Chapter 17

Gunnar, Prince of Erebor, entered the ruins of Annuminas on foot alongside a squad of cloaked Dunedain and one Son of Elrond. The sun had not yet risen and he took careful steps on the gravelly trail as it led through streets of an old city, abandoned for a bit more than two thousand years. One ragged Dunedain outpost remained on the northwest shore of the lake.

He could see the outlines of stonework: towers, domes, great pitched rooflines…and he knew why he was the lone dwarf on this venture. He was Stonespire-trained and a descendant of Durin's line…which meant he was sensitive to the ancient magic that dwelled in such rock.

But Gunner could not sense the stone of this long-abandoned city—it felt blank and unreadable…as unresponsive as an old sentinel who was sound asleep on the watch.

He listened as he walked: the intermittent chirp of a cricket, tiring as dawn approached. To his left, a quiet raspy hiss and the four small shapes scurrying into a tumble of rock wall.

Possum…. One adult, three babies.

The Dunedain stopped in the dark lee of a round tower at a three-way intersection of ancient roadways.

Behind them the jagged ridgeline of the great Emyn Uial…snowcapped and cold. Ahead, the broad lake…he'd seen it from the high pass as they'd descended yesterday. Deep blue, the color of the most valuable khagal sapphires—the ones called Lanzulkhudzâram after this very lake. Lake Nenuialheadwaters of the Brandywine.

Gunnar looked to the tall presence of Elladan, and at a nod from the Elf, continued forward alone. At the base of the round tower, he knelt and after a moment to consider the rock around him, selected three stones from the debris and positioned the first one—a wide and flat, so it lay in the gravel between two boulders.

He checked the Dunedain and Elf to be sure he had cover, and then closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of the breeze off the lake mixed with the dust of ancient stone.

He did not need to chant or carve his spell to make it work. Gunnar, Son of Fili, Son of Dís and descendant of Durin himself could reach the rocky strength below the surface of Middle Earth and tease a small stone spell from it.

Ward this place. Warn me of danger.

Then he rose and the Dunedain continued forward, zig-zagging from one monolithic building to the next as they penetrated the old city. Every hundred steps or so, Gunnar placed another ward.

By the time the sun rose, Gunnar of Erebor had placed thirty-seven wards along the route that ended at the base of the guard tower overlooking the old quay. As he found the stone-spell for the last ward, he added one word of command to connect them all to the rough piece of Stonespire granite he wore on a cord around his neck.

He let himself feel the connections deep in his gut—imprinting the pattern in his mind. If anyone passed one of his wards, he would know.

He wasn't certain how long he communed with his wards…when his awareness returned, he found himself staring at the luminous deep blue water of the lake and contemplating how the morning light sparkled like crystal gemstones…his blurry brain wondering whether it was water or stone…

And then the Elf, Elladan son of Elrond, touched his shoulder and bade him rise.

"Enough, young Master Dwarf. It is time for you to rest."


Fili stood at Gloin's bedside, arms folded, considering his patient. The Ward of Vustin is for healing a specific problem…

"Can I answer a question for you, my Lord King?"

Fili looked to see one of the healers standing across from him. Azzik. He recognized the fellow from his service during The Last Siege at the Gate. Good lad on the battlefield.

"Tell me, lad. What exactly is Lord Gloin's trouble?"

Azzik inclined his head in respect. After a long moment, he spoke. "He's a bit arthritic in the hands...but otherwise quite hale for an Elder. The rest of his trouble is in the mind, my Lord. The body functions but the brain has slowed...not an uncommon problem for the oldest of us." He paused, thought for a moment, then went on. "It's as if Lord Gloin himself is elsewhere, and his body remains behind."

"Hmmm," Fili answered. "Yet he can eat and walk and do everything else…"

"Yes, my Lord. He only needs us to guide him."

"Is he in pain? Does he have trouble from old battle wounds?" Fili asked.

"Not that we can tell," Azzik answered. "He can hear and see, doesn't limp, can still reach across the table…"

"When I talk to him, does he know it is me?"

Azzik shook his head. "On a good day, maybe. His mind is focused only on the here and now. There is very little memory… At breakfast I handed him a spoon, and he asked me what it was. I told him it was a spoon and he could use it to scoop his hash."

Fili nodded. So he remembers vocabulary, at least.

"Good morning, Lord Gloin," Fili said, loud enough to get his old councillor's attention.

Gloin's eyes opened in surprise, looked from Azzik to Fili. He blinked, squinted, then stared at Fili. "Is it…morning?" he asked. "Then…yes. Good morning, My Lord."

Fili inclined his head, hand on heart. Still lying in his bed, Gloin's hand went to his chest and he made a small nod. And he still recalls his manners.

"Did you enjoy your visit with your son yesterday?" Fili asked.

Gloin blinked and simply stared. Clearly he understood the question…

"My…son?" he asked. His brows went up, then drew together. "I don't…".

Fili felt a pang of regret for testing his old friend this way. He doesn't remember yesterday…and maybe not even that he has a son. Across the bed, the healer Azzik was looking at him with a level stare that Fili recognized as the polite version of "what exactly are you doing?"

"Forgive me," Fili said to Gloin and Azzik both. "It was just a test."

Gloin's expression brightened. "A test! Did I pass?"

Fili reached out and patted Gloin's shoulder. "You did well, my friend. I will see you later."

With that, he nodded at Azzik and smiled at Gloin, and then took his leave. As he strode through the large doors and left the Healer's Hall, he pondered his problem. He knew that Nyr had focused the Ward of Vustin on a tumor…and knew it could be focused on a broken bone or impaired sense of sight or hearing.

But exactly how could he invoke the Ward of Vustin in order to heal a mind?


Zêl, tutor and bodyguard of Princess Iri, had thoroughly prepared herself for her assignment in the little conspiracy her king had hatched. For two nights she'd used the late hours to study the text in question which was supposed to distract old Jarle from what was going on in a certain secret chamber in the healers' halls. Old Dwarvish was a challenge, not many of the living dwarrow were skilled to read that language fluently. But in the end Zêl had prevailed. And no one had noticed what she had been working on...

Her work table bent under the weight of the heavy tome as she immersed herself in the ancient runes. King Fíli had chosen the text wisely. A healer from the settlements in the mountain ranges they would travel through on the way to meet King Elessar had written it long ago. It told about deposits of minerals in certain valleys and how they could be used to treat injuries, inflammation, fever and illnesses.

Since she was a scholar to the core, Zêl was immediately immersed in the study of this text. Her head propped in her hands, her gaze was fixed on the lines. It was going slowly, very slowly. But finally she smiled contentedly. Not only old Jarle was able to read such work. She had studied enough celestial texts from similar ancient times. Maybe some words were missing, but that didn't matter. The whole content was perfectly clear to her. She made a list of these questionable words on a piece of parchment noted the pages. No matter how long it would take for old Jarle to translate the text, she was prepared to drill him with questions.


It was the third day after Gimli's surprise arrival, and Fili paced in the King's Hall with such a focused frown on his face that the chamberlains all chose to delay their questions and leave him to his mood.

He walked slowly, arms folded…sometimes with hands on hips…and occasionally with them on his head. His route went from the massive desk to the map case, to the wall of books. Twice he stopped and went to the shelves, searching for a tome and pulling it out, laying it open on a map table and flipping pages. But there was no "Aha!" or end to whatever he searched for.

At noon, the Princess Iri arrived with a basket smelling of bread and cheese and would not be persuaded to leave him be. Instead, she ignored the chamberlains' cautions and pushed her way into her father's Hall with purpose and spirit.

"Da!" she called, her voice happy and light.

Fili glowered but turned slowly to see her running toward him, riding skirts flowing, side-braids bouncing, many-jeweled necklace sparkling against her silky, amethyst-colored over-vest…her bright eyes merry as a hobbit's. She plopped her basket on the map table, spread a small cloth (knowing full well she could not risk food stains on the Royal Map Table) and grabbed a warm loaf of sourdough. She made a show of wrenching it apart with her bare hands and handed him half.

"Still warm." She looked him in the eye like it was a challenge. "From Bombur's kitchen!" she added with a grin.

Fili's brain went momentarily blank. He'd been pondering how a mind could be repaired…and here…HERE was his answer. expression went momentarily blank, his thoughts completely stalled.

Iri, my child, he realized. You are the spark of life and a breath of fresh air. Slowly, he reached out and accepted the bread. "I have to admit," he said to her. "This smells fabulous." Smiling at her, he bit off a hearty mouthful and chewed.

"Did you bring any…?" he started to ask.

But with a slightly wicked grin, his lovely daughter pulled a capped tankard from the basket and handed it over.

"Oh, my darling young lass…" he broke the seal and raised the tankard to her. "You are a wonder." He drank long and deep, saved a bit to go with the rest of his lunch, and grinned at the array of meat and cheese she placed before him on the cloth. Like her mother, she well knew how to tempt him with all the kinds he liked best.

Spark of life, he repeated to himself. Iri is a white-hot forge while old Gloin is the smoky remains of last night's campfire.


Several hours after sunset, Iri's tutor put away the quills and ink on her work table, patted her travel case of pencils attached to her belt (all there, she assured herself) and locked the side drawer. One parchment and a large dusty tome remained.

It was time to leave. Zêl memorized her list of words again. Then she folded the parchment and put it in the pocket of her skirt, just in case. Then When she closed the book, there was a thud, a dust cloud, and the table groaned. For sure the King and Dwalin were on their way to get honorable Glóin from his quarters. She was ready to go.

.

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khagal = deep blue

Lanzulkhudzâram = Lake Nenuial, also called Lake Evendim

A/N: Thank you for reading, and I hope you are doing OK and getting some fresh air. A shout out to Jessie152 who is writing Zêl in this story. Woot! It is fun to work with another writer and the teamwork keeps me going...

As always, welcome to the story if you are a new reader. And hand on heart to my long time friends and readers here on ffic-thank you for reading, and I invite feedback or even a quick Hello. Take care!

-Summer