The council chamber was quiet, but not still.
The air hung heavy with unspoken words, thicker than smoke, thicker than dust. Though no gold lined this chamber, its shadow pressed in from the mountain halls beyond. The large marble table at the center had once hosted war maps, ale, and laughter. Now it hosted silence, sharp as a blade.
Ren stood near the hearth, her arms folded across her chest. Across from her, Thorin sat in his iron-bound chair. His fingers drummed once on the stone table, as though weighing every second he was forced to hear.
Fíli stood at his right, jaw taut, his hands clenched behind his back in a posture of restraint. Kíli lingered near the far edge of the room, visibly unsettled, eyes flicking from one face to another.
"We cannot spare it," Thorin said flatly. "Not gold. Not weapons. Not food. We have none to give."
"They are starving," Balin said gently. "Freezing. Bard comes not as a thief, but a father."
Thorin's face remained stone. "Then he should not have marched women and children into the wind."
"Bard only asked for what was promised. This isn't about gold—it's about survival." Ren insisted gently, her tone pleading but careful.
Fíli shifted his stance. "Uncle. They helped us. Dale stood with us when Smaug fell. Bard risked his life for our cause. If he didn't kill the beast, he would have come right back into this mountain and taken it back from us. We are indebted to him."
"Did he?" Thorin's eyes gleamed, cold and sharp. "Or did he seize his chance to take what was never his?"
"He hasn't taken anything," Fíli said, more firmly now. "He stands at our gates asking for a share. A share that was promised."
"A promise made under fire and desperation. A promise made so we could reach the mountain before Durin's Day," Thorin snapped. "Not a binding decree."
Ren stepped forward. "And yet a promise it was. You gave your word."
"Be careful, Galaren," He rumbled lowly, eyes upon her. "You are the queen, yes. But my word is not yours to wield."
Her own eyes narrowed, but she said nothing yet.
Fíli's voice rose, filled with barely held frustration. "This isn't just about promises or debts, Uncle. This is about who we become now. What kind of kingdom we're building. We can't bury ourselves in gold and call it a throne."
Thorin turned sharply toward him. "Watch your tongue, nephew."
"I will not," Fíli said, eyes hard. "I am your heir, and I will not inherit a kingdom built on fear and hoarded wealth."
Kíli moved closer, tension rising in every limb. "Fíli—"
But Thorin was already rising. "You would side against me."
"I would remind you who you are!" Fíli stepped forward now, shoulders squared. "Thorin Oakenshield, the shield of his people—not some dragon jealously counting coins while the world burns outside his gates!"
The silence that followed was searing.
Then, Thorin's voice dropped to a low growl. "And you, too, would take her side."
Ren's gaze met Thorin's, calm and unblinking. "He takes the side of honor. Of reason. You are the one who's changed."
"I see now," Thorin said, turning his back on them. "You would all divide the mountain. Hand my kingdom over to strangers, traitors—"
"That is enough," Dwalin barked, finally speaking.
But Thorin wasn't listening anymore. His fingers twitched as if reaching for a sword that wasn't there. "You think me mad. You all do."
Fíli's voice cracked then—just once. "I think you're afraid."
Thorin stilled.
"I think you're lost," Fíli continued, quieter now. "And I don't know how to follow a king who won't come back to us." That was the blow that landed deepest. It was evident in the way Thorin stiffened, his shoulders rigid with pride and pain.
"This council is over," he said, voice like ice. "Speak of this again, and I will consider it treason."
And with that, he swept from the room, his cloak trailing behind like a shadow that refused to lift. The heavy doors closed behind Thorin with a shudder that seemed to echo down into the roots of the mountain. His footsteps faded into silence, but the tension he left behind remained, thick and unmoving.
Silence. Only the fire crackled in the hearth.
Kíli broke the silence first, voice low. "You did what you had to."
Fíli stared at the place Thorin had stood, jaw clenched. Balin slowly exhaled, rubbing at his brow. Dwalin crossed his arms, his gaze hard on the empty doorway. Kíli leaned forward over the table, knuckles white.
Ren hadn't moved either. Her hands were clenched at her sides, her body still braced for a storm that hadn't passed—only shifted. She looked around the chamber and saw what she already knew in every face: they were all afraid.
"I've seen dragon-sickness before. But never like this," Balin broke the silence first. "He's not well."
"No," Dwalin growled. "He's not. Hasn't been for days."
"He barely sleeps," Balin noted, "Barely eats."
"He talks to himself," Dwalin muttered. "Not like a man thinking—like one listening."
"Listening?" Fíli echoed, his brows raising.
"To the gold," Dwalin said flatly.
"What do we do then? Fíli asked. His face was pale with worry, but beneath that, anger simmered low. "Just watch him unravel? Stand by and do nothing?"
Ren hesitated, her heart pounding. The words pressed against her throat like a blade.
"I... I need to tell you all something," she murmured. When she looked up, all the dwarves' eyes were upon her, intent. "I have the Arkenstone."
They all stiffened.
Dwalin's brows shot up. "You... what?"
Ren's voice shook, but she didn't back down. "I took it out from under Smaug."
Kíli stared at her. Fíli's mouth parted slightly in stunned silence.
"I thought hiding it might help," she said. "I thought… if he couldn't find it, maybe he wouldn't fall so fast. Maybe he wouldn't fall at all."
Balin was watching her carefully, a quiet, sharp sadness in his eyes. "And has it helped?"
"No," she said bitterly. "Not enough."
Dwalin let out a slow breath through his nose. "He's tearing the mountain apart looking for it."
"I know."
"You'll have to give it to him eventually," Kíli said softly, stepping forward. "Won't you?"
Ren's arms wrapped tighter around herself. She felt her eyes brim with tears and the threatened to spill over, "If I do… it will be the end."
Fíli looked torn, like something inside him had cracked clean in half. "And what? You thought hiding it would save him?"
"Yes." Her voice was soft now. "Because I've seen what happens if I don't."
They were all watching her. She didn't try to look away.
"I've had... more visions. In the water water. In dreams. I see this mountain in flames. I see the land stained with blood. I see Thorin—lost. And I see you—" she looked at her nephews. Kili's eyes were wide, his lips parted in disbelief. Fili looked just as aghast at her words. She just shook her head, unable to finish her sentence, and a few silent tears fell down her cheeks.
Fíli took a long, shaky breath and stepped closer. "And you think... this is how you stop it?"
"It's the only way I can think of," she admitted, her voice a cracked whisper.
He looked at her for a long time, pain written plainly across his face. "I want to trust you. I do. But this…" His voice shook. When she she met the blond dwarf's eyes, she saw his own betrayal there. "This is treason in his eyes."
"I know," she said, barely above a whisper.
"Ren, if he finds out…" Fili shook his head, fear on his face. For he was scared what may happen to his aunt.
"He will," she said, already knowing her fate. "But when he does, I don't want to be standing alone."
That silenced them.
She turned to Balin. "You understand, don't you?"
He gave a slow, solemn nod. "The Arkenstone was never just a jewel to him. It's his symbol. His proof."
Ren swallowed. "If I give it to him now, I lose him."
Dwalin stepped forward, voice low. "Then what do you plan to do?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "But I need help. I need someone who will stand with me. Because when the truth comes out, I'll be the enemy in his eyes. And I don't think I'm strong enough to bear that alone."
Kíli looked at his brother. Fíli nodded once, decisive.
"You won't stand alone," Fíli said, resolute. "You're not the only one who's seen the change. We feel it, too."
"I'll stand with you," Kíli added. "Always."
Balin stepped forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. "You did what you thought was right, lassie. That's more than most can say in these trying times."
Ren's eyes flicked to Dwalin.
He wasn't looking at her—he was looking at the ground, jaw clenched. After a long silence, he finally growled, "You should've told us. I'd have tried to stop you. Still would."
"I know," she said.
"I don't like it," Dwalin grunted, his thick brows furrowed deeply. "I don't agree with it."
"But?" Balin prompted, hopeful.
Dwalin gave her a hard look. "But I've watched my brother lose more than one king to madness. I'll not watch it happen again... not without a fight. So I'll stand with you. For now. But if this turns bad—if you're wrong—don't expect me to stay quiet."
"I'm not asking you to," she said.
Relief rushed through her like breath after drowning. She nodded, blinking fast.
"For now, we tell no one," Balin told them all, meeting each of their eyes to make sure they were all in agreement.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Then, a pause.
There was more she wanted to say, her lips loosened with her last secret. She could feel it rising—like a tide swelling too close to the edge. Her hand slowly drifted to her stomach, unconsciously.
Kíli's brow furrowed, noting the strangled look on her face. "Ren?"
She froze.
Fíli's eyes held fast to her face, searching for any clues of what might be ailing her. "Is there something else?"
She opened her mouth.
"I—"
The words hovered. Hung there. But they wouldn't come.
She closed her eyes. Shook her head once.
"No," she whispered. It wouldn't help. Not now. "Sorry, I was just... thinking."
Balin watched her closely. His gaze fell to where her hand lingered on her stomach, then rose to her face—gentler than before, the corners of his mouth softening. He didn't speak, didn't question, but something settled in his eyes: understanding.
When no one else moved, Balin quietly stepped closer. His hand found her shoulder—not just in comfort, but in solidarity. And maybe, unspoken, in promise.
"I'll stand with you, lass," he said lowly. "No matter what comes."
She glanced at him, startled by the weight in his voice, the conviction. But he just nodded once, eyes steady. No push. No judgment.
Only knowing.
Ren walked the cold halls in silence, her fingers brushing the wall for balance as she moved deeper into the heart of the mountain.
The weight of silence pressed heavy against her ears, broken only by the occasional distant drip of water echoing from somewhere unseen. She wrapped her arms around herself, chilled by more than the cold of the mountain. The corridors of Erebor were colder now.
Not just the air—though it bit at her skin—but the silence. It clung to the stones like frost, seeping into her bones as she made her way deeper into the mountain. Past the forges, past the guardposts. Past where reason stopped.
Down into the gold.
She didn't call out. Didn't announce herself. Just followed the dim flicker of torchlight and the faint sound of coins shifting—like something alive slithering in the dark.
The treasure chamber lay before her like a wound.
Thorin had disappeared into the mountain shortly after Bard had left. None of the Company had seen him since but almost all of them could guess where he was. Where he was everyday now.
A faint sound reached her ears and they pricked.
Clink. Scrape. Whispers.
She rounded a wide archway and froze.
Thorin stood in the treasure chamber, a lone figure amidst the sea of gold.
He was turned away, hunched slightly as he sifted through a scattering of coins and heirlooms laid out like a king's grave offering. His hands moved methodically, reverently, eyes darting back and forth—searching for something unseen. Something that might never have existed.
Ren hovered in the archway, caught between stepping forward and fleeing.
The great vault stretched out around him in all directions, glimmering and grotesque. Coins, goblets, filigreed armor, ingots and gems—it was all heaped high like a dragon's nest. The air shimmered faintly with gold-dust and stale breath. Her eyes burned from it.
He didn't see her.
He didn't turn. "It's here," he muttered. "I know it is. They're lying. All of them."
She swallowed, stepping down onto the nearest platform of gold, her boots sinking slightly into the shifting piles.
"Thorin?" she called to him quietly.
He didn't look up. Ren's heart twisted painfully.
"Thorin." she said more firmly, stepping forward out of the shadows and into the glow from the golden hall.
He stiffened, but did not turn.
"Come back with me. Just for a while." She asked him carefully, edging closer. "Let's go take a walk out to the battlements."
"No," he snapped—not sharply, but with a cold edge. "I must find it. They've hidden it. Someone has hidden it." He turned then, and the moment his eyes met hers, her breath caught. They were not the eyes of the dwarf she loved. Where once they had been fierce and noble and storm-bright, now they were clouded, sunken, glittering like wet stone. There was something manic behind them—like fire caught under glass.
"Someone has taken it. Someone… someone has betrayed me."
The words hung in the chamber, thick and poisonous. Ren felt the chill of them settle in her chest.
"Thorin…" she murmured, carefully, her own heart racing, "no one here would betray you."
"Did they send you?" he asked, suddenly. Feverishly. "To distract me? Is that why you're here?"
Her breath caught. "No, Thorin. I came to find you."
He stepped closer, slowly, the firelight playing shadows across his face. "Even you think I've lost my mind."
"No," she said quickly, crossing the space between them. Her hand brushed his sleeve. "I'm afraid. Because I see what this is doing to you."
"It's our legacy," he whispered, as if not hearing her as he gazed through her and looked around the room. "Our right. Everything my grandfather built, everything that was stolen—it must be restored. We cannot be whole until the heart of the mountain is found."
She reached out, took his hand. It was cold. "You are not your grandfather. You've told me that yourself."
She wasn't sure her voice was so convincing.
Ren's heart thudded in her chest when he pulled his hand from her grasp, "They all think they know better. Elves and men and even my kin—but I see it clearly. I see the rot among us."
"Thorin, please," Ren said, stepping into his path. "This isn't about treasure. It's not even about the Arkenstone anymore. It's about you. You're losing yourself."
His face twisted. "You know nothing of what I've lost." He laughed. A hollow, humorless sound. She flinched, just slightly. "I see it in your eyes, Ghivashel. Pity. Doubt. You pity me, just like the rest of them."
"No," Yes. She did pity him but she couldn't let him know that. She shook her head as if to dispel those thoughts. "I'm afraid for you."
He stilled at that. For a heartbeat, something flickered in his expression. Pain. Regret. But then it was gone. "The Arkenstone," he said, stepping toward her. "It should have come to me. It was made for the King Under the Mountain. It was made for me."
She didn't move, though her fingers had curled into fists. Her jaw clenched for a moment and couldn't keep herself from speaking, "...Was it?"
Thorin halted, his darkened gaze falling upon her. "What do you mean?"
Ren took a step forward, the glint of gold warring with shadow around her. "Has anything good ever come from that stone? It seems like, from the moment it was found, only ruin has followed. You watched your grandfather fall to madness. Smaug came. Your people scattered. And now…" She looked around, the overwhelming glint of wealth bearing down on her like a tide. "Now this."
His mouth twitched, the muscles in his jaw clenching.
"It's not a sign of divine right," she continued, voice trembling, but clear. It all made sense now. "It's a curse. One of madness. Of Death. It is not a crown... It is a chain."
His breath quickened, his hands shaking at his sides. "You sound like them," he spat. "Like Bard. Like Thranduil. Like those who want to take what is mine."
"I want nothing from you, especially not that blasted rock," Ren felt her temper growing thin. "Only you—whole, and well. Not lost to this… this sickness."
He moved suddenly, stepping close enough that she felt the heat of his breath upon her.
"This is not sickness," he snarled, though something in his tone cracked. "This is justice. This is the restoration of my people. My line. And you—" his voice lowered, a dangerous softness overtaking it, "—you should be at my side, not spouting poison about our legacy."
He took a few steps away from her, his eyes once again taking in the gold, still subconsciously searching. "I should have never trusted them. I should have never left Erebor in the first place. And you—how long have you been watching me? Judging me? Plotting—"
"Stop it!" she cried, her voice breaking. "This isn't you!"
He whirled on her, eyes alight with a twisted fury. "Then who am I, Ren? Tell me. If you know so well—tell me!"
She stared at him, the man she loved standing inches away, and yet unreachable to her. His face—once so full of strength, of hope—twisted in suspicion and firelight.
Silent tears spilled down her cheeks.
"I don't know anymore," she whispered.
And then she turned and fled. The sound of her footsteps over the gold echoed behind her, chased by the silence he left in his wake. She didn't stop running until the halls grew narrower, darker, safer. And when she finally collapsed against the cold stone, alone and shaking, her hands clutched her belly—protective, terrified.
The stone was cold in her palm.
Even wrapped in velvet, she could still feel the pulsing wrongness of it. It weighed more than its size should allow—not in ounces, but in what it meant.
The Arkenstone. A star fallen to earth. A curse wrapped in beauty.
Ren sat in the darkened hallway just outside their chamber. The mountain felt even quieter than before, as if it held its breath. Or perhaps, she was simply too aware now—of what it meant to betray the one she loved in order to try and save him.
Her fingers tightened around the stone's shape.
Ren closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, her forehead resting on her arms for a moment that lay on her drawn-up knees.
What would you say to me, Mithrandir, if you were here? she thought. Would you scold me for holding onto it? For not acting sooner? Or would you smile in that maddening way of yours and tell me this was always the choice I would make?
She missed him—more than she cared to admit. The wizard's counsel, his quiet support, the way he saw through her masks as easily as her mother ever had. But he wasn't here. He was far away, battling shadows older than time, and this choice was hers alone to bear.
Or maybe not.
Footsteps padded toward her, soft and careful. She was not concerned, though. For she knew who they belonged to. No dwarf walked that lightly.
Bilbo.
He appeared around the bend with his usual hesitant grace, hands tucked into his pockets, eyes casting shadows beneath their worry. His curls were tousled and his expression grave. He carried a small lantern and looked like he hadn't slept in days. When he saw her, he stopped short.
"Ren?" he asked quietly, looking up and down the hallway. "Are you all right?"
She didn't answer for a moment. Her eyes searched his face — the same honest, open face that had defied trolls, stolen from a dragon, and stayed when any sane creature would have fled. He looked tired. Worn down by it all. But his heart was still intact.
She gave him a faint smile. "Master Baggins, I was hoping you'd be the one to find me."
He sat beside her without being asked, drawing his cloak tighter around him against the cold. She was quiet a moment, staring at the velvet bundle clenched tightly in her fist.
"I need your help," she said.
Bilbo blinked, uncertain, eyes shifting to her hand where her own gaze lay. "Anything."
She slowly unwrapped the velvet bundle in her hands.
His breath caught.
"Oh."
The stone shimmered like captured moonlight — milky and smooth, yet glimmering with inner fire. It seemed to glow even in the gloom of the corridor, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Even Bilbo, who'd held it before, was struck anew by its unnatural beauty.
She turned it over in her palm, the light from a nearby brazier catching in its crystalline depths. It shimmered like moonlight on ice, so deceptively beautiful, so terrible in its weight. She could feel the power in it—how it pulled, how it whispered. She finally understood why it had driven Thorin to madness.
Bilbo stared at it, his face twisting into something close to dread. "Thorin's been tearing the halls apart looking for it."
"I know."
She placed the stone into his hands. He looked at her in stunned silence.
"You're giving it to me?"
"I'm giving it to you, Bilbo, because I trust you to do what must be done." Her voice faltered, but she steadied it. "Take it to Bard. Take it to Thranduil. Let it be used for peace. If there's still a chance for this to end without bloodshed, that stone is it."
He looked at her then, a thousand questions in his eyes. But he didn't ask them. Instead, he nodded slowly.
"It's the only way," she murmured. "If Thorin won't yield, then this—this might stop a war."
Bilbo held the gem as though it were a living thing, "He'll never forgive me for it."
"No," she said softly, her hand resting on his arm. "But I will."
He looked up at her, startled.
"You are the only one who can do this," she said. "You can slip past the guards unnoticed. You can end this before it begins. I know that it is a lot to ask of you and that it is scary but… Please, Bilbo…"
Her eyes met his and the tears that the hobbit saw in her eyes tugged on his heart strings.
Bilbo was quiet for a long time, his lips twitching thoughtfully. Then he looked down at the stone again, turning it over in his palm. "I suppose I've done worse things in the name of friendship."
Ren gently squeezed his shoulder in appreciation, "You're doing this for all of us."
He thought for a moment and then looked at her. "And you? What will you do?"
She turned her gaze toward the dark corridor leading to the treasure hoard. "I'll stay. I'll stand beside him."
"Even when he falls?"
Her eyes glistened, but she didn't look away. "Especially then."
The two sat in silence for a moment more, the weight of what they were about to do settling between them like snow. It was all going to change terribly… but hopefully for the better.
Bilbo tuckied it away into the folds of his coat like it was a secret he'd carry to his grave. He took a deep breath and nodded, resolute. "I'll leave before dawn. With the Ring."
Her brows furrowed slightly, but she didn't argue. "Be careful, Bilbo."
"I always am," he said with a ghost of a smile, picking up the lantern he had set aside. He quietly padded off back down the hallway, the light casting eerie shadows upon the walls as he went.
Ren sat a while longer, the brazier's flame dancing faintly at her side. When she finally rose to her feet, it was with the quiet resolve of one who had made peace with heartbreak.
There would be pain in the morning. But for tonight, she had done the right thing.
The first light of dawn cracked over the mountain, but something about it felt wrong. The air snapped and pulsed as if it carried too much weight. She could feel it. Galaren awoke with her heart hammering, a whisper in her blood warning her that something was coming.
She was sitting up by the time Bifur and Bofur burst through the door, breathless and wide-eyed.
"They're here!" Bofur said. "Thranduil's army is approaching from the East!"
Thorin jolted upright beside her, reaching for his coat and boots before he was fully awake. She was just as startled to see him there.
After giving the Arkenstone to Bilbo, the she-elf had returned to their chambers and went to bed. She more often felt exhaustion creep up on her, no doubt the work of the tiny lives growing inside of her.
The dwarf lord must have also given up and slunk back to their rooms at some point.
"Get everyone ready," the king rumbled as he struggled to pull his boot over his foot. "We will meet them at the front gate on the battlement."
Bifur grunted and Bofur nodded before the dwarves were racing back out into the hall. The heavy door shut behind them with a resounding thud.
Ren stayed beneath the furs on their bed a moment, just watching her husband as he struggled to dress quickly. He met her eyes only briefly as he pulled his shirt over his head.
He opened his mouth as if to say something more to her. She wanted him to speak to her. To say anything. To reconcile after last night, after what was said between them in the treasure room.
But he didn't.
She could only watch him go as he rushed silently to the door.
With him gone, she sighed and was up and moving. She quickly dressed, throwing on her tunic and trousers. She moved toward the door, hoping briefly to put on her boots as she went. She grabbed her crimson coat from the hook beside the door and shrugged it on as she rushed into the hall, her feet carrying her quickly through the stone corridors toward the battlements.
Outside the mountain, the two camps erupted into motion. Dain's soldiers scrambled into place. Elven warriors, led by Haldir, moved in silent, graceful precision, like they were one unit. The entire mountain was bracing for a storm.
The Company was also scrambling to armor themselves in what they could find in the mountain. The scene was that of scraping metal, hollering, and beard hair.
Ren was just about to head up to the top of the battlement when, in the flurry of things, Thorin caught her wrist. He was dressed in a fine suit of amor, gold and black. A heavy crown sat upon his head, metallic ravens framing either side of his face. His grandfather's heavy fur cloak still rested upon his shoulders.
"Come with me," he rumbled. "I want to show you something. It won't take long."
She hesitated, head turning back to the daylight that shone in from the maw at the front of the mountain. "Now?"
"Yes," he said, too calmly. "Just a moment."
The queen slowly tried to pull her arm away, wary.
"Please," he begged her and his eyes shone true, "It's important."
She sighed, risking a glance behind her at the battlements before she allowed him to lead her back into the mountain. The halls grew quieter the deeper they went, the sounds of the Company echoing behind them until they were completely absorbed by the stone.
Unbeknownst to them both, their nephew watched as his aunt and uncle disappeared down a hall further into the mountain, a frown marring his features as he strapped a vambrace to his arm.
What could possibly be so important right now?
Thorin himself did not speak as they walked and because of his silence, something coiled tight in Ren's chest.
He stopped before a thick, iron-banded door set into the stone wall. Her brow wrinkled in confusion and she opened her mouth to ask him but he turned back to look at her. There was a strange darkness that had cast itself over his features, his eyes heavy but not because of lack of sleep.
"What are we—"
"I need you safe," he said. "Just until this is over."
Her eyes slid back to the door and the moment she realized what it was, her stomach dropped.
"No," she breathed, taking a step back. "Don't you dare—"
Before she could protest, he lunged at her. Grabbing ahold of her, she tried to twist away from him with all her might. He grabbed her around her midsection and easily lifted her. Ren's hand clawed at his own, a scream of frustration ripping from her lungs as she struggled against him. He began to move toward the cell, his steps awkward and clumsy as she tried to fight him. But he was strong.
She thought she had won a moment as he released her but instead she was being shoved into the dark little cavern. Ren stumbled forward, the stone floor smarting her knees as she collapsed. The elf tried scrambling to her feet but it was all for naught as the torchlight disappeared as the door slammed shut.
An eerie groan echoed through the silence as an ancient lock slid into place.
"No…" she walked up to the door and pushed. "Thorin!" she shouted, her fists pounding the door. "You can't do this!"
Thorin's hand trembled as he pulled the heavy key from the iron lock.
Ren's voice came from the other side, sharp with fury. "Thorin! Open this door! You can't do this to me!"
He flinched, but did not move. His eyes—once warm with stormy sorrow—were now glinting with something colder. Something brighter. A feverish shine, like sunlight trapped in dragon gold.
"I must," he whispered to himself.
He stood still for a long while, listening to her fists thud against the iron, to her breathless cursing and disbelief as she struggled. Slowly, he reached up and touched the wall, as though he could still feel her heat through it.
"You don't understand," he murmured, more to the stone than to her. "They're watching me. Waiting for me to fall. To break."
The fire had crept in days ago—into his dreams, into his spine. It was not heat, but hunger. The weight of the gold. The promise of the Arkenstone just beyond reach. It eluded him like a shadow at the edge of vision. He couldn't find it. And that thought was becoming unbearable.
But Ren… she was here. His queen. Still his. Still bright and furious and beautiful.
But… She would betray him, too—he could see it in the way she looked at him lately. Too much pity. Too much fear. Like she'd already decided he was lost. So he would keep her here.
Safe. Like the treasure she was. His most precious jewel.
"If I cannot have the Arkenstone," he said softly, eyes unfocused, "then I will just have to protect what is mine."
He turned then, the echo of his boots lost in the hum of the mountain's breath. He hung the heavy key on a hook beside the entrance to the dungeon, the ring it was on swinging and casting eerie shadows in the torchlight. Behind him, Ren had fallen silent behind the iron door. The kind of silence that held knives.
Thorin didn't hear it.
The Arkenstone had been carved from the heart of the mountain. And Ren… he didn't know if she'd come from its fire or its light. But if he could not find one, he would not lose the other.
The elleth startled as a near deafening groan rang through the dungeon cell she sat, the iron door beginning to move.
Ren blinked against the sudden spill of torchlight that came through the entrance. Her fists were scraped and aching from pounding the stone, her knuckles red and raw. When the silhouette filled the doorway, for one dizzy second, she thought it might be Thorin come to undo his own madness.
But it was Fili.
His golden hair was tousled from running, his brow furrowed in a storm of confusion and fear as he looked at her.
"Ren," he breathed, stepping inside toward her, eyes wide. "What in Durin's name—what has he done?"
She didn't answer right away. Ren stood on shaky legs but her knees gave beneath her as she exhaled a long, shuddering breath. Fili was at her side before she could fall completely, catching her with steady hands.
"He locked me in," she said at last, voice low and tight. "Told me he needed to show me something. Led me down here like a lamb to slaughter. Then the door slammed shut… and left."
Fili's face was carved from stone.
Ren clutched his arm as he helped her back to her feet. "He couldn't find the Arkenstone," she whispered, hoarse. "So he kept me. Said I was his most precious thing."
Fili's mouth opened as if to speak, then shut again, his jaw flexing with restrained fury. "The gold sickness… Ren. He's not himself."
"I know," she said. "But the others don't. They will after this."
A dull boom echoed from the upper levels down through the halls. Voices. A low roar of a crowd on the brink of something. Fili's head snapped toward the corridor. "They've come," he said. "Thranduil. Bard. They're at the gates."
Ren was already moving.
Her steps were uneven, adrenaline surging through the ache in her limbs, her hand against the wall as they sprinted up the winding path. She had to get there. She had to stop him. She could still see it—the shimmer of sunlight against steel, the tension of drawn bows, Thorin's voice rising like a war cry.
"We've come to tell you a payment for your debt has been offered… and accepted."
Thorin scowled. "What payment? I gave you nothing."
They broke into the light just as the words rang out across the courtyard.
"They have the Arkenstone!" The familiar voice was Kili's from atop the wall. "Thieves! How came you the heirloom of our house?! That stone belongs to the King!"
Ren didn't stop running. She could see the Company now as they stood atop the battlements, looking down upon those outside. Thorin stood on the high wall in the center, bow clenched in hand, face twisted in fury and disbelief.
The elf didn't need to be atop the wall to know what was presented for the King to see.
"And the King may have it," came a voice from outside. Bard. "With our goodwill. But first he must honor his word."
"They're taking us for fools. This is a ruse. A filthy lie. The Arkenstone is in this mountain! It is a trick!" Thorin thundered, his body nearly trembling with rage.
"It's-It's no trick. The stone is real," Bilbo stepped forward, his small shoulders squared, trembling. "I gave it to them," he said.
Thorin turned on him like a beast cornered. "You!"
The hobbit shifted nervously in place but his gaze held firm as he looked at his old friend, "I took it as my fourteenth share."
"You… would steal from me?"
"Steal from you? No… No, I'm a burglar but I like to think I'm an honest one," Bilbo said, "I'm willing to let it stand against my claim."
"Against your claim?" Thorin laughed bitterly and threw down the bow he had in his hand, "Your… claim. You have no claim over me, you MISERABLE RAT."
"I was going to give it to you," the burglar admitted, "Many times, I wanted to but—"
"But, what… thief?"
"You are changed, Thorin," Bilbo came back, surprisingly defensive, "The dwarf I met in Bag End would never have gone back on his word. Would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin. Of his wife."
"Do not speak to me of loyalty." Thorin's eyes blazed, "Throw him from the ramparts!"
The Company standing around Bilbo looked first at the hobbit and then at each other. All of them shifted uncomfortably, their faces hardening as they looked back at their leader.
"Did you not hear me?" He hissed, eyes jumping from dwarf to dwarf, looking for someone to support him. That Bilbo was wrong. That he was in the right. "I will do it myself!
The King lunged forward and grabbed hold of the hobbit's collar. He hoisted him up onto the battlements, the burglar fighting back to keep himself from falling to his death. The dwarves around him also lunged forward to try to stop him, yelling out in concern for their burglar.
"Curse you! Curse be the wizard that forced you on this Company!"
Ren shoved through the crowd.
"Thorin!"
Heads turned. Even Thorin faltered, blinking as he saw her appear on the wall beside him, Fili behind her on the stairs, breathless.
There she stood, clothes and hair disheveled from their fight in the dungeons, fury blazing from her like wildfire. Fili followed behind her, a silent sentinel, hands tense at his sides.
"Enough," she said. "We require peace, not madness. Put the hobbit down."
The crowd hushed.
Below, Thranduil's lips curled in smug satisfaction at the scene unraveling. The proud she-elf, disheveled. The dwarves turning on each other. It was more than he could have asked for.
In a daze, Thorin's hand released Bilbo's coat and the hobbit staggered back, off balance. The queen's eyes hard, she stepped between Thorin and Bilbo, her hand raised to shield the hobbit behind her.
Thorin's eyes narrowed, disbelief gave way to something darker. "You… How did you escape?"
"She didn't," Fili said flatly, stepping forward. "I freed her. After I realized what you'd done."
A tremor rippled through the Company. Dwalin closed his eyes and shook his head.
"I was keeping her safe," Thorin said, voice rising in his own defense. "She is my queen. She belongs here, in the mountain, not parading before elves and men like some...prize."
Ren's expression hardened. "You locked me away like a prisoner."
"He did what?" asked Bofur, his bushy eyebrows rising.
The dwarves around them murmured, shifting uneasily. Some looked to Thorin with uncertainty. Others stared at Ren like she'd risen from the dead. The King turned and looked at the Company and shifted uneasily when he saw their looks of concern and absolute disbelief. Some looked at Thorin like they'd never seen him before.
"She lies," Thorin spat. "You all see it—she lies. You think she stands beside you, but she's always with them, Isn't she? She's with him." His gaze snapped to Fili, a sneer on his lips. "I see how you look at her. How she looks at you."
His gaze turned back to his wife, "You disappear at night—don't think I haven't noticed! You run to him." He reeled on his nephew, "She goes to you in the night, doesn't she?"
Ren's mouth fell open in horror at the accusation, "Thorin—!" Ren gasped.
"Don't deny it!" He stepped threateningly toward his nephew, who did not falter in his stance. Dori and Nori, who were on either side of him, shifted closer to the young dwarf to protect him if need be. "You've always sought to steal what's mine!"
Fili's mouth was pressed into a firm line, his brow set low as he stared back at his elder. "She's your queen," Fili snapped, voice low with warning. "And you are her king. How dare you shame her like this!"
Thorin reeled as if struck.
"You would betray me with my own blood?" he hissed, slowly turning to Ren. "You lie with him? Bear his child?"
The world seemed to hold its breath.
"I am bearing a child," Ren cut in, her voice low and thunderous, shaking with fury and heartbreak.
The silence snapped like ice.
She stepped forward, face ashen but proud, her voice echoing across the stone. "But not his." Thorin's eyes widened. "I am carrying your children, Thorin."
Gasps erupted—audible from both sides of the battle line. Even Thranduil looked shaken down below. Bard's eye eyes were wide as he stared, bewildered by what she had just said. Kili took an unconscious step forward, face pale.
Kili staggered back a step, eyes wide as he looked between them. "Wait—children?"
Thorin stood frozen. His mouth opened, but no words came. The words slammed into him. For a moment, everything else fell away—the gold, the war, the voices—like the mountain itself held its breath.
Balin made a choked sound, his suspicions confirmed. Dwalin bowed his head.
Thorin's hand—just one, trembling—lifted toward her, as if reaching across some impossible chasm.
"Ren…" he breathed. Not in rage. Not in disbelief.
In longing.
In grief.
She watched him crumble in real time. The madness peeled back, and the man beneath—the Thorin she loved—stood there in ruin, gasping like he'd surfaced from drowning.
"My... children?" he echoed, dazed. He never thought he would say the words. His eyes searched hers, frantic, as if trying to find the truth he'd long stopped believing in. "You're lying," he whispered, but his voice cracked.
"I wouldn't lie about this," she said. "Not to you."
He took a step forward, unsteady.
"When?" His voice was hoarse. "How long?"
Ren swallowed. "Since the wedding... I assume. Since before you changed."
"You should have told me," Thorin whispered at last, broken. Childish. "You should have—"
"I tried," she whispered. "I wanted to so many times. But you were already gone. You wouldn't listen. You locked me away. Like I was some prisoner. Like I was nothing."
Thorin flinched, as if she'd struck him. "I was trying to protect you. I thought—" He broke off. His hand reached further. "I would have… I could have…"
"You could have been their father," she said. Her voice cracked. "You still can be. If you let go of this madness. If you come back to me now."
She stepped closer. Her hand rose—toward his outstretched one, the breathless space between them almost bridging.
His fingers twitched.
"I remember the man who would've burned the world to protect me," she said, tears shimmering in her eyes. "The man who would've leapt from these walls to shield his kin. Where is he now?"
"I'm right here," he rasped. "I'm still—"
He stared at her. Torn. Crushed. Something in him shattered. Thorin staggered back a step. His mouth opened, but no words came. For a moment, she saw the haze over him lift slightly, clarity returning to his eyes.
Then came the flicker—that old Thorin, that flickering echo of the man she followed into fire and ruin. It rose in his eyes, trembling, as if trying to break through.
But then... it died.
The gold surged back like a tide, drowning it.
"No," he rasped, shaking his head. "You say this now, to control me. You say this to turn them all against me. You think I will bend for a crown of false hopes and bastard promises—"
"It's not false," she said, softer now, hand over her womb. "I feel them. Every day. You gave them life." Ren continued, voice trembling now"And I just need you to know that everything I have done was to protect you. To protect us. Even now."
A silence fell so complete it crushed the air from their lungs.
"I gave the Arkenstone to Bilbo," she admitted proudly, head held high. "I found it in Smaug's horde. I have had it this whole time."
The madness rushed back with a vengeance.
"You..." His voice cracked into a snarl, his teeth bared.. "You... lying, treacherous whore."
The word cracked across the battlements like a whip.
"You had it!" Thorin bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth. He pointed a trembling hand at her, the veins in his arms standing out like cords. "You had it the whole time! While we bled and starved and fought—you hid it! You played us all for fools!" Thorin's laughter was unsettling. It was a bitter, broken thing. "Protect me? Protect me?" His hands curled into fists, and for a moment—for one terrifying, heart-stopping moment—all those present thought he might strike her."You gave away my right! My birthright! The Arkenstone is mine by blood, and you—you stole it!"
Thorin shook with the force of his fury, his face a rictus of betrayal and heartbreak. "You dare speak of love—you, who has destroyed everything we fought for?"
Ren turned to direct her voice at Bilbo, "Go. Get down from this wall."
He didn't argue. Bilbo gave her a grateful, teary look before grabbing a rope hooked to the battlement and was climbing down. Ren then turned next to the edge of the wall, her hands bracing on the battlements as she prepared to climb the ledge.
"Where are you going?" Thorin rasped.
"Away from this madness," she said as she climbed. "Back to my people."
He reached for her. "You cannot go. You are my wife! You are mine!"
She didn't even look back, "I was never yours to possess. And this mountain was never yours to lose." She turned back once, locking eyes with Thorin—then climbed over the side of the battlement and began her descent.
He lunged forward—only for Dwalin to step into his path, broad and immovable. His friend, his shield-brother, stood between them with a look of grim protectiveness Thorin had never seen aimed at himself before.
"Dwalin," Thorin barked. "Stand aside."
The big dwarf threw out an arm, slamming it across Thorin's chest, holding him back with sheer brute force. He stepped back and searched Dwalin's face. He was taken aback at his old friend's behavior. Surely, he was on his side?
Instead, the large dwarf stayed resolute in his place between them. He stayed in the way as Ren carefully climbed down the rope hanging from the side of the ramparts. Nothing was going to move him at that moment. Not even his king.
"You leave now," Thorin said behind her, voice hollow and raw, "you may as well die with the rest of them."
He strained against Dwalin's hold, raging, snarling like a wounded beast—but Dwalin did not yield.
Haldir met her at the base of the wall as she climbed down, his hands ready to steady her as she descended onto the ground. His eyes were full of questions, but he said nothing. She joined him in silence as Bard approached slowly on his horse, the Arkenstone still in his hand.
The Bowman's face was also clouded with pity toward the woman after the torment he had just witnessed.
He held it out to her.
"Galaren… will you take it?"
The she-elf stared at it for a long moment, contemplatively. Then, she reached forward. The gem pulsed faintly as she took it into her hand.
"It was never the King's stone," Bard murmured. The Company, stiff and grim, stood flanking their king upon the wall, many of their hands upon him to hold him back. "It was the Queen's."
Ren turned toward the mountain gates, lifting the Arkenstone slightly so that all could see it. But her voice, soft and solemn, was meant for one man alone. "You can have both of us back. Me and the Arkenstone. If you give Thranduil the jewels. If you help Dale. If you stop clinging to broken promises and begin making new ones."
There was a pause. Then, Thorin's voice echoed from above like thunder.
"None of them will see a coin. Not one."
Ren's heart cracked, slow and sharp. She lifted her chin.
"Am I not worth more to you than stones and gold?" She felt her eyes grow moist as she looked up at him. She placed her hand over her stomach. "Are… we not?"
A sharp inhale from above. Thorin stepped forward, his lips parting, his eyes fixed on her—no, on her hand. On what it meant. His voice caught in his throat. His hand, trembling, reached out as if he might touch her from that distance. Her name fell from his lips, broken and breathless. "Ren…"
Then he staggered back as if struck, his hand going to his brow. Balin moved toward him, but Thorin shoved him away. His breath came fast, shallow.
"You will lose both of us if you can't fulfill your promises," Ren whispered.
Silence.
"I will have what is mine," Thorin hissed. The words barely reached her. Then louder, firmer, crueler—"I am the King Under the Mountain!"
Below, Ren's voice turned cold, almost pitying. "Any man who must say 'I am the King'... is no true king."
Gasps rose from the dwarves at the wall. Dwalin's jaw tightened. Bofur muttered a curse.
And then she turned her back on him.
Thorin's voice rose behind her, his anger finally boiling over after she had made a fool of him with those words. "You are in league with them, then? So be it. I would just as soon see your body littered on the battlefield with the rest of the elves and men."
The dwarves behind him stirred uneasily. "Thorin, that's enough!" Balin shouted, horrified.
"You don't mean that—!" Kili started forward, but Fili held him back.
She paused. Slowly, she turned, her hand resting on her stomach as her eyes shimmered—more from fury than tears. "I do not know who this King Under the Mountain is…" Her voice trembled. "But he is not Thorin Oakenshield. I mourn for the father my children will never know."
The words struck like arrows. Thorin flinched, then stood taller, his face hardening like stone. The madness surged in him again, devouring what little remained. And then he roared, "I will have war!
She looked at the Elvenking, hoping to exchange a look of dread but instead, Thranduil's expression changed—subtle, but visible to her. His mouth opened slightly as the weight of her revelation settled between them. The daughter of Galadriel, with child by the dwarven king. His shock was a rare, almost human thing.
Ren stood at the forefront, her hair wild and tangled by her struggle with Thorin, her eyes misty and yet she stood taller than any of those present. Beside her, Haldir waited like a blade sheathed in patience.
The thud of hooves broke the stillness between all the parties.
Thranduil approached on his elk, the beast moving into place beside Bard's own horse beside Ren. The King of Mirkwood's expression had changed as he looked down on her with his familiar, practiced disdain.
His eyes flicked down, resting briefly on her stomach. When they met hers again, something darker lingered there—pity, perhaps. Or betrayal.
"You defy your bloodline," he said softly. "Your mother would be ashamed."
"My mother knows nothing of this choice," Ren snapped, steel laced through her voice. "And you know even less of the sacrifices I've made."
Thranduil's voice dropped, cold and cutting. "You carry a dwarven heir beneath your ribs. Do you think that will save them when the tide turns against you? When war swallows this mountain whole?"
Ren stepped forward, slow and deliberate. "What I carry is hope," she said. "And I will raise them in a world where elves and dwarves do not spill each other's blood because old men cannot let go of older grudges."
Beside her, Haldir waited like a blade sheathed in patience.
Thranduil's smile was thin as glass, the elf amused. "So Lothlórien stands with Erebor? Even after all that was said?"
"No," she corrected him. "Lothlórien stands between you. We will not draw blades for either king's pride. But we will draw them against any who threaten the peace we've tried to preserve."
"You would raise your sword against me?"
"I would raise it against madness," she replied, her voice icy. "Yours. Thorin's. My own, if it comes to that. But make no mistake—I will fight if I must."
Thranduil narrowed his eyes.
"If Thorin won't listen, I need you to," a different light entered her eyes then as she stared up at the Elvenking. Pleading. "Please… there is something terrible coming."
"She is right," a familiar gravely voice interrupted.
All heads turned to see a man clothed in gray, a tall hat upon his head walked between the rows of warriors that trode upon the battlefield before the gate. He walked toward them with his staff heavy in his hand.
"Gandalf!" Ren breathed in disbelief, a breathless smile lighting her face.
"Mithrandir?" Thranduil's brow were lifted by genuine surprise.
"There is an army on the march. Orcs. Goblins. Creatures bred only for war and death. They come for all of us. And if we are fool enough to divide ourselves now. We should not waste our strength fighting one another," Gandalf continued, "when a greater foe waits just beyond the hills."
A hush rippled through both armies, both sides shifting at this dark news.
"How do you know this to be true?" Thranduil said, eyes narrowing in suspicion. He exchanged a look with Bard before looking to the she-elf and wizard.
"I have seen it… in the water," she answered earnestly. "As has my mother. That is why the Galadrihim is really here."
"I witnessed the host firsthand," Gandalf replied, "With my own eyes. There's a darkness on the march. An army bred of fire and ash. Orcs, goblins, beasts of the deep. They will be here tomorrow." He swept his eyes across both kings. "If you choose now to draw swords against each other, you sign your own death warrants—and your people's."
The Elvenking looked at Ren for a moment, thoughtfully, before nodding his head slowly, "I will give you one night's reprieve," he said. "As courtesy. Not to Thorin. But to you and your unborn children."
"Thank you," she ground out as she looked up at him. Ren's eyes hardened. "With child or not, I would still see you beneath my blade as the sun rises over the mountain."
Thranduil's smile was faint but venomous. "Take my kindness now while I am still offering it," he said. "Because after the morrow, I will see you delivered to your mother in pieces. Orc army or not."
Galaren's lips twitched with the want to smile. She was beneath his skin now. The Elvenking turned sharply, tugged his reins, and his elk thundered away.
Bard lingered a moment, silent and heavy-hearted. He glanced at Ren, eyes full of silent apology and exhaustion. He did not want to do this. He did not want to be here like this. With a bow of his head, he turned and followed.
Only then did Ren exhale.
"Let him come," she whispered. "Let all of them come."
Only once they were gone did Ren allow her shoulders to ease.
Haldir stepped closer. "You handled him."
"I provoked him," she corrected, running a hand over her wild hair which continued to whip in the breeze. "There's a difference."
"Will he bring his army?"
She stared toward the eastern ridge where the forest met sky, where shadows stirred.
"He will," she said. "Because when the orcs come, even Thranduil will know his crown won't shield him."
Then she turned, wind whipping her coat around her, and walked back to her lines.
The morning would bring war. But for now, the land held its breath.
The air hung thick with tension long after the Company had retreated into the mountain and Dain had ordered his own army back to camp.
Ren dismissed her troops with a few curt, quiet commands, her voice steady—too steady. Her commanders obeyed without question, though many lingered with concern etched across their elegant features. None dared press her.
She didn't speak as she walked through the silver-staked lines of the Lothlórien encampment. The weight upon her shoulders felt heavier with every step.
And then she felt their gazes. It wasn't just the dwarves now that stared at her.
She ignored the looks from her soldiers as she passed through camp, her eyes kept low to not meet their gaze.
The sun had begun to lower behind the mountain's jagged spine, casting Erebor's shadow long across the field. Somewhere in the distance toward Dale, a child cried. Horses snorted. A sword rung as it was sharpened. Hammers still rang through the air.
But Ren heard none of it.
She pushed back the flap of her tent with a trembling hand and stepped inside. The moment the fabric fell shut behind her, the weight she'd borne so gracefully collapsed.
Her knees hit the rug-covered ground.
Her hands flew to her face and the sob caught in her throat so suddenly it felt like she might choke on it. A cry, raw and broken, escaped her as her shoulders curled inward. She clutched at her stomach as if trying to protect the life within her from the pain breaking through her body.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice cracking. "I'm so sorry."
She had stood tall before kings and armies time again before. She had defied her own blood, turned away from the man she loved, handed over a sacred gem in a desperate bid for peace. She had endured all of it.
But here—in the silence of her tent—there was no one left to be strong for.
Not until she heard the shift of boots against grass.
She didn't look up when Haldir entered. He said nothing at first. Just stepped quietly forward and knelt beside her.
She leaned into him without thinking, letting him gather her into his arms like he used to when they were children running through Caras Galadhon's golden trees. He held her, one hand pressed against the back of her head, the other cradling her protectively against his chest. He didn't tell her to stop crying. He didn't speak platitudes or promises he couldn't keep.
He just let her fall apart.
"I can't lose him," she whispered, broken. "Not like this. Not to gold and madness. Not when he's still in there somewhere. I know he is. I saw it."
Haldir rested his chin atop her head. "Then you must keep fighting for him. Even if he forgets himself… you must remember him."
She pulled in a shaky breath, and her fingers curled in the fabric of his tunic. "He locked me away, Haldir. Like a possession. Like one of his treasures."
"I know." His voice was soft but steely. "But you are not a jewel in a hoard, Galaren. You are the flame that lit this alliance. The force that still holds it together. And tomorrow, you will rise again."
She nodded, though her body trembled.
Eventually, the tears slowed. Her breathing steadied. Still, Haldir did not move. He stayed there with her, anchoring her as the world threatened to collapse.
Outside, the camp settled into uneasy stillness. Inside, in the quiet space between grief and resolve, Ren found enough strength to start piecing herself together again.
The fire burned low in the center of the Lothlórien command tent, casting restless shadows that danced like memories across the silk-lined walls. The night beyond had settled into uneasy quiet, broken only by the occasional sigh of wind weaving through the trees and the distant creak of a sentry's shifting armor. The banners outside barely stirred, but the air inside the tent felt thick with portent.
Ren sat curled near the braizier, her knees drawn up slightly, the soft velvet of the robe she wore pooling around her feet. Her armor lay on a table across the room, pieces of silver and gold glinting dully in the flickering firelight. Her hair was loose, a river of moonlight across her shoulders. She had washed the grime and tears away, but not the burden.
Her hands trembled still. From grief. From exhaustion. From fury she could not spend. She stared into the flames as if they held the answers her visions could not give her—some foretelling of peace, of a dawn not drowned in blood.
The flap of the tent stirred with a breeze and a presence.
She didn't turn. She didn't want to.
"May I enter, my lady?" came the voice—gentle, gruff, knowing.
Gandalf.
"You always do, whether you ask to or not," she said, her lips curling faintly despite everything.
A soft chuckle preceded the figure that ducked into the tent. Gandalf looked taller in silhouette, but smaller somehow beneath the weight of the world. His cloak bore ash and travel stains. His beard was tangled by wind. His staff—always a symbol of certainty—seemed heavier tonight.
"You look tired," she said, rising slowly.
"And you look like the wind itself tried to tear you in two," he countered gently.
"You've seen it, then," she said, rising to meet him, the fire catching gold in her hair.
He nodded, his eyes grave as they searched hers. "Bolg leads a Gundabad host. Azog still commands from the mountain's shadow but he will be here. He's alive, Ren. And worse—he has been patient."
"And the others?"
"Not far behind." He paused. "They'll be at our gates within a day."
Ren took a slow breath. She had seen it already in the still water. But hearing it aloud stole something from her.
"Then we don't have time for grief or doubt," she murmured.
"No," he said quietly, drawing closer. "Which is why I came."
From within the folds of his robe, Gandalf withdrew something small, swathed in a soft white cloth. He unfolded it with care, revealing a delicate band of gold, silver, and flame—its center gem pulsing like a living ember.
Narya. The Ring of Fire.
Ren took an unconscious step back. The firelight seemed to draw toward it, as though the ring drank light and returned it purified, refined, resolute.
"Gandalf…" she whispered, her voice caught between awe and fear.
He did not force it into her hand, only held it up to the light between them. "This was given to me long ago by Círdan the Shipwright. He said I would know when it was needed elsewhere."
Her breath hitched. "But this is a Ring of Power—"
"Yes. And no." His eyes were tired but kind. "It holds no dominion. It was never made to rule. Only to preserve. To kindle courage. To resist despair." He turned her hand gently upward and placed the ring in her palm. It settled there with surprising warmth, as though it had been waiting for her all along. "I cannot wield it in battle. Not now. Not as I once could," he said gently, placing it in her palm. "But you… You have fire enough to burn away the darkness for both of us."
She stared down at it, feeling its warmth seep through her skin. It was not a heat of destruction—but of endurance, of resolve. It pulsed like a heartbeat. Steady. Unyielding.
"I am not worthy of this," she whispered.
"You have endured," Gandalf replied. "And that is all any of us can do. You have chosen mercy when wrath would be easier. You've stood alone when others might have bent the knee. And still, you do not abandon him."
She looked up, tears lining her lashes but they did not fall, "He's gone, Mithrandir. I see glimpses, but… the man I loved is lost in shadow."
"Then find him." Gandalf's voice was low, but it carried. "That is what this ring was meant for. Not to burn, but to ignite. Let them see the fire in you. Let it remind them why they fight. Let it remind him who he is."
She stared at him a long moment, then slowly—reverently—slid the ring onto her finger. It adjusted to her hand like it had always been there. The warmth spread, steadying her limbs, quieting her fear. Its presence wasn't heavy—it was anchoring. It wrapped itself around her spirit like a cloak against the cold.
She stood straighter, lifted her chin.
"Good," Gandalf said softly. "You'll need its strength. Tomorrow, there will be no time for doubt. Only choice." He moved to leave the tent but then turned at the last moment.
"There is... one more thing, Galaren."
She looked up.
"You must be ready to lose him."
Silence. Her breath caught.
"But not without trying to save him first," Gandalf finished, and this time his voice was so soft it nearly broke. "You must fight for more than the mountain. You must fight for his soul."
She did not speak. Could not.
He looked over his shoulder—at her and the firelight, at the ring that gleamed on her hand like dawn trapped in gold.
Gandalf turned to go, pausing at the tent's flap, silhouetted by starlight. "When the sun rises, stand tall. Let them see what the fire in your blood was always meant to become."
But before he could step into the night, Ren moved.
She crossed the distance between them in three swift strides, her robe whispering against the floor. She didn't say anything—just wrapped her arms around him tightly, clinging as if the storm within her had finally found its breakwater.
Gandalf stiffened for a breath, surprised. Then, with a quiet sigh, he returned the embrace, pressing one hand gently to the back of her head and the other to her trembling shoulder.
"I thought something had happened to you," she murmured into his shoulder. "You vanished for so long… and I needed you."
"I know, child" he said quietly, his voice rumbling like thunder far away. "I am sorry. The road kept me longer than I wished. But I am here now. And I will not leave again—not until the end."
Her grip tightened for a moment before she slowly pulled back. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry, her breath steadier than it had been all day.
"You're the only one who still calls me 'child,'" she said with a half-hearted smile. "And somehow, it helps."
"Then I shall call you that as long as you need me to," Gandalf said, eyes twinkling despite the weariness in them. "But not forever. One day, you'll be wiser than even I."
"That's not saying much," she teased faintly.
He chuckled and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "You'll do more than light a path, Ren. You'll set the world ablaze—in all the ways that matter."
And then, with the silence of old magic, he slipped out into the night. Ren stood in the quiet once more, the ring warm on her finger, the fire crackling low behind her. But she no longer felt alone.
Ahhh lord. S*** be gettin' real.
The drama ensues.
Since updating, there's been less than 100 people that have even read the new chapters. Disappointing as it is, I am going to finish this story regardless if people are reading it or not.
I'm doing this to finish something I should have done along time ago. I need to give Ren an ending for myself. Thank you for just coming along for the ride.
If you feel inclined and generous, please leave a review to let me know what you think. Coming back has been great but I'm not sure if anyone is really enjoying it.
Love,
Blue