Chapter 18

Dwalin sat alone in his personal quarters doing what he did every evening, late after his meal and ales—checking and cleaning his battle axes. Yet he stopped buffing one of the handles and looked up, his expression of listening turning to one of puzzlement. Listening wasn't the right thing, he realized. He wasn't exactly hearing the thing that had grabbed his attention.

I am feeling it…. Something like a bump.

He set the buffing cloth aside and sensing the odd pulse again, he laid his gnarled warrior's hand flat on the bench. There, that pulse again.

But he felt it inside his own self—not in the bench.

He drew a long, deep breath. A heartbeat, he realized. Heart of the mountain. A few more slow, strong beats and then he stood, knowing exactly what it was. My swordbrother calls.

With slow deliberation, he stowed his weapons near his hearth and stood to face the door. He straightened his vest, and then walked out—his steps slow and measured, matching the pulse of that heartbeat without knowing that he did it.

He paced the length of a long corridor to the third stairway and started down, steps still in time to the slow beat.


Zêl was well prepared in every way. Reading the text was only one thing.

The second was that she had no intention of twisting her back and getting long arms again. She had borrowed a sling from a friend who had recently given birth. The young mother was a little surprised, but complied with her request. Zêl hadn't told her what she wanted to do with it.

Now the heavy tome was in the sling and although it was much heavier than a newborn, the book was so much easier to carry than with arms, getting longer and longer.

Erebor's corridors were abandoned close to midnight. No one was out now but the usual guards. But the guards knew her, saluted and didn't care. The princess's tutor with a book was nothing to wonder about. And, as Fíli had noticed, Zêl was known as a night owl.

Dwalin descended the third stairway until he reached the end-the deepest level of Erebor. Here, Braziers lit the hallowed hall of the Honored Dead…and there, beside the stone effigy of his swordbrother…he found his King.

Fili stood, head bowed and arms folded, beside the tomb of Thorin Oakenshield, the Arkenstone which lay upon it glowing with its subtle light and to Dwalin's eyes—pulsed in time with the heartbeat that he felt.

He bowed deeply, hand on heart, to both his fallen cousin-swordbrother and to his King.

"Adunant," Fili murmured in his deepest voice.

"Adunant," Dwalin answered. It is time.

As one they bowed their heads to Thorin, and with purpose, placed right hands on the stone of Thorin's tomb. After a long moment they turned for the wide stone hallway that led to the broad stairway up to the healer's halls.

They climbed with steady purpose in silence, and Dwalin began to sense not only the increased sense of the heartbeat, but an indescribably gathering of Erebor's strength. He could feel it in the very air around him—edgy and ominous, as it always did when his King acted with the strength of the mountain.

Zêl crossed one last bridge and in the dim glow of night braziers reached the gates to the healers' halls. She paused and looked down the gallery. There, in the shadow behind a huge column, she noticed a movement. Two dwarfs in cloaks, their hoods pulled down over their faces. One of them pulled back his hood and Zêl recognized the king's blond braids.

Fíli gave her the concerted signal that they were ready and Zêl could enter. She returned the gesture and slipped through the gate.


It was quiet in the healers' halls; the patients slept peacefully. Fortunately, there weren't many at the moment anyway. Zêl crossed the entrance hall and went to the attendant's room. By the light of an oil lamp, venerable Jarle was sitting at the table with quill in hand, adding notes to the physician's official log, which was itself an impressive brass-bound tome. He stopped writing at the sound of her footsteps, then looked up, eyes pinning Zêl to the spot.

"Master Jarle," Zêl said.

Fili and Dwalin paused at the Arch of Mandos, the intersection of corridors nearest the Healer's Hall, allowing Zêl time to begin her task. The only sound Dwalin heard was the continued heartbeat of Erebor, counting the moments.

And then Fili stood taller and nodded to Dwalin, and they moved forward, resuming their purposeful stride in time with the Mountain's pulse to the solid gates of the Healer's Hall, passing stone-still guards who looked as though they were lulled by something they could not hear...and stood silently at attention while the King and Commander passed through. Once inside, the only dwarves Dwalin saw were turning and leaving as if in a slow trance, stepping through doors and leaving the corridors empty.

And then they stood beside Lord Gloin's bed…Fili murmuring a Khuzdul invocation Dwalin didn't recognize. In the distance, it was almost as if he could hear a chorus of ancient dwarves chanting along with his King.

Until everything went silent.

Gloin's eyes popped open, still and unfocused. "Adunant," he whispered.

Yes, Dwalin agreed in silence. It is time.


Jarle startled and blinked at Zêl in surprise.

''Lady Zêl?'' He said, puzzled. '' What brings you here at this late hour? ''

Zêl inclined her head, greeting him. "Venerable Jarle," she replied, [speaking as loudly as she could]. '' I need your help ... ''

Jarle looked worried. "In Durin's name ... you look very healthy."

''No, no, not that kind of help. I am doing very well. Thank you. Princess Iri and I are preparing to leave for our journey and I was reminded of this particular apothecary's text which is from the area we are traveling to. You can still read the old dwarfish, as I heard. '' Zêl pointed to the book.

In an instant Jarle spied what she carried and his eyes shone out of the mass of snow-white hair and beard. ''Of course, of course, my dearest. Let us see what you have there.'' Jarle cleared his desktop, enthusiastic about the prospect of letting his knowledge shine; and he was neither surprised at the late hour nor about the question from the princess's tutor regarding a text about the art of healing.

Zêl dropped the book on the table. Dust puffed out of the pages again and the oil lamp wobbled. Jarle coughed. She opened the book at the right page and tapped on the text.

''I'm interested in this. I'm not sure, but I think it could help in case of an emergency on the road,'' Zêl explained, placing herself next to Jarle.

He stopped coughing and pulled out his glasses, leaning close to focus on this new gem of old knowledge.


Dwalin had never in his long life done anything quite this odd before-he kept his eyes wide, scanning the hallways from side to side as he and Fili, with their old friend Gloin between them, tried to stay as quiet as they could.

"Which one?" Fili whispered as they reached a three-way intersection.

Dwalin looked left and right, completely uncertain. "I dinna know," he whispered back. "Nÿr said it was in a back hallway—by a ward for new mothers."

But instead of looking frustrated, his King smiled.

"Ah," Fili murmured. Then he turned his head, listening.

"Wha…?" Dwalin began.

"Shhhh!" Fili listened. Then—there it was, the slightly muffled but unmistakable squall of a newborn dwarrow, quickly silenced by a mother who knew exactly what such a little one needed.

Dwalin blinked.

Fili grinned. "That way," he whispered, nodding to the left.

They shuffled forward, supporting Gloin, whose body moved even while his glassy eyes stared at nothing. I hope this works, Dwalin thought. It's a shameful strain on him otherwise.

Then they took a turn into an older part of Erebor, into a back hallway.

"It's here," Fili said in a low voice, glancing ahead at several old-style doors on the left-hand side of the hall.

"Yes," Dwalin answered. This was the place. He adjusted his hold on Gloin and nodded for Fili to go ahead and find the exact door. They could still hear intermittent cries from newborn dwarrows coming from somewhere ahead on the right and it wouldn't do to frighten any new mothers now.

Fili gently released Gloin into Dwalin's arms and stepped forward. Even I can sense it, Dwalin thought. Though generally he was not as attuned to Durin's magics unless they were weapon-bound.

Fili moved from door to door in silence. He passed the first three with barely a glance, paused next to the fifth for a moment...then strode to the seventh door.

Of course. Dwalin stood still and silent as Fili's hand touched the mithril knob and simply opened the door to the ancient Ward of Vûstin.

Dwalin followed his King quickly inside, pulling Gloin along with him. He heard the door close behind them, and then at one word, the King's command lit the torches and the room was illuminated.

"Yes," Dwalin said. "This is it." He stepped forward, carefully helping Gloin to kneel, then to lay flat on the floor, keeping him within the diamond-shaped center of a rune limned in mithril.

He looked up to see that Fili had already opened the little wall cabinet and taken hold of the two mithril rods inside.

And before his King even invoked a spell, Dwalin felt the strength of the mountain—as if the very crystals of the stone vibrated.


Zêl kept a close eye on Jarle. Half of her attention, however, was directed backwards, where somewhere in the depths of the halls Fili and Dwalin were trying to get Gloin back on his feet with the help of the Ward of Vûstin.

How long could she keep Jarle occupied? How long would it take for her King to complete his task?

"Ah," Jarle suddenly sat up straighter, as if he'd decoded the text and was done. He dipped his quill in the ink and started to write.

She held her breath. Another question...I'll have to ask another question.

Then Jarle huffed and shook his head, lifting the quill. "No," he said. "Can't be right."

She let her eyes close for a moment in relief as he bent back to his task.

Then...she could swear she felt a strange tingling in the stone beneath her feet.


Dwalin watched his King holding twin mithril rods in his hands, much the way he held his battle swords, testing their weight. Then his eyes closed.

For a moment, Dwalin recalled the last time he'd been in this room—when he'd been besotted with Kili's intended young healer and watched her lift these very mithril rods. He distinctly recalled her expression of determination along with Kili's distinct glower.

Can't blame the lad. He had more reasons than most to distrust magics. Lady Nÿr had required some coaching and practice with handling the rods—learning to touch the base of one to the mithril design etched in the floor, the base of the other to his own aching gut tumor…and then connecting the tips. He recalled a certain amount of trial and error had occurred until Kili had understood the key—the wielder needed to call upon a certain intensity of purpose for the Ward of Vûstin to work.

But he said nothing to his King. The discussion of this had already taken place, and unlike the beautiful Lady Nÿr, Fili did not need to be schooled in gathering that certain intensity.

So, by prior agreement, he smiled gently at his old friend Gloin, adjusted his position one limb at a time to be sure he lay completely within the double X design of the Ward.

He rested one hand on old Gloin's forehead for a brief moment, his thumb gently stroking his brow.

"For your son," Dwalin whispered, Adunant, my old friend.

Then he got to his feet, nodded once at his King, and stood back in resting warrior stance.

Dwalin kept himself still as stone as Fili paced a slow circle around his patient. The little room was silent, and as before, Dwalin could sense a subtle tingling in the stone around them.

Fili halted near the top of the mithril pattern after his seventh circuit around the room.

The tingling ceased, though Dwalin felt something new—something gathering—unseen but not unfelt. If Nÿr was unpracticed and new to the ancient magic of this Ward, he knew he was seeing a master invoking it now.

As he watched, Fili took one deep breath and raised both rods like his twin swords in 'double strike' position.

A deep vibration began to hum low and deep in the stone. Dwalin blinked, feeling the hair on his arms prickling—even the short fringe on his mostly bald head seemed to bristle.

And then Fili let out a roaring command and somewhat like Gandalf (as Dwalin recalled him), Fili, King of Erebor, Son of Durin, raised both rods, stabbed one to the mithril on the floor, held the other horizontal over Gloin's prone form, and with his most fearsome battle face, touched rod-tip to rod-tip.

In an instant, Dwalin felt his hair stand up straight and didn't even have time to blink before...

FLASH

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(What was that?!) We'll find out in the next chapter!

THANK you for reading-as always, I invite you to leave a note in the reviews, even if you just say Hi...I hope all of you are doing OK and find yourself in a safe place.

A shout-out to my good friend Jessie152 who is writing Zêl in this story. She also gifted me with a fabulous piece of digital artwork that illustrated the final scene above. If you are on Tumblr, find her awesome cosplay work on her blog: Durincrafts.

Also, if anyone is looking for the archived versions of the original Erebor stories (Cursebearer, Ravenspeakers, Kinseekers) just PM me and I'll share the new location of those stories and how to access them (on my author website.) Many of you might recall the first time Dwalin was in the Ward of Vustin in Kinseekers. You can also read the stories in German on fan fic de.

Khuzdul translation:

Adunant = it is time. (if you hadn't already guessed ;p )

Hand on Heart to all of you...

-Summer (and Jessie152)