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.

20. Secrets in Stone

It was several nights later before Thorin had the leisure to deal with the stones, though he had been meaning to examine the contents of the makeshift bag since he had surfaced with them. Unfortunately, after his triumphant acknowledgement as the King of Khazad-dûm, the reality of the enormous task still facing them had presented itself in the worst possible way. Sentries on the far end of the market had heard someone or something creeping about in the night just beyond their reach, morning bringing a horrific sight. There, lined up neatly, had been the heads of the missing patrol, each with their weapons.

The reactions to the unexpected, and gruesome, find had been many and varied. Some had begun to whisper that the ancient city was haunted by the spirits of the dead dwarrow seeking vengeance, while others said it was some new, unknown creature who dogged their steps. Most, however, had acceded to the view held by their commanders; that it was yet one more way the cult sought to scare or enrage them.

Kíli, though, had heard a different rumor circulating among some of the dwarrow- that somehow, one of the members of Balin's colony yet lived. They said that no orc or cult member would have the respect to return the weapons of the fallen warriors unbroken and the heads unmutilated. When the prince had shared that with Thorin, the king had huffed in disbelief, cursing the cruel twisting of hope that the Death Warriors seemed intent upon, for that was surely what this was. A trick, meant to tease and confuse, so like many of the cult's actions the past few days.

It had become clear that the cult had expected a much more rash reaction from Thorin's forces. Dwarrow, when faced with such an outrage as the attack upon their camp and the assassinations of two of their leaders, would normally go into berserker rages. In fact, Thorin and the other leaders had been hard pressed to prevent just such a reaction, especially after the discovery of the heads. The acknowledgement of Thorin as king, however, had come at exactly the right time, giving him the authority to stop the growing cries for revenge cold. Even if only a dozen years before, he would most likely have been leading the charge, as he had after his grandfather's death.

As the army instead proceeded more cautiously, they had found hastily created deadfalls, pits, and other traps that those blinded by a berserker haze would have easily fallen prey to. When instead, these traps were seen and dismantled, voices had called and heckled, orcs and goblins appearing just out of reach or striking fast and then running before the allies could give chase. One of those patrols had found the dagger that had undoubtedly stolen the lives of Mablung and Bifur, still coated with their blood, stuck into some rotted wood. When the weapon was examined, it bore the symbol of the Death Warriors, long forbidden in the dwarrow kingdoms, etched into the blade.

At least their wounded had been taken care of. Lord Celeborn had used his time since leaving the army outside the gates to actually do something productive. He had returned to Rivendell and found all with the knowledge of healing who would consent to come, bringing them over the Redhorn Pass to Lothlorien. The Golden Wood had been fading since the Lady Galadriel's departure, many moving to Rivendell, Ithilien, or the Woodland Realm, so there were plenty of empty dwellings in the protected heart of the forest to house the injured.

The men and elves were grateful for such care, and the most sorely wounded among the dwarrow, the only ones they dared send, could physically do no more than glare, if they were conscious at all, so it seemed to be working. The arrival of reinforcements, not only from Aragorn, but also from several of the eastern dwarrow kingdoms, had begun to make Thorin suspect they just might succeed!

With Kíli recovered, or so he claimed, they had also returned to the slow work up the great stair. It would be no more than another few days, at most, before they reached the upper twenty-first hall and the Chamber of Mazarbul, where Balin rested. That would occasion another round of ceremonies, as those dwarrow of the first colony were properly memorialized. It was also when he and Dwalin believed that the cult would next strike in force. Their enemy knew the solemnity and focus required of such rights, and would probably take delight in such blatant sacrilege.

Thankfully, there were enough men and elves to stand guard, allowing all dwarrow who wished to attend to do so. Of course, there was the more practical problem of how they would get them all into such a small space… Voices approaching broke Thorin from his thoughts to see his nephews, followed closely by Dwalin, enter the small shop. They had taken over Blain's old store as a precaution, mostly because it allowed ready access to an escape for the royals should the camp be attacked again.

"Did you see your sister off?"

"Aye, and very excited to see Lothlorien, though I can't imagine why."

Therin flopped down with a huff as he spoke, disdain for the idea of visiting any place elven clear. At Thorin's request, Lis and Gimli had consented to returning to their home in Aglarond, a move the king had urged once it became clear that Mablung and Bifur had been killed by a blade to the base of the neck, the killing style of an assassin. There, hopefully, at least two of his kin would be beyond the reach of the cult's daggers. He only wished that he could send his three nephews to safety, as well!

The fact that Therin had been distancing himself from his brothers had not helped, either. At least with Fíli and Kíli, Thorin knew he could trust that they would watch each other's backs, but Therin… The boy had always been touchy, but lately was inclined to grow any perceived slight in word or deed out of proportion to any reality, especially if it originated with Kíli.

As the older two princes settled themselves on the far side of the fire from the youngest, their uncle sighed, noting the telltale signs of another battle and contemplating intervening for a moment before dismissing the notion. None of them would talk to him about it, either, brushing off his concern with murmurs of the cares he already shouldered. Therin had begun spending most of his time with the members of his patrol, and his brothers would keep their own counsel. Come to think of it, Fíli and Kíli had become good friends with Legolas, perhaps he would be willing to aid Thorin with the whole mess!

The elven prince had decided to stay with the army instead of accompanying Gimli and Lis, citing the need for a clear leader for his race within Khazad-dûm as Elladan and Elrohir had gone to aid in the care of the worst wounded, both healer trained by their father. Privately, Thorin suspected that his remaining had more to do with a certain red-headed elven warrior who had refused to leave, though she was wounded as well.

As if such thoughts had summoned them, two more tall figures appeared in the doorway, folding down onto the stone floor when Thorin waved a hand in invitation.

"Tauriel is settled?"

Kíli asked the elven prince as Legolas gratefully accepted a steaming cup of coffee from Fíli. Thorin muted Therin's gag of disgust with a disapproving glare. Such antics were more appropriate to a dwarfling of fifty-one, not the ninety-one the prince now claimed! The guard captain had taken a crossbow bolt just above the right knee during the fighting, and it had become infected.

"Yes, though if her temper does not abate with the fever, I have considered leaving her to your tender mercies. You now have matching scars to match your irritation with taking aid, after all." Thorin raised an eyebrow at the elf, wishing he would not bait the other prince quite so blatantly, but Legolas smiled, a teasing light sparking in his eyes. "Perhaps Vestri would not look askance upon a somewhat more handsome archer prince?"

Kíli almost choked on the bread he had been chewing, eyes widening in mock alarm before he grinned, tossing the piece of carrot still in his hand at the elf. In a feat of elven dexterity, Legolas managed to skewer the airborne vegetable on one of his daggers, nibbling on it contentedly.

"Oh, no, you get your own, Ves is mine!" Kili's smile turned slightly malicious. "Besides, you wouldn't survive more than a day with Glóin as your marriage-father!"

Legolas winced, conceding that point while the others who knew Glóin chortled at the very idea. That would engender such a fit of rage form the fiery old dwarf that not only would there be nothing left of the elf when he was through, but probably precious little of Erebor as well! Beside Legolas, the newest prince to join their band smiled at the high spirits.

"I keep telling Legolas he should send her to the city guard instead!"

Faramir grinned as Dwalin began roaring with laughter at the suggestion, the others sitting in puzzled silence. Thorin blinked, then remembered a long ago discussion with his shield-brother after the latter's return from the south and snorted.

"I don't get it."

Therin huffed, not in the least amused at being left out. Faramir shrugged, seemingly not offended by the grumpy young dwarf. The Prince of Ithilien had come with the re-enforcements for Gondor, intending to only stay for a day or two to consult with Thorin. When he had learned of Mablung's death, however, he had changed his plans, despite the unease the dwarf king felt about ensuring the man's safety.

"As Master Dwalin knows since he served in times past with the Gondorian forces, it is an old barracks joke." Faramir's explanation drew Thorin back to the conversation in time to smack his war master on the back as he laughed so hard he finally began to cough and choke. "The city guard and trainers were drawn from those who could be spared from the fighting with Mordor – those who bore disabling injuries such as an arrow to the knee."

"I am certain they were not recalcitrant in telling such tales to the would-be heroes they trained, either."

Thorin added, sharing an unspoken understanding with the war veterans among the small gathering. Therin, however, scoffed.

"If they allowed a little thing like an arrow wound to slow them down, they deserved to be left behind with the children! Real warriors-"

"Real warriors would know when to shut up."

Kili's low, heated words made the younger prince's face darken in outrage, but Thorin cut both of them off.

"Real warriors, Therin, would know that even a seemingly minor wound can prove critical in combat, and accede to staying behind so that they do not further endanger their company." The king deliberately did not allow his gaze to stray to Kíli as he spoke, though he sometimes wondered if the brunette had ever truly understood that lesson. "There is no shame in being wounded, only in being stupid about it."

From the icy blue glare of Fíli's eyes on him, he knew he would be hearing about this later, but he did not care. The decision to place the quest before his kin had been one of the hardest he had ever made, and one of the few that did not trouble his sleep at night. No matter how unfeeling it had seemed at the time, he was certain that taking Kíli further would have ensured the young dwarf's death. If the poison had not killed him, Smaug surely would have.

"Uncle." Kili's whisper was hoarse, the strain of controlling stirred up memories and emotions clear. Glancing at his nephew, Thorin's heart clenched to see the hurt reflected there, as well as the mithril sword that the prince held out to him. "I cannot keep this."

Reaching over, Thorin curled one of the hands that held out the weapon back around its new scabbard.

"You are worthy of it, Kíli."

The prince dropped his head, a move that had always signaled his deepest insecurities come to the fore.

"No, I- It bears a King's Stone in the pommel."

Taking the sword, the king turned it to closely examine the pommel, capped by a blue star sapphire, a uniquely rare and beautiful stone with an even rarer twelve point star showing in the light. Fingers quickly found the marks placed discretely to either side, the personal sigils of Durin II and his wife, Frey, who had owned the sword. Flipping the weapon deftly, he extended the hilt back toward his nephew, already certain of the answer its previous bearer would wish him to give.

"It is, but in this case, the sword was always meant for two bearers, Kíli. The two of you may be separated by time, but not by blood or spirit, which is the meaning of the rare double star in it as opposed to the single one."

With his other hand, the king delved into the bag he had held close to his side for the last several days, fingers closing unerringly around one of the stones within. Pulling it out, he extended it toward Kíli, who had still not taken the sword back, and opened his hand to reveal a second, identical, star sapphire. Fíli, Therin, and Dwalin, who knew the true significance of what he held, all gasped, as Kíli reached out with shaking hands to accept the offerings. Thorin swiftly stood and crossed the few feet to kneel in front of his sister-son, gently tilting Kili's face up to look at him. He looked so very fragile, young and unsure in that moment, stress and injury taking their toll once more.

"You are a true prince of Durin, Kíli, never forget that. There is no one more worthy to bear this sword."

The brunette could only nod mutely, tears stinging his eyes and swiftly wiped away. Thorin was certain that the other stone would find a home on the grip of Kili's bow. Standing again, the king made his way back to his seat and pulled the bag to him. Clearing his throat, he glanced out the door to the small store they were using as a more private campsite.

"Therin, would you ask Frodo, Bofur and Nast to join us, please?"

The young dwarf nodded, but only went as far as the door to bellow for the indicated parties, leaving Dwalin laughing to himself while the princes winced or rolled their eyes. The three came quickly enough, so they could not have been far. Thorin met the gazes of the non-Khazad solemnly, then took a deep breath.

"While this is not the first time part of our rituals have been shared with outsiders, it is extremely rare. I would ask for your word that what I am about to share goes no further than your immediate families."

Hobbit, elf and man murmured a hasty consent while Therin stiffened, but did not object.

"When a new king of Khazad-dûm is proclaimed, they stand vigil at the shores of the Kheled-zâram. If the king should be accepted, they will surface within the pool with a small bag of stones. These are known as the King's Stones and represent those closest and most trusted by him. None know where the stones come from, for they cannot be seen from the surface despite the clarity of the water, and occasionally are not even ones common to this part of Middle Earth. The recipient may mount the stone in whatever form they wish; in a weapon, a necklace, an adornment for the wall, anything. It is a sacred sign of the king's trust, though, and is never given to another. In fact, it is usually either buried with the person or made a part of their tomb."

Thorin's fingers closed around another stone, and he smiled, knowing without looking whose it must be.

"I have just given the first of my stones to my sister-son, Kíli, Prince of Erebor. Fittingly, then, the second shall go to my sister-son, Fíli, Prince of Erebor."

A golden tiger's eye gleamed on his palm, leading to a gasp from Fíli and a smirk from Kíli. The next stone, a bright piece of turquoise, was extended to Therin. Thorin reached in again, two stones coming immediately to hand. A delicate white stone, soft and pure, and a piece of hematite. Placing them on the ground before him, he had only to look to know where they belonged.

"Lis and Gimli."

A lodestone was next, making Thorin's lips curve up in amusement as Dwalin gave a delighted snort. It was joined by two pieces of citrine, identical and yet each unique in their own way.

"Dis, Vidri and Vili."

His sister's sharp tongue had certainly straightened him out more than once over the years! The red ruby that came next was gently set to one side as tears pricked more than one set of eyes.

"Balin."

The husky voice was Dwalin's as the large warrior reached over to pick up the stone, smiling sadly as he cupped it. He and Thorin would set it in the dwarf lord's tomb when they had a chance, where it would catch the light reflecting down into the mountain. The next stone that came out was, naturally enough, given to his shield brother. It was an iron grey stone, but bands of red and orange shown across it, the perfect blend of Dwalin's strength and temper.

Eyes on Bofur, Thorin brought out two more stones, extending them to the councilor. One, with a complex crystalline structure, was set to the side, but the other was cradled for a long moment, even as Dwalin had with his brother's ruby.

It was a piece of snowflake obsidian, formed from the titanic violence of a volcano, but laced with delicate formations imbedded within, a rare beauty out of destruction. In all, Thorin could not think of a better symbolism of the dwarf it would memorialize.

"Bifur." Bofur's voice broke on his cousin's name as he managed a strained smile for the king. "'Tis perfect, it even has the black and white of his hair."

Next to appear was a fire opal, which set them all to laughing as soon as Kíli spoke the name of the dwarf they all knew it must be for.

"Glóin!"

"Undoubtedly." Fíli added, shaking his head.

A piece of quartz, considered a healing stone by multiple cultures on Middle Earth, was clearly intended to represent Óin. Thorin would have to find an appropriate place near the western gate to mount it as a memorial, since they were highly unlikely to find a body now. The clear crystal he pulled next, however, did not seem to have an association until Thorin extended it to an astonished Nast.

"What's supposed to be special about that?"

Therin wrinkled his nose, staring at the small stone in his friend's hand. Nast snorted, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at the younger prince.

"Watch."

Fishing around in his bag, the sneaky dwarf took out a piece of parchment with writing on it and held the crystal in front of it. Thorin smiled as Therin started in shock, knowing the refraction would have created two identical lines of text when viewed through the stone. It was as deceptive in its way as Nast.

Then came another piece of obsidian, but this one was a rare brilliant green Thorin had never seen outside of Erebor. Of course, there was only one person who could possibly belong to such a rare, beautiful, and deceptively strong piece.

"Bilbo Baggins."

Thorin whispered fondly, already planning how it could be incorporated into the small marble statue of the burglar that marked his grave on the slopes of Erebor. The old hobbit had been completely against such a thing, saying that statues and such were fine for noble men or dwarrow, but not for hobbits, until Thorin had found a rather simple method to gain his cooperation. He had told Bilbo that the carving would be done, and Bilbo could both approve and aid in the design, or it would be done in solid gold after his death!

The next stone was a blue so light that it was almost silver, and looked a disappointingly dull piece until Thorin held it up. There, it caught the flame, refracting and reflecting it with such beauty that it stole the breath.

"Frodo Baggins."

The king handed the stone to the astonished, and flustered, hobbit, with a small seated bow and flourish of the hand. Next came a white opal, creamy and smooth, with colors swimming upon its surface in a rainbow. This was handed wordlessly to Faramir, the first man to ever receive one, as far as Thorin knew. Interesting, that he shared such a bond of friendship with the Gondorian, as they had spent but a short time together, instead keeping up a steady correspondence these last fourteen years. Perhaps it was Mahal's way of reminding the king that he needed to foster closer ties with men as well as elves. Next came a soft green stone, the color the same as the new leaves in the spring, which was extended toward the elven prince.

"Only three other elves in all our history have borne a king's stone, Legolas Greenleaf – Celebrimbor, Elrond, and the Lady Galadriel. May you prove yourself ever worthy of such friendship."

Legolas smiled faintly as long, slim fingers plucked the stone from Thorin's hand.

"We have both trod unforeseen paths since that rude meeting in the forest, Thorin Oakenshield. I have learned much of dwarrow since that time, and I thank you for the honor you do me."

"There's still a stone left, uncle. Whose is it?"

Therin poked at the bag and Thorin ground his teeth, hard pressed to keep from batting the impudent child's hand away. He knew who it should be for, but there was a reluctance to pull it from its hidden resting place. Every time he had brushed against the thing as he pulled the others, there had been an odd slimy feel to it. Perhaps some mud had become caught in the bag? Steeling his nerves, the king decided to grab the makeshift bag from the outside, allowing the fabric to unroll and the stone to drop out on its own. It hit the floor in front of him with an oddly dull thud instead of the ring of rock upon rock that should have come.

As they received their first look at it, those who had been leaning forward in anticipation moments before recoiled. Thorin grimaced, scooting himself back as he regarded the thing with the same wariness he would accord a live snake. It was coal black, but not a glossy, rich color. Instead, it looked dull and greasy, unclean, with a band of fiery orange-red right down the middle that was somehow both revolting and alluring.

"Cover it!"

Thorin obeyed before he even realized who had spoken, only glancing in query at Faramir after the grey-black cloth had hidden the offending stone from sight. The Prince of Ithilien was white faced, lips pursed in a hard line and revulsion in his eyes.

"That was the Red Eye, the sign of Mordor!"

"A warning," Dwalin's rumble split the tense stillness, "We have a traitor, still."

"No." Thorin closed his eyes, fists clenched in anger as fingernails dug into his palm. "This stone was for the leader of the cult. Balin is not the only one who knew and trusted him."

He could not believe what the depths of his soul were starting to whisper must be the truth, not until the other stood before him. He prayed that this was simply one more trick. It had to be, because the only one left not represented by a stone was-

With a hiss, the stone dissolved from under the cloth, a bright flame burning away the fabric and filling the room with a horrid stench. Thorin gasped, coughing hard as his lungs burned from the caustic smell, recoiling. As he attempted to get to his feet, a wave of dizziness sent him reeling into someone, strong hands steadying, then shoving him away.

"Get out! Everyone out! 'Tis poison!"

Dwalin's bark sounded in his ear as the king staggered, the other dwarf half supporting him as he fought to draw in a breath. Suddenly, cold air hit his face and the king blinked, vision clearing to show him several dwarrow staring at the staggering royals in astonishment.

"Seal it!"

Thorin barked, waving a hand back at the shop. The draw from the chimney would hopefully keep the foul stuff from entering any other part of the camp.

"I will locate one of our healers. They have ways to clear such poisons from the air."

Legolas, of all of them, was the only one not struggling to regain breath and equilibrium, but elves had always been affected differently from the mortal races.

"You do that." Dwalin snarled, eyes blazing in anger as he turned to his king. "They do not hesitate to desecrate one of our most sacred rituals! Cast them from our race, every stinking one!"

Thorin did not answer that, instead leaning wearily against the wall of the shop across from the one they had just fled as several healers came over to check on them. Other dwarrow with cloth folded over their noses and mouths were already working to seal the opening. Sad blue eyes met those of his oldest friend.

"You believe the stone to have been planted?"

He tried to mask the almost hopeful note in the question, but from Dwalin's narrowed regard, he had not succeeded. Instead of an answer, he received a question in return.

"You don't?"