Date: TA 2904
Thorin: 158 years old
Lina: 155 years old
"Who requests entry into the domain of Dain Ironfoot?"
"Lina Firehammer and her escort." Lina crossed her arms over her chest and waited for a response.
"What need have you of an army, Lady Firehammer?" The sentry was rightfully nervous, she supposed. Having nearly one hundred armed warriors on one's doorstep might be a bit intimidating.
"The way has grown more dangerous since last our people journeyed here. We lost some of our number to goblins in the Misty Mountains and to wargs on the plains. To travel with anything less than a fully armed host is foolishness," Lina called back up. A silence greeted her announcement.
"What do they think we're going to do?" Kira grumbled. "Attempt to pillage the town? We are neither strong enough in numbers or arms to accomplish that feat."
"Apparently." Lina eyed the gates in annoyance. Were they honestly afraid of a group from the Blue Mountains?
"If you're not intending to let us in, would you at least direct us to a place large enough to camp for the night?" she called up, irritated. What was wrong with these dwarves? She'd sent word ahead of a large number of dwarves coming into the Iron Hills from Belegost.
A small door, previous invisible, opened in the side of the mountain. Two envoys of Dain Ironfoot emerged. Both looked nervous.
"Do I want to know?" Kira muttered, raising one eyebrow at the dwarves.
"The Lord of the Iron Hills begs the pardon of Lady Firehammer, but questions her reasons for bringing an army," one managed. This dwarf, obviously young, had heard of Lina Firehammer and was actually nervous.
"There are many dangers on the road between our two cities. Would you have one of our kin travel that road alone? Moreover, I intend to take back some of the treasures stolen from our people by trolls and the like near the Ettenmoors. For that, one needs an army at their hand."
"Lord Ironfoot attempted to send word to you, but it has obviously not reached you. There is no room in the city for so large a visiting company. There is a sheltered valley in which your army may camp and be of relative comfort," the envoys continued.
"Take the valley," Kira hissed, "It looks to be nicer than whatever this lot could offer inside anyway."
"Then show us the way and we shall make camp," Lina answered Dain's dwarves.
"A place has been prepared for the wife of our lord's cousin within his house," one of the dwarves told Lina once they had shown the valley to the small army.
"Send my apologies to your lord and master," Lina replied, "I cannot leave my people to sleep in a valley while I remain inside the city."
The dwarves looked stunned at her words, but took the message to Dain. He responded with understanding, and interest.
Kira nudged her friend as the two were sitting in front of their tent. Advancing on them was a small band of dwarves, led by Dain Ironfoot. The two females rose to greet him.
"Lady Firehammer," Dain greeted her as he drew near, "I have not had the pleasure of seeing you up close. The last time I saw you was across the battlefield fighting beside my cousin. The memory of your flaming hammer has never left my mind."
"I am honored you remember me, Lord Ironfoot," she responded gracefully, bowing slightly.
"You mentioned in your letter you had wished to see your mother, I believe?"
"That is correct."
"I am sorry then, Lady Firehammer," he told her, "I have been informed that she died while you were on your way here. I had included that information in the message I dispatched, but obviously that message did not reach you for one reason or another."
Lina's blood went cold. Dead. Her mother was dead. As the initial shock wore off, Lina was surprised by her lack of reaction. What was wrong with her? Her mother was dead. That realization did nothing to her emotionally. It was a simple statement of fact.
The Lord of the Iron Hills departed with his people having agreed to allow the dwarves to resupply before returning to Belegost. Still Lina felt nothing. That frightened her.
"What's wrong?" Kira had settled back against her rock and was looking at her companion curiously.
"I don't feel anything," Lina whispered. "She was my mother and I feel nothing."
"You haven't seen or spoken to each other in more than a century," Kira pointed out. "That's a long time. Bonds weaken."
"But my own mother?"
Kira shrugged, "You've had so many other dwarves enter your life in that century. You've married Thorin and you've helped raise your nephews. There's a whole new family for you to love. It's a whole new life."
Lina did not reply. Her fingers played with the clear stone ring on her hand. Though Kira's words made sense, her lack of emotion regarding her mother's death still disturbed her.
The following morning, the dwarves took the opportunity to go into the city in small groups. For the most part they were looking to resupply. A few had relatives inside, but not many. Lina went in briefly to visit her mother's tomb. The old dwarven warrior who had agreed to take care of her mother had apparently married her. The dwarf had lost his first wife to Smaug though his children had survived. His marriage to Lorina seemed to have been a happy one. For that, Lina was grateful.
On the second day after the arrival of the army from Belegost, the dwarves bid the Iron Hills farewell. They had rested and resupplied, and were anxious to be on their way. There was a new life to begin in the Iron Hills.
Lina looked with longing upon the Lonely Mountain as the passed far to the north of it. The land she remembered as once being beautiful and green was now nothing more than a blackened wasteland. The mountain rose high above the surrounding devastation, snow capping its peak.
"They say the dragon has been quiet for twenty years now," Kira said, interrupting Lina's thoughts. "But, judging by the smoke still coming out of the mountain, I don't think that beast's dead."
The army progressed slowly to the north of the mountain. To go through Mirkwood had been declared unsafe. Even the Old Forest Road had become unsafe. The dwarves of the Iron Hills told tales of dwarves who'd taken those paths and never were heard from again. Even larger, well-armed companies tended to vanish from the road. The path they walked now, however, was just as dangerous. To stray too far to the south would them within the realm of Smaug, and, as they moved further west, into the domain of Thranduil. Lina had no desire to be in his realm. His bitter betrayal of the dwarves still burned angrily within her. Going too far north was just as bad. The settlements the dwarves had once built in the Grey Mountains had long since been destroyed by the dragons of the north, Smaug's kin.
Once across the Great River, the dwarven host only had a day or two further to march before their destination came into view. An old fortress was built into the side of the mountains. One of the dwarves in the company said that the fortress had once been inhabited by a small band of dwarves who had fled Erebor. However, they were too few and too poor to defend the fortress properly, and so had fled when a small contingency of goblins had found them. The fortress was unlikely to still be occupied by the goblins, or at least not to be occupied by very many. It was too far off of the trade routes for creatures used to preying on others, and had few natural resources to exploit the way their kin did further north and further south.
Lina and Kira sent out the scouts to take a quick survey of the fortress. If it was inhabited, they were to bring a report of the number and armament of those within. If it was not inhabited, they would simply take it for their own.
The scouts returned quickly with word that the fortress was indeed still occupied. None of the creatures within had noticed the dwarven scouts creeping among the rocks. Kira recommended waiting where they were for the night and then attacking the next morning. It was a plan Lina supported.
The dwarven warriors made a cold camp just behind a rocky ridge, hiding them from anyone on the fortress walls. Sentries were posted and the dwarves bedded down for the night. The night was to be short enough. With any luck, the fortress would be theirs by midday tomorrow.