Dori waited at the foot of the rampart and followed them up the steps into the night air. Thráin, already decked in his opulent armor, saw from his one eye that the caravan was almost upon them. "Hurry; all of ye need ta be in armor lest ya make an easy target for the bulk of Dóvad's army." Appointed guards rushed to keep up; not understanding why the Durin's made haste to the armory after just ascending to watch another group of Longbeards return home. The Company with Thráin quickly donned Mithril armor with gold inlays as a sign of great wealth. Thorin stood proud in his new armor the king designated as his from this day forth.
"Dori, as soon as the doors open, find Dóvad an bring him an his family before me. I'll be on the throne waiting. Also, find Dáin an the Company first an have them provide the escort duties an take their place at my sides. Balin is overseeing the warriors an helping Lötun with security, but promised he will be in the area should ye need ah hand." He looked at young Thorin. "I know ye want ta be front an center, but yer place is at my left side tonight. When yer father joins us; move down one, so his place is pronounced as heir apparent should Thorin die. Balin will stand on my right an the rest know what ta do."
"No, King Thráin; I'll get plenty of chances ta watch caravans arrive at Erebor, but only one chance ta ever stand as yer second. Ye honor me." Thorin hoped his effusiveness wasn't over the top.
Thráin smirked and hurried to his place, glancing to a hidden balcony as he took the throne. Sure enough the Durin ladies forgo a night's sleep to watch the proceedings.
Ori stood self-consciously; aware he was the only Durin before the massive gates and wished the king would join him, or any Durin. He smiled in relief when Dori slid to a stop on his left and Bombur took up post on his other side. The large horn sounded and they knew the citizens of Dale just woke, as did the mountain. The massive, iron gates creeped outwards and elven horses entered before the gate was fully extended.
Thranduil and Celeborn, riding side by side, led the procession and veered to the rampart side of the cavern and dismounted. Thranduil motioned the soldiers to take their horses to the barns. Dori, Ori and Bombur issued identical bows to honor them and turned their attention to the open doors and to see who followed the elves.
Gandalf, with a piercing gaze looking for Thráin, was at the head of a long procession being stacked much as Dáin's wagons when he first arrived in the mountain. He swung long legs over Shadowfax and landed lightly before the three. The horse was quickly led away by an elf. Settling his eyes lastly upon the three dwarves waiting to greet him, his expression morphed into a warm smile. "Greetings, my friends." He let his gaze sweep the colossal cave once more and spoke in Sindarin, "Where is the king?"
"Waiting, Gandalf," Dori quickly responded. "Now if ye will excuse me, I have my orders."
Gandalf watched him scurry to Dwalin and Óin with narrowed eyes. They were up to something and he would keep a close eye on the leaders of the mountain. For now, he wanted to witness Dóvad's first time in Erebor and was aware when Thranduil and Celeborn silently sidled next to him.
"The fun is about to begin," Thranduil uttered gleefully.
Dáin entered and looked around until he spotted his target, General Lötun, and fingers signed that all was ready from without, and received a nod the mountain was secure within from the general. He took a moment to receive Dori's message and with other hand signals, gathered the Company into a tight group at the head of the caravan. There they waited for Dóvad's family to alight from the wagon and ponies.
Tears rolled down Risári's weathered cheeks and the years fell away. "It is like I left yesterday."
Lári, close to her mother, for fear of strange dwarves, who came from deep within the mountain, wanted to look every place at once and heard Lióni whisper, "In all my fantasies, none came within a thought of size and beauty. Look at all the statues and carvings and all the gold…," she trailed off, mouth still open and head cranked towards pillars and the large golden bell above their heads.
"I tried to tell you lass all I saw, but words cannot describe the wonders of Erebor," Risári told her granddaughter.
"I was very young when we fled the mountain, but it is all coming back. I remember grandfather had an office in that direction," she pointed. He would stand beside the king on the balcony where he would address all of Erebor and the acoustics are such everyone in this large cavern hears as if they are standing before him."
Dismounting, Dóvad knew immediately he was being scrutinized by every dwarf in the cavern and uneasiness swept over him with a feeling they weren't just curious of new arrivals. His eyes were drawn to a dwarf that garnered respect from the way everyone parted and bowed when he made an appearance from a hallway under the stairs to the rampart. The face was older, but he would know Lord Balin anywhere and watched as he hurried to the group of Durin's and greeted his brother with a head butt.
Tóvad bumped his father's shoulder, "Did ye ever see such ah sight? I hope ta be wed off ta ah Durin lass an forced ta live here."
"You haven't seen anything yet, Tóvad," Risári commented to her only grandson.
Their moment was over when a grey haired dwarf intruded into their space, "Excuse me, I'm Lord Dori, cousin to the king. He wishes to see all of your family, dams included. Please follow me."
"That's a good sign when King Thorin wants to formally welcome you to the mountain," Risári explained and fell in behind the dwarrow of the family.
The Company with Dáin brought up the rear and Gandalf, Thranduil and Celeborn, uninvited, trailed the dwarves. General Lötun hand signed for his warriors to close all exits and the doors of the mountain swung shut to the consternation of Dóvad 's army. They saw those open doors as a means of escape should this be a trick and started grumbling among themselves. He mounted to the balcony overhanging the entrance cavern. "Please listen up. Tonight ye will camp here an tomorrow the king will address ye an then ye will be taken ta yer family chambers. Since Gandalf pushed through half the night ta get ye ta safety, our servants assisting ye are sleeping."
Dóvad 's stomach tightened when his family was separated from his lords and army leaving a bad feeling this wasn't a benign greeting his mother-in-law predicted. He placed a hand on his son's shoulder and whispered, "If this be ah trap, escape ta carry on my name."
Tóvad stopped his gawking and looked with eyes of a young warrior. Sure enough, many strange guards looked at them with cold eyes. He gulped at the thought of having to jump off the causeway for the fall would surely kill him. He saw more dwarves looking up at them from a floor that appeared to be made from a sheet of gold. Then he saw a light at the end of the causway; a strange, wonderful, mesmerizing stone; the likes he didn't know existed.
Dóvad took in his surroundings, and although Longbeards from Erebor detailed the throne and Arkenstone; he was still in awe. He expected to see Thorin on the throne and planned to execute his carefully planned speech of why Lióni should be queen of all dwarves. This dwarf didn't look like Thorin, but the resemblance was uncanny. As he drew nearer, he gasp aloud, causing his family to take note and stop ogling every post, dwarf and the Arkenstone.
Risári moaned, "It cannot be. He is dead."
"Who is that on the throne? He looks like someone I should remember," Lári whispered, but not softly enough, for Dwalin, just behind her laughed.
"That, Lady Lári, is non other than our king," Dwalin supplied loudly and she heard Durin's laughing behind their group and could have sworn an elf also joined in.
She cranked her head around and saw this so called Company laughing at them. Her eyes lifted into the amused face of King Thranduil and a sober expression on Gandalf and of the other elf; she got no reading at all. Eyes turned forward, she tried to guess who this king they claimed really was.
Dóvad recognized who sat on the throne and knew his life hung in a tenuous balance of mercy and truth or lies and deflection and had a brief thought that Thorin betrayed him. It was up to him to decide how to die with honor or fear. That the Company and Thorin kept the identity of Thráin secret and took Fræg told him his secret was exposed. He knew he should have sent a message to Thorin years ago, but really didn't believe the wild tale Fræg spun. He did his best to diffuse the situation and banish the miners that lost family.
Dáin and the Durin's took their places along each side of the throne. Bombur, Bifur and Bofur remained with General Lötun, blocking an easy escape from the causeway they just traversed.
Risári took a step towards Thráin. "My stars, it is you. All these long years; we thought you gone and here you sit; bigger than life itself."
Thráin looked amused and addressed Dóvad. "I see it takes a Longbeard to do your talking. You have much to explain, or should I say, the dwarrowdams of your clan will speak in your stead to clear your name."
That got his desired result when the Durin's laughed and Dóvad threw out a curse.
"My name is honorable and I don't hide behind skirts; an if ye bothered ta see me fighting at Azanulbizar instead of conspiring with the enemy ta save yer neck; ye would know I'm ah loyal dwarf."
Dóvad barely got his angry sentiment spewed forth when Thráin jumped off the throne and pulled his elven sword; raising it to remove his head. In choreographed movement, Dáin, Balin, Dwalin and Lötun followed the lead of their king.
Lióni drew her own sword in an attempt to protect her father. She didn't understand all that was before her eyes, but knew her father insulted another dwarf and that usually resulted in bloodshed. She wasn't looking forward to dying tonight, but would defend her own and noticed her brother also drew his sword. She then saw that their father remained perfectly still, chin raised and sword sheathed.
Gandalf threw a bright light over the throne and cried in an amplified voice: "Cease, all of you. There will be no fighting of dwarves this night." He allowed his staff to return to normal and marched to stand as a buffer between the Durin's and Dóvad.
Thráin retracted and sheathed his sword and sank once again on his throne, making a motion for his lords to likewise lower weapons. "Strong words, Lord Dóvad. I trust you will present evidence of my cowardice?"
"Just testimony of my wagon masters an healer. Their word has always been honest," Dóvad bravely replied. He chose to die with honor and lifted his chin a fraction, eyes boring into the one blue eye of Thráin.
"Yes, your healer…. Fræg is his name. He recanted his version to me. Are you willing to retract anything and be welcomed as a leading lord in my realm?" Thráin spoke evenly, looking for duplicity.
"Nay, my lord. I stand by all I know. The fact Thorin isn't king tells me much about his character for pretending a throne that isn't his just yet."
"It was his throne for fifty years. For insubordination, I hereby sentence you to be held in the dungeon until such time you feel bound to remember who you are dealing with. Take him away," Thráin ordered.
Lötun pushed by Lióni to lay hands on Dóvad when she attempted to push him off the causeway by swinging her sword at his back. A sharp cry of warning from Dwalin had the General spinning out of her way and slapping his Warhammer against her head. He saw the lass crumble, father start cursing and mother trying to catch her indomitable daughter, and for a moment felt sorrow and confusion. He spun on Dóvad. "Yer dams do yer talkin and now yer fightin it seems. Is there not ah dwarrow with ah backbone among yer family?"
With a snarl Tóvad stepped around his father and swung his Warhammer at the mouthy dwarf. The blow was easily blocked and he never got another swing, for the wizard slapped the weapon from his hand and it went flying off the walkway. Laughter was heard beneath the floor.
Gandalf quickly stepped in front of the youth lest Lötun do to the lad same as the weapon and heard Thranduil protesting loudly that he wished to see them bash each other's tiny brains in. "Master Tóvad, I will sort this misunderstanding out. For now, allow King Thráin's General to do his job." He turned to Dóvad. "Lord Dóvad, there is much you don't understand, but you owe King Thráin an apology. He suffered greatly at the hands of Sauron and you could have ended his suffering. I don't blame the king for being angry and let me tell you, Thorin will be the one you face over this. He was king and you failed him. For that, you will stand trial." He softened his tone. "I will not override King Thráin's decree that tonight you be a guest in his holding cells, but I'm sure tomorrow you should be willing to hear what Fræg has to say."
"If ye take him; ye must take me also," Tóvad shouted to this king he didn't know. He thought he had made friends with the lords from Erebor on the trip and held Thorin in awe as he did Dwalin, but looking into their faces, knew their loyalties were to the throne and this unknown king. Shocked by the revelation they only pretended to be his friend, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
"Very well, young pup, ah night in the dungeon will teach ye not ta talk back to yer elders," Lötun snarled and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and spun him back the way they came. Elves parted as he marched the youth down the causeway. His soldiers already had Dóvad's weapons and he pushed the boy in their direction. Once disarmed, he led them down a back stair so the army of Jötunheim remained oblivious, but knew word would spread soon and morning couldn't come soon enough.
Thráin motioned the eldest dwarrowdams to step out. "Do you trust me, Lady Risári?"
She knew what he was asking of her. Against her will; her daughter was bartered to the lord of Jötunheim's ranking heir so Longbeards could stay and not be driven into the wilds. She glanced back to where Lári was kneeling on stone cradling Lióni's head in her lap. To her relief, Óin left the Durin lineup and was checking the lass's head. She looked back to one she admired as much as old King Thrór. "I re-pledge my oath of service to your line, King Thráin. I know my son-in-law spoke against you, but he doesn't know you or your family as I do. In time he will become a great ally and friend."
Thráin motioned with his hand and a servant appeared. "Take these dams to Lady Risári's home." At her stunned look he grinned. "I am placing all returning Longbeards to their original quarters. I believe you and Kár lived with his father, Nár."
"Those are wealthy chambers. Are you sure?" Risári thought she misheard and had a revelation. "Thorin told us he never found you. He lied."
"Not directly. First, he followed my orders not to tell anyone from Jötunheim I lived, and second, I found him. The tale will be told and retold in the coming days. Please, let my servants see to your needs." He waved a dismissive hand.
"King Thráin is sure you are to be placed in Nár's chambers," Gandalf confirmed when the dam looked like she still harbored doubts. Done with the dwarrowdam, he stood to his full height and said in a commending tone over their heads to Thráin, "I believe you still have business to attend since you are on the throne." His eyes followed the departing dwarves and was glad the youngest was on her feet and supported by Óin and waited for Thranduil and Celeborn to take their spots on either side of him.
Thráin rolled his one eye, "Aye, I suppose now is as good of time as any to be robbed." He held his hand out.
With a broad smile, Thranduil withdrew a contract from the pocket of his black cloak that covered his armor. He stepped up to the throne and slapped the document into Thráin's open palm. "I believe our agreement for my army and silence is twenty barrels of your finest wine. I will remind you, when Thorin and the last ragtag band of misfits arrive safely; that concludes our contract and you will have at my disposal, and additional thirty barrels of wine and five hundred pounds of gold coin."
Thráin sighed and looked to Celeborn. "What is your army and time worth? I realize Thranduil didn't negotiate your services this trip and you'll have to wrangle wine and gold from him."
Celeborn turned to Thranduil. "Half!"
"That's robbery," Thranduil's exaggerated whine had the dwarves around the throne snickering.
Dwalin egged Celeborn on. "Lord Celeborn, King Thranduil needs your help on the last caravan, or the Ringwraiths might destroy what is left of his army. Your warriors fought as bravely as his, so you are entitled to his half."
Thranduil turned a vicious glare upon the offending dwarf. "You still have ninety nine years and fifty weeks to serve in my dungeon."
Gandalf tapped his staff on the floor and the crystal shot beams of light in all directions. "Enough; all of you." He turned to Thranduil, "Half is a fair price; both for this trip and the one to come. And…," he pointed directly at Thranduil, "you will forget this nonsense of tossing Durin's into your dungeon. If I so much as get a whiff that you detained a Durin, I'll pay you a visit you will long remember."
Thranduil snorted in scorn. "Once again you side with your pets. I should let Sauron have them. What is stopping me from retreating behind my walls?"
Gandalf smiled at his kingly friend. "Because you always do the right thing in the end."
"Half it is," Thranduil groused and ignored the voice in his head from Celeborn. 'Very wise, you idiot.'
"We will pay up in the morning," Thráin announced and stood. All the Durin's straightened to attention when the king rose. "There are quarters with Gandalf if you choose to spend the night in the mountain. I'll see you for breakfast in my dining room." Done with his hospitality, Thráin led the procession around the throne and the alternate way to the Durin family wing. Outside hearing, he commanded, "Give me an abbreviated report tonight."
Inside the King's chambers, servants poured ale and Dwalin started talking.
Left to find their own way; Celeborn opted for a night under the stars and was joined by Thranduil and Gandalf.
"What does my lady say?" Celeborn asked when they were settled before a roaring fire above the horse paddock and each nibbling on Lembas. Their warriors likewise were scattered about the area; enjoying the warm weather and open skies.
"She hasn't answered my hales," Gandalf truthfully replied and saw the silver haired elf scowl into the flames.
"Is she well?" Celeborn asked soberly. He was sure he would know if harm befell his soulmate, but there was a great distance between them.
"You know my powers are clipped by the Valar," Gandalf chastised. "I didn't know about Celebrían until your lady contacted me, so other than try to use Narya, am as helpless as you to her fate, health or whereabouts."
Thranduil drank deeply from his flask of wine and listened. He saw Celeborn pull his own at being reminded of his child and hoped he never lived to see Legolas die or sail with his fëa shattered. As silence fell over the trio, he allowed his mind to wander back to Celebrían's fate.
"My lord," my steward, Demythel, barged into my personal chambers without waiting for an invite. In fact, I just realized the steward hadn't bothered knocking. I was seated with Legolas in our spacious sitting chamber indulging in a glass of wine at the end of a long day. "The eagles are here."
Legolas jumped to his feet and sat his full glass on a table. He looked back at me, "Are you coming, Adar?"
"Usually a visit from the eagles doesn't warrant a proclivity for bad manners," I reminded Demythel.
"I'm sorry, my lord, but Landroval is here with a message that someone from Imladris fell victim to the orcs."
I was slammed with grief, both from my son and memories of burying my own beloved Ríllas when orcs were through with her. I didn't wait for anyone and flew topside, seeing elves jump aside in a blur.
Outside the doors, Landroval perched, ready for flight with talons on each side of the narrow bridge over the fast flowing Forest River.
"King Thranduil, I regret to bring sorrowful news that Lady Celebrían was attacked in Caradhras Pass and is grievously injured."
"When?" I asked as shock permeated my fëa.
"Lady Galadriel summoned the eagles a week ago. I was told the attack happened while Gwaihir and I were in Taniquetil giving a report on the quiet summer this side of the sea. We arrived back and the youngsters were preparing to act in our stead and go to Imladris when the lady used her powers to contact us. The attack was just before summer solstice and the lady was wishing to be with her parents and children in Caras Galadhon. Lord Elrond was to join her after harvest."
I never heard so many words from an eagle and wondered if they too felt sorrow. "Does Elrond require my assistance?"
"I will bring more news when Imladris informs me. For now, the eagles are flying that part of the Misty Mountains being Lord Elrond's eyes while his efforts rest on saving the offspring of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel."
"The minute they need me, come. I will assist, even if it means traversing High Pass in dead of winter," I vowed to Landroval.
He gave one nod of his gigantic head and took flight; using the drop from the bridge into Forest River to stretch long wings rising just as the tips brushed water.
"Adar, what are we going to do?" Legolas' question had me focusing on him and grateful once again he was too young to be scarred by his mother's untimely death.
"We prepare for a year or more on the other side of the mountain."
"I can hear your thoughts," Celeborn grumbled and Gandalf wondered what put the lords in such a pensive mood.
"Sorry. It was the mention of Celebrían that drew me to reflect upon that time," Thranduil apologized and Gandalf now understood the chilling fëas.
"I think we should celebrate another band of Longbeards returning to the mountain," Gandalf added his advice and puffed his pipe, careful to stay downwind of the sensitive elves.
"Tomorrow should be interesting," Thranduil mused. "I for one am not hanging around while Bard and King Fengel make an appearance. I might finish what Celeborn halted with that witless kingling."
"I agree. We can sort gold and wine in your halls while waiting for Elrond." Celeborn's tone was lighter. "Anyone want to take bets on whether or not my uncontrollable wife joined the party?"
"You think that's where she is at?" Gandalf asked with doubt.
Thranduil's eyes narrowed, "I'll bet fifty pounds of the gold I'm receiving soon that she will be warming your bed in Caras Galadhon waiting for you to drag your worthless carcass home."
Celeborn shifted his eyes to Gandalf and waited.
"I don't have gold to wager, but the lady doesn't have to leave the comforts of her home for this little venture. Say we wage a foal from either Shadowfax or Rohirrim to the winner that the lady stays safe in Lothlórien watching over your dear daeriell and living by her mirror like she did last time you came this way!"
"Done. I could use one of Shadowfax's foals in my line. Have him breed with my dam, Ithila, and they will give me a line for show and racing." Celeborn acted like his winning was a done deal.
Gandalf exchanged a look with Thranduil. "You suppose he knows something we don't?"
Thranduil smiled in the firelight. "Are we placing wager on the lass coming also?"
Celeborn's eyes turned cold. "Arwen will not leave the Mallorns." His fëa wrenched in agony before he gained control.
"For events that must pass and the sorrow you will endure, you have my deepest sympathy," Thranduil offered with compassion, mutually in his tone and eyes.
"What are you hiding from me, Celeborn?" Gandalf demanded sternly, pipe pulled from between his lips.
Celeborn turned back to the fire; contemplating not answering. "Nothing I wish to dwell upon."
Gandalf took a puff and didn't bother with an intricate smoke ring while he studied the lord. "I knew when to take Thorin to Erebor by reading the portents of this land. We are readying for the final battle against Sauron and you tell me a lass called Arwen Undómiel plays a crucial role?"
"Yes," Celeborn snapped and he glared at the wizard. "She weds Aragorn, son of Arathorn and dies a mortal death. I thought I was done with that kind of heartache when Lúthien married Beren and suffered his fate. Even Turgon was spared the mortal death of his child."
"The lady's mirror is preparing you, Celeborn. How many get a glimpse of a loved one's death?" Gandalf tried reason and inwardly wept for the sorrow her death would bring Elrond. He suffered and lost so much and his journey wasn't yet done.
"At least when it happens fast, you can morn and heal. This is much worse," the great lord snapped.
Gandalf processed this new information and knew the lady withheld such news on the off chance it didn't come to pass and Arwen would live.
They fell silent for the rest of the night; watching the Vingilot twinkle as it passed the mountain and into the west.
Dóvad's focused his eyes on a torch lit by a gas line just outside his cell. He lay on his back on a hard chiseled bench covered with a thin pad. The blanket provided pulled to his chin. Shock of seeing Thráin and his outburst that landed him and his son here, was replaced with doubt, first at his handling the Fræg situation and wisdom of crossing any king, but the High King to boot. He wanted answers and not to languish too long away from his dams. He worried they were kicked from the mountain just like his father threatened if the ranking Longbeard lass didn't marry his son. He wasn't sure he wanted to face Lári right now if his actions deprived their children advancement through marriage. Maybe this cell wasn't so bad after all, was his final thought before drifting off.