed us, we would have all died, but for one man. The Master of the Dragon Forge… he came out."

Thorin remembered how Dari had told him about the nameless one residing in the dragon forge since times beyond memory. The stranger the people of the Reach had found by the lava stream and nursed back to health. "Was he the one who injured the dragon so badly?" he asked, remembering the scar Bilbo had mentioned.

"He did indeed," Fálki said softly. "It was horrible, Thorin, their battle… it was the worst I ever saw… but he made the dragon retreat into the mountain, back to your city. The dragon was wounded and he bled, the blood running into one of our water reservoirs. We had not noticed, so many were exhausted, so many wounded… only when people started dying from drinking the water, we realized something was wrong."

"Dragon blood is dangerous, Fálki," Thorin said, the arcane smith knowing a bit more on that matter. "Even heroes who have killed dragons and were touched by the blood experienced changes to themselves."

"Aye," Fálki said. "I forbade people to drink from the reservoir and hoped we wouldn't have any more dead. But… Thorin, the young, the children who had been drinking from the reservoir did not die. They… they went mad." Clear pain echoed in his voice. "They saw things that were not there, attacked others, we had to take down several of them like rabid dogs before we realized that they all had drunken the water. And… I knew of another boy who had drunk of that water." His eyes went to Belfionn who stood beside him.

"Many more had, but he knew only of me at the time," Belfionn interjected gently, he was clearly trying to not make this harder on Fálki.

Fálki looked down. "What I did then was the worst decision I ever made as a leader… I told Skar his son would have to die. He was only nine years old, a little dwarfling and…"

"And you did what you had to, to protect all of our people," Belfionn, actually clasped Fálki's shoulder. "Had you allowed us to stay, serious harm may have come to our people."

Thorin noticed how supportive Belfionn was even as Fálki was clearly not his chosen leader. "Something happened, I take it?" he asked, trying to help Fálki to go on.

"Skar would not have it. He was a blind man, Thorin, a Skald, but he told me he'd rather be banished than see his child slaughtered. And thus my guards led him and his son to the surface." He closed his eyes, as if he could still see the blind harpist and his son vanish into the night on the ice.

"You went to the Dragon Forge," Thorin recalled Dari saying his brother was welcome there because the Master of the Dragon Forge loved his harp music.

"Aye," Belfionn confirmed his guess. "The Lord of the Dragon Forge took us in, and extended the same offer to all other children who had drunk the poisoned water. Fálki sent them to us and he taught us… to deal with our changes, to keep control and not go crazy."

"And he is your Lord now," Thorin understood, he could read between the scarce lines of Belfionn's story. He could see the children, cast away from their homeland, taken in by the Master of the legendary forge, raised and trained… growing into his followers. Much bad blood could have come of this and he admired how Fálki and Belfionn had managed to keep a balance and alliance in spite of all that. He looked at them both; in their own way they both were clearly uneasy. "I agree with Belfionn, Fálki, you protected your people, and you gave the children of the dragonblood into the hands of one who could help them." He looked at Belfionn, who seemed somewhat relieved. "And you have nothing to fear, Erebor will always have room for all those who call the Mountain their home." And they would sort everything else at some other time.

ADL

A hand on his shoulder woke Thorin from his uneasy slumber. "Thorin… wake up," he heard Kili's voice. The young dwarf was standing beside him, fully armed.

"Has Thranduil decided he wants to fight it out?" Thorin got up swiftly, grabbing his weapons. He noticed that there was neither alarm nor hurry, so it could not be an all-out storm just yet.

"No, the fourth marching column Lachanar spotted yesterday is arriving and it does not look like Thranduil was expecting them either." Kili explained. "Could Dáin have gotten his head out of his posterior and send his troops?"

Thorin shot Kili a sharp glance; it would not do for a Prince to use veiled profanity about one of his blood relations, no matter how true. "I doubt it," he said as they set off towards the battlements. When they arrived up there, Thorin narrowed his eyes. It was only dawn and a dark, bleak autumn dawn it was. A long marching line was approaching the mountain on the old trade road, at the front of the column were riders, some were protecting the flanks but too few for a true army. And the column, they had pack ponies, packed goats… many were walking and carrying children. "This is no army, it is people," Thorin whispered, he had seen such wandering treks too often in his life to ever mistake them for something else. "and the elves will cut them off right at the trade gate."

The trading road had led to the trader's gate, it was one of the hidden gates into the mountain that could only be opened from the inside. "Dwalin, Fálki, send warriors down to the trader's gate, we need to open it."

"Thorin…" Dwalin began speaking. "We do not know who they are and why the elves are cutting them off."

"I do know who they are," Thorin said softly. "Mahal smite me… but I do." There was only one answer that made any sense, only one that was even possible in this land. "Bring enough warriors to cover the gate; we might have to fight to let them in." It went against much that his family would have done in the past, but Thorin would not be the dwarven king who left allies outside of his gates, he had learned better than that.

They hurried down to the trader's gate, Fálki was there with his troops, as were Belfionn and his people. Speaking the words for the gate to open Thorin was the first to step outside, warriors fanning out to the left and right of him. And a good thing it was, for the elves were there but they had not yet attacked the people on the road.

"Go back to your King and tell him that he can either let us pass or be the one who started the fourth kinslaying," Only Thorin understood the words the rider on the front of the column had spoken and he recognized the voice.

"Elrohir!" He called out, ignoring the woodland elves entirely as he advanced to reach the rider, the dwarven fighters fanned out and created a line of battle between the woodelves and the new arrivals.

"Thorin," Elrohir dismounted his horse, to greet him. Beside him stood Bard of Dale, the warrior looked grim. "The Master of Esgaroth has turned on you and your people, King Thorin," he said earnestly. "My people and I are here to assist you, as we did in the past."

"Thorin?" Fálki had his crossbow shooters climb vantage points where they could easily shoot the elves. "Who are these people? Men and Elves?" The Lord of the Reach was clearly confused about why they should help them.

"They are friends," Thorin said. "Very loyal friends, Fálki," He had no time to explain more. "Bard, lead your people into the mountain quickly, we will keep the Elves off you."

"If we let you," The Woodelven leader had his archers take position. "Our King declared the Mountain besieged."

Elrohir stepped forward, placing himself between Bard and the archers, his warriors followed, forming a line to both sides. "Ask your King if we wants to be the next kinslayer," he said coldly, drawing his sword.

Aelin, who stood beside him shook his head. "As far as that goes, we wouldn't want him to join," there was an icy humor to the Noldor's voice.

Bard saw the elf was unsure, not knowing how to deal with the situation and the Bowman did not wait for the stand-off to end. He had their people move towards the door into the mountain, the long column needing time to proceed into the depths of Erebor.

Thorin stood with Elrohir, ready to fight or wait it out. "The Dragon is dead," he said to Elrohir. "Kili got him first."

The Elf shrugged. "It seems you got another dragon to contend with, named Thranduil," he replied dryly.

The dwarven King bit his lip to hide a grin; he liked the elven Prince's humor. "You have my gratitude for helping Bard and his people, Elrohir." He said. "But your people… you do not fight wars amongst each other. Once this is done…"

"If you say I should go home and forget about it, we have an issue." Elrohir cast a glance at him, eyes serious. He was already committed to this path. "What Thranduil is doing here is as wrong as what he did to you in Mirkwood and I will not stand aside to let him do this."

"You truly would begin another kinslaying?" The Woodland Captain was clearly shaken by the statement. "How can you even consider taking up arms against your own kind?"

"If your King cannot see how wrong his deeds are, then… count me among the kinslayers, I deem them more worthy friends." Elrohir cast a smile to Aelin who stood not far away. If Thranduil could not be made see reason, then so be it, leaving would mean betrayal.

"Thorin, the last are moving inside," Dwalin reported, gesturing Fálki to withdraw the warriors. Thorin with Dwalin and the elves were the last group to move back to the Mountain and behind them the stone gate sealed again.

Author's Notes

Harrylee94 was her marvelous self again, helping and inspiring me. I suggest you check out her profile for her own amazing stories :D