Chapter 31

Into the Past Part 5: Off the Deep End

Your chances of survival are about one in a thousand. So here's what you do. You forget the thousand, and you concentrate on the one.

Doctor Who

Kate

'Good morning, Mistress Lily!' a cheerful voice called from across the street.

Even after three weeks Kate's mind needed half a second to realise that she had been the intended recipient of that greeting. Bugger this whole false name business, she thought. It was necessary, she knew that, but Lily sounded nothing like Kate and she had never gone in for the whole cloak and dagger business anyway.

'And a good morning to you as well, Master Vidar,' she returned, swivelling around and directing her friendliest smile at the early customer. 'You are very early.'

'Off to work,' he said. 'Thought I'd swing by to see if my tools are all done.'

'They are.' They had been ready since yesterday afternoon. 'Let me fetch them for you.' She vanished inside the workshop.

This whole set-up had been Freya's idea. She had come in at the tail end of Thorin and Kate's conversation and had agreed that it would be best for everyone involved if the two time travellers had a place of their own to stay. She had arranged a place – with windows, Mahal bless her heart – for them to live and a workshop for Thorin to work. They were now passing themselves off as Fryr son of Vari, wandering blacksmith, and Lily of Bree, his business partner. Folk would remember a dwarf-human married couple even two hundred years on, but even though people thought this combination a little odd, they didn't comment much.

'Customers this early?' asked Thorin. He was already hard at work. Thanks to Thrór's not so subtle advertising – a good thing dwarves were not naturally inclined towards suspicion of their own – they'd had a roaring trade going within the week. And of course word spread when it turned out that Thorin really was good at what he did.

'Vidar, come to collect his tools,' she replied.

'Top shelf,' Thorin helpfully supplied.

'Thanks!'

It was odd really how well they settled into this. Perhaps this was what their lives might have been like if Thorin had not been a king. They could just have been a married couple running a business without everyone and their mother sticking their noses into her private life. She felt a sense of security in this way of life. To her own surprise, she found that it suited her.

And at the same time there was this sense of wrongness that would not leave her alone. This was not their life. They were never meant to live like this. They were imposters. They had to be, because the timeline might come crashing down if they came clean to the Mountain at large.

And she longed for home. Home was where her loved ones were. Sometimes she woke at night and the longing for her children was so strong that she could feel a stabbing pain in her chest. How were they getting on? Was time passing for them at the same rate it passed for Thorin and Kate? Did they miss them? Did they wonder what had become of them?

Do they think we are dead?

That thought had been so potent it had turned her stomach and she'd needed to run to empty its contents into a bowl. She had cried for hours that night. It was happening all over again. Everything that her family in England had suffered through after her disappearance was repeating itself. And now her children suffered. She had never before felt so angry and so powerless at the same time.

'All done,' she announced to Vidar once she returned to the counter, tools in hand. 'Would you like to inspect them?'

Dwarves, she found, generally did. It was not suspicion, but rather a mark of respect, to show that they took the workman's job seriously. And so it came as no surprise that Vidar took his time to give his tools a thorough once-over while Kate talked him through what had been done to repair and improve them. After the customer had declared himself satisfied with the work and the service, he paid, wished her a good day and left. He had been unfailingly polite throughout the whole exchange.

'You are becoming quite good at this,' Thorin observed. He came up behind her.

'I must have missed my calling,' Kate said lightly. She had noticed herself how easy all of this was, how simple and uncomplicated. There had been a remarkable absence of having to fight for everything over these last few weeks. It had left her feeling oddly bereft. And if that was not a tell-tale sign of just how strange her life had become, she would not know what was. 'Any more orders that'll be collected today?'

'A few in the afternoon,' Thorin replied. 'Most of which are done.'

'Good,' Kate nodded. 'Well, there's not a customer in sight, so I'm going to put the kettle on. You fancy a cup?'

He did. Kate walked to the back of the shop to make it. It was very early in the morning, so there were very few people about. That would probably change before too long. It was promising to be an ordinary sort of day, their new normal for as long as the wizard was not found.

I wish he shows up quickly. But wishing could not make him arrive any sooner.

As it turned out, ordinary was not quite on the agenda today. She had barely dropped off a cup of steaming tea with Thorin when she saw they had customers. Thrór was marching towards their forge and shop with definite intent, Thráin and an unknown dwarf trailing behind. Thrór was chatting animatedly while he walked, but his enthusiasm clearly did not rub off on his companions. Thráin sported a face like thunder and the other had an expression of long suffering weariness.

'Good morning, Mistress Ka… Lily!' Thrór hailed her from across the street. 'A fine day, is it not?'

Kate could not suppress a smile. She liked the current King under the Mountain. A few days after their unexpected arrival they had decided to avoid all topics they could not talk about and instead only discuss the ones they could. After that, they had hit it off nicely. Thrór was an easy dwarf to get along with. There was something disarming about his manner, an almost childlike enthusiasm and energy that drew a body in almost without their noticing. Small wonder Thorin loved him that much.

'Very fine indeed,' she agreed. 'What brings you to our humble shop this morning?'

'My brother's in need of a new axe,' Thrór announced, indicating the unknown dwarf. 'His old one's as good as gone. Shoddy craftsmanship in the Iron Mountains, you see. So I said to Grór: "Dearest brother, I know exactly where you should be looking for a replacement. Best work within a thousand miles. You won't find any better." So I invited him along to show him in person and here we are.' Thrór had taken great delight in promoting Thorin's work since they had set up shop. Kate suspected he was showing off his grandson in the only way he could, given the circumstances. He never even bothered to hide that he was proud of him, something that endeared Kate to him even more.

So this was Grór. Kate had heard of him, but she'd never had the pleasure of meeting him. He looked like he could have been Thrór's twin, albeit he was an inch or so taller. And alike though they looked, their attitudes were as different as night and day. Where Thrór was cheerful and outgoing, Grór was chagrined and closed off. One might almost mistake Thráin for his son rather than Thrór's; the expressions on their faces were a perfect match.

'You're very welcome here,' Kate told him. She'd worked a summer when she was sixteen in a grocer's shop and had seen her fair share of difficult customers. It had taken her considerable effort not to lose her temper multiple times a day and by summer's end she was only too pleased to hand in her resignation. It turned out that being nice to people who had no intention to return that courtesy was not in her nature.

Yet here she was, essentially doing the same job.

Funny how things turn out sometimes. Just a shame she wasn't laughing.

'It's not your work we've come to see, so cease your idle chatter, girl,' Thráin told her, glowering at her. If there'd been awards for Most Vexing Customer of the Century, Thráin would have won that award with one hand tied behind his back. He's get first prize for rudeness as well.

Take a deep breath and count to ten, she told herself and she really needed to do that. Thráin was just begging to get his nose broken, preferably by her fist, and the longer she was forced to suffer his presence, the more she was tempted to just get it over with.

But it would harm business and Mahal only knew how long they would still be stuck here. It would make things very awkward to say the least.

So she ignored Thráin and invited Grór to come inside and have a look at the axes on offer. By now she knew enough of Thorin's trade to answer Grór's questions and she neatly side-stepped the trick question he sent her way as well. He was testing her, but she would not stumble.

'Very well,' Grór nodded eventually. 'This is good work.'

Kate sensed that this was the best compliment he was going to give. She readily agreed with it. Thorin would never be content to sell something that was anything other than completely perfect. If anything, Grór's assessment of Thorin's work was a rather big understatement. But under the motto of don't offend a paying customer Kate plastered on her best smile and merely agreed politely.

Thráin wrinkled his nose. 'It's lacking,' Thráin interjected just as Grór appeared as though he might be ready to ask for the price. 'No good smith would employ the services of a mannish lass, if indeed business is all she is here for. They share quarters, as I understand it.'

It was a good thing those axes were too heavy to lift; Kate was sure that was the only thing stopping her from planting one in Thráin's forehead and timeline be damned.

She ignored him as best she could. 'Would you be interested in purchasing, sir?' she asked Grór.

But he had listened to his troublesome nephew. 'Is that true?'

'I don't see how my living arrangements are any of your concern,' she replied, taking care to keep her tone light, which was increasingly difficult. 'I don't inquire after the customers' personal affairs either.'

Grór was taken aback by her reply, but grudgingly ceded the point. That was one of the best things about dwarves; unless you happened to be the monarch, they were fairly content to keep their noses out of somebody else's business when it was made clear to them that their attention was unwanted.

Thráin on the other hand was affronted. 'There is the matter of scandal to consider,' he insisted. 'If it became known that the Lord of the Iron Hills did business in such a place, there would be consequences.'

That was it. She'd had it with him. 'I'm used to such small-mindedness in mannish villages and towns,' she observed, copying Thorin's best icy disapproval tone. It was either that or shouting and his way was more dignified. 'I find that dwarves in general are more civilised and less eager to jump to conclusions, especially when they are not in possession of all the facts. I would advise you to take care with your words, sir, or I will feel compelled to ask you to leave.'

Thráin appeared to be choking, but Grór considered her words carefully. 'Aye, you're right, Mistress Lily. Shall we discuss terms?'

When he left the shop with a new axe, Kate felt like she'd won a battle. And if she was petty enough to feel a little smug to see Thráin sulking behind him, well, so long as she made no mention of the sentiment, no one would call her out on it.

Thrór stayed behind, face apologetic. 'Sorry about that, lass.'

'You've nothing to be sorry for,' she pointed out. After all, he hadn't been unbelievably rude just now. And she'd never seen the point of apologising for someone else's behaviour. 'And I believe your brother just bought an axe in spite of all that unpleasantness.'

'He'd be a fool not to,' Thrór remarked. 'Finest work this side of the Misty Mountains.' His voice rang with pride. 'It must have been me who taught the lad, don't you think?'

Kate was fairly certain Thrór did have a hand in Thorin's education. 'Absolutely,' she agreed. It was one of the very few things about the future that she could tell him. And Thrór was always fishing for more. Usually she had to disappoint him and, to be fair to him, he took the rebuffs with grace.

His face lit up in a brilliant smile. 'Good, very good.' He revelled in that little bit of information for a little while and then returned his attention to the conversation. 'I had another purpose in visiting today,' he said.

'Oh?'

Thrór nodded. 'Aye, you see, the elves are coming for a visit. Trade talks and the like. And it's customary to welcome them with a feast and suitable entertainment.' Kate had learned that the elves' and dwarves' definition of "suitable entertainment" were not even on the same planet. That in itself was rather entertaining.

'That's still the custom where I'm from,' she agreed.

'So you know what to expect,' Thrór said, pleased with her response. 'That's good, for I've come to invite you.'

Normally a night of feast, music and dance was enough to make Kate accept, especially when she was not there in any official capacity. But this was not her time and Thranduil was about the last person she wanted to meet here. Because he would remember and that would certainly have consequences. She was not ready for any of that. And neither was the world.

So with a regretful smile she related her reasons for refusing the invitation.

Thrór waved her concern away. 'Nah, he won't know you're there. There'll be some men from Dale too and if you stay out of his way, he won't pay you any mind. You'll be beneath his notice.'

There was something to say for that view. 'There'll be a risk.' And still a considerable one at that.

The King under the Mountain shrugged. 'There's a risk with being here and being in the public eye. You've done admirably so far. And I would like to see that grandson of mine smile some more,' he added.

Bloody hell. The moment Kate was convinced he had not much depth to him, he would make a perceptive remark like that and remind her once again that there was a lot more to him than met the eye. He's got such a big heart. It was hard to even conceive the idea that this was the same dwarf who would in some years put gold above people.

It is such a tragedy. Kate hadn't realised the scale of it before she had come here. And now her heart ached for him. Was it any wonder that the temptation to tell him and save him from that fate was so strong in Thorin? Kate herself had to resist the urge to come clean and prevent that catastrophe.

And if put that way, how could she still refuse?

She could not.

Thrór

Thrór was beyond pleased to see his grandson and his wife show up to the feast. They'd taken care to arrive separately, but they drifted back together once they were inside the great hall. He had noticed that before. Where one went, the other was not far behind.

Thráin didn't see it. Thrór suspected that he did not particularly want to either. But Thrór had never believed in closing his eyes to truths that were right in front of him. And it was clear as daylight that his grandson loved his wife and that she loved him in return. It was an unlikely match, granted, but it was a true one. And, more importantly, Kate made Thorin smile.

It had not taken Thrór long to establish that Thorin did not smile easily or often. At first he had contributed that to the shock of finding himself in the past with no clear way of how to get back to where he was supposed to be.

Then Thráin had come and Thrór had begun to see that there may be some solid foundation for Thorin's behaviour. He had never been one to analyse situations to death, but he found he could not help himself here. Most of what had gone on that morning had gone right over his head, but he had seen and heard enough to know beyond the shadow of a doubt that the relationship between Thorin and Thráin was complicated and strained at the very least.

So Thrór had set himself a task, of making Thorin's stay in this time as pleasant as he could make it. He'd had a stern word with Thráin about what conduct was and was not acceptable, but Thráin hadn't taken note of anything he'd said since age twenty and clearly wasn't about to change that now if the exchange at the forge was any indication.

He made small talk with elves for a bit. He was lucky enough to escape the company of the elven king himself tonight, who obviously thought it was beneath him to converse with a dwarf. He might think of this as a slight to the dwarves. Thrór only counted it a boon.

'Ah, Mistress Lily,' he hailed Kate when the dancing started up and he found the opportunity to disappear onto the dancefloor. 'How are you this fine evening?'

'Watered and fed and certainly not lacking good company,' Kate returned. 'Thank you for the invitation.'

Thrór would never claim to not like men. They had their merits to be sure. He just wasn't particularly close to any, so he never saw their good qualities up close, which was why he couldn't name any without giving it some solid thought.

But he liked Kate after a fashion. Thorin seemed a sensible dwarf – how could any grandson of his be anything else – and Thrór trusted his judgement. And he soon found that he had been right to do so. There was something just a bit dwarvish about Kate's manner that he rather appreciated.

'No trouble.' He waved her thanks away. He'd seen Thorin enjoying a good conversation with a few smiths at the feast and it looked like he had actually had a good time. And since that had been the point of this exercise all along, Thrór counted the night a success. 'It's a good night. One can almost ignore the elves.'

Kate started to chuckle, but stopped midway. Her eyes had landed on someone a little distance away. 'Oh.' The smile vanished.

Thrór turned to look, but there were too many folk about to tell which one had drawn her attention. 'Everything all right, lass?'

She shook herself out of her apparent shock. 'Yes, I'm fine. I just didn't expect to see him here.' When she noticed that Thrór was at a loss for what she meant, she discreetly pointed out a tall red-haired elf who stood by himself near the far end of the hall, observing the dancers. 'I know him. Or I will know him,' she corrected herself. 'Time travel, it's a bloody nightmare to use verbs all of a sudden.'

Thrór found that the elf looked rather gloomy. 'He doesn't look very pleased to be here,' he observed.

Kate shook her head, a sad smile on her face. 'No, he wouldn't be,' she said softly. 'His name's Elvaethor. He is, or will be – I'm not sure exactly – the captain of the guard. Some time ago he had a couple of mortal friends and, well, they died. He's taken it rather hard.'

Odd. He had been given the impression that Kate did not particularly care for elves. She'd never hidden her disdain, but this was different.

'Friend of yours?' he asked.

Kate nodded. 'Yes. Well, we only owe him our freedom and our lives.' She thought for a moment. 'He went against his own king for us. We didn't ask him to do that. He just did it and then kept following us. To be honest, at first I wished he'd just leave us alone. There just wasn't getting rid of him. But he's a good sort.'

'As elves go,' Thrór added.

Kate shook her head. 'Nah, he's more of a dwarf at heart really. Doesn't look like one, I'll give you that.' Her gaze strayed to the elf again. 'Blimey. I've never seen him so sad. Still, it must have been some centuries now. Since he lost his friends,' she added as clarification. 'Elves don't act as we do,' Thrór told her wisely. They were entirely other. Mourning for hundreds of years just wasn't practical. It made no sense. But it was clear that his elf was hardly in a celebratory mood; he wore his sorrow like a cloak around his shoulders.

'I know,' Kate said. 'It's probably best he doesn't see me here. He would probably remember.'

'Who would remember?' Thorin asked. He had come up behind them and had caught just the last piece of conversation.

'Elvaethor,' Kate replied, indicating the elf in question.

Thorin followed her finger and frowned. 'I did not expect to see him here. I was my belief that he did not leave Mirkwood for some time.'

'Maybe Thranduil made him come,' Kate suggested. 'He doesn't look like he volunteered.'

Thorin's frown deepened. 'Perhaps,' he said.

'Friend of yours as well?' Thrór inquired.

To his surprise Thorin conjured up a wry smile. 'After a fashion,' he replied. 'The elf rather insisted upon it. Trailed after us like a lost puppy until we did.'

Kate elbowed him in the ribs. 'That's hardly fair,' she pointed out. 'He helped us out a great deal.'

'That he did.'

'Well, either way I suppose it's best to stay away from him,' Kate said. 'The last thing we want is to change that bit of the future. I'm going to pop back to our place for a moment. Fetch more comfortable shoes. These ones look fancy, but they're not made for dancing.' She smiled at Thorin. 'And I would be disappointed if we didn't have at least one dance.'

'So would I,' he told her.

Kate disappeared and left Thrór with his grandson.

'Is there any news of the wizard at all?' Thorin asked as soon as his wife was out of earshot.

'He's been seen in Rohan,' Thrór replied. 'But that news was three months old when my messenger heard it.'

He had the good grace to pretend not to notice the disappointment on Thorin's face. While Thrór liked having his grandson from the future around, it didn't appear as though he felt the same way. Well, he wouldn't. Thrór was ashamed of Thráin's behaviour towards his own flesh and blood.

It wasn't such a good idea to let him spend so much time in the Iron Hills, he reflected. All those Iron Hills folk had a rigidness that rubbed Thrór the wrong way. They were forever insisting that everything should be done the way their ancestors had always done them. And while there was nothing wrong with holding on to traditions from the past, clinging to them for dear life was something else entirely.

'He'll be found, lad,' he said, patting Thorin on the shoulder. The gesture lacked reassurance; Thrór had to stand on tiptoes to make it.

'Aye, he will,' Thorin agreed. 'But who's to say how long it will take?'

Thrór had nothing to say to that.

Thorin

Thorin was sure that his grandfather had meant well when he had invited the two of them to the feast. Although Thorin had been apprehensive about it at first, he had managed to enjoy the food and the company during the meal. Some remarked on the co-habitation with a mannish female, but Thorin told them it was not their business and they backed off. That in itself was a novelty. In his own time his marriage was not just his own private concern but that of every dwarf under the Mountain. It was one aspect of his own time that he did not miss.

It was however the only one. His heart yearned for home. To some extent he was used to that. For most of his life he had become intimately acquainted with it. It was a shadow, never gone, always hovering over him, not giving him a moment's peace. But that shadow had lifted. He had almost forgotten what its presence felt like.

It had come back with a vengeance, stronger than it had ever been before. And Thorin did not know how to shoulder this burden now without stumbling.

Kate, as usual, was better at presenting a cheerful face to the world. He knew that her cheerful countenance did not mean that her longing to go back was any less strong than his own. She could hide it better. And she even hid it from him because she assumed that his hurt was worse than her own in this case. True, she experienced none of the anxiety of seeing loved ones who had long since died alive, but this was the second time that she had been taken from her home to a place she didn't know without warning. And while she had carved out a place for herself in the Erebor of the future, she could not boast the same about this time. They had a place now, but it was a lie. They were not who they claimed to be and the falsehood did not sit well with either of them.

'You should go and have a dance,' Thrór announced, delivering this sentence in the way a healer might prescribe a cure to a patient. 'Once your wife is back from fetching her shoes.'

Thorin looked at him in surprise. 'Why?'

'Because no grandson of mine would be a bad dancer,' Thrór replied easily. 'And because I would like to see if you're capable of laughing,' he added. 'Theyra and I have a wager going, you see. I told her: "I bet I can make him laugh sometime. Lad looks like a good sort, happily married at that. It stands to reason he has to laugh from time to time. He can't have attracted that lovely lass with scowling at her, after all." So Theyra says: "I'm sure he'll laugh, but I reckon he doesn't much feel like it, with the way things stand. Can't blame him. Nah, I'll settle for his smile. That's bonny enough for me." But you know me, lad, I like to aim high, so here we are.'

Thorin could feel the corner of his mouths curl up in amusement. 'Aye, but if a dance with Kate will make me laugh, then she's the one who made it happen,' he reasoned. 'And not you. How would that affect your wager?'

Thrór was wholly unconcerned. 'Perhaps,' he allowed. 'But I was the one to convince you to dance in the first place, so I can still take the credit.'

Thorin nodded, as if he considered this. 'A good point,' he agreed. 'Were it not that she made the suggestion before she left.'

He had never talked with his grandfather quite like this in the time before the dragon came. For much of that time he had been too young, only a child still. And when he grew a little older the sickness sunk its claws into his grandfather and changed him beyond all recognition. His physical appearance changed little, but this cheerful dwarf had been all but erased. As always, as easy as it was to talk with him, there was the underlying hurt of knowing of what was to come. And the guilt was never far behind.

Thrór laughed loudly. 'Ah, you've got a good, sharp mind,' he said in approval.

'It's required when dealing with our elvish neighbours,' Thorin remarked wryly. He usually saw through their tricks a little late, but he could always rely on Kate to figure them out. Yet lately he felt like he had to look for tricks all the time. He had to watch his mouth, filter his words with the utmost care in the hopes of preventing saying something he should not.

And then there was his father. Thráin had kept his distance. When he was forced to interact with either Thorin or Kate, he was acid and cold. Thorin had heard the exchange in the shop and it had taken him all his self-control to remain where he was. He might have done his father some grievous bodily harm otherwise. And Kate had managed beautifully.

The unease about Thráin and his determination to undo the future still gnawed away at him. On one hand he did not believe him capable of wilful murder and on the other… Well, there was no telling what such deep-seated hatred and a tendency towards madness could do. He knew that Kate carried a dagger strapped to her leg, concealed beneath her skirt, and that gave him some peace of mind. He knew she had been instructed how to use it. Dwalin himself had seen to her training. Kate would never be a great fighter, but she could make do.

He gave the room a thorough once-over, looking for Thráin. But he was nowhere to be seen.

'It's a sorry state of affairs,' Thrór agreed. 'But we'll manage just fine, as we always have.'

But not as it always would be. But could Thorin possibly tell him just how badly things would deteriorate? He wanted to, to warn him to not put any faith in any promise the elven king would make, because in time he would break every last one of them.

'Your wife's taking her time,' Thrór went on, oblivious to Thorin's thoughts.

She was, Thorin realised. Their rooms were not so very far away and Kate was quick on her feet. Now that the hallways would be as good as deserted, she should have been able to make good time.

'Indeed,' he said. There was a vague, undefined feeling of dread in the general vicinity of his stomach. Thorin swatted at it. After all, the Mountain was safe. What harm could she come to? Folk had no reason to hate her here and the only one who did was… not in the room.

His thoughts came to a sudden standstill. No. It couldn't be, could it?

'Where is Thráin?' he asked. He had decided not to call that dwarf by the title of father. As he'd said to Kate, he was no longer worthy of it. Still, this solution of his was not without its complications either. Because Thráin was the name of his son, the name he had come to associate with that little mischievous boy who had nothing in common with Thorin's father save the colour of his hair and some similarity in facial features.

Looking around him did not provide him with the kind of answer that he wanted. The room was filled with people, but the two he was looking for were nowhere in sight.

Maker, please no. Do not let it be what I fear.

There was no rational ground for his fears. No dwarf would ever harm a woman. It was one of those unspoken rules. Of course breaking it was punishable by law, but the law was there only as a precaution; no dwarf would ever dream of striking down an innocent.

And yet.

Something told Thorin that his father was different. There was something sinister about him that he had failed to recognise when he was younger. Perhaps he had not wanted to see it and had therefore ignored it. There was no way to tell now.

'I will go and see what keeps her,' he said.

If he was overreacting, he could live with the teasing and mocking that would come his way. If however his worst fears were founded, he would never forgive himself if he did not act now.

Thrór failed to see the urgency, made a remark about how she would be back soon enough and was there maybe any ground for Freya thinking that Thorin and Kate were very nearly joined at the hip? Nevertheless, he tagged along. Thorin did not mind, though he had no patience for empty prattle, so he tuned his grandfather out.

'Lad, there's no cause for concern,' the present King under the Mountain said at last. 'This Mountain could not be safer and your wife seems like a sensible sort of woman.'

All of this was true.

And yet he could not shake the cold fear that wrapped itself around him like a cloak and chilled him to the bone.

Soon enough he found that it was wholly justified. They rounded a corner that led into a hallway that contained a large staircase leading to the higher levels. Kate lay at the foot of the stairs, unmoving.

'No.'

Fingers of steel curled around his heart and squeezed. He'd had nightmares about this or something very similar. They had frightened him, but that horror could not hold a candle to the terror that overwhelmed him now.

Mahal, no. Let her live. Please let her live. I'd do anything.

He rushed forward to where she had fallen, Thrór at his heels. The hallway was poorly lit, but he could see the blood.

Maker, no.

Kate's skin was warm and he reached for her wrist. There was a pulse beneath his fingers. It was weak, but it was there.

'She lives.'

Would that it took the fear. He was no healer, but he could tell that she was gravely injured and that even though she lived now, she might not do so for very much longer.

He had seen death before, had held the lifeless bodies of those he loved in his arms, numb with grief. It was a burden he carried every day of his life. Some days the ghosts were more tangible than others. Thorin could feel the weight of them very keenly now. If Kate were to die now, Thorin was sure that he would falter and be crushed.

'She'll need a healer,' Thrór said, all ready for action, an unfailing dwarf characteristic. 'Can you carry her?' At Thorin's nod, he added: 'Gently, then. Try not to jostle her about too much. I'm not much of a healer, but it looks like her head got the worst of it.'

Thorin had seen as much for himself. But he did as he was instructed.

Kate had always been small for her people and she had a fragile build. She weighed not much when he lifted her. He had been aware of how vulnerable this made her from the very beginning. First he'd used it as a way to make his point that such a woman should not be allowed to come on such a dangerous quest. If she was hurt on his watch, the responsibility would be his, and the blame as well, for he should have known better than to allow her to come near the source of that harm.

Now that he was her husband, the blame was twice as much. He had been aware of the danger to her and yet he had let her out of his sight. He had let his guard down. And though he cursed himself for a fool and solemnly vowed never to make such a mistake ever again, it was too little and too late.

Kate was immobile, still unconscious. The uninjured side of her head rested against Thorin's right shoulder. It gave him a good enough view of the bloody mess on the other side of her head.

He could feel his blood run cold.

Thrór ran ahead to alert the healers to their imminent arrival, leaving Thorin to follow at a slower pace. It would be unwise to run, because he did not know what further damage he could inflict on her that way. And he had no desire to hurt her any worse than she already was.

'Wh're 'm I?' Kate muttered. He could tell she was barely conscious.

'You're safe,' he told her. And she was, in some ways. He would not be so foolish as to leave her on her own again. 'Try not to move.'

'Someone there,' she continued, a little more eloquent. ''s he gone?'

'He's gone,' Thorin confirmed, silently drawing his own conclusion. She had been pushed, as he had already suspected. Kate was as sure-footed as his own people; she would not have fallen. She may not have seen her assailant, but Thorin didn't need that information. Only one dwarf under this Mountain had a reason to wish her harm, and Thorin knew full well who that was.

He did sink so low. For the first time he began to understand why folk were so concerned with the madness in his line; it had run rampant in Thráin, long before it had become clear to the world.

The moment he passed the threshold of the healing rooms, he was surrounded by healers, instructing him where to place Kate and what he should be doing. As it happened, the best thing he could do for her was to move back and let them do what they could for her. The inaction went against the grain. He had failed to protect her and now could not lift a finger to alleviate her suffering. After all she had given to him, he had repaid her very poorly indeed.

What use am I to her now?

He must have spoken aloud, for Thrór answered him. 'You had the good sense to go and look for her. If you hadn't, help would almost certainly have come too late.'

It was not much of a consolation. 'She was alone,' he snapped. 'Vulnerable. I should have gone with her.'

'Anybody can slip on the stairs, lad,' Thrór told him.

The words fell from his lips before he had thought it through. 'She did not fall. She was pushed.'

'You cannot know that,' Thrór argued.

'I do. She told me. She only regained consciousness briefly, but long enough.' He hesitated to tell his grandfather who he believed the culprit had been. No father should have to be told such things about his own son. But the need to protect his wife from further attacks outweighed the need for secrecy for just this once. He had failed Kate once, he could not afford to do it again.

'I'll organise a guard to be posted at the door,' Thrór said, turning around and walking away to organise one. It was perhaps good that he refrained from asking questions at the moment; Thorin would be unable to lie about this.

Don't be alone with him, Thorin had told her. She had promised that she would not and he doubted she had broken her promise willingly or even knowingly. All she had told him was that somebody had been there with her. If she had seen that it was Thráin, she would have said so. Thráin must have seen her leave and while Thorin was distracted, had followed her. And then it would have been a simple matter of biding his time until the opportunity presented itself. If not for Kate's recollection of another's presence, it could have been an accident.

But it was not. And Thorin knew that.

We should not have come here. But knowing that did not provide him with a way back. Nor could he undo what had been done to Kate.

He could see the healers at work, but could not hear their words from where he was standing. And they would not permit him to come any closer. He had tried and had been firmly rebuked. All he could do was watch. She had lost consciousness again. Her skin was too pale, almost as white as the sheets, the only colour the red of her hair and the far darker shade of red of the blood.

'Fryr, that's your name, yes?' One of the healers had approached him. Thorin had a vague recollection of seeing him at the forge about a week before, to collect some tools.

'Aye,' he said.

'Mistress Lily has been badly injured, I'm afraid to say. Multiple bones have been broken, but it is the damage to her head that concerns us the most.'

Thorin felt likewise.

'Is there anything to be done?' he asked. Is there anything I can do?

The healer's entire posture radiated sympathy. Thorin braced himself for the worst. 'There are limits even to our skill,' he said, patting Thorin on the arm. 'Does your business partner have any family in the area, do you know?'

He felt cold all over. He knew what such a question meant. There wasn't much time. Death was fast approaching and not even the best healers Erebor had to offer could stand in its way. It was coming for Kate.

A sudden fury filled him from top to toe. They had been so careful to leave the past as they found it, at Kate's insistence that it was the right thing. After a fashion, Thorin had agreed with her. After all of that, his future had been destroyed in spite of his efforts.

'She is my wife,' he said firmly. He was beyond caring for the consequences. And if she was to die in this nightmare of a place, she would do it under her own name. 'And her name is Kate.'

If the healer was taken by surprise by either this statement or the vehemence with which it had been uttered, he hid it very well. He merely repeated the question. 'Does she have any family nearby?'

'None but me,' he replied truthfully. Her family by blood was in another world and another time. They had not even been born yet. And the family she had in this world was two centuries away. It might as well be another world.

The sympathy increased tenfold. 'Sit with her while you may.' His hand was squeezed very gently.

No. 'Are you giving up?' he demanded, wrestling his hand free. Was she not worth fighting for?

'We've done what we could about her injuries. And we will not cease our efforts to lessen her suffering, but some things are beyond us. She's in the Maker's hands now.' Then, realising that Kate was not a dwarf and that he had spoken the familiar phrase out of habit, he corrected himself: 'Pardon, she's in…'

Thorin shut him up with a look and a wave of his hand. Kate had chosen Durin's Folk as her people. She had been adopted by dwarves and she had wed a dwarf. She was one of them.

The healer looked like he found it all a little awkward. 'Be with her,' he said simply. 'There may not be much time.'

Thorin did not need telling twice. He marched over to the bed and took Kate's hand in his. It felt cold and lifeless in his grip, though her chest still rose and fell and he felt the pulse in her wrist. Up close her skin looked paler still, the contrast made greater by the vibrant colour of her hair.

She was not ever this still, Thorin reflected. Even in sleep, Kate was always in motion, alive and active. She was no longer active now and only barely alive.

Others might have uttered desperate pleas for her to come back, but the words stuck in his throat and he could only think them, over and over again, a silent prayer to whoever would listen to let her live.

They had been made by different makers, and Kate came from another world at that. There was no telling where she would go after this life. But Thorin feared that it was a place where he would not be allowed to follow her. He knew himself well enough to know that he would fight to stay with her and he knew she was bound to do the same. But there was no certainty that their pig-headedness, as Kate called it, would be enough. And the nine years he'd had with her were not nearly enough time.

'Come back.' The words finally crossed his lips. 'Don't leave.' Don't leave me alone.

She remained unmoving. Thorin did not doubt that she was fighting hard to stay alive, but she was at a disadvantage and he had nothing to offer her in the way of aid. Nobody did.

As he thought it, he realised that this was not true. He would risk the timeline itself in pursuing that path, but there was no choice. He would sooner have her be alive to scold him for his actions than seeing her dead. And if she died here today, the future was not a place he particularly cared to be anyway.

'Hold on,' he instructed her. It tore his heart apart to leave her even for a short time, not knowing if she would even live long enough for his actions to make a difference. He would be lucky if she was still breathing by the time he returned. But he had to do something. 'I love you,' he told her. The words were never easy to speak, but they came without difficulty now. 'I love you. Live. I will bring help.'

Thrór had returned with Freya in his wake just in time to hear those last words. 'Where are you going?' he asked.

'To find the one person under this Mountain who may yet help her,' he replied, rising to his feet.

Freya looked at him with compassion, though fortunately not pity. 'Then give me the name and I shall fetch them here.'

He appreciated the offer, but this was one errand he could not ask of another. 'The request has to be made in person,' he said. 'Don't leave her on her own.' He did not know how deep the madness ran in Thráin; if he had become unhinged enough to try again when he realised his victim still lived. But he had taken enough chances.

'We will,' Freya vowed. 'Now go. Be as quick as you can.'

He threw one last look at Kate and then ran.

Next time: meeting with an old friend. Also a friendly reminder not to come at me with pitchforks just yet…

Thank you very much for reading. Reviews would be so very much appreciated.