Disclaimer: The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings and all characters therein are the property of the Tolkien Estate and Wingnut Films. This story is for entertainment only and the author is in no way profiting from it, nor exercising any claims to The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings.
Author's Note: The text in bold is quoted directly from the "Fellowship of the Ring" by J.R.R. Tolkien. I will try to continue updating on Mondays through the holidays, but cannot guarantee it.
Warning: This chapter contains a non-graphic depiction of an execution by poison.
8. When Memory Turns to Nightmare
That night, Thorin twisted in his sleep, unable to settle as his mind coursed through the ages and diverse personalities he had once been even as the few scattered passages retrieved from the Book of Mazarbul haunted him. Voices, some dear, and others unknown, spoke from a darkness that the king could not dispel, nor escape back to the realm of the waking, though he knew it was but a dream.
"Balin, Lord of Moria, fell in Dimrill Dale."
"They call him the Witch-King of Angmar. The realms of men are falling, the blood of Numenor is too weak in them now."
"The Lord of Rivendell asks for weapons. What word should I send in reply, Lord Durin?"
A snort of contempt that changed to a malicious laugh.
"So the high and mighty Firstborn finally deign to see those so far below them, do they? Tell them we will sell, but set the price at twice the gold we would take from any other. Let them pay for their arrogance!"
"Óin to seek for the upper armories of Third Deep."
"You cannot seriously be considering helping them! Morgoth cannot be defeated! Nargothrond has already fallen, as have Gondolin, and most of the realms of the Edain… Nogrod and Belegost only hold out due to the might of their walls! We cannot hope to-"
"Enough! We must or all will be lost, can you not see that?"
"If you do this, Durin, if you go, you will not return through these gates again! Would you have us lose the last of the Fathers?"
Laughter, hearty, but bitter, forced.
"Not by choice, my friend, but I gave my word, and I will not betray that. I may not live, but my spirit will return, Vith. Watch for the signs."
"The Watcher in the Water has taken Óin."
"We must expand the mines! The mithril is there, Father, I know it! Why will you not see that?"
"Already there have been two cave-ins. Seven dwarrow have lost their lives! Tell me, will your precious gems and mithril buy off the sorrow of their families? Replace a father, a husband, or son? When, my son, will you not see that there are things in this world worth much more than all the mithril we've ever found or will find?!"
"You are a blind old fool!"
"And you are an ignorant child!"
"We cannot get out."
"My lord, they have taken Mount Gundabad. All there are lost, including your cousin. What are we to do?"
"Order the doors sealed. None leaves or enters Khazad-dûm from this day until the darkness has fled or we march to the last hope of Middle Earth."
"Do you truly believe that day will come? That the Men and elves will find the strength to fight Sauron?"
"I do not know, Hönir, but it is the only hope that I have now. Gil-Galad is still strong, and Elrond will not be easily dug from that valley he's found. Begin the plans we discussed, and someone find my son, send him to me. Try the forges first. The darkness grows in Middle-Earth; we must be the spark of light that holds strong."
"Drums…drums in the deep."
Thorin woke with a muffled gasp, sweat, hot and itchy, making his loose shirt cling to his body, his hand wrapped so tightly around the hilt of his sword that he could feel every graceful carving digging into his skin. Panting slightly, he forced a weary body upright, deep breathes burning his lungs as he sought to slow a wildly beating heart and relax muscles cramped too tightly to easily give up their grip on Orcrist. Around the king, the various snores and shuffle of dwarrow twisting and twitching in their sleep eased his mind out of high alert and he slumped. All was well. He was ready to lay himself back down when a spark of light to the side caught his attention.
With the gate room and first inner rooms secure, it had been judged that the king and princes would be less vulnerable within for the night, along with a contingent of their personal guard. The stone was not the most comfortable of beds, but it was better than the rain Thorin knew was pouring outside. Squinting, he forced sleep-blurred eyes to focus in the dimness, trying to decide what had alerted him. As the light flared a second time, he realized that it was the faint glow of a pipe being lit, fire brand cupped in a shielding hand to avoid waking the sleepers around him, but with just enough light escaping to bounce off golden braids swinging to either side of the smoker's mouth. With a sigh, Thorin heaved himself to his feet and picked his way over, unsurprised to see the dark-haired head poking out of the bedroll by the other's knee.
"Fíli."
The whispered word held all the deep affection he so rarely allowed himself to show, but also a hint of the worry that would never completely leave him, not with the trouble these two so regularly attracted. The younger dwarf smiled faintly, dark circles painting smudges under his eyes.
"Thorin."
"Have you slept at all?"
The golden head gave a small shake, free hand dropping to run over his brother's hair before tucking the blanket just a bit more securely around the slumbering form.
"No. I wanted to keep an eye on him, and…"
"And?"
Thorin prompted, easing himself to sit next to the princes, noting with a frown that Kíli had not stirred at his brother's touch. The younger brother had always been a heavy sleeper, but the fever should have made him restless enough to react. At least he showed no sign of nightmares, something Thorin had expected the prince to suffer from after seeing Durin's Bane. Fíli's eyes sadly followed his, blue darkening with shared concern.
"We could be fighting a troll right next to him and he probably wouldn't wake, he's that exhausted." The beads on the ends of his braids clacked lightly as he shook his head. "I wish…"
"Fíli…"
Thorin reached out, one hand resting lightly on his nephew's shoulder, heart sinking when he felt the other flinch. He had never been an easy dwarf to live with, especially during the dark days of their exile, but he had not thought he had ever given his kin cause to fear him, either. His hand tightened on Fíli's shoulder, giving it a slight shake that made the other lower his pipe and finally turn to look him full in the face.
"He made me promise not to say anything to you, but I can't-" There was a pause as his hand became white-knuckled on the metal pipe bowl, the next sentence barely a whisper. "I miss his laughter, Thorin, I miss-"
He broke off with a grimace, sudden distress radiating off the slim form and making Thorin's heart pick up in turn, his recent dreams echoing in his mind. Blue eyes searched his sister-son's face for a hint of what this dilemma might be that was serious enough to keep the younger dwarf from sleep. He wanted to shake him, and demand answers so that he might turn the problem over in his mind until a solution could be squeezed out of it, but years of hard experience had finally taught him that emotions could rarely be so easily dealt with. Instead, he forced himself to patiently wait and was rewarded with a soft mumble directed toward the floor.
"I- We shouldn't be here. I should never have given into him when he argued that we should come with you."
It wasn't much, but he could work with that.
"You worry for your brother's safety."
It was unnecessary to say which brother, as Fíli would only react with this depth of emotion to Kíli, though he got along with Therin well enough. It was also so obvious that Thorin could have hit himself with his own war hammer for not thinking of it sooner, given the trauma the brothers had suffered. Fíli, who had rarely been separated from his younger brother since the latter's birth, had watched, too far away to intervene, as Kíli was murdered on the field in the Battle of the Five Armies, a fate that was probably worse than any torture the most evil creature could devise for the golden prince. It had altered him permanently, making the older brother almost obsessive about his sibling's safety; he had even suffered panic attacks when out of sight of the other early on, though he had not had one in years now.
Of course, neither of the princes had been allowed into a situation where fighting might occur in years, either, nor had they spent more than a day here or there completely apart in all that time. It was a set of circumstances that Thorin was beginning to suspect only buried the trauma, not aided in allowing Fíli to deal with it, as they had all presumed. There had certainly not been any hint of such worries when having the princes join the army was discussed, only concern about how their wives would handle the load of ruling in their absences, yet that very omission should have alerted both him and Dis. How could he have once again been so blind to the effects of his decisions upon his kin?
"I could order the two of you home. With their mother's death, Austri and Vestri-"
A bitter bark of laughter cut him off.
"Are you trying to have us both sleeping on the couch? No, they specifically sent us letters ordering us to stay here. Austri thinks that being needed to guide and support them is the only thing keeping Glóin from the fading himself, and selfish or not, she fears losing her father so soon after her mother." Fíli's eyes slipped closed as he grimaced, face darting away from his uncle's penetrating gaze once more. "No, he's needed here, and I- I will live with it. There is an army a thousand strong surrounding us, not the mere seventy that Balin took with him. What's wrong?"
Thorin had been unable to mask the sharp inhalation of breath and the shudder that ran through him at the mention of Balin's name, his own reason for being awake in the middle of the night returning sharply. Now it was the turn of the nephew to search for clues in his uncle's visage while the older dwarf struggled not to display his distress.
"Was the Book of Mazarbul brought with us?"
"Yes. Uncle-"
"In the morning, I want you to meet with our best scholars and anyone else with knowledge of such things. See if there is any way to restore more of the text."
He could see the puzzlement mingled with shock in the prince's eyes at such a directive, but the other nodded acceptance with the total trust in his uncle that Thorin had once feared irrevocably lost.
"Is there any reason that you wish this now? Back in Erebor, we were told that the book's condition meant that such efforts might destroy more than we gain."
Then again, his nephew might just have been waiting until he could voice his doubts in a more diplomatic way!
"You have been dealing with outsiders and diplomats too long, Fíli, you have forgotten how to speak with other dwarrow. You wish to know if your royal uncle has taken leave of his royal senses, do you not?"
That at last drew out a genuine smile and hastily muffled laughter from the younger dwarf.
"I would not go that far, no, but I was wondering why you had suddenly changed your mind when you had said earlier that it wasn't worth the risk. Is it the reason you're awake in the middle of the night as well?"
Thorin pursed his lips, considering carefully before he answered. He was not quite certain why he had suddenly decided such a thing, yet… Fíli was no longer the callow youth who had made jokes about orc raids, but a young ruler of Durin's blood who had been trained by the very one whose council he so missed right now.
"There is an uneasiness to this place that I cannot shake, a feeling that I am missing something important, and tonight, all I could hear in my dreams were voices telling of death and sorrow. The lines of the book kept repeating, over and over, though I could see nothing through the veil of darkness hiding the speakers from me."
"And you believe this to mean that you missed something in the book." Fíli was silent for a long moment, then added, "You might ask Frodo if he would aid them, as well. Bilbo trained him in a different scholarly tradition than our people."
Thorin allowed his head to lean back onto the stone wall with a soft clunk, absently accepting and drawing on the pipe he was handed. He had heard the skepticism in Fíli's first statement; could not truthfully blame him for it, though the suggestion that followed was a good one. Thorin had not raised his heirs to put their faith in dreams and signs any more than he did, believing instead that a dwarf made his own path as well as he could. That, however, had been before the Arkenstone. He curled the fingers on his marked hand in to rub over the scars upon his palm as the smoke in his lungs sent a faint buzz through his body, calming his mind as the cloud left his mouth. Next to them, Kíli made a soft mewling noise in his sleep and rolled, hand falling open to allow the soft multi-colored light of the miniature Arkenstone embedded in his own palm to dance around his uncle and brother. Fíli snorted, rolling his eyes, but made no move to nudge his brother into another position.
"He forgot to put a glove over that again. Vestri says he rarely bothers in their chambers, as she finds the lights rather restful, but I'd better start reminding him here."
"Hmm." Thorin's hum of agreement did not long divert him from the topic at hand. "I do not honestly know, but always before this, the memories of Durin's lives that I see have had some relation to what was happening now. Sometimes they merely were memories brought out by circumstance, but sometimes-"
"Sometimes they have been warnings? You've not mentioned it before now."
Thorin almost groaned at that, wishing the other were a bit less alert, especially when they both were so short of sleep. This would do nothing but dig up old hurts for his nephew.
"It did not seem to matter as it only happened twice, both times long before now."
"During the journey back from Minas Tir- Arnor?"
"Yes…"
Thorin hesitated, but knew that there was no way short of Kíli waking and needing help that he would be able to stop short of explaining fully. If there was one trait that had bred true in the Durin line since its inception, it was the stubbornness.
"I dreamed of the Balrog just before returning to the mountain, a warning that I had yet to fully confront the last of the gold sickness within."
"And the second time?"
Heaving a sigh, the king faced his nephew, seeing the suspicion lurking in blue eyes.
"That was the second time, Fíli. The first showed me Durin IV, whose son had been forced to drink the taint of Mordor by the cult, turning him to darkness. I had it while in that cave with Kíli."
Fíli jerked away, head ducking down as hands ran up and down his legs in nervous agitation before he ran his fingers over the outside of one arm, though the wound he sought was long healed, leaving only the faintest trace of a scar. An accident while crossing a bridge in Mirkwood had sent the prince plummeting into muck tainted by the run-off from the ruins of Dol Guldur, the ancient stronghold of Sauron in his guise of the Necromancer. Though the stuff had lost much of its potency with exposure to light and the death of its creator, it had been enough to give Fíli violently paranoid delusions, taking his uncle and brother captive for a harrowing three day trek through the forest.
"What happened?"
Thorin was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed the whispered question.
"What?"
"What happened to Durin IV's son? Were they able to save him?"
Second Age, 3441
Durin IV, Lord of Khazad-dûm, most powerful of all the dwarrow upon Middle-Earth, sat upon the bare stone, feeling helpless as the cold settled into his bones. The room was small and dark, a single torch flickering casting shadows through the iron bars separating the king from the dwarf sitting stiffly on the other side. The prisoner, however, paid no attention to his royal visitor, stuffing his face with food dribbling out of both hands before letting out a belch and grabbing his cup, drink spilling down a matted, stringy beard onto filthy clothing. Washing water had been provided, along with fresh clothing, but both had been sneered at.
Durin just watched, hands clenching to stop himself from crying out a warning, wanted to slap the fatal bites from twisted, angry lips. But he could not.
How had it come to this? That a father could sit silently by and watch his only son unknowingly poisoning himself? Tears trickled unheeded down his face as he watched, swallowing hard, as the Prince of Khazad-dûm looked up with a malicious cackle.
"Enjoying the show so much, Father? Such pretty little tears upon the face of the mighty king! You have only to give yourself to the Dark Lord, and you would never feel such petty emotions again."
Durin shook his head, heart in his throat as he struggled to control his emotions enough to speak.
"And why would I wish to do such a thing? They make me who I am."
He wanted to stop this, to spend his last minutes with his son telling the younger dwarf how much he loved him, how sorry he was to have failed him, but he could not. When it had been decided that this was the most merciful way to handle the execution, it also meant that nothing could happen that was out of the ordinary. So, here the king sat, as he had each morning since the discovery of the prince attempting to smother his baby son and then, when that was thwarted, trying to kill his father. Or rather, the creature who had taken the place of his son had. From what could be determined, the prince had died the moment that the tainted drink had been forced down his throat by a member of the Death Warriors, as Sauron's followers among the dwarrow had been named.
"Such things make you a foolish weakling."
The king allowed himself a bitter laugh at that.
"You would lecture me about weakness? Tell me, how is it that your mighty master must resort to trickery and slaughter, if he is so strong? Even now, his tower is besieged and he hides while the mightiest host seen upon Middle-Earth comes calling! It is not we who are weak, child."
The other dwarf's purposely atrocious eating had slowed, hands beginning to fumble slightly as the first signs of the drug became evident. It did not stop Sauron's pawn from sneering at the king, however.
"You are d-dependent upon love and trust, both of which are only illusions! Ways to con-control others too weak to see - What have you done?!"
The prince's body slumped to the side as his eyes began to lose focus, sliding closed, then jerking open again. As his father watched, one hand reached out in supplication as he jerked, trying to fight the herbs pulling him into sleep.
"Please, do not fight it, my son. Soon you will be in Mahal's Forge, safe and free once more from this vile imprisonment. Just sleep."
Durin gasped, finally giving himself permission to reach back, hand shaking as it closed on that of his son only to have the other suddenly stiffen, grabbing and twisting in an attempt to break the older dwarf's wrist. Blue eyes opened one last time, as cold as the ice on the peaks high above them.
"You - will - die!"
With that, the body slumped, falling into stillness as Durin pulled away to fall back against the hard stone of the wall, tears streaming down a bereft father's face.
Thorin closed his eyes momentarily against the pain that echoed from that memory, even after all this time. He had noticed that some of the emotions his predecessors felt were so strong that it was as if it were him in the memory, while others were distant, a dream recalled dimly in the light of morning, and he had yet to figure out why. This one, though… The loss of one loved so dearly, taken too soon and leaving his father with a feeling of helpless rage, that was too similar to what Thorin himself had felt as he lay dying after that horrific battle, knowing that his boys were already gone in a futile attempt to defend him. Swallowing hard, he cleared his throat, blinking back the tears that stung the corners of his eyes before they could fall.
"No. The Istari were not yet in Middle Earth, and no other had the power to aid him."
Beside him, Fíli had slumped back against the wall, eyes closed in painful memory.
"I would not have wanted to live, not like that. Hurting those closest to me."
Even after fourteen years, there was a great deal of lingering pain and self-recrimination in those words. The silence that followed them, however, was what truly caught Thorin's attention. Turning back to his nephew, his stomach clenched to see the golden prince staring at the dagger held in his hand as if entranced, the torchlight setting the rune inscribed on the pommel ablaze. Reaching out slowly, Thorin allowed his fingers to gently tug the weapon away, not wanting to recall the horrific sight of it being thrown toward his sister. If he had not knocked into Fíli's arm, if Bofur had not moved when he did- The consequences did not bear contemplating.
"You hurt Therin today."
The simple statement caught Thorin completely by surprise, making him gape at the other dwarf for a long moment, mind stuttering to make sense of what had just been said.
"What?"
"He is your heir, Thorin, not me. Not anymore. It should have been his place as prince to oversee the proper treatment of our people's remains. Instead, you sent him off with another group, and not even in charge."
It was with a cold shock that Thorin realized Fíli was correct, that he had not thought through what he had been saying. He was so horrified at what his youngest nephew must have taken as a dismissal that he did something he rarely allowed, he blurted out his error.
"I did not think..."
The prince smiled sadly at him, reminding Thorin strongly of another heir of Durin, though there was no taint left in Fíli, thank Mahal.
"You simply ordered things as you would have on the quest. I told Therin as much, pointed out that you were overwhelmed with the memories, but you need to speak with him, uncle. He takes such things to heart as much as Kíli does."
"I will."
Thorin softly promised, silently watching as the blonde put away his pipe and lay down near his sibling, thankfully dropping quickly into what looked to be a peaceful sleep. Fíli, however, had never been one to lie quietly for long, soon turning to allow one hand to flop onto the stone outside the blankets, looking as if he reached one last time for his kin.
Durin did not know how long he sat there, hand resting upon the cold stone just short of his son's lifeless one, tears running unchecked down his face. It might have been mere minutes, or hours, before the warm, large hand came to rest upon his shoulder, a tall, thin form folding gracefully down to sit at his side. As he did, several dwarrow came silently in, gently removing the body with the respect due a prince of Durin.
"I would have spared you this, my friend."
The king shook his head, eyes still locked upon his son's disappearing form as the others quietly swung the door closed behind them, leaving him alone with his visitor. His voice, when he spoke, was choked and guttural with grief.
"There was no reprieve, not when it was my orders that put him there, my orders that laced his food with poison."
"You were given no choice, Durin. To leave him here was to leave an enemy at your back, in the heart of your kingdom. He was Mordor's creature now, nothing more. Do not take the weight of misplaced guilt upon shoulders already bowed with grief, but remember instead the dwarf who was your son- warrior, smith, and occasional bad poet."
The dwarf stirred at that, the faintest of laughs escaping at the mention of the prince's somewhat lackluster attempts at verse, finally allowing reddened eyes to meet the dark, ageless gaze of his elven friend.
"Is there life beyond this, Elrond? An escape from the darkness and cruelty? For I cannot see it. All I see is death."
"Then let me show you life and hope instead, mellon. We had not planned to say anything yet, but…"
The dark haired elf smiled, suddenly full of a besotted amazement that transformed his visage from ageless to the most love-sick youngling, and Durin knew without any further words what had happened. It was so comical an image that he could not help a genuine laugh this time, a spark of light that he seized with both hands.
"Celeborn and Galadriel have given consent? And Gil-Galad?"
"Yes, they have all offered their blessing."
"You always did have the rottenest timing." Durin grumbled. Only Elrond would think it appropriate to woo his lady in the midst of the battle for their very lives! "I had thought we said you should wait until this thrice-cursed war was done. Aren't you elves always the ones counseling the wisdom of time and patience?"
The elf paused at that, focus going over his friend's shoulder to the empty iron cage.
"I realized that if the prince of the mightiest dwarrow kingdom could be taken and corrupted in the very heart of it, that there is truly no safety upon Middle-Earth. I would not have my lady lose me without knowing the truth of how I feel."
Durin grunted, resisting the urge to say 'I told you', as this was what he had been trying to hammer into his friend's head for the last ten years. The comment upon his son he allowed to pass unremarked. He would carry that sorrow to his grave.
"And the lady herself? It's usually polite to ask her as well, you know. She might have come to her senses while you dithered around, too shy and love-struck to risk rejection from Celeborn, and found someone with more of a backbone!"
A golden laugh preceded the subject of their discussion as the door swung open once more, an elven maiden of great beauty seeming to float through as if walking upon the very air. Her presence lightened the room as her besotted beau stumbled to his feet with an awkwardness rarely seen in elves. Elrond's eyes were only for his beloved, Durin noted, amused, rather than upon where he was putting his feet. As the dwarf lord stood, golden eyes sought out the strained face, tallying every new wrinkle and tear shown by the bereaved father. The lady took both of his hands in hers, empathy easily connecting dwarf and elf.
"I grieve with thee."
"Thank you." Was all that he could manage before seizing upon the diversion his friend had previously offered. "So you actually agreed to marry this lout, then?"
Celebrian smiled, mischief floating about her as she looked to the dark-haired half-elf who had won her heart.
"I could hardly refuse after he took life and limb in hand to persuade my father, could I? Such courage must be properly rewarded!"
"Are you two quite through?" Elrond asked acidly, though his countenance showed only amusement at their teasing. "The wedding will be in the Golden Wood, and I would ask, Durin, that you stand with me."
The king could not hold back the gasp of shock, tears coming for a different reason at Celebrian's confirming nod.
"Nothing could make us happier than your presence upon that day."
Durin shook his head in amazement, a firm tug upon her hand making the maid bend until he could plant a kiss upon her cheek.
"It would be my honor, though I do not know what some of you kin might say to such a short, hairy witness."
The girl looked to her lord, whose sappy expression had become worse, if anything.
"Elrond and I do not care, though I must confess that I do not see the attraction of beards. Yours tickled!"
"I believe you will find, Celebrian," Elrond intoned with a bare sparkle in his eye to let the others know he was not completely serious. "That it is necessary to keep their faces from scaring off prospective mates!"
Durin rolled his eyes, one hand caressing the luxuriant length of grey-streaked brown beard, mentally thanking his original father, Durin I, once again for the legacy that froze the inheritors of his soul as Durin in time, unaging until they were killed. His grandfather, Durin II, had looked to be barely past his hundredth year until the day he died! With a wave of the hand, he ushered the two into the corridor, waiting until Elrond was completely focused upon whispering to his beloved, and then he swiftly stuck a foot between the elf lord's feet.