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.
32. Brothers
"Ori, it's me… Nori."
The older dwarf spoke softly, soothing, as if to a skittish animal as the others held their breath, afraid to move lest they scare the intruder off. Whatever reaction Nori anticipated, Thorin was certain it was not the one he received.
"Nooo…"
The moan was a long, drawn out sigh of heart-wrenching, utter devastation; the sound of someone whose entire world had just crumbled around them. Tears glistened in large hazel eyes as one filthy hand reached up only to stop inches from Nori's face.
"Nori…" It was a bare whisper, and the final confirmation Thorin needed that the spymaster's suspicions as to the baggy figure's identity had been correct. "Y-you cannot be dead. No, no, no…"
The hood came loose as the scribe shook his head frantically with every repetition of the denial, matted hair tumbling free, barely discernable as red-brown under the grease and filth. So, Ori had gone through with the plan Balin had mentioned to Ori's older brothers, even though his leader was dead. The skeleton in the Chamber of Records must have been another dwarf given the task of wearing the armor of the scribe to fool the cult with the same trick they had used to kill Kíli outside Erebor!
"Is that what you think?"
There was a depth of pain to Nori's muttered answer that Thorin had rarely heard from the normally cool, aloof former thief, though if anyone were to evoke it… Then Nori let out a forced chuckle as he took on a false note of cheer, speaking loudly enough for all to hear.
"Don't you know by now that Mahal would never permit it? He'd so afraid that I was going to pick his pocket that he would trip over himself to keep an eye on me, then miss his tools when I stole them instead!"
A tiny smile turned up the corners of Ori's mouth at that, but he still looked as though he meant to run, only to freeze at what must have been a foreign, forgotten sound to him coming from the others. A laugh rippled through the dwarrow around the king, and Nori used the distraction to grab his brother's wrist. For a second, it seemed that the tactic would work, that the physical contact would be enough to convince the scribe that his brother was actually there. But only for a second.
As Nori pulled his brother to him, Ori exploded into action, limbs flying in every direction as he fought like a wild thing to get loose. Nori managed to grab his other arm, but at that instant, Ori planted a kick on the older dwarf's shin. The spy gasped, losing his hold for a critical second and allowing the younger dwarf to slip from his grasp.
Ori's escape was short-lived, however, because as he turned to dart away again, he found two more opponents in his way. Dwalin and Fíli had used the few moments to take up positions on either side and were ready. Dwalin simply enveloped the little scribe in his muscular arms, easily lifting Ori clear of the floor as Fíli seized kicking legs, leaving their captive with no escape. Ori, of course, had never been one to give up easily, despite his seeming timidity, and began to twist and kick frantically again, hands digging at any part of Dwalin he could reach. The warrior stared at his captive, heavy body simply absorbing the blows with barely a grunt while Fíli was almost knocked on his backside.
"Are you wearin' my shirt?"
The puzzled question from the large warrior made Thorin pause and blink, trying to make sense of the reference before recalling the 'misplaced' pack from their first day inside the old kingdom. Why Dwalin would bring that up now, though… A hint of blue through the rags made Thorin roll his eyes. It seemed they had caught their thief after all.
"Ori! Stop fighting us!"
Fíli yelled, heedless of the nervous glances the group gave at the level of noise they were creating. As if suddenly aware of the identity of the one held his feet, Ori froze, then let out a howl of dismay, struggles redoubling, but focused solely on getting his lower half loose.
"He's going to have every cultist in the place down on us!"
Einarr snapped, stocky form standing solidly in the narrow opening to the passage they had come from, weapons at the ready. Thorin nodded, though he personally thought that if any were within hearing, they would have already come at a run upon the explosions of their stone guardians. He reached out, seizing Fíli's shoulder.
"Let him go, Fíli."
The prince looked dubious, but dropped the struggling scribe's feet, Dwalin absorbing the impact of the ragged boots against his shins with a grunt. Thorin firmly held off Nori with an arm, putting himself directly in front of the horrified captive, who promptly landed a blow that would have taken the king in the groin if he had not seen it coming and twisted at the last second. One hand reached up and latched onto one of Thorin's side braids, yanking hard. The king winced.
"That will be enough of that." He muttered to himself before using his own armored body to trap Ori's legs between himself and Dwalin as he leaned in, strong hands bracketing the scribe's face and forcing him to meet Thorin's gaze. "Ori! Stop this, Now!"
Whether it was the ingrained obedience to his king, the commanding tone, or plain shock that cut Ori's struggles short, Thorin neither knew nor cared. The scribe stilled, face going slack in utter astonishment as he stared at the king, then at his own hands in physical contact with the supposedly dead monarch.
"Good." Ori flinched at Thorin's softened voice. "Now, if you will release my hair and stay calm, Dwalin will set you down."
The king was not at all surprised that the only response he received was a single, meek nod. Ori had always seemed to be skittish around him, though whether it was his temperamental nature or his nobility that so bothered the little scribe, he was never sure. Ori certainly seemed to have no problem around Fíli and Kíli. Besides, living in complete isolation for thirty years, with the exception of enemies, and then being confronted by two dwarrow who were supposed to be dead would unnerve anyone.
Ori released his braid as fast as if it had grown scorching hot, gaping at the king as Dwalin eased him down, though the warrior was careful to keep his hands on his former captive's shoulders. No one spoke for more than a minute, the air heavy with tension and the scent of death as they awaited Thorin's lead. He, in turn, was content to allow their newly found dwarf time to get his bearings. Finally, Ori dared to look up at the king.
"You're real? Alive?"
"I am." Thorin allowed a small smile, hoping he did not unnerve the other dwarf further with it. "The Arkenstone turned out to be more useful than we thought. It brought us back after Sauron fell."
Carefully, Thorin unbuckled his vambrace and peeled off the tight leather glove underneath, baring the silvery marks that had been burned into his palm so long ago now. He did not doubt that Ori would have no trouble identifying their meaning. Sure enough, the scribe's face paled even more, a shaking hand barely grazing the skin with two fingertips.
"Durin!"
Ori breathed, glancing wide-eyed at his brother to receive a confirming nod. The scribe hit his knees in a billowing of rags and dust, head bowed down as his entire body trembled.
"My Lord Durin, I am yours to command."
The Khuzdul rolled off of Ori's tongue, sounding strange in the current surroundings, but also somehow fitting. Thorin held down a hand, shaking it insistently when Ori did not immediately accept the aid.
"First, you can return to your feet. Second, you can tell us what you know of the cult and its allies here in Khazad-dûm, quickly. We have lingered here too long already."
Ori staggered a bit as he forced himself up, the king steadying him.
"Their Lord ordered all of them away from here, to attack your search parties and lure them away from-"
The timid dwarf broke off, eyes sliding to Fíli and widening so much Thorin almost believed they would come out of his head.
"Does this mean- Is Kíli alive again, too?"
"Ori!" Thorin allowed himself to be partially moved aside by his oldest nephew as Fíli's eyes locked on his old friend. "Have you seen Kíli?"
"Y-yes." The other dwarf was on the edge of tears again, flinching from Fíli's hand when the prince reached out to him. "I-I'm sorry, Fíli. I thought it was another trick!" There was a desperation and wildness to the scribe's eyes that was disconcerting to see, reminding Thorin strongly of the madness that had once lingered in his father's gaze. "My mind has played so many over the years…"
Ori's head dropped, tears tracking through the dirt on his face as Fíli rested his hands on the scribe's shoulders, replacing Dwalin. The blonde's body was tense, muscles rippling as he gently shook the other, and Nori moved as if to intervene. Thorin gave a quick shake of his head, knowing that this had to come out now, when they were relatively safe, rather than later. Fíli had enough control still not to hurt the lad.
"Ori… Was he alive?" The silence stretched and Fíli gave him another shake, trying to duck his head enough to peer into the other's face. "Was my brother alive?"
The gutturals of the Khuzdul language added emphasis to the question. Ori's answer was only a whisper, but it sounded as loud as a thunder clap in this room of death.
"Y-yes."
"Can you lead us there?"
This time it was Thorin who had broken in, startling both the younger dwarrow, as if they had forgotten they were not alone. He could feel renewed energy borne of unexpected hope thrumming up and down his body, and it took all his control not to shake the scribe himself as he awaited an answer. To be so close… Ori gave the king one frightened glance, then ducked his head back, nodding.
"Y-yes. But not this way. They watch all the passages they know to lead there. Naragel will not easily give up his prize."
"Naragel? Here?!"
Einarr whipped around, zeroing in on the scribe with a strange intensity that sent a ripple of unease through the others. Once again, Dwalin put himself between the Blacklock and his goal, one large hand stopping the other dwarf in his tracks.
"What do you know of this?" Thorin was quick to ask.
Einarr drew himself up, glaring over Dwalin's shoulder at the king, as if daring him to renew the accusations of the Blacklocks mining to the cult's benefit.
"The one who went by that name was known to all who live in the southern areas. When no more was heard of him after the fall of his dark master, we had hoped he died in the fighting, but if he is here…"
Einarr shook his head, dark eyes troubled as he met the king's gaze, a hint of fear there.
"Walk carefully around that one, Lord Thorin. He is Mordor's creature, completely and utterly, with no shred of decency or compassion. He would move through the settlements like a plague, devastating any who opposed him, and to those who fell for his foul sorcery, he was even worse. Once the adults able to fight were under his control, they would be made to watch as any who could not were tossed to the wargs for sport so they had no ties to their old life. And not just the old or injured, but children. Children!"
More than one of his listeners muttered and cursed to themselves at that, sickened. To harm a dwarfling in any way was the worst act any dwarf could commit, considered even viler than murder or treason as it struck at the very future of their entire race. To hear of young lives being thrown so blatantly away like waste rock from the mine… It was horrific even to think of such a thing occurring, let alone know that his nephew was in the hands of such a creature.
"No wonder he has been given such a name!"
Fíli muttered, several others nodding. Senata looked as if she wished to tear the fiend apart slowly and carefully that very instant, and Thorin would be hard pressed not to allow it.
"What does Naragel mean?"
Faramir tripped over a few of the syllables, but it was understandable enough. Legolas sucked in a breath, shocked at the question, while Tauriel glanced around at the dwarrow nervously. Thorin, however, was not so easily offended any longer, especially by one he had named friend.
"It is a foul term in our language; not one easily spoken at any time, nor does it have a direct translation into Westron. The closest I could come would be the color and feel of evil."
Thorin glanced around to note the downcast gazes of his companions, and the flushed, horrified one of his youngest nephew. Therin's eyes were glistening with tears, and he gave his uncle one short, sharp nod. That one was receiving quite the education today that much was certain.
"Come, we cannot linger here longer. Whether their leader awaits us or not is immaterial, I will have Kíli out of his reach tonight. Ori."
The newly found dwarf swallowed hard, ducking his head and shifting from foot to foot for a moment before nodding.
"There are hidden passages throughout the city. I'll show you. Only…" The scribe hesitated, eyes still a bit wild whenever his hazel gaze happened to skim across Thorin or Fíli. "Does anyone have a weapon I can use?"
Predictably, it was Fíli who answered, with the first genuine chuckle Thorin had heard from his nephew in days. Apparently it was not only the mood of the king that had lifted with the idea that their missing one might yet be rescued.
"Here. I always have extra weapons, you know that."
The prince was holding out one of his heavier daggers, but his friend flinched back as if struck, and Fíli's smile vanished.
"Ori…"
"Why doesn't Ori use Sting and I'll take your dagger, Fíli?"
Frodo held out the small blade, which Thorin blinked at, only now realizing the hobbit had been wearing it. Why had he not thought to make sure of their arms before allowing them to leave camp? Had he been so focused on Kíli that even the safety of his own companions was not of concern? He frowned at the hobbit, not happy with the idea of their lightest armed member, barring Therin, of course, was offering to give up his weapon for even poorer armament. At the thought, Thorin put a restraining hand upon Frodo's wrist.
"No, Frodo, I would rather you keep that. Should any harm befall you because you gave it up, I believe- I know- that I would have Bilbo haunting me for the rest of my days. Not to mention a certain meddlesome wizard reaching across all of Arda to chastise me further."
Bofur chortled at the king's dry tone, while Dwalin let out an amused snort, and Nori ducked his head, laughing silently. As inappropriate as the humor might have seemed at that moment, he knew it had been needed.
"Truly an unbefitting fate for the greatest of the dwarf kings."
At the lightly mocking words, Thorin sighed. He could have done without the help of a certain elf just now, but he doubted his companions would allow him to strangle the offender.
"Allow me to save us all such risk and give Master Ori this."
Legolas smoothly slipped between his shorter companions to offer an elven sword, scabbard, and belt, already shortened for its new bearer. The only sign that Thorin could see of his recent ordeal from the gate's shrieks was a slight dishevelment to the normally immaculate white-blond hair. Ori stared up at their one-time captor in shock, not moving to take the offered item until his older brother gave him a short nudge in the back.
"Go on, take it. 'Tis light enough you should have no trouble with it."
"But… What about-"
Legolas smiled at the objection.
"Do not concern yourself with me, Master Dwarf. I prefer my long knives or bow. I only carried the longer blade because my lady insisted."
My lady, was it? Thorin noted that development with amusement as Tauriel's cheeks turned dusky pink. It was about time someone was able to settle the wild elven prince down, and Thranduil's opinion obviously no longer mattered to the pair. Ori took the offered weapon and slipped it on with his brother's help, allowing it to ride on his back just as Thorin carried Orcrist. Suddenly drawing himself up, the meek scribe held his head high and met his king's gaze squarely for the first time, reminding Thorin strongly of the young dwarf who had threatened a dragon at Bilbo's table long ago.
"This way."
The path he led them on was so twisted that not even Thorin could keep track of it. They had doused all but one of their lanterns, relying on the naturally better night sight of the dwarrow and Ori's thirty years of familiarity to bring them safely through the passages. Most were small, making it a tight fit for the two elves and Faramir, but they managed, stealing their way deeper into the uncharted under depths of the ancient city.
"Balin found ancient records buried deep in Erebor's archives that spoke of a company of dwarves who snuck back into the city after the fall of Durin VI and his son." Ori's whisper was a soft caress of sound in the darkness as they walked, the only sound beyond their footfalls. "They sought to take some of the mithril and other treasures from beneath the gaze of the Balrog, and so they built these tunnels slowly, over several decades, hiding their activity in the noise of the trolls, orcs and goblins the creature allowed to settle here. Only one made it back out alive, and without much treasure, but he left descriptions of how to find and open the doors. Óin and I were the only ones Balin told in case there were cult members among the company."
The scribe ended his speech abruptly, shaking his head and stealing a glance back at Thorin, just behind him, as if to reassure himself that they were really there. Dwarrow tended to withstand isolation better than some races, such as men, but it was bound to have permanent effects they had not yet seen, even as battle had changed his nephews.
"Is it much farther, Ori?"
Fíli's quiet query floated up from somewhere behind the king. Ori did not pause or even glance back as he answered.
"Not much farther, no. Through here."
"Did Balin tell you who the cult leader was?"
Thorin's heart quelled at the question, though his mind demanded he ask it, no matter how much he raged at what he suspected to be true. No, not suspected… Knew. Brothers lay at the heart of this tale. Balin and Dwalin, Ori and Nori, Kíli and Fíli, even Kíli and Therin; the black rock and the vision in the pool had told the tale, it was just whether he would, and could, admit the truth of it to himself.
The way the leader had known how he would react, known the lay-out of the great city as if he, too, had grown up hearing the ancient tales, the sightings of his father that he had chased throughout the south over the years before the quest, the personal animosity… It all made too much sense for it to be any other, but he still could not give voice to such heartache, even to warn his companions.
The barely seen gleam of dreaded knowledge in the dimness of the lantern as Ori paused at the next hidden door to look at him was all the answer he needed. The king nodded heavily, hand readjusting on his sword hilt as he tried to steal himself for the trial ahead.
The first thing that Thorin noticed as he came through the last cramped passage and out through the stone door was the thin ribbons of rainbow light dancing across the high ceiling of the sacrifice chamber. The second was the naked form of Kíli, covered in dirt and blood, lying still on the floor, each wrist and ankle pulled wide and lashed to a ring of iron set in the floor. The lights were coming from cracks in the rough clay packed around his marked hand. The third was the rock viper that was coiled on his nephew's shoulder, body puffed up and hissing, with the deadly fangs mere inches from Kili's face. It was the biggest such creature he had ever seen, and it clearly had no intention of giving up its position.
Thorin cast a glance around, assessing the angles to see how best to approach the creature. The room they were in was a roughly oval shape, similar to the pupil of an eye, but the stone walls had been cut so rough that the flat surfaces were more octagonal. Shoddy orc work at its best. Somewhere in the darkness, a laugh rang out, hearty and malicious.
"Come now, Thorin, surely you knew that I did not intend to give up my prize, even if you somehow slipped past my guards. After all, you taught me to leave nothing to chance."
A hiss of fire and the crackle of a torch being lit, then a figure appeared from the darkness on the far side of the chamber to their left, tall and majestic in the dark leathers and cloak. One eye was bisected by a nasty scar, the ruin covered by a rough leather patch that looked to have been somehow bolted into the cheek bone itself in a cruel self-disfigurement. Long grey hair still showed a liberal streaking of its original black as a bright blue eye, full of madness, locked with Thorin's own. The king licked his lips, barely able to murmur the name as he heard a scuffle behind him, no doubt signaling one or more of his companions restraining Fíli.
"Frérin."