Saruman couldn't hold his power under the combined onslaught of three rings and a Maia and he felt the presence of one who had Maia like powers, but was sure was an elf. Who could that be? GLORFINDEL
He always wondered at the golden haired simpleton, who smiled too much and pranked like an elfling. 'You bear closer watching, cousin of the witch.' He looked for an escape when he lowered his protective invisible shield. He felt his grasp on Oakenshield forcibly released. His free hand reached in his pocket and withdrew a pouch. Abruptly, he dropped the invisible girdle and threw the pouch into the flames. With a bang and cloud of smoke as a decoy, he used supernatural speed to vanish while their eyes were drawn to the fire. Mounting his horse, he made for safety to contact Sauron through the Palantíri and receive instructions.
Galadriel lowered her hand which was now trembling in exhaustion. She felt his arms and wondered when he came. Before passing out, she communed with her assistants. 'Thank you, my friends. It is over; the wizard has fled south towards Mordor. Thorin Oakenshield lives and will recover in time. Rest now.'
As before, when facing Sauron on the apogee of broken stone he used as his throne at Dol Guldur, her limbs failed to hold her. This time her husband was waiting and scooped her into his arms. "You haven't recovered your strength from your last battle with malicious spirits. I hope the Valar send more help if this becomes a habit."
She tried to reach his cheek with the hand not pinned against him and failed. "I want a soft bed and this time not ride for two days to get to it."
His face was indecipherable lest she see his anger at the Valar, and without another word carried her up long flights of stairs, passing elves without acknowledgement. They knew their lady fought again for Middle Earth and venerated the lord and her, bowing or curtseying when they passed, while sending a silent thank you for staying in Middle Earth seeing the war to its conclusion and helping guide events.
Arwen followed closely, hood over her head and face to shroud from revealing her shock at the raw power her grandmother commanded. Even on those long days and nights they tended her mother together, Galadriel never displayed more than a healing and soothing touch. Now she knew why; her mother couldn't withstand an onslaught so formidable. It would have destroyed what was left of her friable fëa.
Glorfindel turned a spent Elrond away from facing south and guided him inside where Lindir was waiting. Normally it would be Erestor in that position with a worried expression he would later deny. "Please tell the extra guards they are no longer needed and thank them for me. I'll see them in the morning," Glorfindel ordered brusquely. "I'll watch Elrond tonight. Rest, for tomorrow will be a busy day answering questions."
Lindir listened to the harshness in Glorfindel's tone. The great lord usually never had to do more than request kindly and a dozen of his warriors would jump to do his bidding. For a moment, Lindir wonder if the lord was displeased with his service and wished he were addressing Lord Erestor instead of a lowly house servant. That was until the lord spoke again. "Forgive my manners, Lindir; I too feel the strain of expending great power."
"I am not offended, Lord Glorfindel…." he paused and smiled at the knowing look cast at him. "I am more than willing to watch over Lord Elrond tonight and will send Figwit to attend you tonight."
"No. Elrond may have nightmares I am best at tending, but thank you." With that he guided the lord into his bedchamber and closed the door. He was pleased to see a fire recently stoked and warming the room; no doubt Figwit's work.
"You don't have to stay," Elrond finally forced out.
"I plan on dumping you on the sofa and taking your comfy bed for myself," Glorfindel joked as he started on the long row of buttons.
Elrond stood like an elfling being prepared for bed. Taking the tunic, Glorfindel sat it carefully on a chair. "If Erestor were here, I would throw it on the floor."
"I hope he hasn't gotten too attached to the wine," Elrond wearily stated as he sat on a chair and toed his boots off. Socks followed and were dropped into open tops and Elrond padded barefoot to his bed. Dropping his pants, he kicked them off and drew his shirt, a loose white cotton garment over his head, and wearing just his tight knitted briefs of dyed blue, crawled under the comforter and didn't move from where his head hit the pillow.
Glorfindel counted the breaths and by the fifth one, Elrond was in the kingdom of dreams. He picked the pants and shirt up and placed them over the tunic on the back of the chair. His own tunic was of Vanyar design and had fewer buttons spaced much farther apart. With his usual insouciance to personal details, he was free of the tunic and stretching before sitting on the sofa, deciding if he was going to expend the effort to pull his knee high boots off. He twisted his head at the soft knock.
It opened when he bade enter and Gilraen filled the doorway.
She glanced at the lump under the covers and a now standing Glorfindel. She came to stand before him and twisted her head up to meet his guarded eyes. "Lindir appeared with an explanation and said Elrond and you fought something powerful. I came when he said you were staying here as Elrond's personal guardian. I offer to sit with him."
Glorfindel considered her offer. He knew she wasn't allowed to do as much as she wished in halls filled with proficient elves. "Very well. I have to leave and take a short journey to Taniquetil and won't be gone more than an hour. They will revitalize my fëa and I will be my normal lovable self by morning."
Gilraen smiled at that.
Glorfindel continued. "I will sleep in here on the sofa. I spend almost as much time on it as I do in my own bed. I will relieve you when I return. You will be more comfortable in the outer chamber with Lindir keeping you company. I know he will not heed my request."
"You know us too well. Yes, he is already planning a night in the next room. You don't forget to let us know when you return. I don't plan on sitting up all night. And I know my son will still be awake and waiting for any additional information I may have learned."
Glorfindel forced a tired smile. "Tell him I am taking him hunting in a day or two. It was supposed to be in two days after Elrond has spoken with you, but I may be needed here for a few days. If Erestor were here, I wouldn't change our original plans."
"Erestor is the glue that holds this house together. I do miss him," Gilraen admitted. "But I'm sure not nearly as much as you do. Good night."
Thorin dropped to his knees struggling to catch air he knew had to be in his vicinity. The simple act of drawing breath caused snarls from pain and curses he couldn't go without air. He felt hands on his shoulders over the armor that was removed immediately.
"By Durin's Bane, ye are burning up," Dwalin cursed. "Get this off him...now. Now he knew the mithril was hot, he ignored his own pain and worked the buckles on one side and Bofur and Bifur each grabbed a buckle on the other side. He grabbed the bottom and heaved it over Thorin's head. The heavy Durin patterned tunic was smoldering and woolen underwear adhered to his chest. Dwalin pulled his knife and slit it up the center and without warning ripped everything off Thorin's chest, ignoring the string of curses. Bofur kept pulling it off his back while Bifur pulled arms from the sleeves. In the flickering firelight they were shocked.
"I didn't mean to do that, Thorin," Dwalin confessed with horror in his tone.
With great effort, Thorin looked down. "Mahal take me. You took my chest hair off."
"How does it feel?" Bofur asked with surprising caring in his voice.
"It stings and is the most pain I've ever experienced. I've had little burns from the forges, but this is like being thrown into the fire. And look, what's left of my skin is oozing," Thorin complained.
Dwalin looked at the uneven skin where some was bubbled and seeping and other areas appeared raw. "Looks like the gold heated hotter than the mithril. You have a pretty pattern."
"I'm going to kill you."
"I didn't do this to you," Dwalin protested while the other two laughed.
Fræg stopped pulling on his bonds to watch the strange light all around them and the wizard emitting a white light from the top of his staff, first in the direction of the dam splayed on the altar with her wrists and ankles stretched apart and bound; then in the direction of Thorin Oakenshield, turning his armor red hot, while deflecting the blows of several dwarven weapons. An axe against his bonds had him falling to the ground. He was roughly hauled to his feet and looking into the angry eyes of the one who was guarding him at the caravan.
"I have orders not ta kill ye. That's the only reason ye live."
Suddenly a great cloud of smoke filled the clearing and the wizard was gone and all were gathering around the fallen king. Fræg looked at the naked dwarrowdam on the stone alter and she wasn't moving; her eyes staring at a sky she would never see again. He moved to her side and gently laid her clothing over her and closed her eyes.
The guard, which never left his side asked, "Who is she?"
"Lord Skafid's wife," Fræg replied; his eyes brimming with tears at her last moments before finding relief in the Halls of Mandos. "I heard rumors of ah dwarrowdam stolen from Skafid's halls, but never dreamed it was his wife."
"Do ye know his wife?" Skepticism laced his tone.
Fræg nodded. I was introduced ta her ah few years back when I went north ta meet the healer of the Stonefoots. She invited us ta supper at the lord's private dining area so we could talk without ah bunch of rowdy dwarves we couldn't hear over. As soon as they led her from the trees, I knew her."
A whistle sounded. The guard stopped what he was going to say and grabbed Fræg's arm. "The Durin's want ta talk with ye."
Blood drained from Fræg's face as he was led to the indomitable group glaring at him; even Oakenshield, who was still on his knees and looked to be in need of medical assistance. Relief flooded him. He was to treat the king's injuries. He made to lean over the king when Dwalin's Warhammer slammed him to the ground several feet from the group. Wind knocked out of him, he struggled to draw his breath and sit up at the same time.
"We have a few questions," Dwalin growled.
"I thought ye wanted ah healer," Fræg replied.
"Aye, we need ah healer. I don't consider yer skills refined enough for our leader."
"So you ran away from dwarves ta meet with Easterlings?" Bofur questioned, drawing Fræg's eyes off the Warhammer.
"No, I was trying ta get back ta the mountain, I swear." Fræg knew he was pleading, but they had to believe him so he didn't die and be tossed on a pile of Easterlings and burned.
"We are going to a mountain," Bofur stated in a calm tone. "I think ye are in league with the Easterlings and that wizard. This is where we found you. Your presence condemns you."
"No, no," Fræg looked wildly around, hoping someone believed him. "I was tied ta the altar. I was their prisoner. Didn't ye see me bound?"
Thorin lifted his head again, eyes filled with rage that overrode his pain. "Tell us about your vision."
"Vision? I haven't had a vision in years," Fræg protested, sweat running freely down his face, although the temperatures had dropped below freezing.
"The one involving the King of Dol Guldur," Thorin specified.
"I saw your father there, King Thorin. I swear on my dead parent's tomb I speak the truth. I am sorry your own father betrayed the dwarves and joined the forces of evil."
"Then he lives?" Thorin questioned, relieved the cold was numbing the raw areas so he could draw more than a shallow breath.
"I don't know how long ago it happened." Those Durin eyes sure were cold.
"We talked with those banned from Jötunheim," Thorin admitted. "You will go to Erebor in chains. Don't let him escape again," Thorin ordered in a louder voice. "Throw the bodies on the fire." He held his arms out and Bifur and Bofur lifted him to his feet.
"Ye look bad," Bifur stated in Khuzdul. He turned to a guard. "Take who ye need an bring the ponies."
Thorin, with the aid of Dwalin, went to the dwarrowdam. The guard who spoke with Fræg told Thorin who she was.
"Take her body back to Jötunheim," Thorin ordered the guard. "Catch up with us later. We are following the river."
Lióni walked beside her mother on the third day Óin was leader. She didn't see much of Nori as Óin had him scouting ahead. She let her mind return to that inexplicable night. Everyone was frighten and cowering under cover, but when she looked at the lord's, Óin and Nori, they were standing tall with eyes turned to the sky and she heard them talking in the strange dialect she assumed belonged to the elves. She could hear them plainly, but hadn't a clue what was said, and her natural curiosity had her burning to ask one of them. She looked at Óin in his position at point guiding the caravan and didn't have the nerve to sidle up to his pony and start up a conversation. So far, only Thorin spoke more than three words to her from that august group of Durin's and their Company.
A horn sounded and Óin raised his hand to halt the wagons. He spun his pony in a tight circle and raced away from the group. Before the wagons were completely stopped, Nori came tearing by on his pony and disappeared from the front group.
Soon the ponies were upon them and Óin was calling he needed space in a wagon because Oakenshield was injured.
Dóvad ran to the group. "My wagon can be rearranged ta hold the king."
With care the Durin's helped Thorin dismount while gawkers gathered to see him and hear the tale while Dóvad ordered his son to help him. When he pronounced a bed was made, Óin jumped in with alacrity that belied an elf of over two hundred. He reached for Thorin's hand and with Dwalin guiding; they had Thorin on his back and out of sight before the blanket was removed.
Óin motioned for Dwalin to join him and looked around. "Alright, I don't need an audience."
Taking their cue, Nori and the Company stood guard and even the most daring, including Dóvad, went back to utilizing the break.
Lióni, approached, emboldened that it was her father's wagon. "Lord Óin, I am available if you need me to run an errand," she spoke loudly to the mostly deaf dwarf while her eyes stayed glued to where Thorin was laying and she burned to know the type of injury.
"Aye lass," Óin acknowledged while Nori turned and winked at Bofur and Bifur. He gently opened the blanket that Thorin arrived with wrapped around his body. "Aw lad, ye tangled with that wizard, didn't ye?"
Lióni, who was still loitering, stared in shock, eyes wide. What wizard? She had only been told that they existed and were on the side of the dwarves and elves.
Seeing their young eavesdropper overheard, Nori, turned and spoke in Sindarin, "Watch your tongue, Óin. This will now likely get all over camp and the last thing we need is a bunch of terrified dwarves. We have to travel far yet."
If he heard, which was doubtful, Óin ignored the warning. "I need boiling water and plenty of clean cloths."
"I'll go," Lióni volunteered and ran to her father. He ordered Tóvad to pull dry kindling from under the wagon and get a fire going.
"Lord Dwalin," Dóvad approached. "Is this as far as we travel today?"
Dwalin looked at the sun and area. "I won't know until Óin is done."
With a nod, Dóvad went down the line saying they would wait for word.
While they awaited supplies, Dwalin quietly told Óin and Nori what happened. He spoke in Khuzdul, mindful to keep his tone low.
Finally a bucket with hot water was handed up by Nori who took it from the helpful Lióni. At her side was her grandmother, Risári.
"I would like to help, Lord Óin," she stated with authority common among older dwarrowdams.
Óin smiled with memories of his mother using that same tone with him and Glóin when she wanted a straight answer. "I need cold water also," he deflected. Nori, hand me my herb bag." He looked down at Thorin while adding hot water to powder in a cup. "Thorin, this is going to hurt. I'm giving ye ah draught of Mescalshroom for the pain." He lifted Thorin's head.
Thorin drank obediently. "It took us two days to reach you. You're making good time."
Óin tested the hot water with his fingers and added cold from the bucket Risári fetched, until the cloths he was sterilizing were warm. It was a trick he learned from the elves. "After the light show, I moved us until dark each night, scared there was an army of orcs on our tail."
"I'm more worried about flying Ringwraith's when the wizard makes Mordor," Thorin stated and his tone slurred at the end; a sign Óin was looking for.
Taking a warm rag, he started cleaning oozing skin on Thorin's chest.
Thorin lay with his eyes closed; although the mushrooms helped, having his skin ripped away still made him want to scream like a dwarfling throwing a tantrum.
"What happened ta your chest hair?" Óin asked.
Dwalin laughed and answered. "I pulled it off with his tunic. He is as naked as a newborn dwarfling or the elves."
"Only time you should be clean shaven is when getting a tattoo. Why don't ye take advantage of the smooth skin and mark yer chest."
"Can I have skin first?" Thorin asked acerbically.
"Picky as always," Óin muttered and repeated his cleaning with cold rags he knew would make Thorin feel better. Done, he applied a salve. "Ye need ta stay on your back for at least ah week. Let your body develop hard scabs."
"After two days on horseback, I accept," Thorin muttered sleepily. "Seems like I was just at this party."
"That's because you are a Durin and target," Dwalin reminded him. He looked at Óin, "Is he able to endure the rocking of the wagon."
Óin nodded. "I'll ride with him. I officially turn my responsibilities over ta you."
They exchanged grins and Dwalin jumped lithely over the edge. "Pass the word, break is over," he told his Company of three. When Nori went to help, he place a hand on his arm. "I need you scouting. Tell our guards to watch sharp."
Nori nodded and started to leave again when Dwalin called after him, "Make sure Fræg is in chains."
Thorin woke confused and struggling to draw air. Smaug, that worm got him. 'When….when did it happen?' His muddled mind tried to remember. Was it before or after his gold bath? 'Have to get to safety,' his mind reasoned and he sat up, whimpering, trying not to scream in pain.
"Thorin."
He looked at her confused. He was sure no dams went with the Company. 'Was one of his dwarrow a secret lass?' Someone else joined them, but who? Bilbo Baggins! Gandalf fooled them because they weren't familiar with Hobbits and Bilbo was a female. "Where am I?" He finally formed words around a parched throat.
"On the way to Erebor, my lord." It was a dark night and no fires lit her face.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Lióni," she didn't understand. He knew her.
"We already fought Smaug. No need to go and fight him again," Thorin reasoned and started shivering in the cold. He wondered why he was half naked and alone with a lass. His eyes widened. 'Did I violate her? Are we now to be pledged?' To his relief, she was talking again.
"My mother and grandmother went to the bushes. They will return shortly. Your guards are near and your Company is having a meeting with the lords in the caravan. They will return shortly. I volunteered to keep an eye on you, as you were asleep and they were certain for the night like you've done for the past two days."
Thorin's mind somewhat cleared, but he still couldn't place her or where he might be. And he was so cold his teeth started chattering.
Hearing his obvious chill, Lióni reached for another blanket and draped it carefully over him, mindful of his open sores. "Is there something I can do to warm you?"
"Strip and lie beside me," he ordered. He didn't care who it was; he needed to warm up and fast. His limited cognitive ability told him that much.
"If you weren't the king, I would kick you in the side for saying that to me!" Lióni was furious this animal's, when left alone with her, true nature was no better than that of a miner.
"King? He was the king….no….his father was king. "Not the king," he muttered and mercifully passed out, his body still trembling and in the dark both went unnoticed.
Lióni looked around for help in case he attacked her. Only then did she realize her father's wagon was pulled away from the rest. Her mother and grandmother stepped from the dark and she clambered over the back of the wagon in relief.
"Did our king awake?" Risári asked pleasantly.
"He did," Lióni spat in disgust.
Her tone immediately placed her under scrutiny of the two older dams.
"You sound hostile," Lári stated. "Surely you can handle one ill dwarf."
"He asked me to strip and join him," Lióni fumed. "He may be a king or whatever…, but…."
"Whatever?" Risári countered sharply. "He is our king and I'll not have you disrespecting him. I'm sure you misheard and will apologize right now to him."
"I'll do no such thing," Lióni snapped, unmindful she was crossing the highest ranking dwarrowdam on the caravan. "Besides, he's no king. He said so himself. Maybe he is an imposter and everyone in his Company is fooling you. Could be they are thieves and murderers, taking us away from the safety of the mountain to kill and rape us, like Skafid's wife. You only have their word of a wizard and Easterlings. We didn't see a body of Lord Skafid's wife." She chose to ignore the fact that Lord Fræg in his chains told any willing ear his tale and the death of Lord Skafid's wife.
"Are you done venting and being a complete ass?" Lári raged while Risári stood in shock such words of doubt came from her own flesh and blood.
"How do you explain the sky?" Risári inquired sharply, face flushed in anger.
"Maybe everything Fræg claims is true," Lióni snapped back. "He is a threat to them and can expose their evil ways. Anyone can create Durin emblems. I tell you, that dwarf is not of royal linage after what he said to me."
"If that's all he said and you fly off the handle like a violated dwarfling, you may as well avoid him from now on. I had hopes this trip would find a spark between you, but he needs a warm, willing lass and not a frigid, snotty, insipid, trash dwarrow wannabe who just happens to be born to a lord." Lári ended her own tirade, heart heavy with disappointment. She knew deep down spoiling the lass was partly her fault. They should have nipped her desire to spar as her brother did in the bud the moment she asked. But at age twenty-five, they thought it cute. Now it was just disgusting a grown dwarrowlass would act that way.
Tears threatened to fall and Lióni was grateful Dwalin wouldn't allow fires after dark. "I see," she responded meekly. "I won't bother you again with your low opinion of me." She disappeared into the dark and wandered far enough to sit on a downed log and have a good cry. Why did she have to have the only mother and grandmother who thought a Durin could do no wrong!
Risári climbed stiffly into the wagon and sat on the makeshift seat beside the king. She reached out to make sure he was covered and felt two blankets. Placing a hand over his heart, she could feel the heat and quickly called to Lári, "Run and get Lord Óin. Thorin is burning up and taken the chills."
Soon, she heard the pounding of booted feet and Óin, along with Dwalin leapt nimbly onto the edge of the wagon. Dwalin helped her down and perched on the edge while Óin examined him.
"He is infected, Dwalin," Óin stated in frustration. "I used boiled cloths like the elves suggested. I don't think all their fancy ways work that well. All we can do is push on and keep him comfortable. I have enough medicine if nobody else comes down sick or injured."
Late that night, Lióni slipped into her bed under the wagon, but made sure everyone was asleep first. Her mother's words stung and had more than a grain of truth to them. She didn't sleep all night and when she heard her parents start to stir, quietly rose and departed the area. That day, she walked near the middle of the caravan. They cleared the forest and were in relative flat ground with rolling hills on one side and the river the other. The ice was now chunks and moving slowly with the gentle current. She knew scouts were watching for ice jams and flooding that would force them into the hills. Dwalin didn't want that to happen because they were making excellent time on the flats. It took her a moment to see a set of feet walking right beside her. She raised her eyes to see her father watching her.
"Yer mother told me of the incident last night. Did ye know Thorin is out of his head burning up with the fever?" When she shook her head, he added, "I know Thorin wouldn't purposely advance on ye without first talking with me. That was some hard words ye had with yer mother an grandmother. Why do ye think Thorin isn't king?"
"That's what he said," she defended.
"Did he say anything else? An I'm not talkin about ye stripping. What else did he say that gave ye the impression he was following the evil one?"
Lióni tried to remember everything that was said. "Umm, he asked who I was. It was dark. He asked where he was and said he didn't need to fight Smaug again when I said we were going to Erebor. What did he mean?"
Dóvad placed an arm around her shoulders and gave a squeeze. Letting go, he had an answer. "I don't think he has ah clue where he is or maybe even who he is. He is burning up with fever from his burns. I haven't seen him directly, but queried his personal Company, who won't let anyone near him, an that's what they are claiming. I wouldn't take anything he may have said ta ye as ah personal insult."
She looked back down. "Mother said some hard things. I have let her down and not lived up to the daughter she wants. I can't pretend to be someone or something I'm just not. Before we knew about Erebor and they had just arrived, I pressed them to be allowed to leave and become a warrior in their service. I can earn my own way and not be a burden to you."
"Ye have never been that," he reassured. One of the reasons he indulged her desires was he loved to see her big blue eyes light up with joy.
"I have a question," she braved.
"Anything for my favorite daughter."
"I've been thinking on what I said about maybe Fræg being right. What if they are imposters? Shouldn't we be more careful?"
He was silent for a moment being honest with himself. After that strange night and the Durin's talking in the language of elves, he too had doubts of their motives being genuine. "Most of my accepting them comes from the faith I have in your mother an the other Longbeards. They know the Durin's. That they are real, I have no doubt because I fought with them at Azanulbizar, as did many others. It was your grandfather, Gróvad, who was in the council meetings with the Durin's during the war, so I had limited contact. Could they have gone from being faithful servants of Aulë ta the spawn of Sauron? I don't know. Only time will tell. I do know this; we are headed west an will reach the shores of the Sea of Rhûn soon. This track we are on is well used by us an I've been over it ah few times, so know they are leading us where they claim."
"That's good enough for me then. I trust your judgment." Lióni smiled up at her father. He was always so easier to talk to than her mother.