A/N: Hey guys! I tried to upload this chapter last night, but the site was having some technical trouble, which I'm sure was traumatic for all of us. Anyway, here is Chapter Ten, and the only thing to add is an enormous thank you to everyone for reading, reviewing, favouriting, and following - you're all amazing and have given me the best ever start to my summer!
"The… The end of the week?" Fíli stammered, feeling all the colour drain from his face.
Three days. Three days until Thorin's funeral. His heart plummeted into his stomach, and his stomach knotted and unknotted itself, making a sickly feeling rise into his throat. He leaned forward in the bed, one hand to his forehead, as images of Thorin lying silently in Thrór's bedchamber flashed like lightning, sharp and terrible, in the dark of his mind. But then he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"No one is going to force you to go," Kíli said quietly.
Fíli straightened up and turned to his brother, sitting patiently by his side. "I know… But… But I have to be there… For you. I won't let you go through this on your own."
This seemed to catch Kíli off guard, and an emotion Fíli couldn't place flickered in Kíli's brown eyes.
"I'll… I'll be fine," Kíli said, though the waver in his voice betrayed him. "I won't be on my own," he added, more firmly. "The company and Estel will be there. Please, Fíli… Don't worry about me."
But Fíli did worry. As his mind slowly clawed its way out of the abyss it had fallen into since the battle, he found himself looking back over the weeks in the Mountain when he had barely spoken to his brother. He had left Kíli to wander the dark passages of Erebor alone. Consumed as he was by his own grief, Fíli knew he had let his despair take over and blinker him to his brother's suffering. What was worse was that Kíli didn't seem to hate him for it, and this only intensified Fíli's feelings of guilt. It would take him a life-time to atone for neglecting Kíli this way, and he was going to start now.
"I want to be there," Fíli murmured. "But I… I don't know if I…" He trailed off, his gaze moving to the crutches leaning against his bedside table.
He had spoken to Ori and Bofur, and after the initial anxiety and awkwardness, he had been grateful for the visit. But speaking with two members of the company was nothing compared to what awaited him if he decided to attend Thorin's funeral. He would have to face hundreds of people, including Dáin, and they would see that he was injured, that he was hurting. He thought back to his arrival in Erebor on the stretcher, and the shout: "Long live the King!" His mind recoiled from the subject and his stomach knotted itself again.
"You don't have to decide now," Kíli said softly, returning his hand to Fíli's shoulder. "But whatever you decide, I'm with you."
Kíli managed a small smile, though there was sadness lurking behind it. Fíli knew then that Kíli wanted him to be there at Thorin's funeral, needed him to be there, but he would never say it. Fíli opened his mouth to reply, but was silenced by a sharp knock at the door that made them both jump.
Kíli turned to look behind him questioningly, and then rose from his chair and cautiously approached the door. He opened it only a fraction and Fíli could hear the low, urgent buzz of voices… He thought he recognised Estel's voice, but there was another, softer voice he couldn't place. Kíli slipped out into the corridor, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him, and his voice was added to the hum.
After a few moments, Kíli stepped back into the room. "Fíli, Lady Arwen is here to see you… But if you need to rest, she can visit later."
Fíli's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't expected a visit from Elrond's daughter, and he wondered why she had chosen to come to him now. He needed time to process the news of Thorin's impending funeral – news that was already taking its toll, resting heavily on him, and making his whole body ache. But Thorin had raised him to never turn away a lady, and to never keep a lady waiting.
"Please, show her in," Fíli said quietly. "Don't leave her standing out in the corridor."
Kíli nodded, and was practically beaming as he opened the door for Arwen. Although he had stayed with Fíli for Ori and Bofur's visit, Kíli quickly disappeared out into the corridor as Arwen moved into the room, and carefully shut the door behind him. Like Estel, Arwen looked exactly as she had done when the company arrived in Rivendell, and for a second it was as if nothing at all had passed in the months since he had last seen her. She approached Fíli's bed with a small smile on her lips, her blue eyes shining. The only sound was her long, dark purple dress's whispering sweep across the dusty stone floor.
"My lady, please, have a seat," Fíli said, gesturing to the chair by his bed, previously occupied by Kíli. "I… I'm sorry I don't look more presentable." He had to stop his hand twitching up to one of the braids of his moustache, which he knew needed retying. He sensed the awkwardness of Ori and Bofur's meeting returning, only this time he didn't have the security of Kíli standing at his side.
"Please, there is no need to apologise," Arwen said warmly, lowering herself into the chair next to Fíli. "I am sorry if I have disturbed you."
"Not at all," Fíli replied, though he could feel his anxiety growing. His thoughts returned to the unknown reason for Arwen's visit, but he knew it would be rude to ask outright. "Thank you… for coming all this way," he continued, trying to keep his voice even. "I know you've all been a real comfort to Kíli."
Arwen smiled, but the look in her eyes told Fíli what he already knew: she was no fool. They both knew the Rivendell party were here for him, not for Kíli, and there would be no dancing around that fact.
"Nothing was going to stop me coming here," Arwen said, in barely more than a whisper. "I am so sorry, Fíli."
There was such sincerity and such pain in Arwen's voice as she spoke that it tapped into Fíli's own grief and suffering. She drew all the emotions he was desperately trying to repress back up to the surface, and before he could stop himself, the tears were clouding his eyes and he choked back a cry.
"I… I'm sorry, my lady," Fíli gasped, his throat feeling raw. He hastily reached up to wipe his eyes, but his hands were shaking, and the tears kept coming. His cheeks burned, both with crying and the embarrassment of crumbling so easily in front of his visitor.
"Fíli," Arwen said gently. She reached out and slowly pulled his hands from his face, holding them in her own, soft hands, as she had done when they parted at Rivendell. "Do you remember the last thing I said to you before you left Imladris?"
Fíli thought back to their moment of parting in the sick room. Kíli had gone ahead to the east corridor to rouse the company, and he was helping Thorin dress for their journey. Estel was hovering by the doorway, waiting to sneak them out of Rivendell whilst the White Council met to discuss their quest. And Arwen, though reluctant, was also helping the company leave unnoticed. Her parting gift was a book about the history of Durin's folk, bound in dark red leather, which she had lent to Fíli during his stay.
"Never forget who you are," Fíli murmured, repeating Arwen's final words to him, blinking back the tears as he lifted his eyes to meet her gaze. "But I… I think I have… I'm not sure I know myself anymore."
"Fíli, listen to me," Arwen said, softly but firmly. "Before you are a king, or Thorin's heir, or even his nephew, you are yourself. And you are loved. You are loved for who you are, regardless of who you may become."
Fíli stared at Arwen, his heartbeat drumming in his ears, left utterly speechless. Her words were charged with such a wilful force, and as he heard them echoing in his mind, his breath caught in his throat. And now Arwen was studying him with a strange expression; she seemed to be poised on the verge of saying something else, but trying to decide how to say it, or if it should be said at all.
"I know it must feel like the world is ending," Arwen continued, clearly choosing her words carefully. "But I promise it does not end here, Fíli. Not for you. There is always light, even in the darkest of times."
Arwen's voice was filled with such hope, so much so that her very words seemed to shine with the light she spoke of, and this light was infectious. Fíli felt a warmth swelling within his chest, and now he wasn't so sure that the tear sliding down his cheek was from grief. He wondered if Arwen knew something, if her father had passed on some information before she left Rivendell. Elves were curious beings, and Fíli was sure they knew an awful lot more than they ever let on. But he wasn't going to push the subject. Something told him he wasn't ready to know just yet. Arwen's words were enough.
When Fíli didn't reply, Arwen smiled and spoke again, but this time in lilting Elvish. The unfamiliar words, with their syllables and sounds blurring effortlessly into one another, sounded like a prayer or a blessing. They shone with the same hope and encouragement as those she had spoken in Westron, and Fíli felt he didn't really need to know their meaning, like he already knew.
Swallowing to try and relieve the rawness in his throat, Fíli found himself smiling as his eyes met Arwen's. "Thank you," he whispered.
As Arwen closed the door to Fíli's room behind her, she could see Estel in the periphery of her vision, leaning against the wall of the passage-way, trying to look nonchalant. She rolled her eyes and began to walk back down the corridor. She knew he would be waiting for her. The sound of footsteps told her Estel had reached her side, but she didn't turn to him.
"Well?" Estel said casually, and she could feel his eyes on her.
"I did as you asked," Arwen replied. "And did not tell him explicitly what I saw… I only tried to give him hope, and some comfort."
Estel nodded thoughtfully. "One day Fíli will be ready to hear the truth of it, but for now we must be careful how we handle the subject of his future."
Arwen didn't reply as they continued towards the guard corridor. She had argued with Estel about how much Fíli should be told, but now she sensed that Estel was right, and telling Fíli everything she had seen in her vision at this point would have done more harm than good. But she didn't want to admit that.
"So, you did not tell him anything explicitly in Westron, but I am guessing you told him everything explicitly in Sindarin?" Estel said, speaking in Sindarin to make his point, as he turned to grin at Arwen.
Arwen refused to reply in either Sindarin or Westron. Estel was right for the second time that day, and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.
"Estel…? ESTEL!" Fíli cried out desperately, twisting in his chair towards the door, his blue eyes wide.
The room had begun to spin and it felt as if the walls were closing in on him, trapping him inside. And he couldn't breathe. Invisible hands were wrapped around his throat, pushing their fingers into his windpipe, so that each breath was shallower than the last. He had called out for Estel with what he thought might be his final breath as the panic threatened to pull him under completely.
"Fíli?" Estel burst into the room and rushed to Fíli's side, dropping to a crouch in front of him. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"I… I can't…" Fíli sputtered, his hand grappling at his tightening chest as he gasped for breath. He could feel a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. And then he looked back to Thorin, lying on the bed next to him, and the feelings of nausea only doubled.
"Fíli… Fíli, look at me," Estel said, his tone calm and commanding. "You will not lose yourself to the panic… Now focus on me…"
Fíli tore his eyes away from Thorin and tried to concentrate on Estel's grey gaze, but the room continued to spin around him and with each short breath struggling out of his throat, focusing on anything proved difficult.
"Good, just keep your eyes on me," Estel said gently. "Stop overthinking your breathing and it will come back… Now, tell me, what colour are Kíli's eyes?"
Fíli stared at Estel questioningly, his laboured breaths coming short and sharp. "… Brown," he choked out, the one word feeling like regurgitating a sword.
"And what are his weapons of choice?" Estel asked, his eyes fixed on Fíli.
Fíli desperately fought against the panic and tried to inhale deeply. He managed enough breath to answer: "Bow… And sword…"
"Where is Kíli now?" came Estel's next question.
As Fíli's attentions slowly moved from the dead to the living, he found breathing becoming steadily easier. He sucked in a quivering breath as the room's spinning ground to a halt. "He's… He's out hunting," Fíli panted. "With… Elladan… and Elrohir…" He cursed the sons of Elrond for having such long names that required so much breath to say.
"And why have they gone hunting?"
"The company… is low on supplies," Fíli answered, taking a few deep breaths, relieved at being able to do so, though his throat still felt scratchy and sore.
"But why have they really gone hunting?" Estel urged, with a smile.
"Elladan… and Elrohir… needed an excuse to… get out of the Mountain for a while," Fíli replied, his breaths becoming steadier. "They hate being underground."
"Yes," Estel said, and there was the hint of a smirk in his smile. "Though they have lasted it out longer than I thought they would, I will give them that."
Fíli glanced around Thrór's bedchamber, as if to confirm that the walls were no longer moving. He reached up and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, his fingers still trembling, and took another deep breath.
Estel's eyes didn't move from Fíli face, and he stayed crouching in front of him, peering up at him with a searching expression. "What brought this on?" he asked quietly.
Estel's question had an obvious answer, but Fíli knew he was looking for specifics. His gaze slowly moved from Estel to the corner of the room, where Thorin's belongings were laid out, and his eyes came to rest on the oak shield.
Estel followed Fíli's gaze. "Thorin's shield," he said, turning back to Fíli. "You did not notice it before?"
Fíli shook his head. This was the first time he had seen the oak shield since it had disappeared from his tent, weeks ago. He was sure it hadn't been in the corner on his first visit to Thrór's bedchamber, and when he had spotted it a few minutes ago it had provoked a particularly wrathful flashback to the battlefield. Fíli reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. Closing his eyes, he drew in another deep breath. The flashbacks and the dreams had become rarer since Estel's arrival, but with Thorin's funeral arranged for the next morning, Fíli guessed he should have expected a regression.
"What is it about the oak shield that prompted this reaction?" Estel asked carefully, as Fíli straightened up in the chair.
Fíli could tell Estel was genuinely curious, and he supposed everyone was. He hadn't told anyone, not even Kíli, why he had been found clutching Thorin's shield out in that ditch in the corner of the battlefield. And then Thorin's voice came to him again: "The shield… Don't let them bury me with it… It's yours now…" Fíli shuddered as his eyes moved back to the shield.
"Before… Before he died," Fíli began, his throat feeling thick and his tongue lead-heavy in his mouth. "Thorin told me he… he didn't want to be buried with the shield… He said it was mine now."
Estel nodded, as if this was what he had suspected all along. Fíli expected the questions about the battle to begin, and he wasn't sure he was ready for them, but instead Estel said: "We can carry out Thorin's wishes, and he will not be buried with the shield, but this does not mean you have to carry it."
Fíli stared at Estel. In only a few moments he had figured out all of Fíli's fears surrounding the shield, and everything it symbolised. The shield was part of his inheritance, passed down from Thorin… just like the crown. And Estel understood that he was not yet ready to accept either.
"Have you made a decision about the funeral?" Estel asked slowly, changing the subject. "Do you want to attend?"
Fíli's heart began a heavy thump against his ribs. "Yes… I have to be there," he replied. His eyes moved to the crutches leaning against his chair. "But I… I…" He wanted to say: 'I'm afraid', but he wasn't sure he was prepared to admit that to anyone. "If I go… everyone will see the state I'm in… hobbling in on crutches… I'll look weak."
"On the contrary, you will look very brave," Estel said, his voice low, firm. "No dwarf there will be able to deny your courage if you attend despite your injury, and they will respect you for it."
Fíli found himself nodding, and Estel continued: "But you will not be there for them, Fíli. You will be there for Thorin, and for Kíli."
"For Thorin and for Kíli," Fíli repeated, and with the thought of his family he felt he still had a little courage left in him.
He looked to Thorin, lying on the four-poster bed with that slight frown on his brow. He knew he was here to say goodbye. Thorin's body was to be moved down to the vaults that evening and, after the funeral, he would never see his uncle's face again. Before he had noticed the oak shield, Fíli had been speaking to Thorin, trying to find the words to say a final goodbye. But now he realised he would never find the words, and in the end there were no words sufficient for such a goodbye.
"You will see him again, Fíli," Estel said quietly, standing up and putting a hand on his shoulder. "But let us hope it will not be for some years yet."
Fíli looked from Estel to Thorin, unsure of what to say.
"Would you like to return to your room?" Estel asked, when Fíli stayed silent.
Fíli shook his head. "I… I just need a few more minutes."
"Of course," Estel smiled. "I will be just outside."
Fíli heard the door close as Estel disappeared out into the corridor, and he turned back to Thorin. There were no words. No words to say what needed to be said. Fíli hoped that somehow Thorin knew everything he wanted to say to him anyway. And so Fíli silently took his uncle's hand and held it for the last time.
"It's all right, it's just Dwalin," Kíli whispered gently, touching Fíli's shoulder.
Fíli had come to a stop when he saw the large, black shadow of a tall dwarf standing outside the doors to the main vault. The sloping passage-way, though lit with small, flickering candles, was unnervingly dark, making it difficult to distinguish faces. The air was much colder at the root of the Mountain and there was an eerie trickle of running water coming from somewhere in the distance.
"Do you need to rest?" Kíli prompted, when Fíli didn't reply.
Kíli and Estel had offered to carry Fíli down to the vaults for Thorin's funeral. There were several servants' passage-ways that snaked down from the upper corridors to the vaults and storerooms, so Fíli could be moved unnoticed. But he had insisted on making the journey there on his crutches. It was just something he had to do. Kíli had retied all his braids and helped him dress in the black clothes of mourning. Then Estel had arrived to join them for the walk down to the vaults. It had been a long trek, longer than Fíli ever imagined, and he had to stop several times to catch his breath, but he had been determined to make it there on his own.
"No… No, I'm fine," Fíli said, sucking in a deep breath. The ache in his arms was almost unbearable, but he forced himself to keep moving.
No one spoke and the only sound was the knocking of Fíli's crutches, echoing on the cold stone floor. Finally, Fíli, flanked by Kíli and Estel, reached Dwalin and the doors to the vault. Fíli looked up at Dwalin, and a sharp jab of pain dug into his stomach. This was the first time he had seen him since Thorin's death, and now he could see the grief carved deep into Dwalin's expression.
"It's good to see you, lad," Dwalin murmured, and Fíli had never heard him speak so quietly. He nodded, though he had no idea how to reply. Dwalin looked to Kíli and Estel. "Everyone's here now. There are seats set up at the front for you."
"I must join Arwen and her brothers," Estel said, turning to Fíli. He put his hands firmly on Fíli's shoulders, and lowered himself to his eye-line. "Courage, Fíli," he whispered.
Fíli only stared back, but he heard the voice in his head reply: "For Thorin and for Kíli". After a courteous nod to Dwalin, Estel slipped through the doors into the vault. A burst of sound, footsteps and voices, came from the vault before the door closed again, and made Fíli's stomach churn. He knew Estel would have stayed with him if he had asked, but he also knew that having Estel, an unknown youth who had arrived in Erebor with elves, accompany him to the funeral might provoke even more unwanted attention. Fíli didn't want to give Dáin's councillors more to talk about.
"Ready, Fíli?" Kíli asked softly.
"…Yes," Fíli replied, looking up at the ceiling-high, richly engraved doors to the vault. At that moment he felt sick to his stomach, and his heart was pounding painfully in his chest.
"I'll be with you every step of the way," Kíli said, smiling.
Fíli couldn't help but smile too, though he felt the threatening sting of saltwater in his eyes. What in Aulë's name would he do without Kíli?
Kíli looked to Dwalin and nodded. Dwalin pushed one of the doors and held it open so they could pass through. Kíli had told Fíli that Dwalin would probably meet them at the vault doors. Fíli sensed him shadowing his movements as he entered, and he realised Dwalin was there to serve as body-guard. If anyone so much as looked at Fíli the wrong way, they would not be leaving the vault with all their limbs intact.
When Fíli first entered, the low buzz of voices and shuffling of feet continued, but then all of a sudden a deadly hush swept through the vault and every single person fell silent. Fíli was confronted with a sea of people, all dressed in black, and he felt everyone's eyes boring into him. He wanted to look to Kíli for help, but he could do nothing but stare back at them, rooted to the spot in panic.
And then, without a word from anyone, the crowd parted, clearing a wide path for Fíli so that he could reach his place at the front of the vault, by Thorin's stone tomb. The sight of the tomb made Fíli's blood run cold, and his breath got caught in his throat. He tore his eyes away from it, for fear that he might crumple on the spot if he didn't. Instead, he peered around the huge, cavernous vault that was the resting place of the line of Durin. Thousands of candles, their bright halos shimmering like gold coins, had been placed on all the rocky ledges of the high walls, to bring some light to this deep, dark place. And Arwen's words came back to Fíli: "There is always light, even in the darkest of times."
Fíli's eyes returned to the crowd before him, and he found they were all still staring at him, silently and expectantly. And so, knowing there was no turning back, Fíli slowly began to move down the path cleared for him. Kíli stayed at his side, matching his step, and Dwalin followed close behind, like his shadow. And as he passed, everyone on either side of him began to bow. His eyes frantically moving from left to right, Fíli almost stopped, but he forced himself to continue and push through his panic and the pain in his chest.
Dwarves young and old watched him as he passed, and all bowed when he approached. Some were low bows, with a flourish or twirl of hands, and others were short, stiff bows, but there was no denying the uniform movement of the crowd. Fíli noticed that some dwarves had their arms in slings, and others had bandaged heads. Some even appeared to be leaning on others for support. Fíli, with his bandaged, splinted leg held off the floor, felt a strange kinship with these wounded dwarves who had come to pay their respects.
As they neared the front of the crowd, Fíli spotted Estel, standing with Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir. Estel caught Fíli's eye, and smiled, holding Fíli's gaze as he bowed. Arwen and her brothers did the same. Another tall figure moved out from behind them: it was Gandalf. The wizard's blue eyes were twinkling as he gave a low bow. And there, gathered in front of Gandalf and the Rivendell party, were the company. Fíli's chest ached as he recognised them all, and he realised how desperate he was to speak to them. Despite the sad occasion, they all beamed at him, Bofur's smile being largest of all. Fíli's eyes moved from Dori and Ori, to Óin and Bifur, and then to Bilbo. The hobbit gave Fíli a meek, but encouraging smile as he bowed with the others.
Reaching Thorin's tomb, Fíli paused to catch his breath, aware that beads of sweat had begun to form on his forehead. The stone lid of the tomb was yet to be slid over Thorin's body and, although he wasn't close enough to see Thorin's face, Fíli could still see the tip of his uncle's long nose. He froze, tightening his grip on his crutches so that his knuckles were almost white. Tears began to cloud his vision, and he drew in one long, trembling breath.
"Fíli?" Kíli murmured, touching his arm.
Fíli turned to find Kíli watching him, his own eyes shining. He gestured to an ornate stone bench to their right. The bench next to it was occupied by Balin and Dáin, who both bowed when Fíli turned to them, though Dáin's bow was not as enthusiastic as Balin's, and the Lord of the Iron Hills was studying him with a strange look he couldn't fathom.
Fíli nodded and Kíli helped him lower himself onto the bench, taking his crutches and setting them down on the stone floor. Kíli and Dwalin were about to sit down either side of Fíli when a group in black cloaks, standing taller than any dwarf, broke from the crowd. It was Bard the Bowman, accompanied by half a dozen men of Lake-town. They approached Fíli cautiously, and Dwalin moved closer to his side, widening his stance.
Maintaining a safe distance, the group of men gave short bows, and then Bard took a step forward. With one hand he reached inside his cloak and produced a luminous, glittering white jewel the size of his palm. The Arkenstone. Everyone around Fíli tensed and there were sharp intakes of breath. Bard gave Fíli a curt nod, and then approached Thorin's tomb, carefully laying the Arkenstone on his breast.
Turning back to Fíli, he fixed him with his dark, piercing gaze. "There let it lie until the Mountain falls," he said, his deep, low voice echoing around the vault. "May it bring good fortune to all his folk that dwell hereafter."
With that, Bard and his men retreated back into the crowd, leaving in their wake a stunned silence as all eyes returned to Fíli. Fíli could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, and he barely had time to draw a breath before the doors of the vault were unexpectedly thrown open. Apparently intent on making a grand entrance, Thranduil suddenly swept into the vault, wearing long silver robes that glittered in the candlelight. He was joined by his son, Legolas, and the head of his guard, Tauriel, who walked behind him, followed by a handful of golden-haired elves. Mutters immediately rose from the crowd, which did not part for Thranduil out of respect, but more out of disgust. The Elvenking didn't appear to notice as he marched purposefully towards Thorin's tomb, and Fíli suspected he would have simply walked over any dwarf in his way to get to his intended destination.
Reaching the tomb, Thranduil turned to Fíli. The growl that escaped Dwalin's lips was low, but Fíli was sure the Elvenking had heard it. Legolas and Tauriel gave short, graceful bows, but Thranduil only tilted his head slightly, his bright blue eyes fixed on Fíli. Then, without a word, Thranduil drew his sword from the sheath strapped to his belt. Dwalin moved forward, as if preparing to tackle Thranduil to the ground, but Fíli quickly put a hand on his arm.
"Dwalin, it's all right," Fíli said, his voice heavy with emotion. "It's not his sword."
Sure enough, the sword that Thranduil held forward was not his, it was Thorin's. Orcrist. Taken from Thorin during their captivity in Mirkwood. Thranduil silently turned back to the tomb and laid Orcrist down on Thorin's breast, next to the Arkenstone. He gave Fíli one last, formidable look before heading back into the crowd, choosing to join Bard and his men.
After a few moments, the unnerved whisperings of all present died away, leaving behind another tense silence. Fíli glanced across at Kíli, his mouth dry and his eyes stinging, and Kíli turned to him, the tears already blurring his brown eyes. He gently moved his hand over Fíli's on the stone bench. Fíli turned back to Thorin's tomb, the pain once again swelling in his chest.
And that was when the singing started. It began with a few voices at the back of the vault, but soon others joined in the harmony, until almost every voice was lifted up in the ancient dirge for the dead. Those who were too young to know the words, or came from other lands, still hummed the lament's slow, mournful tune. The song echoed around the stone walls and rose up to the high ceiling, filling the whole vault, as if the Mountain itself were singing.
A/N: This chapter took an age to write, and it's officially the longest chapter I've ever written, so well done if you've ploughed through all of it and, as always, I'd love to know your thoughts!