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Chapter 8
Nur's knees buckled and Fili had enough sense to catch her shoulders before she sunk too low. Her mind was swirling with everything that had happened and she could not take her eyes off of the severed head of Varak, the ambassador, stuck into a pole. The pike wavered a little in the wind, tossing wisps of hair around his decapitated head.
Fili's blood was rushing to his ears and he pulled at Nur to follow him back to the inn. She couldn't get her legs to respond and her head twisted to look behind her at Varak. She gaped at it even from this distance.
Fili stomped up the stairs of the porch, stopping just before the door and eyeing her with concern. Gently but firmly he grasped her chin and turned her head to face him.
"Look at me." He commanded intensely in a whisper. Though her head had moved, her mouth was open and her eyes still tried to look from their corners at the head in the distance. "Nur, look at me."
Her eyes moved slowly and refocused eerily on his face. The slightest whimper left her throat against her will, breaking Fili's heart. His hands remained on her face and he said, "I am not going to let anything happen to you, but I have to find Thorin and tell him what's happened."
She didn't speak, but she nodded.
He picked up her hand and kissed it firmly, gathering strength from the anger that was welling up inside of him.
Fili kept repeating to himself that she shouldn't have come.
Clinging to her hand, he led her back through the dining room and up the stairs, where a guarded Thorin was conversing heatedly with Dul, Kili standing behind him.
"Varak is dead." Fili announced, pressing past them and looking into each room. Nur was in a bit of a daze, but she knew what he was looking for.
"I… I don't have a room, Fili." She mumbled.
"Yes, you do." He countered and patted her hand, pulling her into his room at the end of the hall. "I want you to close the window panels and lock the door. Don't open for anyone you don't know. I have to leave you for a bit, do you understand?"
She sat down on the bed and nodded, eyes unblinking at the floor. "I'm not afraid for myself."
Fili moved to pull the door closed, but hovered for a moment, holding it open a crack.
"I'm afraid of what he will do to you." Nur raised her head to look at him with tears.
Fili ground his teeth. He didn't need her to explain who "he" was, Fili knew that she meant Gren.
"I'll be back." He promised, closing the door and bounding down the hall.
He found it empty and knew that the company had gone out to inspect the evidence of Varak's death.
Fili's heavy boots crunched in the sandy soil of the square and walked a small distance to join the group who was closely analyzing the pike.
Dul moved to hoist it out of the dirt to remove it.
"Do you keep a swordsmith?" Thorin asked in a low voice.
Dul grunted as the pole gave way and was freed from the grip of the ground, "Yes, but we've not many weapons left—"
"Bring the head inside." Thorin instructed, walking away from the gate. "Fetch the smithy."
Karta, Fili, Kili, and Dul watched Thorin return to the lodge in confusion. A small number of bodies began to appear in the square, eyeing them curiously.
"Take this to the inn before anyone sees it." Dul pleaded with Kili, handing him the pike. Kili sneered at the grotesque object he had been handed, but sprinted back to the inn, past the following stares.
Dul strode towards the people that had gathered, motioning for Fili and Karta to follow. About eight were formed in a clump a few feet away and now they closed the distance.
"Our new allies have had two of their company murdered." Dul addressed the small crowd.
The faces did not receive this with surprise, as though murder was a common happenstance which they were accustomed to hearing of.
"This is Fili and Karta, and there are others inside—among them is Thorin Oakenshield."
The name brought whispers to the haggard faces and one of them departed, as though the news was sorrowful and would bring nothing but disaster.
"Smerri," Dul spoke to a short, young dwarf. "I need you to fetch Smiddag right away."
"He's still sleeping." The lad argued, sweeping a braid away from his face.
"Then wake him." Dul boomed. "And bring him to the inn."
Smeri dashed away, disappearing into an empty stable.
"We saw the head. Have they made another demand?" Spoke a voice from the little gathering. The rest of the traders looked at each other in confusion and dismay. Dul stepped forward to place a reassuring hand on the shoulder of a lady dwarf.
"Things are about to change." He promised. "Shut the gate."
Dul treaded past the crowd, Fili and Karta in tow, heading back to the inn when his eye caught movement to the side of them. An older dwarf was stomping toward them; the swordsmith Smiddag, intending to join them at the lodge.
Inside, Thorin had draped one of Karta's map papers over a table and had removed the pole from Varak, placing the ambassador's flesh on the paper and wiping at the skin where it had been severed.
Kili watched with an upturned lip, unsure what his uncle meant to do and unconsciously stepping away while the swordsmith and Dul joined Thorin around the table.
"Do you believe this to be the work of your oppressors?" Thorin asked Dul in a hushed voice.
"Yes," Dul answered with a clenched hand. "Undoubtedly. They send us a warning such as this and make their demands the following night."
"Then I hope we will now learn who your enemy is." Thorin grinned.
Fili and Kili frowned at each other; Kili had moved to his brother's side. They were curious, but held back their questions, knowing Thorin would answer them in time.
Thorin whispered something in the swordsmith's ear, his nose brushing on the crazed white mane that hung around the old man's head.
The dwarf looked like a lion more than a man, his tanned skin an ashy brown and his white hair still keeping traces of the blonde it had been before age claimed it. And his thick forearms made Dul's arms look narrow in comparison. Smiddag's nose was not long, but wide, giving him even more of an animal look, with deep-set, dark eyes to complete it.
"You've done a good job of cleaning up." Smiddag nodded and coughed into his hand, leaning over the head and peering at it. His voice was gritty, stung by years of coal and fire.
"We need to give the sword master some room." Thorin beckoned everyone to move back. He stood against the tavern counter and crossed his arms, patiently watching and looking like a man who was willing to wait ages.
Some of them sat, some of them stood, but all of them were puzzled as to why a sword-maker was inspecting a severed head. All except Thorin, of course, who had now brought out his pipe and was puffing away contentedly.
"I could use a smoke myself." Kili muttered, rising from his place and ascending the stairs.
Fili broke his gaze from the scene and followed Kili up the stairs, grunting in agreement. His boots made a clamoring noise on each step and he padded through the hallway to the last room to see Kili jiggling the handle.
"It's locked." Fili explained. "Tell her it's us."
Kili's eyebrows rose. "So that's where you stowed her."
A scratching noise filled the keyhole and the nob turned from the other side, revealing a tired face and a small smile. "Hello."
She stepped back and held the door open, allowing Fili and Kili to enter.
Kili sat on the bed, his pipe appearing in his hand. Fili sat on the floor beside the bed with his back against the nightstand, a hand reaching to Kili expectantly.
"I don't have it." Kili murmured to Fili, his pipe in his mouth. "It's in your vest."
Fili's brow twisted. "I gave it to you."
Kili rolled his eyes. "And you took it away from me when I was sick."
Kili reached over to Fili's jacket and with a single motion lunged his hand into the pocket of flap and withdrew the small bag of tobacco. "Ha!"
Fili's laugh was weak. "It's hard enough keeping my head straight with the goings-on, you expect me to always know where the backy pouch is?"
Nur smiled, reassured that things had settled a bit if the brothers could be so lively, and lowered herself into the chair in the corner of the room. "And what are the goings-on now?"
Kili was stuffing his pipe and handed the small bag back to his brother. "There is a sword smith downstairs looking at the—"
"—evidence" Fili interjected with a growl, casting a sideway glance at his brother.
Nur felt bile rise in her throat, but she inhaled a deep breath to steady herself. "I'm not made of porcelain, my dear, but last night and this morning have been a little… overwhelming."
Puffs of smoke began to rise from the other corner of the room and Nur sighed, wishing her own pipe was in closer reach. Fili turned his eyes to her, rising to his knees and stretching forward to offer her his pipe.
"Where's your pipe, Lady dwarf?"
Nur grasped Fili's pipe gratefully, as though it were a treasure. "In the kitchen. I forgot it last night."
Fili stood and bent over her, kissing her forehead before turning and leaving the room.
"I'm glad you've overcome the need to use me as your carrier pigeon." Kili gagged, referring to the very bumpy beginning between her and his brother—in which he carried numbers of notes between the two, putting an end to that by tricking the two of them to meet him in the same place and then conveniently leaving them alone—but Nur knew he meant it in humor. She blew a smoke ring and allowed herself a small smile.
"Now we need only find you a suitable companion." She mocked.
Kili grimaced with a grin tugging at his lips. "And where do you propose to find me such a mate? You may as well include the other races of middle-earth, but it does you no good as long as we are stranded here."
He cracked a few knuckles and felt a pang of guilt as soon as the words had left his mouth. "But," he amended quickly, "I have glanced at a few lovely things in these trading post shops."
Nur let out a hearty laugh. "And none of them were dwarf women! You mean to say you ogled some bracers and a new tobacco pouch."
Kili's hands opened to either side and he mimicked feign embarrassment. "The heart wants what the heart wants."
Though their words had been lighthearted, they could not forget the immensity of the events surrounding them and they fell to silence while they smoked.
Kili's thoughts strayed to the moments when his intuition had warned him against Gren, but at the time he had been swayed into thinking that it solely regarded the dwarf's interactions with Nur and Fili.
Things had taken a much different turn when Gulm and Varak had turned up dead.
When Fili had taken Nur out for air, Kili had stayed behind to listen to Thorin question Dul; Their host's conclusion was that Gren had accepted the soup with the antidote for Gulm—but added to it that much more poison. The only deduction made from this was that Gren was in league with the enemies that surrounded the outpost.
Kili's mind was always trying to grasp the end result of every action, thus leading him to act in a way that others called impulsive, but it served his senses best in situations like these. He was trying to anticipate what might be in store for them next when Nur jumped to her feet and began to stride to the door.
"Where are you going?"
She halted before the door. "I can't just sit here. I need something to focus on, something to do."
Kili sighed and blew out a smoke ring, listening to the tap of her footsteps in the hall and exerting himself to stand.
Kili might not be able to anticipate Gren's next action, but at least he could see that Fili and Nur were about to be at odds. He paced the room a little, savoring the scent and feel of the wisps of smoke while he had a moment of peace.
Nur had only just come to the top step of the stairs when Fili began at the bottom of them. They both halted to look at each other, Fili looking surprised at first, but then backing down to make way for her to descend the steps.
She walked slowly, peering around the dining hall and taking in the sight of the swordsmith wearing a large crown of spectacles. He would raise one of the circular glass pieces to sit above his eyebrow while lowering another to sit against the ridge of his nose, inspecting closely the flesh of the ambassador which rested on a crumpled paper.
Nur promised herself she wouldn't betray her disgust and made her face stony, taking Fili's hand when he held it out to her on the last step of the stairs. She also noticed that everyone sat or conversed with each other quietly, waiting.
"What is it we're waiting for?" Nur asked Fili quietly, still glancing at the swordsmith.
The lion's mane of Smiddag rotated to face her. He ducked his head in a small bow and his voice ground out, "We are looking to see what kind of weapon has made this cut."
The puckered lips of Nur displayed her confusion, but Thorin stepped forward to answer her, as well as the rest of the bodies that had waited for a similar answer. "To see whether our foe is dwarf, man, orc, or other." He had wanted to end with "elves", but recalled that not all shared his outlook on the slender, beautiful race. He knew that they were capable of atrocities, though even when motivated by greed they would not stoop to something like this.
"If it were of Men, it would be difficult to determine who; their race has always been desperate enough to put other lives at risk for their own ambitions. Of orc, it would also be difficult. But of Dwarves…" He gripped his pipe a little too tightly, and the leather of his gauntlet squeaked under the pressure. "…we know all too well of the craft of our own weapons."
"You don't mean to say that Dwarves of the Iron hills would do this?" Nur frowned.
"No." Thorin held out a peaceful hand to assuage her. "No, they have been our dearest friend and I will not forget the advice you brought me."
Nur nodded and looked at the floor.
Smiddag requested from Karta a parchment and a coal pen. The large man sat at a table and began to sketch something.
Bodies surrounded the swordsmith's shoulders, but he turned his head ever so slightly to grumble at them and they took a step back.
His hands swooped across the paper chaotically, but somehow weaving together such an accurate drawing of an axe.
"This is your weapon." The swordsmith turned his head slowly to look a Thorin. "And I have an idea of its origin, but it may sound… ridiculous."
Thorin glared at the sketch, something moving in his mind with a flow of hated recognition. "Then say it aloud, Master Smiddag. Perhaps your thoughts echo my own."
"That dwarf's flesh bears the brunt of a heavy blow, with tear and rip that could only be made by an axe in such a shape as I have determined here." He waved a hand at the paper. "It is certainly of dwarf make, but the angle of the blade is not typical—this reminds me of a design made by the petty-dwarves."
"The petty-dwarves?" Karta, the map maker wondered.
"The same who fought alongside Sauron ages ago." Thorin grumbled his answer. "There are fewer now of them left."
"Then this siege is the work of Mim? That sounds like a faery story." Dul was incredulous.
"No." Thorin shook his head, folding the corners of paper around Varak's head and covering it. "He would be ancient now, if he is alive at all… if these assumptions are true, then it would be his descendents—Ibun and Khim."
The names were unfamiliar to most of the dwarves gathered around the table, but none of them could forget tales of the petty-dwarves. Those dwarves were smaller, unfriendly and had, in the beginning of middle-earth, been hunted because the elves thought they were two-legged animals. The elves could not be faulted in their thinking, for the petty-dwarves were such that even the dwarves in the mountains could have mistaken them for this, but the resentment of the elves still hung heavy on the minds of all dwarven-kind.
A horn sounded in the distance and all heads pointed at the door and windows facing outward. They all but scrambled to the door and made their way outward, Fili and Kili following after the rest, and Nur keeping cautiously behind them.
Fili had darted out with all the rest in a rush before he remembered that it was his preference to keep Nur in the confines of the lodge for safety, but he brushed the thought aside when he considered that she would probably refuse him.
All had gathered in the square and stood still in a clump facing the closed gate and whispering in hushed tones. Thorin and his companions joined the assembly and his eyes caught sight of a bird flying over the doors of the gate. Dul held out his forearm as a perch for the bird, and it landed lightly, clinging to his flesh with a strong and sharp grip, but Dul did not look as though it bothered him. Dwarven hide is tough, and his was all the stronger for his bulk.
"This is why they did not know to whom they spoke before." Karta whispered to Kili, eyeing the bird bitterly. It was not a raven—the ravens had served Thorin's grandfather as correspondents when he had ruled the mountain sitting behind them—it was a crow.
On the crow's foot was a piece of hide with coal-scratched letters that bore a small message. Dul removed the message from the crow's foot and the crow hopped onto his shoulder.
"What does it say?" Asked a young voice belonging to the dwarf boy, Smeri, in the middle of the crowd.
Dul sighed heavily. "It says, 'Nightfall. Send Thorin'."