A/N: Thank you for being a fanfic reader! Hand on Heart to Jessie152 who is writing Zêl's scenes in this story. Kudos, Jessie!


Chapter 16

Fili, King of Erebor, brain buzzing after his twenty-second flagon of hearty ale, stomped his boots along with his cousins and his son as they all bellowed Dwalin's favorite drinking song—raising their sloshing flagons high at every shout of Ya!

We shot him in the jambags! (Ya!)

We shot him in the jambags! (Ya!)

We bashed that cave troll's ugly skag

And shot him straight in the jammybags! (Ya!)

With a joyous final stomp and a shout of Hey! all four of them tilted their heads back and gulped...eight, nine, ten...Fili lost count but he did finish before the others and laughing in triumph, turned his flagon upside down to prove it was empty and slammed it to the table top. Gimli, Dwalin, and finally Fjalar followed the act, all of them laughing loud and congratulating each other and thoroughly enjoying the effort to raise the spirits of their honored visitor.

In the distance, Erebor's midnight bell chimed once.

"Ah," Gimli's laughing dwindled to chuckles. "Time to let the stewards clean up and find their beds," he said, looking from cousin to cousin with love and respect in his heavily browed eyes. "Though where in this maze of corridors I'll find my own bunk…?" He shook his head and laughed again.

To his right, young Fjalar made a slightly wobbly hand-on-heart bow. "I would be honored," he paused to belch, eliciting another round of laughter and a pat on his back. "To show you."

With that, the lads bid each other good night. Fili held his arms wide to embrace his renowned cousin.

"You have been generous to spend time with me," Gimli murmured, suddenly more sober. "I do admit, I arrived with a different plan in mind."

Fili just nodded once.

"I had hoped," Gimli went on. "That my father might be up for one last journey across our lands…" Then he shook his head sadly.

At a gesture from Fili, Fjalar led his elder cousin to the door, and Gimli walked (or trudged) from the dining table, one hand on the sturdy shoulder of Erebor's Prince.

The room became silent as the door closed behind them and Fili sat with a deep sigh. He glanced at the only other dwarf left at the table—his other renowned cousin, Lord Dwalin.

Their eyes met. Slowly, Dwalin reached out to refill Fili's ale flagon.

"I regret that we did not warn him about his father before he arrived," Fili mumbled.

Dwalin shook his head in one decisive motion. "It is not for us to do that, my Lord," he said in a slurred but gentle voice.

Fili turned his ale flagon in his hands. An elder dwarf's decline was a matter for immediate family, of course. "It's damn hard, though," he said. "Doing nothing."

Dwalin nodded once and they both raised flagons slowly and drank. After a long moment of silence, Dwalin lifted a ruby-colored candy gem from a silver plate and considered it before popping it into his mouth and chewing. "Oh," he said. "Quite sour, this one."

Fili huffed in mild amusement and took a dark brown, multi-faceted "stone" that he guessed was a carob-coated nut. He bit through it and smiled at his luck. It was his favorite, after all.

Dwalin had sampled five more sweets before he stopped. "You do recall that there is one option you can consider for Glóin," he said in a very low voice.

Fili's ale-swamped brain couldn't quite figure out Dwalin's point. "What would that be?"

Dwalin's face was set like a warrior facing battle, his somber eyes steady. "Erebor itself."

Fili squinted at him, hearing Dwalin's deepest voice sounding not so much like his trusted old cousin…but like his Uncle.

Thorin…? Speaking to him?

"The Ward of Vustîn, lad. It lies within Erebor Healer's Hall…its mithril spell answers to the blood of Durin."

In Fili's buzzing brain, the voice seemed unmistakable—deep and calm. Thorin, who had recruited his kin Óin and Glóin to the company. Thorin, who had led them all to take back Erebor.

"Fili…" Thorin urged.

Fili looked up. It was Dwalin across the table, not his uncle. But was he right? Could he, Fili, do this thing?

"You think I can invoke the Ward of Vustîn?" He asked, his voice raspy.

"Our Lady Nÿr did it…and you are a thousand times more experienced with Erebor's ancient magic."

Fili sat back. "We need to know more…what did you learn when Kili and Nÿr took you there?"

"Not much. I was the patient, of course." Dwalin frowned as though trying to recall the evening in question. Slowly, he sorted through the treats again and picked out a cube painted like green striped malachite. "There was a very old scroll," he began. "My brother had hidden this in the old study...and then we needed a scholar to read the archaic khuzdul to discover how to invoke the Ward." Then he shook his head. "But where it is now? No idea."

Fili forced his ale-addled brain to think. A scroll and a scholar…

In his admittedly drunken mind, he saw the face of his beautiful daughter Iri...and...her learned tutor, Zêl.

Zêl…

Fili looked at Dwalin and then called loudly for a Royal Page.


Kili, King of Ered Luin, was unable to sleep. He lay on his back, one hand tucked beneath his ear, staring at the dark ceiling with eyes wide open.

Next to him a handswidth away, his beautiful Lady Wife lay gently...snoring. He smiled. All dwarves snored—even is tiny new daughter. It was a comforting sound.

Even so, he slipped from the bed and found the door, letting himself out to the dressing room where he donned comfortable trousers, long shirt, and house boots and departed for the Hall...grabbing a simple hunting cloak on his way out. The house guards who stood sentry outside snapped to attention as he left, and he made a quick hand-on-heart nod in their direction.

But since their job was to guard the family quarters, neither guard left their post.

He headed for the long central Hall, the ceiling so high overhead that it could not be seen without a large bonfire below. At this time of night, the Hall was empty yet glowed with blue light from lines of braziers.

He passed one of the FireLighters, standing atop a step ladder and adding fuel to the wide pan.

"Good evening, Gulvik." Kili's deep voice alerted the FireLighter to his presence. Gulvik, well aware that his King sometimes wandered the Hall at night, simply nodded.

"Evening, my Lord."

Kili walked on. In the expanse of the long Hall, empty of the daytime crowds, he could sense the long history of Khelethur in the rock around him. Not for the first time, he used his stone sense to consider his worries.

He walked to his usual night spot—six marble benches that faced each other at a crossroads near the formal throne.

He sat. There, on the floor between the two lines of benches, an array of beautiful inlay formed an intricate pattern—all intersecting lines and marble mixed with gems and bronze radiating from the tamadditîn, the Heart of Bravery. It was said by the Firebeards that their forebearer Úri had started the design by setting the central hunk of natural sapphire himself.

Of course the Longbeards said it was their Broadbeam Queen Linnar who placed it.

It really did not matter to Kili. It was old, and one of his own first memories was sitting here beside his brother while their mother visited the shops and stalls of the midweek market.

So when he missed his brother's counsel, this was the place he sought. Of course, as King he could not sit here in silence during the day. And as he and Fili had discovered, the raw stone of the sapphire shone with a subtle, mesmerizing inner glow when viewed at night.

It was at least two night-bells later when he startled from his thoughts to see Skirf approaching.

"I have been caught roaming the halls again," he murmured as Skirf sat on the bench across from him.

Skirf shrugged. "Your daughter wakes your wife, then they both wake me," he smiled. "The tiniest dwarrow sometimes sounds the loudest alarm bell."

Kili smiled. "She's destined to be a defender of the land, small as she is," he laughed quietly.

They both stared at the tamadditîn.

"I'm willing to bet," Skirfir said. "That you and I are worried about the same thing."

Kili looked up at his former fosterling and current Commander. "Shadback."

Skirf nodded. "She is well and truly dead…"

Kili was stone still. "But something about her plans is not yet done."

Their eyes met across the subtle glow of the tamadditîn.

"I fear you are correct," Skirf murmured.


Zêl, tutor and bodyguard of Princess Iri, staggered slightly on the way to her chamber. Like any decent dwarf, and especially like members of the Royal Family's staff who were well trained, she of course had quite a bit of strength.

But the enormous, tome that the King of Erebor had given her had her off-balance.

She stopped and felt her left arm getting longer and longer. With one swing she heaved the huge leather-bound book on her hip and continued walking.

She pondered about the strange plan that the King and his Weapons Master were pursuing. A little skeptical at first she had finally agreed to take on the task assigned to her. She mulled over the conversation again while she steered her heavy steps on to her quarters. The whole affair had started when one of the royal pages had brought her a message in the form of a small piece of parchment ...

"Lady Zêl", the young page had bowed briefly, hand on heart, and handed her the message. She took the parchment and unfolded it. She immediately recognized the king's hand and frowned. Usually a dispatched page conveyed a message from the king verbally; written messages were unusual. But before she could ask the page what was going on, the fellow turned on his heel and vanished. Zêl read the few lines and was amazed. But of course she immediately set off to comply with Fílis's request to join him in the Royal Dining Hall.

Ever since she made it her task to help her king out of his grief for his late Lady wife and occasionally accompany him to one of the halls for an (or more than one) ale and a chat, it was not uncommon to get together. However, he had never called her to the dining room at that late hour. She hoped nothing unsettling had happened.

The moment the chamberlain bowed and opened the door for her and she entered the royal dining hall, it dawned to her that some kind of conspiracy was going on.

King Fíli and his honorable Weapons Master, Lord Dwalin sat at the table, a pile of empty plates, bowls and jugs in front of them. And they had obviously emptied more jugs than were now empty on the table.

"Zêl, my honored friend," Fíli greeted her and happily held out a hand to ask her to join them at the table. ''Come closer and take a seat.''

Dwalin put his hand over his heart and just bowed his head. She returned the gesture, sat and folded her hands in her lap.

Fíli had obviously given himself a good share of liquid courage and got straight to the point.

''Zêl,'' he stated. "I know you as a lass of action and Lord Dwalin and I need an accomplice on a difficult mission.''

She raised both eyebrows, but didn't say anything.

Fíli leaned forward and spoke in a lowered voice. ''We are looking for a way to enable Lord Gimli's father, the honorable Lord Glóin, one last journey. He is supposed to accompany his son on our ride to Annuminas with old companions for one last time and meet King Elessar. And as you know, my elder cousin is no longer in a state to travel.''

Zêl nodded. She knew that the old veteran spent most of his days dozing in bed. She couldn't imagine a way to take the old dwarf on such a long journey.

''Well,'' Fili continued, ''you have already seen the Circle of Ahryhunu in my great hall.''

Zêl shuddered. She knew how the circle worked, and how the spell of Mithril could turn anyone who dared lie to the king into a pile of ashes. The circle was a devastating weapon for extracting truth. She also knew it was not for nothing that the king's brother strictly rejected all metal magic. It was treacherous and he had painfully experienced it firsthand.

"Sir..." Zêl whispered . ''The Circle is destructive!''

''Quite true,'' Fíli became very serious. ''But not every spell in Erebor is so terrible. ''

Zêl felt a tingling running down her spine. As a scholar, of course, she knew about the deep ancient magic that ran in the rock and through the Circle. She'd always suspected there was more, but these secrets weren't common knowledge.

"What exactly do you mean?" She asked

Fíli and Dwalin exchanged a meaningful look.

Zêl looked back and forth between the two of them and then questioningly cocked her head.

Dwalin slowly reached for his mug and looked at the remains of his ale. ''It must have occurred to you that the Circle of Ahryhunu is not the only one in Erebor. And to put it bluntly: I wouldn't be here if there wasn't another one. '' He drained his mug and carefully put it down without making a sound, as if he didn't want to startle anyone.

Zêl folded her arms over her chest. "A healing spell?" he guessed. She had heard tales about the old Weapons Master being seriously ill and then recovering quite suddenly. But the secrets that entwined around this were carefully guarded by the sons of Durin.

Fíli continued. ''Metal magic should never be used light-minded and most of it should be kept hidden and not used at all. Except in dire need. Years ago, the Lady Nÿr, my brother's intended, discovered the Ward of Vustîn in the healers' halls. In short: this Mithril spell is able to heal when invoked by one of Durin's blood. In doing so she saved Dwalin's life. At my brother's insistence, the Ward was then sealed again and kept secret. I've never seen it myself."

"You want to use it to help the Lord Glóin," Zêl concluded.

"Exactly," Fíli agreed. ''We think our cousin deserves to go on this final journey and see the honors bestowed on his son. That it is worth invoking the Ward again. But it must remain a secret, nobody but us should know about it. And that's why we need your help.''

Zêl frowned. ''My Lord, I am not a healer. How can I help with such a thing?'' The request of the King and his weapons master did not seem obvious to her.

Dwalin leaned forward. ''We don't need a healer to call the Ward, it is the blood of Durin that the spell responds to. We do need someone to have our backs to and help us keep the Ward secret. I think I can find it, even if it has been many years since I've been there. But nobody should see us when we take Glóin there or notice the magic unfolding. And since the healers' halls are always staffed, we ask you to keep the healer on duty busy and distracted. ''

Zêl was still not convinced and Fíli felt her doubts. ''I retrieved something that can help us," he said. "In two days the venerable Jarle will be on duty to oversee the healers' halls during the night. He is an expert in translating the oldest texts of the art of healing from ancient Dwarvish.''

Fíli pushed an impressively thick book in front of Zêl and tapped the copper-colored runes that were embossed in the leather cover, blackened with age. '' I found a passage here which will keep him busy for hours. Just take the book to him with the request for help.''

Slowly she shook her head. ''He'll feel that something is wrong. As a scholar and tutor of your daughter, why should I ask for a translation from a healers book… in the middle of the night? ''

Fíli and Dwalin exchanged another conspiratorial look.

''You are well known as a night owl, and Old Jarle is vain about his skills. He won't be able to resist the task of translating that.'' Fíli winked at her and Dwalin grinned. ''Besides ... we're leaving in a few days. Even if a healer will accompany us, as my daughter's guard you should have the basic knowledge to help your protégé in the event of a fight. You just have pester Jarle with as many questions as possible…and make sure he's so busy that doesn't notice what is going on in the distant corridors. The fact that he's half deaf will help us.''

So Zêl had finally accepted the tome. Fíli had put a sheet of parchment between the pages to mark the most difficult part, and Zêl was determined to take a look at the passage beforehand. That way she was prepared to keep the old healer busy with the task as long as possible and reassure him that she, as a guard and tutor, needed exactly this translation.

And this would enable her King to pay a visit to the old Ward of Vustîn with a particular patient in tow without attracting meddlers.

The more she thought about it, the more fun she felt she would have, since this was something like playing a prank on someone.

She hadn't done that in a long time.


A late spring morning at Khelethur meant that a bright sun rose in clear blue sky above high granite cliffs. The Lady Nÿr, Queen of Ered Luin, stood on the upper parapet of the great lodge with her eldest son at her side. Like a fledgling that played with everything new, he fidgeted with the new bandolier that he wore, fingers tracing the buckles.

"How many more ravens are there, Mama?" Kirin asked, nearing boredom. Of course, he was too young to hear what the sleek corvids had to say.

"Hush," Nÿr said, hand out to a raven which hopped on the railing a few feet away.

Something in her voice caused the young dwarrow to stop fidgeting and look up at her with wide eyes. His mother was never sharp without a reason. He could hear the bird muttering but did not know what sort of message it brought.

"It's from your cousin Gunnar," she said to him as she offered a nut to draw the raven to her arm. "Quickly, Kirin—find me a Royal Page."

Kirin turned and sped for the inner chamber. Running errands was far more fun than fidgeting.

Down the corridor and around one corner he found Hod, a Page he knew well, sitting on a bench and sharpening a knife. "Ghoran!" he used the Khuzdul word for Page to get the lad's attention. "My mother calls!" Hod immediately stood, sheathing the blade and signaling for Kirin to lead the way.

Back on the parapet, Lady Nÿr was folding a small piece of parchment. "To the King, please," she said, handing it to Hod. "He's in the stables."

Accepting it with a quick hand on heart gesture to them both, Hod took off for the stairway at a run. He descended to the ground level, crossed the wide play-yard lawn, and ran for the stables. Other dwarves stood aside for him, and a few shouted, "Page! Stand back!" His boots clomped across a wood-floored bridge and three guards, who looked up as he reached the other side, pointing to their right with shouts of "My Lord!" to alert the King.

Just inside the wide stable door, he came upon the King standing with two others.

Hod knelt and offered the folded note. He stayed particularly still, since one of the King's companions was Commander Skirfir—well known for the strict enforcement of exacting manners among the Pages.

"Thank you, Hod," the King said, his eyes already ready reading. "It's from Nÿr," he said to the others. "A raven from Gunnar…" He paused. "The Dunedain have arrived...at Annuminas."

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Thank you for reading and I hope you are all safe and well.

FYI, I have created an online archive on my author website for story 1 and 2, so if you'd like access to those two stories, PM me and I'll share the details.

Hand on Heart to all of you,

Summer (and Jessie)