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harperthejay · 3 months

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Secret Ring and Ocean Depths

At the Council of Elrond, Glorfindel suggested that they toss the One Ring into the depths of the sea. After all, had it not been lost for millennia at the bottom of a mere river? Surely the ocean’s waves would hide it for longer, perhaps forever. What would happen if the One Ring was not taken to the fires of Mt. Doom to be destroyed, but instead was thrown into the depths of the sea?

The Council of Elrond

The Council had convened to discuss the fate of the Ring, and indeed of all of Middle-earth. It was hosted by Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, and Erestor, advisor and chief of the House of Elrond. In attendance were: Gandalf the Grey, an Istar, known to the Elves as Mithrandir; Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Ranger and heir of Isildur; Frodo, the Ringer-bearer; Bilbo, the former Ring-bearer and uncle to Frodo; Boromir, son of Denethor, Captain of the White Tower; Glóin, son of Gróin, representative of the Lonely Mountain; Gimli, son of Glóin; Legolas, son of Thranduil, Prince of the Woodland Realm; Glorfindel, former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower; Galdor of the Havens, messenger and representative of Círdan the Shipwright; as well as several other representatives of Men and Elves.

Already had they discussed the history of the Ring, of Isildur’s failure to destroy it in the Second Age, of its subsequent loss and the creature Gollum who had found it before it came into Bilbo’s possession.

Glóin spoke of representatives from Mordor that had come to the Lonely Mountain and threatened King Dáin in search of Bilbo’s location.

Legolas spoke of Gollum’s escape from custody. Aragorn told them that he and Gandalf had found and interrogated Gollum, learning that the creature had been tortured by agents of Mordor and gave up the location of the Shire.

Gandalf told them of Saruman’s lies and betrayal; he had said that the Ring was lost to the seas, though in secret he wanted it for his own motive. They spoke of the nine Nazgul being swept away by the waters of the Bruinen, to trek on foot back to Mordor.

They debated over Tom Bombadil, Iarwain in the Elven tongue, a being older than the Valar, of great power and resistance toward corruption. However, Iarwain’s aloofness to the affairs of the world made him a poor keeper, and it was decided that he would shortly lose or discard the Ring out of boredom.

“If the Ring cannot be kept from him forever by strength alone, two things remain for us to attempt: to send it over the sea to Valinor, or to destroy it,” said Glorfindel.

“Gandalf has revealed to us that the Ring cannot be destroyed by any craft we here possess,” said Elrond. “As to your first point, those who dwell beyond the sea would not take it. For better or worse, the Ring is of Middle-earth, and it is for those who live here to deal with it.”

“Well then, let us cast it into the depths,” said Glorfindel. “Bring truth to Saruman’s lies. He may have been on a crooked path when last he met the Council, and yet in lies, truth can often be found. Saruman knew the Ring would be safe in the sea, which was what made his lies credible.”

“Not safe forever,” said Gandalf. “There are many things in the deep waters, and besides, seas and lands may change.”

“True, the land may rise and the sea may fall, but these things take time,” said Glorfindel. “An Age may yet pass before land and sea are disrupted.”

“It is not our part to think only of a single season, or a few generations of Men, or the passing of a single Age. We should seek a final end to this menace,” said Gandalf.

“And yet you say it cannot be destroyed by any craft we possess,” said Glorfindel. “By what manner should we end the Ring, if not by our wit or craft?”

“The Fire of Mordor,” said Elrond. “Only there may the Ring be destroyed, for there was it crafted.”

“The road to Mordor is long, and ill-fit for travel,” said Glorfindel. “A westward road would find greater success.”

“If the road to Iarwain is too dangerous,” said Galdor, “then flight to the sea would now be drought with great peril indeed. My heart tells me that Sauron will expect us to take the way west, when he learns what has befallen, which he soon will. Only the waning might of Gondor now stands between the Dark Lord and a march in power toward the coasts. And if he assails the White Towers and the Grey Havens, the Elves may have no escape from the lengthening shadow growing over Middle-earth.”

“Long will that march be delayed,” said Boromir. “Gondor may wane, as you say, but still it stands. Even at the end of its strength, it is strong.”

“Understand I mean no offense, son of Denethor,” said Galdor. “But its vigilance cannot keep back the Nazgul, and other roads may Sauron find that Gondor does not guard.”

Boromir considered this, and nodded gravely. “Had we more eyes to watch the roads, I do believe Gondor could hold back Mordor’s forces until we can succeed at our task, whatever it may be.”

“Then,” said Erestor, “we return to yet the same crossroads. Two courses, as Glorfindel has already declared: to hide the Ring forever, or to unmake it. Both may be beyond our power, and yet one must be chosen. Who will solve this riddle for us?”

“There are none here that can,” said Elrond, despair hinting at his features. “At least none can foretell what will come to pass, if we take this road or that.”

After a long silence, Aragorn stood to speak. “I believe that it is unwise to ignore the wisdom of Gandalf. It is he who brought news of the Ring to our attention, and he who endeavored to bring the Ring here, for the Council to tend to. If he says that the sea is not a fitting hiding place for the Ring, that we should destroy it instead, then I agree.”

Gandalf simply nodded.

Glorfindel motioned for Aragorn to sit, and he did. “I understand your concern, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. And I do not dispute Mithrandir’s advice easily. But I believe to travel into Mordor with the Ring is a doomed cause, and I cannot support a doomed plan, however wise its planner may be.”

Another silence followed, as eyes glanced between Gandalf and Glorfindel, two ancient figures of legend, wisest among the Wise. Finally, Boromir spoke again. “One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. The very air is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you reach the Fire.” All gathered stared at him, save for Gandalf, nodding at his words. “I say again, had we more eyes for the roads, I believe Gondor could stem the tide of Mordor’s troops.”

“I could attempt to make contact with the Rangers that had guarded the Shire,” said Aragorn, “though they were driven off by the Nazgul and may have perished. Those that remain could aid in patrolling the roads that Gondor cannot.”

“If Gondor’s strength could indeed stand against the Dark Lord’s own, then perhaps a westward journey may yet be open to us,” said Galdor. “Though we must still act with great care, whatever our destination. The Nazgul will not be without steeds for long.”

“Should Sauron move toward the western coast, the North-South Road leading to The Green Way is the route he is most likely to take,” said Boromir. “Yet still should the southern and northern ways be guarded, as the enemy is resourceful and not one to ignore opportunity.”

“Let Sauron move west, I say,” said Gandalf, “while we proceed under cover of uncertainty into the heart of Mordor to destroy the Ring before he can reach the White Towers.”

“I am truly sorry, Mithrandir, but I cannot support this plan,” said Glorfindel. “Let Gondor hold back the Dark Lord’s armies while we whisk away the Ring to hide in the depths of the sea.”

Boromir nodded. “Whatever is decided, Gondor will stand until it can stand no longer.”

A tense moment passed as eyes moved between Gandalf and Glorfindel, before all in attendance looked to Elrond.

“There is no road which is most obvious, or easiest,” said Elrond. “And while both courses are dangerous, I believe that Glorfindel’s carries less danger. Often have the Elves taken the road west, and the road east is unforeseen, and full of peril. Therefore, it seems clear to me that the journey westward to the sea must be the choice. There lies our hope, if hope it be. We must cast the Ring into the sea.”

Silence fell again, and all could hear the noise of clear waters in the sunlit valley. Finally Boromir stood, the silence breaking with his voice. “I do not understand this. Saruman is a traitor, but did he not have a glimpse of wisdom? I had a dream. In this dream, I saw the eastern sky grow dark. In the west, a pale light lingered. A voice was crying, ‘your doom is near at hand!’ Why hide the Ring away, when it could serve us in this very hour of need? Surely that is the Dark Lord’s greatest fear, that we would turn his creation against him. Gondor is valiant and will not submit; let the Ring be our weapon, if it has such power as you say!”

“Alas, no,” said Elrond. “We cannot use the Ring in this way. It belongs to Sauron, and was made by him alone, a thing of evil and darkness. Its strength is too great for anyone to wield, save those who already have great power of their own.” His eyes briefly fell to Gandalf, and Glorfindel. “But for them, it holds even deadlier peril, for it corrupts the heart. Consider Saruman, one of the strongest among the Wise, who yet fell to the Ring’s influence. If any should overthrow the Dark Lord with the power of the Ring, they would set themself upon Sauron’s throne, and become yet another Dark Lord.”

“And while we bicker amongst ourselves,” Gandalf said with a heavy sigh, “Sauron’s power grows.”

Glorfindel nodded slowly, his lips tight and his eyes dark. “That is why the Ring must be hidden away; as long as it is within Sauron’s grasp, it is a danger even to the Wise. Nothing is evil in the beginning. Even Sauron was once not so. I fear even the journey to hide the Ring; I would not take the Ring to wield it.”

“Nor I,” said Gandalf, his gaze lost in the distance.

Boromir looked between them glumly, and bowed his head, sitting. “So be it. We will trust the weapons we have, and while the Wise guard this Ring, we will fight on. Perhaps the hand that wields the Sword-that-was-Broken has inherited the sinews of the Kings of Men, and not only the heirloom.”

“Perhaps,” said Aragorn. “We will put that to the test one day.”

“May the day not be too long delayed,” said Boromir. “For though I do not care to ask for aid, we need it. It would comfort us to know that others fought with all of their means, as we do.”

“Then be comforted,” said Elrond. “There are other powers and realms that you know not, hidden from you, but fighting all the same. The Wise work toward the same end, even if we do not always agree.”

Gandalf’s gaze pulled back to the Council, to Elrond. “It is true. I do not think it shrewd to carry the Ring to hide in the sea, but nor will I work against it. I only hope you are correct to choose such a course, lest we all fall under darkness.”

“I appreciate your candor,” said Glorfindel, “and I will always appreciate your wisdom, Mithrandir. I believe that the Dark Lord, though he has a wisdom of his own, judges all hearts against his own desire for power, for aggression. He may yet expect the Ring to take hold of one of the Wise, as the thought will not enter his mind that any could refuse its power. If we continue to fear and respect that power, I believe we will avoid Sauron’s detection.”

“At least for a while,” said Elrond. “The road must be trod, but it will be very hard. And neither strength nor wisdom will carry us far alone. But for now, we must choose the custodians to be sent with the Ring, for they will be our salvation.”

No one answered. The noon-bell rang, and still no one spoke. Frodo glanced at all the faces, but they were not turned to him. The Council sat deep in thought. A great dread fell on him, as if he was awaiting a proclamation of doom that he vainly hoped might never be spoken. He longed to rest and remain at Bilbo’s side in Rivendell, but he knew this could not be. At last, with an effort, he stood and spoke. “I will take the Ring to the sea. Though I do not have a ship.”

Elrond raised his eyes and looked at him. “If I understand all that I have heard, then I think this task has been appointed for you, Frodo, and that if you cannot find a way, no one will. This is the hour of the Shire-folk, when they will rise from their quiet fields to shake the towers of the Great and Wise. But it is a heavy burden, one that I cannot lay on you against your will. But if you take it freely, I will say that your choice is right, and that you deserve a seat among the Great and Wise yourself.”

Glorfindel stood and placed his hand on Frodo’s shoulder. “I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear.”

Galdor stood next, holding his clenched fist over his heart. “I believe it is the song of Illuvatar that guided me to you, Frodo Baggins. I will lend you a ship, and I will sail with you until the deed is done.”

Legolas stepped beside Galdor, mimicking his motion with a fist over his heart. “And I will lend my bow.”

Gimli hopped to his feet, not to be outdone by the Elves. “And I will lend my axe!”

Galdor and Legolas shared a sigh. Gimli grunted.

“You carry the fate of us all, little one,” said Boromir. He stood slowly, resting his hand on the sword at his belt. “If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done. I will lend you my sword.”

“And you won’t go anywhere without me, by boat or by land!” cried Sam, unable to contain himself any longer, and jumping up from the corner where he had been quietly hiding.

“No indeed!” said Elrond with a mirthful laugh. “You at least shall go with him. It is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not.”

Sam sat beside Frodo, blushing and muttering. “A nice pickle we have landed ourselves in, Mr. Frodo!”

Frodo smiled at Sam, though could not shake the dread that fell deep inside. He turned to Gandalf. “What will you do, Gandalf?”

Gandalf gave Frodo a tired smile, reaching out to touch his shoulder as he stood and leaned on his staff. “I have work to do elsewhere to give this quest a chance at success. I wish you luck, Frodo Baggins. You truly are the best of us.”

Aragorn stepped to Gandalf’s side. “I will accompany you south, Gandalf,” he said before turning to Boromir. “You have my word that Gondor will receive the aid of the Rangers, and the heir of Isildur.”

Boromir smiled, and the two clasped hands. “Gondor thanks you.”

Aragorn looked at the Hobbits with a warm smile. “Best of luck, Frodo. Sam, you watch over him.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Strider, sir,” said Sam, his arm around Frodo’s shoulders. “He won’t leave my sight.”

Gandalf chuckled quietly and said to Elrond, “perhaps this plan may yet succeed.”

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legolasbadass · 2 years

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Heart of Gold, Chapter 24

Characters: Thorin, Dis, Thrain, Dwalin, Balin, Original Characters

Relationship: Thorin x OFC

Setting: Post Azanulbizar, Pre Quest of Erebor

Notes: Hello everyone and once more apologies for the delay! I rewrote this chapter a dozen times and I'm still not sure about it, but as I have a lot of plot to get through, I thought it would be best to get over my insecurities and just share it with you before you all lose interest in the story! As usual, there is angst in this chapter, but this angst turns into something different at the end ...

This is the 24th chapter to my Thorin Oakenshield fan fiction, Heart of Gold which can be read in full on ao3. Go check it out there to read from the start! Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed this chapter and if you are enjoying the story so far!

⚠️ Warning: Angst. Minor descriptions of birth (the act itself is not detailed at all though, and there is only one sentence mentioning blood!)

Word Count: 5.6k

Chapter 24 - Duty

In the following days, Dania did everything she could to avoid Ester, for she did not have the strength to face her without unleashing the extent of her outrage. As much as it dismayed her, Dania had accepted that Dís was right: she could not expose Ester. That would only bring more suspicion to her. How did she know Ester was to blame? And more importantly, why would Ester do such a thing? These questions Dania could not answer without exposing the very secret that lay at the heart of this whole mess.

In any case, who would believe Dania, the girl with elvish blood, over Lady Ester?

And so Dania spent all the time she was not taking care of Dís away from Lord Yngvi's court. She began to spend even more time with Master Gróin, but on days where he did not expect her, she tried everything that had worked in the past to rid herself of the horrors that plagued her mind: going for long walks in the woods, reading a book or studying ancient maps, or training, as she did now.

But today, she found that she could not concentrate, no matter how hard she tried. Arrow after arrow, Dania missed the makeshift target she had traced into a tree's bark, growing increasingly frustrated. Nothing. Nothing allowed her any respite so that now her whole body tingled irritatingly with the weight of her disquietude, for though her mind knew what had to be borne, her heart still could not believe it.

What kind of world would allow Ester to walk free? Ester did not merely need to be punished; she deserved to be destroyed, and Dania wanted to be the one to do it. All Dania wanted to do was rip those dainty gloves from her traitorous hands and tear her stupid embroidered gown to pieces.

Oh, Mahal, there was so much anger inside Dania, the likes of which she had never felt before. It practically made her dread Thorin's return, for if she was the reasonable one of the two, she could not even imagine the rage that would burst from him when he discovered the events that had occurred in his absence. And she could barely contain herself now; how was she supposed to remain passive when Ester would throw herself at Thorin upon his return?

With a sudden, furious cry, she cast away her bow and unsheathed her dagger and threw it at the tree, where it landed straight on the makeshift target.

"I'm curious to know what the tree did to deserve that."

Dania's hair swirled around her burning face as she spun to face the intruder. Her heartbeat slowed as she recognized Master Airi—one of Lord Yngvi's advisors—but her shame and embarrassment did not. He was dressed more casually than when she had last seen him, his courtly attire replaced by a more simple and comfortable brown tunic and trousers nearly the same colour as his umber hair and beard.

"How long have you been watching me, Master Airi?" she questioned in a wary voice as she moved to dislodge her dagger from the tree, her eyes never leaving his figure. It was not so much that she saw him as a threat—quite the contrary—but the last few days had made her increasingly distrustful.

"I've told you already, please; call me Airi," he said with a warm smile.

She wrapped her fingers around the dagger's hilt and pulled it so that it came out of the trunk with a soft crunch. "Alright, then. How long have you been watching me, Airi?"

"Only a few moments," he shrugged. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine," Dania answered curtly, then sighed. She was being exceedingly rude, and he did not deserve that. "I'm sorry; you took me by surprise, that's all."

"My apologies!" Airi said, raising both hands in the air. Dania quickly sheathed her dagger. "I like to walk in these woods from time to time, and then I heard sounds and . . . well, I found you."

"I didn't mean to disturb you," Dania apologized as she picked up her bow and quiver and slung them on her back.

"No, I—you didn't—that is, would you like to walk with me?" he asked, stumbling over his every word, and Dania realized that she was probably glaring at him.

Softening, she offered him a smile. "Alright."

It was mid-morning, and as they reached the edge of the woods, the Sun blessed the land with her mantle of burning gold. Dania still had not adapted to the torrid summers to which the South was subjected. Back in Erebor, summers were always mild; it was warm, even at night, but never to the extent where a simple walk rendered her sweaty and breathless, as she was now.

Ahead, the small camp that lay before the walls of Lord Yngvi's Halls was slowly coming to life. The sound of a few children playing and running around reached Dania's ears, conjuring a smile on her tired face.

"So, how does Lady Dís fare?" Airi suddenly asked, reminding Dania of the nightmares that had yet again plagued her last night. She was pinned against a wall as the strange man held her forcefully, her whole body aching under his malicious touch. Eventually, she would find the strength to push him away, but as soon as she did, he turned his attention to Dís.

"She's alright—she's strong."

"I don't doubt she is; the blood of Durin flows through her veins," Airi said solemnly. "They must be immensely grateful for what you have done—the royal family, I mean."

"What makes you say that?" Dania asked, frowning as they passed the first tents. They walked through a small alley, ducking beneath clotheslines, before reaching the main path through the camp. Many were just starting their days and preparing breakfast over fires, making it even hotter.

"You were the only one with Lady Dís at the time of the attack," he explained. Dania's frown deepened. "Rumours travel fast."

"Tell me about it," Dania sighed.

"Oh, I didn't mean it in a critical way," Airi said, shaking his head repeatedly so that the braids hanging from his moustache swung to and fro like a pendulum. "I have never met a lady who could defend herself like that. I mean, everyone knows the basics, but . . . that's very different from being in an actually dangerous situation!"

Unsure what to make of the awe in his voice, Dania merely said, "Well, living on the road, in exile, is very different from life at court. It forces you to become . . . stronger." Stronger was not the right word; it was more about learning to bury your weaknesses deep inside you. Otherwise, the atrocities you witnessed might consume you whole. But Dania kept this to herself.

"I imagine it's not always easy," Airi replied, "but, I still wish I could see the world; there's so much out there that I know nothing about—that we know nothing about."

"But you are a member of Lord Yngvi's council; you must have worked hard to get there at such a young age. Was that not your aspiration?" Dania asked with genuine curiosity.

Airi shook his head slowly. "That's what my father wanted for me. He died at Azanulbizar . . . Lord Yngvi chose me as his replacement after the war."

Cold seeped into Dania's bones even though the Sun continued to burn with intensity overhead. "Oh, I'm — I'm so sorry. . . ."

Airi shrugged. "We have all lost people we cared about dearly because of that battle."

She nodded absently, her grief turning words to ash in her throat. Thoughts of Frerin slipped through the cracks in her heart, making her whole body tighten. It was all slipping away; his voice, his laugh . . . even though it had not yet been a year since she saw him last.

They said their goodbyes soon after, and upon Airi's request, Dania promised him they would walk together soon and that he could give her a tour of the library—she had not the heart to tell him she had been several times before already. Then, after dropping off her bow and quiver in her tent—she could risk leaving them in her room inside the hall—she made her way toward Master Gróin's.

A small smile appeared on her face as she entered the colourful tent; the smell of chamomile, garlic, and eucalyptus—though a strange and unexpected brew—calmed her troubled mind almost immediately. She was still uncertain whether she wanted to become a healer; helping people warmed her heart, but too often, she was forced to be the bearer of bad news, and she was not sure how much longer she could bear it. Nevertheless, she was eternally grateful for Master Gróin's kindness and support, and she gained invaluable knowledge that made her fond of this place despite everything.

"Are you alright, dear?" Master Gróin asked, turning his attention away from the open cabinet to face her. He had an almost supernatural ability to read his patients' minds—and hers, apparently—but she shrugged it off, not wanting to concern him needlessly.

"Of course!" she said with a smile. "And how are you?"

He watched her for a moment more before a smile crept beneath his thick white beard. "Eager to get on with today's lesson—as I hope you are?"

Her smile widened, and this time it was genuine. "Always!"

"I prepared something fun for you," he said, moving to the other end of the table, covered with a white cloth, which he then pulled away to reveal a variety of herbs and empty jars. Resting her hands on the table's wooden surface, Dania looked up to him, awaiting explanations. "We have few appointments today, so I thought I might test some of your knowledge in the meantime.

"This is our new stock of herbs; you need to identify them with as little help as possible and store them in the right jars. Do you understand?" Dania nodded emphatically, determined not to use any help. "Good. Use that clever nose of yours," he chuckled as he moved back to the other side of the tent, "I'll be right here if you need me."

"I won't," she replied with a teasing smile, pulling a hearty laugh from Master Gróin.

Unfortunately, Dania barely had time to begin before three dwarves walked in, one of whom was a very pregnant dwarrowdam, who moaned and hunched over while another—presumably her husband—held her protectively.

"Mistress Signy?" Master Gróin said as he took a step toward the newcomers.

"Master Gróin, please; she cannot be in labour — she's not due for weeks!" the husband exclaimed, clearly distressed.

"Yes, that can happen," Master Gróin said, remaining calm despite the rapidly growing tension in the tent. "Mistress Signy, you should sit down," he added, pointing to a chair in front of the open cabinets. "When did the contractions start?"

The husband and companion looked on helplessly as Master Gróin led Mistress Signy to the chair. Another pained moan escaped her lips, then, panting heavily, she said, "they started no more than an hour ago."

"Right. Well, you have quite a way to go, then," he said, nodding to himself as he completed a few observations. "Dania?"

Up until this point, Dania had been standing frozen on the spot, trying to make herself as small as possible to ignore how helpless and confused she felt. 'Yes?" she said hesitantly.

"I'm going to need your help—"

"What?" she exclaimed in a high-pitched voice, suddenly feeling very faint and very nervous.

"You'll have to assist me—it's alright," he added quickly as she continued to stare at him with wide eyes. "Just start with clearing the table; we need to make some room."

"Er, alright," she mumbled, turning her back to the newcomers to focus on clearing the table. The herbs and jars that had seemed so important mere moments ago now felt like silly toys, and she tossed them into the cabinet with shaking hands. She felt so utterly foolish for not having foreseen this, but she had never imagined such a task would be expected of her. And while earlier she had been remarkably eager to prove herself, now she rather hoped Master Gróin would dismiss her for the day.

He did no such thing, and it was a terribly long day.

It did not take long to clear the space and clean everything they would need. Afterwards, all she had to do was wait—she wondered why no one had ever told her that giving birth was so long. But then, as Mistress Signy's contractions multiplied in frequency and agony, Dania realized that giving birth was not only a miracle but also a curse.

Dania was surprised when Master Gróin dismissed the husband and his companion; if she had been in his position, she never would have wanted to leave her wife, but he did not seem to mind. This would be their first child, Mistress Signy told Dania with a fond smile as the latter helped her make slow circuits around the tent, pausing when as a contraction struck, going on when it ceased. Despite the sweaty wrinkles on her brow and the clenching of her belly, hope shone in Mistress Signy's eyes, and longing settled in the pit of Dania's stomach once more.

But this was not the time to think about her fickle dreams, and soon Dania could think of nothing other than the headache pounding in her head in response to Mistress Signy's screams. Dania could not wait for it to stop. Mistress Signy's pale blond hair was soaked with sweat by this time. Rushing to gather clean cloths to soak in cold water in the hopes of granting her some relief, Dania was startled to see the dark stain of blood between Mistress Signy's thighs. Bile rose in her throat, but Master Gróin nodded reassuringly.

"Don't worry—it's all right," he said. "It's only when the blood is bright red and there's much more than this, that you need to worry."

Dania nodded, but she could not shake off her discomfort—discomfort that soon turned to distress when, despite Master Gróin's reassurances, things took a turn for the worse.

Dania could not describe what happened nor how; all she knew was that she felt utterly drained and her hands were soaked in blood, and regardless of how strongly she had wanted the screaming to stop, she missed it terribly when it ceased. There was no time to linger on it at first, for the baby wailed with vitality, unaware that his coming into the world was tainted in grief. Dania had never held a baby in her arms before, and as she gently wiped the fluids that covered him, still shaken and slightly dazed, she could only think of how his delicate body seemed to be a reminder of the fragility of life.

The sky was steeped in the evening sun's gentle blood when Dania stepped out of the tent. No words had come from her mouth yet when Mistress Signy's husband turned pale and rushed inside. His cries tore through the quiet night, causing the baby to wriggle and wail with renewed vigour in her arms. Could he sense his father's pain? Could he sense that void he would carry with him for the rest of his life? Dania did not know how to make his crying cease, but of course, she was not his mother. Remembering the hope in Mistress Signy's eyes, Dania's heart tightened, and for a moment, she felt as though the baby in her arms could feel her consternation. What a cruel fate! What kind of world took mothers away from children who needed their loving embrace more than anything?

The same world that allowed Ester to walk free despite her transgressions, came the reply from deep within her heart.

***

Thorin heaved a heavy sigh as he slumped against a fallen tree trunk, utterly spent after another endless day of travelling. The heat did not help; he could feel it all around him, even at night, pressing down on him no matter how many layers of clothing he shed or how much water he poured over his head. Part of him wished they could slow down or rest without having to rise before dawn—but at least this haste meant he would see Dania soon.

Dania.

He missed her so much his entire body ached with longing. They had been apart for a little more than a month and looking back, Thorin wondered how he had survived even one day. But, at least time went by quickly, for there was much to be done. Following the maps Dania had retrieved for them in Galtrev, Thrain's company had travelled towards the southwest for a few days until they reached the ruins of what appeared to be a massive arch between two boulders. On the arch were ancient runes; they had faded over the centuries, but they unmistakably marked this as a gate.

And so the dwarves had ventured forth and soon found themselves before the ruins of the ancient dwarf kingdom of Belegost*—though, at the time, they could not know this for a fact. At once, Balin was enthralled and furiously began to take notes. Thorin could not understand what he saw in the rubble of stones that surrounded them, but Balin's reaction told Thorin that he had better pay attention so that he might recount their findings to Dania as soon as he saw her.

The city—which could really no longer be called a city—was in such a poor state that it was dangerous to venture inside. However, the discovery gave them all hope. It would be a long and arduous process to resettle here, but at least they would not have to start from nothing. Most of the passages were completely sealed off, but all they needed was a warm, safe place before winter came along. With time they would rebuild a small hall from the remains of the ancient city and perhaps even prosper once more.

However, it quickly became evident that they would need more hands to secure the hall. Leaving half of their group behind to continue their work, Thrain led the others back to Lord Yngvi's Hall to bring the rest of their clan to their new settlement. They could not be more than two days away from Lord Yngvi's Hall now.

Thorin was grateful to finally have a moment to himself, and, trying to forget the heat and the ache in his feet, he closed his eyes and thought of Dania. Every night since they had parted, he thought of her. He could feel her hands holding his, smell that sweetness that was uniquely hers, and gaze into her beautiful face as though she were really before him. Her brown eyes always sparkled like a glittering cave of mithril as she leaned in to kiss him with lips of velvet. And the way she wrapped her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair. . . .

Mahal, being away from her was unbearable. Thorin could scarcely believe it had not yet been a whole year since they had first confessed their love for one another. Despite all the obstacles, everything felt so right when they were together; it was as if they had always been lovers—husband and wife. Of course, they had been friends for years before, and Thorin had known he loved her through much of that time. He could not remember precisely when he had fallen in love with Dania; it had been a gradual but inevitable process until he could not imagine his life without her.

But this was also what made it all so difficult; most of the time, he had to be away from her and pretend like it did not bother him. Worst of all, however, was when they found themselves in each other's presence and had to act like they were nothing but acquaintances. Adversity was all too familiar to Thorin, yet he could not help but despair at how unfair it was. Dania was his wife. His One. They had found happiness despite all their hardships in the few days before they had parted. He had made her smile, laugh, and sigh in pleasure, as was his duty and desire. And yet, he felt unworthy and disappointed in himself every time she slipped from his bed before dawn.

Amidst the sounds of the bustling camp, Thorin recognized Dwalin from his steps and the grunt he let out as he sunk beside him, but he did not open his eyes.

"It's no rare to see ye with such a frown on yer face lately," Dwalin said, causing Thorin's frown to deepen. "But, Mahal, Thorin, ye look like ye've got a stick up your arse."

If anyone else had told him that, they would have been lying face down on the ground in no time, but since this was Dwalin, Thorin only stared at him and raised his eyebrows, hoping that would be enough to make his friend retreat. But it was not.

"What? It's true," Dwalin insisted, as though he did not understand precisely what look Thorin gave him.

"I am fine."

"I didna ask." Thorin raised his eyebrows again as he turned to face Dwalin, who burst out laughing and said, "Mahal, I'm only kidding! But yer lying."

Thorin sighed. Dwalin had no idea just how many things Thorin lied about, and even less so how much Thorin wished he could tell him the truth. Dania was the one who knew him best, and that had been true for many years now. He remembered the long nights they spent in the armoury in Galtrev; they talked about everything, from their days to complaining about their fathers or reminiscing about their childhood in Erebor. They were closer than ever before now, yet there were things Thorin felt he could not tell Dania. He would have been lying to himself if he did not admit it. And then he saw how much it heartened Dania to be able to share everything with Dís, and though he felt selfish and immature for feeling so, he was jealous.

"Do you ever . . ." Thorin trailed off as he realized how ridiculously melancholic his thoughts were, but then as Dwalin insisted he speak, he forced himself to go on. "Do you ever feel as though you have no control over your life?"

"What do ye mean?" Dwalin asked, a concerned frown marking his face.

Tilting his head, Thorin swallowed hard. "Everyone expects different things from me—great things—but they never stop to ask themselves what I want."

"Well, I suppose sometimes things dinna work out the way ye wish they would, aye," Dwalin said hesitantly. "Ye cannae win every fight—ye'll have to fight someone else if ye want to win for once."

Thorin chuckled, his fingers fiddling with the hilt of his sword, Deathless, which hung by his waist, but he was in no mood to jest. Moonlight enveloped the camp, and overhead, an owl hooted, perched atop a branch as though the world belonged to him.

Dwalin was right: it was hard to encounter a reality that did not satisfy one's expectations, but so far, he and Dania had simply assumed that things would never work in their favour. Thorin wanted the whole world to know they belonged to each other—inasmuch as one person could belong to another, anyway—and though he knew the chance of that ever becoming a reality was slim, did that mean it was useless to try?

The truth was that Thorin was terrified. He had insisted that there was a chance for them on more than one occasion, but as long as their love remained a secret, that chance could not be definitely destroyed.

Or so he had thought.

He would never have expected his father to begin talking about marriage so soon. Dwarves seldom married before they were one hundred years old, and being only fifty-three, Thorin had been sure that many, many more years lay before him until his father would start bothering him with the idea. But now, his father wanted him to marry Ester, that vile creature who had spoken so foully to Dania. Unconsciously, Thorin tightened his grip on his sword, only realizing when a voice pulled him from the dark recesses of his mind.

"My Lord Thorin," Master Mimir said as he bowed before Thorin, who quickly raised himself.

"Master Mimir," Thorin said. He always felt a slight unease around Dania's father, mainly because Master Mimir had always been very kind to him, as though he understood what it was like to be forced into unpleasant situations in the name of duty. And how had Thorin repaid him for his kindness? By secretly wedding his only daughter.

Thorin bit his cheek; he could not think of Dania as such in Master Mimir's presence. It felt wrong. So wrong. And yet, as they looked at each other, Thorin could not help but think about Dania. They did not share many physical attributes, but they had the same chestnut-coloured hair, though Dania's looked much softer, and his was streaked with gray. They were also roughly the same height, but perhaps this was due to her Elvish ancestry, for Dania was tall for a Dwarrowdam. Still, she was short enough that she could tuck her head in the crook of Thorin's neck when they hugged. Oh, how he adored that!

Stop thinking about her, he chastised himself.

"The king would like to speak with you," Master Mimir said. "He was expecting you half an hour ago," he added, but his tone was apologetic rather than reproachful.

Groaning, Thorin said, "I completely forgot—I hope he is not too displeased?" He nodded to Dwalin before following Master Mimir toward his father's tent.

"He's in a good mood today," Master Mimir replied, though his voice grew weary. Thorin knew why: in the past month, it had become a habit for his father to explode in rage before his advisors at the slightest inconvenience. He had even shouted at Thorin a few times, something he had not done since Thorin was a little boy and had snuck into the armoury unsupervised. Despite how hard Thorin tried to reassure himself, he recognized the signs. But how? How could his father be slowly succumbing to the same sickness which had taken his grandfather if the treasure lay half a world away?

No answer came, and Thorin chased the question away as they entered the tent. Thrain stood in the middle, his eyes fixed on the maps laid out before him on a large rock until he looked up to the newcomers.

"Thorin, there you are!" Thrain said with a warm smile.

"Father," Thorin greeted him, smiling in return. "I apologize—"

"There is no need to apologize, son," Thrain reassured him, and Thorin—like a little boy desperate to please his father—felt his heart lighten considerably. "Thank you, Mimir."

Thorin nodded in thanks to Master Mimir before the latter stepped outside, leaving father and son alone. Thrain continued to smile at him and said, "We should be reaching Lord Yngvi's Hall tomorrow just before dusk if we wake before dawn and keep our current pace."

"That is good news," Thorin replied, thinking of his mother and sister, and above all, Dania. Only a few more hours until he held her in his arms again!

"I expect you to be well-rested and presentable," Thrain said, alluding to Thorin's slightly dishevelled appearance—a completely normal effect of travelling in the wild.

"I highly doubt Lord Yngvi will mind if we arrive on his doorstep looking a little worn out, father."

"It is not Lord Yngvi I am concerned about."

Thorin froze.

"Lady Ester will be delighted to see you after so long," Thrain went on, oblivious to the turmoil raging inside Thorin as Dania resurfaced in his mind.

"That will make one of us." The words were out of Thorin's mouth before he realized it.

Thrain's eyes narrowed as he rested a heavily ringed fist on one of the maps. "I beg your pardon?"

Thorin momentarily closed his eyes and sighed. "I am sorry, it is only that—"

"She likes you," Thrain said flatly.

"She likes the idea of me," Thorin corrected him, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Even so, it is an advantageous marriage. You would do well to remember that."

"Advantageous for you, perhaps, but certainly not for me," Thorin retorted bitterly. He could tell that his father was growing impatient, but there was nothing to be done; he could not take back his words. In any case, he did not want to take them back.

"Thorin, we must all make sacrifices to preserve the integrity of our house," Thrain said, accentuating his words with a bang of his fist on the rock. "You are my heir; you must therefore marry someone befitting your rank and who will strengthen our line, just as I did when I married your mother."

"But you and mother actually liked each other before courting," Thorin replied, growing increasingly frustrated. He was walking a very fine line here, and though he could not back down, he had to be careful not to slip and reveal his deepest secret.

"You and Lady Ester will learn to do so as well. It can take time to learn to love someone."

Tolerance, even perhaps affection, could be learned, yes, but not love. Thorin knew better than to voice these thoughts, however, and instead merely said, "Ester and I could never make each other happy—we have nothing in common."

"Now, Thorin, how can you possibly know that if you do not even try to know her better?" Thrain questioned, his thick eyebrows raising into his tattooed forehead.

"I do not need to learn anything more to know that she is the last person I wish to spend my life with!" Thorin exclaimed, then, taking a deep breath, he added, "Do you know she insulted Dania, Mimir's daughter, in public, saying that she was 'nothing' and would never be one of us?"

Sighing, Thrain scratched his beard. "That has nothing to do with you."

Thorin's heart tightened. "Should not the future queen of the Longbeards be more respectful toward her kin—and not merely other lords and ladies? Should she not be warm, generous, compassionate, modest? Ester is none of that." His right hand tightened on the hilt of his sword once more.

"You have never disobeyed me before," Thrain growled, his eyes wide and incredulous. "What in Durin's name is the matter with you?"

Resentment and heartbreak wreaked havoc inside Thorin, filling his lungs and making it hard for him to breathe. His whole body ached with the force of such injustice. He almost wanted to tell his father outright that he loved Dania and that she was his wife. His father could exile them for all he cared; at least they would be together. He could not think straight. The only thing keeping him from committing a grave mistake was the knowledge that Dania had repeatedly told him she did not want that. And she was right; he could not abandon his duties.

"Father, please . . . do not make me marry Ester—I am begging you. . . ."

These words seemed to perturb Thrain, who continued to stare at his son, confusion and worry marked onto his face. "Thorin—"

"Do you not want me to be happy?" Thorin asked, his voice breaking despite how hard he tried to retain his composure. The last thing he needed was to be so weak in front of his father.

"Of course I want you to be happy, son, but I—I do not understand. What makes you think that marrying Lady Ester would be so terrible?"

"Are the points I raised not reason enough?"

Sighing deeply, Thrain took a step toward Thorin and placed a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder. "You know what is at stake here; I know you do."

"I do," Thorin replied solemnly, looking deep into his father's eyes. Those eyes—one of which had been blinded during Azanulbizar—made Thorin feel like such a failure. His father worked so hard for his family and his people, and this is how Thorin repaid him? But he could not marry Ester. As much as Thorin wished he could please both his father and Dania, he was bound to disappoint one of them. And he had promised her he would fight for them.

"Very well," Thrain said with another deep sigh. Thorin's eyes widened, but he was not yet sure he could trust the hope beginning to bloom inside him. "Do not think I am not disappointed in you—I am. However, as your father, I cannot force you to do something which would bring you such deep unhappiness."

"Father—" Thorin breathed out, his heart hammering against his chest.

"Let me finish," Thrain interjected. "We cannot afford to lose Lord Ivar's support. You will need to handle this with the utmost care."

"I will talk to Ester. She does not love me, and so I am sure I may find a way to convince her that this is beneficial to both of us," Thorin said, despite how unconfident he felt in the venture. How on earth was he supposed to convince Ester—who was so blinded by power—that to marry him was a bad idea?

Thrain nodded slowly, then said, "I will not ask you why you are so vehemently opposed to the union, for I sense some deeper purpose which you have yet to disclose, but know that you are my son and there is nothing you may not tell me."

An overpowering ache stabbed Thorin in the stomach. How he wished that was true, words could not express.

"I will not disappoint you again, father."

And that was the last they spoke on the subject.

—

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