Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters or settings from Lord of the Rings or Xena the Warrior Princess

Author's Note:

I: Prologue

Act V: Whispers in the Heart of Erebor

Erebor, 3019 TA, March 25 - 30

In the vast tapestry of Middle-earth, the Dwarves were a hardy and resilient race, known for their craftsmanship, love of stone and gems, and an enduring spirit that rivaled the most steadfast of mountains. In the Third Age, several Dwarven realms dotted the map, each with its unique history and culture. Among them, Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, stood as a testament to the Dwarves' determination and resilience.

Erebor, nestled in the northern regions of Middle-earth, was a magnificent sight to behold. Its towering peaks and glittering halls were carved deep into the heart of the mountain itself, and its riches were legendary. For centuries, the Dwarves of Erebor had mined precious gems and metals, amassing a wealth that was the envy of many. Under the rule of Thror and later Thrain, the kingdom prospered.

However, the shadow of Smaug, the fearsome dragon, cast a long and malevolent pall over Erebor. In the year 2770 of the Third Age, Smaug descended upon the Lonely Mountain, driven by greed and a lust for gold. He laid waste to the once-thriving kingdom, slaughtering many Dwarves and driving the survivors into exile.

It was a dark time for the Dwarves of Erebor, as their home was reduced to a smoldering ruin, and their people scattered far and wide. The wealth of their ancestors fell into the clutches of Smaug, who nestled amidst the riches, guarding them jealously.

It was in this backdrop of loss and exile that Gloin, a resilient Dwarf of Erebor, found himself. A survivor of Smaug's wrath, Gloin had joined the company of Thorin Oakenshield, a Dwarf prince who carried with him a burning desire to reclaim Erebor and restore the Dwarven kingdom to its former glory. Dain became King under the Mountain. He redeems the Arkenstone from Bard with a fourteenth of the treasure, which is used to re-establish Dale.

As news of Sauron's resurgence and the claim of the One Ring spread across Middle-earth, the Dwarves of Erebor, now residing in the reclaimed kingdom, took note. Gloin, with his fiery red beard and a spirit as unyielding as the mountains themselves, was among those who closely followed the unfolding events.

One evening, in the dimly lit chambers of the Lonely Mountain, Gloin gathered with other Dwarves of Erebor. The flickering torchlight danced on the rugged stone walls, creating an atmosphere of somber reflection. Gloin, stood at the head of the chamber, his gaze heavy with concern.

"My kin," Dain began, his voice resolute but tinged with anxiety, "Dark times have befallen Middle-earth. Sauron has risen, and the One Ring is in his grasp. The shadow of Mordor stretches far and wide, threatening all that we hold dear."

Gloin, standing amidst the Dwarves of Erebor, exchanged solemn glances with his brethren. The weight of their history, the loss of their homeland, and the looming threat of Sauron's darkness bore down upon them.

Dain continued, "Our ancestors, those who once called Erebor home, would not have stood idle in the face of such darkness. They would have fought with all their might, and so must we. We cannot ignore the call to stand against this encroaching shadow."

Gloin nodded in agreement, his resolve unshaken. "Aye, Dain, we shall not shy away from this battle. Our people have known loss and exile, and we have emerged stronger for it. Erebor stands as a beacon of Dwarven resilience, and we shall not let it fall again."

As the Dwarves of Erebor discussed their course of action, Gloin's thoughts turned to his family, particularly his son, Gimli. Gimli, a young Dwarf with a fierce determination and an adventurous spirit, had left Erebor to join the Council of Elrond, where a Fellowship was formed to carry the One Ring to Mount Doom. Gloin's heart ached with worry for his son, for he had not received word from him in a long time.

After the meeting concluded, Gloin made his way to his chambers, where his wife, Groa, awaited him. Groa, with her warm smile and a heart as resilient as her husband's, had been his rock throughout their tumultuous journey from exile to the reclamation of Erebor.

Gloin entered their chambers and found Groa sitting by the hearth, her face reflecting the flickering flames. She looked up as he entered, her eyes filled with concern. "Gloin," she said softly, "what was discussed in the council? What news do you bring?"

Gloin sighed heavily and took a seat beside her. "The news is grim, my love. Sauron has returned, and he possesses the One Ring. The shadow of Mordor threatens all of Middle-earth. We, the Dwarves of Erebor, must stand against it."

Groa placed a comforting hand on Gloin's shoulder. "We have faced darkness before, and we have emerged victorious. Erebor is our home once more, and we shall defend it with all our strength."

Gloin nodded, his gaze distant. "Aye, Groa, but there is more. I am worried about our son, Gimli, who left Erebor to join the Council of Elrond. He set out with the Fellowship on a perilous quest to destroy the One Ring. I have agreed for Gimli to follow the fellowship as it was a secret mission to destroy the one Ring. However now, I am worried for what lies ahead."

Groa's expression mirrored Gloin's worry. "Gimli is a brave Dwarf, and he carries the strength of our people with him. But the road ahead is treacherous, and I share your concerns for his safety."

As husband and wife, they sat in the dimly lit chambers of Erebor, their hands intertwined, finding solace in each other's presence. The love they shared was a steadfast beacon in the face of uncertainty, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, the bonds of family and the enduring spirit of the Dwarves would endure.

With a heavy heart, Gloin whispered, "I pray that Gimli and the Fellowship find the strength and courage to face the darkness that looms over Middle-earth. May Mahal watch over our son and guide him safely through the trials that await."

Groa leaned closer, her lips brushing against Gloin's ear as she whispered, "And may our love serve as a source of strength for him, a reminder of the home he carries in his heart, no matter how far he roams."

As the flames in the hearth crackled and cast their warm glow across the chamber, Gloin and Groa's conversation deepened. They spoke of their memories of Gimli, their son, and the hopes and dreams they had held for him.

"I remember when he was just a young Dwarf," Gloin began, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "He had a head full of fiery curls, just like his old man, and a spirit that couldn't be contained. He was always eager to explore, to learn, and to prove himself."

Groa smiled, her eyes twinkling with fondness. "Aye, and I remember the countless times he would accompany you to the forges, watching you work with such admiration. He was so determined to follow in your footsteps, to become a skilled smith like his father."

Gloin chuckled softly. "He had a fiery spirit, that's for sure, but he also had a kind heart. I remember the way he would help those less fortunate in our travels, sharing what little we had with those in need. It made me proud to call him my son."

Groa's smile widened. "And his love for the stories and songs of our people, the tales of our history, and the legends of Durin's Folk. He had such a thirst for knowledge and a deep respect for our heritage."

As they reminisced about their son, their worry for Gimli's safety was tempered by the pride they felt for the Dwarf he had become. Gloin's voice grew more solemn as he spoke of Gimli's decision to join the Fellowship. "Gimli chose this path, Groa, and I respect his determination. But the journey they've embarked upon is fraught with danger, and the burden of the Ring is a heavy one. It weighs on my heart, knowing that he faces such peril."

Groa leaned closer, her hand reaching for Gloin's. "We raised him to be strong and resilient, to face adversity with courage. He carries our love and the strength of our people with him. We must believe in his abilities, and in the bonds he has formed with the others in the Fellowship."

Gloin nodded, finding solace in Groa's words. "Aye, you're right, my love. Gimli is not alone in this quest. He has allies and friends from different races, and together, they carry the hope of Middle-earth. We must have faith in their mission and in our son's bravery."

As the night wore on, Gloin and Groa's conversation shifted to their shared determination to defend Erebor and Middle-earth from the looming darkness. They spoke of their resolve to stand alongside their fellow Dwarves and allies in the face of Sauron's threat.

"The Dwarves of Erebor have faced adversity before," Gloin declared, his voice filled with determination. "We rebuilt our kingdom from the ashes, and we shall not let Sauron's shadow extinguish the light we've rekindled."

Groa's eyes sparkled with fierce pride. "Erebor is our home, and we shall defend it with everything we have. The riches of our ancestors are not the gold and gems within these halls; it is the spirit of our people, our resilience, and our unbreakable bonds."

As they spoke of their homeland, their love for each other, and their shared commitment to the future, Gloin and Groa found strength in their unity. In the heart of Erebor, in the face of a new darkness, their love remained unyielding, a testament to the enduring spirit of the Dwarves.

With a final embrace, they retired to their chambers, their hearts heavy with the weight of the world and the uncertainties that lay ahead. But they also carried with them the unwavering love and hope that had sustained their family through generations—a love that would serve as a beacon of light in the darkest of times.

In the stillness of the night, as Erebor's stone halls echoed with the whispers of history and the distant rumble of forging, Gloin and Groa clung to each other, finding comfort in their bond, and in the belief that, together, they could face whatever challenges lay ahead in the ever-encroaching shadow of Sauron's darkness.

Later that same night, Gloin felt an irresistible urge to escape the confines of his chamber. The weight of uncertainty and fear pressed upon him, and he longed for solitude beneath the stone halls of Erebor. As he ventured into the labyrinthine passageways, his thoughts were a tumultuous sea of memories and concerns.

Gloin had weathered countless battles throughout his storied life, each marked by its own trials and tribulations. From the Battle of Azanulbizar, where he had fought alongside King Thrain to reclaim Khazad-dûm from the Orcs to the Battle of the Five Armies, where he had stood shoulder to shoulder with Elves, Men, and his own kin to defend Erebor, he had witnessed the horrors of war and the toll it exacted.

But this new threat, the looming shadow of Sauron and the One Ring was unlike anything he had faced before. It was a darkness that seemed to seep into the very marrow of his bones, a hopelessness that gnawed at his spirit. For the first time in his long life, Gloin's hope had been shattered, replaced by a daunting realization of the impossible odds they now faced.

As he wandered through the quiet corridors, the memories of battles past and the faces of fallen comrades haunted him. He knew that the fate of Erebor and its people hung in the balance, and the weight of that responsibility bore down on him like an insurmountable burden.

In the depths of his soul, Gloin understood that he needed to speak with Dáin, their leader and the stalwart protector of Erebor. He needed to voice his doubts, his fears, and his belief that their chances of victory against the dark lord were slim at best. And so, guided by the urgency of his thoughts and the weight of his convictions, Gloin found himself standing outside Dáin's chambers that same night, ready to confront the harsh truth that awaited them all.

In the dimly lit chambers of Erebor, Dáin Ironfoot, leader of the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, sat upon his throne, his brow furrowed with concern. The weight of leadership pressed heavily upon him as he contemplated the dire circumstances that surrounded them. Beside him stood Gloin, his trusted advisor and friend, their faces etched with the weariness of a people who had endured more than their fair share of trials.

"Dáin," Gloin began, his voice heavy with the gravity of their situation, "the news from the outside world grows grimmer by the day. Rumors of Sauron's return and the One Ring have spread like wildfire. As we already know, our scouts report troubling signs of increased orc activity in the nearby mountains."

Dáin nodded, his eyes dark with worry. "Aye, Gloin. It seems the shadow of Sauron reaches even into our once-impregnable halls. Erebor, once a symbol of our people's resilience, is now at risk of becoming a target in this new war."

Gloin's gaze met Dáin's, and the unspoken fear passed between them. "Our numbers are not what they once were. Many of our kin fell in the Battle of the Five Armies, and our resources are stretched thin. We cannot defend Erebor alone against the might of Sauron's forces."

Dáin clenched his fist, his knuckles whitening against his armor. "I know, Gloin. And yet, we cannot abandon our home. Erebor is the heart of our people, and we shall defend it to our last breath."

As they contemplated the grim reality of their situation, a sudden draft of icy air swept through the chamber, extinguishing the torches lining the walls. The room plunged into darkness, and an eerie silence settled over them. Dáin and Gloin exchanged uneasy glances.

"What sorcery is this?" Dáin muttered, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his axe. The darkness seemed to press in on them, thick and suffocating.

Gloin's voice wavered as he spoke, "It is said that Sauron's power can manifest in the most unsettling ways, twisting the very air around us. We are dealing with a foe unlike any we have ever faced, Dáin."

Just as quickly as it had descended, the darkness lifted, and the torches reignited, casting their warm light once more. But the unease remained, a lingering reminder of the malevolent presence that lurked beyond Erebor's walls.

Dáin and Gloin resumed their conversation, their voices hushed, as if afraid to draw the attention of unseen forces. "Gloin, we must seek allies," Dáin declared, his tone resolute. "We cannot face this darkness alone. Our kin in the Iron Hills and the other Dwarf realms may be our best hope."

Gloin nodded in agreement. "Aye, Dáin and we must also consider forging alliances with other races. The Elves, the Men of Gondor, even the Wooden Elves. Sauron's shadow threatens us all, and together we stand a better chance of holding it back."

As they spoke of alliances, another chilling draft swept through the chamber, extinguishing the torches once more. This time, a whispering voice seemed to echo in the darkness, a voice that spoke of despair and impending doom. Dáin and Gloin exchanged alarmed glances, their resolve tested by the sinister presence that seemed to envelop them.

"Dáin, we are not alone," Gloin whispered, his voice trembling. "There are forces at play here that we cannot fully comprehend. Sauron's influence reaches even into our very halls."

Dáin's grip on his axe tightened, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of an intruder. "We shall not be cowed by fear, Gloin. We are Dwarves of Erebor, and we shall face whatever darkness comes our way. But we must proceed with caution and seek allies with the utmost urgency."

As they continued their conversation, the torches slowly flickered back to life, and the eerie presence that had surrounded them receded. But the sense of foreboding lingered, a reminder that their world had changed, and they were now in the shadow of a malevolent force that sought to consume all of Middle-earth.

In the depths of Erebor, Dáin and Gloin knew that their hope was dwindling, that the odds were stacked against them. But they also knew that they could not falter, for the fate of their people and the future of Middle-earth hung in the balance. They would forge alliances, they would stand together, and they would face the darkness with unwavering determination, no matter the cost.

((Upcoming Act Six))

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