Chapter Sixteen: Of Shadow and Flame

ooo

The hall stank of blood and bowels. Bells laughed and muttered and danced about from the mithril flowers. A deep humming vibrated from the carvings in the stone. Faint rumblings came from the floor and pillars. The world was more lively than it had ever been to her ears before.

Warning warbled out from her left. "Goblin."

Her head snapped about. A goblin lunged at her. One of the mithril flowers twisted about, flashing it's metal leaves out. Blood splattered across the flowers. The goblin's head rolled about till it got stuck in the irrigation system.

Llorabell stepped out of the hidden door, clenching her glowing ore of mithril close. It rumbled closed behind her.

"Bilbo!"

She looked up to Gimli as the floor gave a playful dum, dum, dum in time to his running steps. He paused as he got a good look at her. Llorabell didn't know what he saw but her dwarven companion was clearly concerned.

"I need Fíli," she announced.

"Right," he agreed slowly, "Lass–"

"We need to go," she interrupted, "You've killed all the goblins."

The earth had told her as much. All but that last one had been killed because Gimli and Haldir had figured out a trap to take most of them out. Arrows had killed multiple and Gimli's axes were very pleased with themselves. Though, not as much as the rocks if their excited descriptions on how the goblins had gone smosh under them were any indication.

"Aye," Gimli agreed slowly, "We did." He jutted his chin out at the dead one in the flowers. "That was the last of'um."

"Then let's go."

He stared at her for a moment longer. "Aye, then...to Fíli?"

"To Fíli," she agreed, "before the shadow and flame awakens."

Gimli's gaze sharpened, horror colored his whisper, "Durin's Bane." He grabbed her arm and dragged her to the entrance of the First Hall.

More goblin corpses scattered over the area. Haldir and Adalgrim were positioned at the foyer, bows angled toward the hole in the mithril wall. Llorabell tilted her head and listened beyond the chirpy ditty from the mithril—goblin blood made the metal a little blood thirsty but then it was the preferred metal for armor and weapons, wasn't it? Llorabell guessed it made sense it had a taste for befouled blood.

The hall beyond whistled an all clear. Haldir yanked her back when she attempted to continue to leave. She frowned up at the elf. "We need to leave."

"Warriors first," he ordered. His brow furrowed as he took a good look over her. "Stay in the middle of us all."

"It's clear," she insisted as she tugged at him to continue.

"Bell," Adalgrim spoke up firmly. She looked back to her older cousin. He had goblin blood splattered across his too-pale face. The shock of battle was written across him but he trudged on, "we're doing this proper like. Stay with me."

Her own thoughts cleared at the sight, the need from the music to reach Fíli and Erebor as quickly as possible faded to the back of her mind, and she silently nodded. Haldir led the way out with his bow drawn. Gimli followed. Adalgrim pulled Llorabell last. Once they reached the end of their backtracked trail, Gimli took up the front and Haldir dropped to the back. All the while, Adalgrim held on her arm while he hummed the lightening song with the ore in her arms.

ooo

Kíli listened to Uncle and Dain and the various generals as they discussed the best way to clean out the mountain. They had breached the entrance after nearly a month of sieging Erebor's great doors. There was only one entrance into the mountain and the orcs had fought furiously to keep it.

So many had died to claim the foothold at the entrance. Too many, if anyone had thought to ask Kíli.—They hadn't.

Now they were arguing over how to push further into the mountain, what sections might be easiest to hold as the army inched through each crevus, each building, hall, and mine shaft to eradicate the orc infestation. The planning wasn't going well.

Uncle had been young when the mountain fell to Smaug. As far as Kíli could tell, all the other dwarrow were similar or younger in age. That meant they were arguing over what section of the mountain would give them an advantage according to hearsay and the reminiscences from elders not present.

In other words, they were arguing blind.

Kíli stalked from the converted stable, Haip's stave clicked against the ground to support him and hide the majority of his limp. His gaze swept over the organized chaos of an army's encampment. Dwarrow were at work and at rest. Song filtered out from the smithy and was continued at the cooking fires. The sound of blades against whetstones added to the tune. Kíli offered nods to any that met his gaze. Many paused to bow, other's hurried on but gave deep nods as their eyes met.

He headed almost unconsciously to the ramparts. Bofur and Nori slid into step just behind him.

"Moral's still high," Nori remarked softly, "but there's talk of heading direct to the treasury."

"Aye, folk are bein' a mit forgetful about whose treasure tis down there." Bofur muttered, "They're not getting me beer money."

Kíli grinned at the miner. "No worries about that—only a fool would attempt to steal so much you can't even have your evening beer."

"Beers," correct Bofur.

The prince shook his head even as his smile faded. "There's been talk since we've headed this way."

"It's becoming more real to the lot." Nori explained.

Part of a song filtered up to them as if to punctuate that fact.

"...Where the dragon used to sleep

Glorious gold

Glimmers in our home of old..."

Kíli stomped up the stairs, using the stave as leverage to keep nearly all weight off his damaged leg. "Perhaps it's time to let everyone know that a section of the treasure will be distributed to each."

"Mayhaps," agreed the thief before he fell silent on the topic.

The stairs opened to the first floor of ramparts above the gates. The dead plain between the ruins of Dale and Erebor were open before them. Neither the dead from last year's battle nor the body of Smaug remained. Only the ruins of the dwarven statues rested outside Erebor's gates. It was the only sign to tell of the fantastical, horrendous happenings.

Kíli found his eyes drawn past the ruins of Dale. Beyond was Mirkwood and his brother. He prayed to the Maker that Fíli yet lived. His hands closed into fists as he considered the actions of the elves. They would pay but retribution would depend on his brother's life.

A flag flickered in the wind from the great distance, catching Kíli's eye. He stiffened. Kíli clapped a shoulder of one of the lookouts and pointed out to the flag. Another had joined it.

"That's new, yes?" he asked rhetorically. The second flag made that clear.

The guard cursed violently at the sight. Kíli caught the word tree shagger before the guard had sprinted off to his commander. Nori stepped up besides Kíli to take a proper look himself.

"Not Mirkwood standards." the red head said with some certainty.

"Yer certain, eh?" Bofur asked as he leaned across Kíli's other side, his jovial nature muted at the new sight. "Could be a trick."

Kíli jumped to another thought. "The brown wizard said other's were going to save Fíli."

Bofur slapped the stone before them, dragging Kíli's eyes from the flags. "Elves cannot be trusted, lad." the miner admonished Kíli softly.

He shook his head back. "'M not trusting in elves or wizards. I'm trusting in Bilbo."

The warning horn blew right after. Kíli turned from the sight to look down into the courtyard below. Uncle and Dain stalked out of the war room. Each of their gaze jumped up and found his.

Kíli flicked his hands out in a quick signed explanation. "Elven flags on the horizon."

Almost twin looks of fury flooded their expressions, showing the relations between the two.

Thorin snapped his fingers aggressively back at Kili. "Don't be stupid. Will be up in a moment."

"Moon them." ordered Dain in turn with his pointer finger adding a flourish to it to indicate he was sending the order to the entire guard on duty on the rampart.

Jeers and laughter broke through the serious atmosphere. A smile tugged at Kíli's lips and dwarves near the gates but off duty started up an insulting jig about elves and their ability to hold their beer.

He shook his head as he turned back to the outside view. His smile faded. A multitude of flags flickered in the sunlight near the ruins of Dale. The original design had been joined by two others. One Kíli recognized. It was Mirkwood.

Uncle, Dain, and the rest of the company joined them at the top as the generals issued orders. Part of the army formed up below within the courtyard, another chunk formed lines outside in front of the gate where much of the camp still sat as there wasn't enough room within the entry of the mountain for the hundreds of dwarrow. The rest had to keep watch for the orcs within the various halls that shot off the courtyard.

This could be bad. They were about to be squashed between an elven army and the orcs within the mountain. If the elves attacked, even with the knowledge that elves and orcs didn't work together, the dwarrow were doomed.

But Kíli held out hope that wouldn't be the case.

Slowly the elven army came into view. It formed into disciplined lines well outside any war machine's range. Which also meant they were well outside range to threaten the dwarves with their bows.

"Lothlorien and Rivendell," Thorin said quietly as he stood beside Kíli, "alongside Mirkwood."

"An alliance to destroy us," growled Dain.

"Radagast said–"

"They don't need an army to bring Fíli and all back to us," snapped Dwalin.

A small troop of riders separated from the army. They were on ponies, countering the concerns from everyone about the purpose of the elven army. Kíli flashed a faint, hopeful grin at his uncle before he leaned forward on the rampart in an attempt to spy who was traveling towards them.

His smile faded as they drew close enough to see faint features. None of them had much hair. A hiss escaped Thorin as their features became clearer. Lack of long hair and braids explaining who they were aside, the two leading were Fíli and Thorin the younger. Glóin and Bombur trailed behind with three pack ponies. They looked worse for wear but alive and healing.

Kíli stomped down the ramparts as quickly as his limp would allow him. Thorin roared orders to allow the riders passage before he followed along with the others. The ponies clomped in and stable lads rushed over to take them.

Fíli's hair was nearly entirely gone. The sides had been cut close to his scalp, revealing multiple scars—many still pink from recently closing. The top was longer, though not by much. Kíli blinked multiple times at the realization that his brother had a mohawk, small though it was. In any other situation he would have laughed and teased his brother mercilessly about taking after Dwalin's youth. But his brother was visibly thin in his too loose clothing, had visible scars on his head and across his nose, and looked exhausted.

The others didn't look as bad off as Fíli. But Kíli only gave them a glancing look over. Others would fuss over them. Fíli was his concern.

The burnet stalked over and flung his arms around his brother, careful to not knock the blond head with Haip's bill. Fíli returned the hug and didn't let go. No words passed between them. What was there to say?

Kíli reluctantly stepped back when he spotted uncle waiting. Even then, Fíli held on with one arm. It was only when uncle stepped into their space for his own hug that Fíli let go.

Oin broke the quiet reunions, "Laddies need to be looked over. To Thorin's quarters, I imagine."

"Yes," Thorin agreed as he pulled away from Fíli but kept a hand on his nephew's shoulder. He guided Fíli towards the converted guards room.

Within were Thorin and Kíli's temporary quarters. The first room had been some administrative office with multiple stone tables and drawers built into the walls. They had converted it into the company's mess. A rack of kegs rested in one corner along with stacks of plates and mugs. Private offices shot off from there. Thorin, Kíli, and Dain had each claimed one for themselves. Then there was a barracks. As their primary honor guards, the company and Dain's four shadows, shared it.

Oin gave Thorin a sharp look and guided Fíli into Thorin's room alone. Kíli stared after them, itching to invade but his brother needed to focus on Óin and what he had been through so Óin could help. His and Uncle's presence would only hinder.

Kíli tried to distract himself by looking to the others. Thorin the younger was surrounded by his father and guards. His hair was short. Shadows hung under his eyes. Too loose clothing and armor hide any scars.

Another dwarf rushed in, kitted out as a healer like Óin. Dain guided his son into his own room. Their cousins were solely focused on each other.

"Thorin," Glóin spoke up quietly so as to not draw the attention of Dain's guards.

Kíli turned to the stone mason along with everyone else. Dwalin folded his arms and shifted to hide Glóin from the others' view. The rest of the company shifted about so they were between Glóin and Dain's guards while still looking to their returned comrades.

Gloin's beard had been chopped down and was patchy but still existed and had clearly been cleaned up. Most of his missing and shortened hair had once held beads and braids. A new scar joined the others on his face. He was thin and gaunt but his face held a healthy color.

Bombur was in a similar state, though his great braided beard had been chopped off. His clothes hung off himself also but it was blatant, he had lost so much weight over the course of their imprisonment. All the weight he had regained during his stay in the Iron Hills had vanished. And more had faded from his form. Kíli had never seen Bombur so thin.

"Gloin?" Thorin prompted the redhead as Glóin seemed to struggle over the words he wanted to say.

"Fíli…" Glóin shared a look with Bombur before he tried to explain, "He got the worst of it. Thranduil focused on him...he didn't even know who Fíli was…he just fixated on Fíli knowing answers he wanted."

"We were only chosen when Fíli was unconscious." Bombur said quietly.

Kíli's gut dropped. "How often–" He cut himself off. Did he really want to know?

Gloin shifted his gaze to Kíli and offered a bitter smile. "The elves that came for Fíli ignored us no matter what we said. Couldn't antagonize the lot into taking one of us instead...They beat him, whipped him...and drowned him." Glóin tugged a hand through his shortened hair. "They'd bring him back soaked in water and barely breathing–" He stopped speaking and shook his head, his hands closed into fists.

Bombur spoke quietly. "The elves that captured us shot him in the leg and then tied us to their horse and made us run...They made it sport to send us dragging across the ground. They only tossed Fíli onto the back of one of their horses after he was dragged till he wouldn't wake. Then, when we got there, Thranduil demanded answers to strange and vindictive questions…" The cook fell silent also, looking lost as he remembered the beginning of it all.

Kíli was fighting back bile at the descriptions. Thorin pulled him into a one armed hug and just held him.

Bofur stepped forward and clapped his hands to his brother's shoulders and knocked foreheads together. "Yer all back. We'll help where we can. I can carve up a few beads for yerself and we've food–"

"I've my beads," Bombur interrupted in his quiet voice, "We all saved our beads besides Fíli...Fíli was dragged right off somewhere while we were first tossed into our cells. When he came back…"

"They had shaved his beard with a bleeding knife or something." Glóin said with a crack, "His head was covered in blood. Not a strand of hair were longer than a inch or two and his beads were gone...The others that got us out couldn't find them anywhere—they looked. They had me help look. None of us have asked Fíli but he hasn't asked about them either so I imagine he knows exactly what happened to them."

"And what did these other elves do to Thranduil?" spat out Thorin, fury in each word.

"Nothing," Glóin answered.

A snarl escaped more than just Thorin. Rage bubbled up through Kíli. He had never felt such rage before. But neither had anyone ever tortured his brother before.

"They couldn't," Bombur cut in when it was clear Glóin was done. "Thranduil escaped. The White wizard thinks he's hidden himself in Erebor. Fíli worried he had gone after Bilbo instead since the elf had asked after our hobbit multiple times. Tharkun was sent towards our hobbit."

"Tharkun was there?" Thorin asked with a frown, "He dare show himself after–"

"Why is the elven army here?" interrupted Balin as he clapped Thorin's arm to reign in his rage, "Who leads them?"

Bombur and Glóin shared grimaces.

"Elrond leads the Rivendell force," offered Bombur, "He took charge of our healing. We're as well off as we could be at this point."

Gloin leaned against a table with a grumble. "If we're going ta talk shop, we're going ta open one of them kegs, aren't we?"

Dain's door slammed opened. The Iron Hill lord stalked out, took in their group and stalked over. "What's this about the elves wanting a bleeding alliance!?"

ooo

Llorabell paused in their passage through the first city of Khazad-dûm. Stones whispered of a light bringer touched by mercy and a twice-lived elf traversing the halls. Curiosity had her prompt Gimli to unknowingly travel towards them. It was still on the way out and the two had come from whence they needed to go. The information could be important. (It wasn't that she wanted to understand what the stones meant by their descriptions. Obviously not.)

She hummed the lightening song quietly as she listened to the world around her. She was starting to parse through all the noise.—The unstable hall to the West of the city was of no immediate concern. Mithril veins missed a few levels up and to the south could be a great source of wealth for whichever clan held claim to the Hall that shared a wall with it. The orc pack rushing into the depths of the mountain and away from them could only be a good thing.—But her companions continued to glance at her with worry. Adalgrim still refused to let her far from his side.

Perhaps if she could explain what she had found, they wouldn't be so worried. Llorabell didn't know how to explain it all. She found herself humming more and more of the Music she had heard whenever she tried to explain, as if they would suddenly understand if they heard some of the world. But they couldn't because it came from her, not the lifeblood of Middle Earth.

A hand caught her arm and pulled her back.

Llorabell refocused on the visual part of the world. The lightening piece of the Song caught in her throat. A cliff was in front of her. She had almost stepped right off.

The hobbit lass automatically stuck a hand into her tunic pocket. Relief rushed over her as she felt the emerald's rough surface and heard it's soft twanging notes before she grimaced. She needed to stop losing herself to the sounds surrounding her.

Another hand pushed her chin up. Adalgrim stared down at her in worry. "You still aren't listening, Bilbo."

"I'm sorry."

"We're going ta have ta tie ya up ta one of us at this rate, lassie," Gimli said with similar worry before something crossed his mind and a grin broke out. "'Course if we have ta do so, ya be able to wallow with Fíli. Dwalin tied him up a fair few times in his youth—always running off from his guard and family."

Llorabell blinked a couple of times before she frowned and tilted her head at the story. Something nagged at her about it. "You know, I think someone remarked about Fíli being tied to a leash a few times as a child."

"Aye, something for ya to look forward to with yer own pebbles," Gimli confirmed as he turned back to the hallway, "Come on, now. We're nearing the other side."

Haldir nudged Llorabell to follow Gimli while Adalgrim claimed her side by the abyss in the floor. "I have rope if need be."

"I don't need to be tied to any of you," Llorabell grumbled as she tucked the glowing mithril ore into a hug against her chest.

"You're proving otherwise." Adalgrim groused out as he held onto her arm with one and his own glowing mithril ore with the other.

Llorabell scowled at him, about to continue the argument when the stones surrounding them roared. Adalgrim jumped at the sound along with her.

"RUN!"

Adalgrim looked about, his hand tight on Llorabell's arm. "We need to go. Now!"

"Shadow! Shadow!"

"Fire and flame and twisted darkness!"

"RUN!"

"Orcs awake it!"

"RUN!"

The two hobbits followed the screamed order.

"Run," gasped Llorabell as Adalgrim pulled her past Gimli. "Run!"

Curses escaped the two left behind but it was only a moment before Haldir had claimed point in front of them and Gimli came in at their backs with his axes free. Light rippled out from the fissure at their right. It was red and burning bright in the darkness of the dwarven city. Shadows grew long as they ran.

"Left!" roared Gimli over the stones's chant (RUN! RUN! Shadow! RUN! RUN! Flame! RUN! RUN! FROM THE DEEP! RUN! RUN! IT NO LONGER SLEEPS!).

A new light bloomed from the dark ahead as they rushed into a small hall filled with stone seats and tables around a long dried out fountain. The two she had wanted to run into were ahead but she no longer cared for her curiosity. They would have reached the gates a day ago if she hadn't wanted to run across these travelers in the dark. Now Durin's Bane was awake and they were still within its domain.

Haldir cried out in surprise and slowed as he saw the source of the light, "Mithrandir! Lord Glorfindel?"

"No, no, no!" gasped Llorabell as she continued past the three elders with her cousin, "Run!"

RUN! RUN!

Shadow!

Adalgrim parroted the stones and her as he shouted in equal terror, "Run!"

RUN! RUN!

The sound of Gimli's boots right behind her kept her from panicking more. Elves and wizards could make their own choices but she could not see Glóin again without Gimli at her side. She couldn't have another of her company hate her for the death of a family member.

BOOM.

The ground shook under their feet as something in the depths made the echoing sound. The big folk surrounded them. Gandalf's staff glowed about them as the mithril in her arms and their packs ceased glowing. The lightening song ceased as the ores joined in the chant to run. The elves dropped to the back as the wizard took point. Gimli followed behind the wizard as the two worked together to choose their path. Llorabell and Adalgrim were in the middle. Her cousin still held onto her arm in a bruising grasp.

The hallways lit with red and orange light wherever a crevice and abyss delved into the depths on the mountain. More booming sounds echoed out of the depths. It shook the mountain surrounding them.

Her breath came in sharp, stinging gasps. Her chest burned as she ran. Terror sang all around and through her.

They should have left yesterday.

Stairs. Llorabell had only a second to process the large set of stairs they had turned towards before one of the elves scooped her up under one of his arms. The outraged squawk from her cousin indicated he was in a similar position.

RUN! RUN!

IT NO LONGER SLEEPS!

The elf sprinted up two steps at a time. The stairs turned and suddenly only poorly kept handrails separated her from a drop into darkness. Or at least what would usually be darkness. Fire and shadows danced ominously below them. Fingers of orange light unfurled and reached up at them.

"Almost," gasped Gandalf, "We're almost–"

RUN!

Shadow and flame parted and released a screech up at them. A face formed within the flickering, flaming form. Horns of shadows sliced through a fiery mane. Malevolence glowed in the depths of shadowed eyes.

Llorabell couldn't look away. She grasped desperately at the arm holding her. A scream clung to her throat as all air seemed to escape her.

This was far worse than a dragon.

"Balrog," gasped the elf holding her. "Move!" The elf hefted her higher up under his arm as he shouted. "Gandalf, Dwarf, Run!" The elf took his own orders and sprinted upwards, taking two and three steps at a time now. "Haldir! Gandalf! Dwarf!"

RUN! RUN!

Llorabell found her voice and aided the elf's call by screaming, "Gimli! Gimli run!"

The taste of too dry air coated her tongue. The smell of rotting eggs and smoldering dust mixed with the musk of empty, abandoned places as she sucked in air to continue to shout at Gimli and the others. Her eyes were trapped on the shadow and flames below.

Claws of shadow unfurled from a cloak of fire. A roaring crash rumbled out as the balrog slammed claws into the walls and began to climb. Heat washed upwards as the creature flicked the cloak of fire out, revealing wings. A tail, reminiscent of Smaug's, snapped back and forth. It hit wall to wall and sent shockwaves through the stone.

A portion of the stairs gave way. The elf carrying her jumped over the new hole. Her heart jumped with the elf, right up into her throat.

The stairs veered to the right and they were no longer in the room with the balrog. It screamed behind them though, closer than before. It was giving chase.

Gandalf slowed even as he shouted, "Run! Run, quickly!"

Gimli led them out into darkness. Llorabell strained to see with the light behind her where Gandalf continued to follow. A faint red glow burst across her sight as they turned down another hallway. The light came from the far end of another great hall filled with many pillars. A thin bridge glowed above fiery light.

BOOM.

She was finally lowered to the ground as they reached a chasm. Llorabell scrambled up and ran after Gimli, over the thin stone bridge. Adalgrim followed but the elves and wizard did not.

"Do not stop, keep going!" snapped Gandalf, his words directed at the two elves as much as the hobbits and dwarf.

"Gandalf!" shouted Llorabell, "Let's all go! The exit–"

Power radiated out from Gandalf as he straightened upright to his considerable height and paused at the center of the bridge. "Bilbo Baggins, you are a sight for sore eyes. Go. Events are occuring far quicker than I had thought...Beware of Thranduil for he has changed for the worse. He may seek you out. Do not trust him...Now go. All of you!"

"Mithrandir–" Gandalf's companion spoke up as if to argue.

Gandalf snapped his gaze to the elf. "No Glorfindel, this is not–"

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM—CRACK.

The last sound drew all their eyes. Fire and shadow burst out of one of the larger hallways. Malevolence exploud out with the heat of the flames. The crack of heavy feet against the ground echoed out as the ancient beast headed towards them.

The gray wizard snapped his head back to Glorfindel. "The Valar did not send you back to aid me in this. Now go!"

"Gandalf–" cried out Llorabell as the wizard turned to face the balrog. Glorfindel scooped her up and away before she could argue against this plan. She only glimpsed the wizard crack his staff on the bridge creating some glimmering barrier between him and the balrog, then she was in a darkened hallway that gave way to a soft gray light. Sunlight burst out around her as a furious screech echoed out after them.

ooo

Fíli slumped back in his seat and stared over Kíli's room. A cot had been brought in for him. It was a tight fit with the stone desk at the center of the room, shaped out of the floor itself and so not moveable, and a table pushed to the side for private meals. Their armor rested on stands someone had brought in. Various weapons, including all Kíli and his taken during their original stay in Thranduil's dungeons, were laid out. Llorabell's odd weapons were also present.

It had been a long day of explanations. He hadn't expected anyone to give him a moment alone but Kíli had been surprisingly accepting of his request. Tomorrow they would meet the elves and men. Alliances would be forged once more and perhaps, like metal, it had been tempered from all the strife.

He closed his eyes and felt the bond. Llorabell was closer still. Music whispered up from around the bond as he reached out to it, and his very being sang with the Song. The need to create tingled across his fingers. An image of blue-silver depicting the founding of Erebor, the fall to Smaug, all the death and sorrow and struggle between, and–

A knock on the door pulled him from the image the music brought to him. He blinked down at the sketchbook, at the charcoal and the sketching of the engraving he had imagined. He couldn't recall pulling the book out but when the music rose, he often found himself lost within it. The nearly filled sketchbook was proof of that.

The knock came again.

"Come in," Fíli called out as he closed the book and set the charcoal stick aside.

Balin stepped in. Fíli stared at the elder. He had none of his armor or weapons present. Earlier Balin had been dressed for the siege. His teacher, his uncle's confidant and advisor, a proud scholar and Lord in his own right stood before Fíli clothed in his simple red tunic. A roll of leather was tucked under one of his arms.

"Balin?"

"Kíli is betrothed to Haip, tying the Iron Hills to Erebor once more," Balin stated, "He did it for you in the end. He agreed to it for an army so he could eventually save you."

Fíli's throat constricted at the knowledge. There was nothing he could do about it. It was already agreed to. At least Haip wouldn't hold Kíli back from his adventures and curiosity. They would travel the world together, after everything was said and done.

Balin stared at Fíli with a furrowed brow. "Thorin made clear what he thought once Kíli got through to him and explained everything."

"What he thought?" Fíli repeated.

"He–" Balin's shoulders slumped. "He never planned to force either of you into marriages. You were to have your Ones...If that didn't happen for either of you, he had planned to come to some agreement where one of you—or him—married politically. But that was to be years from now."

Fíli stared at the older dwarf. That explained why the political side of marriages had never been explained to Kíli or him. He would have liked to have been warned about all the politics of marriage though. And it would have been good to know uncle's plans.

"Fíli."

"Balin." Fíli said back, forcing his attention back to the scholar. The amused look directed at him indicated that he must have missed something. "...You didn't know Thorin planned it that way?"

The elder sighed. "No." Balin stared at him for a moment before he stomped over to the table and set the small roll of leather down on the table. "It doesn't matter anymore. You're married and Kíli's as good as. I wanted to explain it all though. You deserve to understand a little—I had not meant to push you away from your One when it was approved. I had only thought of the ties best made to help Erebor and our people prosper once more...it would be easier if she was a dwarrowdam but Bilbo has done enough for Erebor to keep most naysayers silent..."

Balin shook his head after a moment of contemplation. "I came here to apologize for my part before you left. It was a stressful time."

Fíli watched his companion in consideration. He was sincere and Fíli had no desire to continue to be mad at Balin. Honestly, he hadn't been angry at Balin for a long time. There was no good reason to keep any anger at family nor friends. He had only so much anger and hate. All of it was directed at Thranduil.

"I accept your apology, Balin."

A kind smile spread across the elder's face. "I'm glad, laddie." He pushed the leather bundle toward Fíli. "I found this in the Iron Hills and thought...well...you could use some tools once more."

Fíli raised a brow and pulled the roll of leather over. Within was a row of traveling tools. They were for metal work, silversmithing tools. He had left his tools in the Blue Mountains and had grown to regret it but had not had time to do anything about it. There hadn't been an opportunity to work with his silver before being given the run of the diplomat's suit in Mirkwood but he had missed the feel of the odd tool tucked into his boot and belt.

"There's a small forge set aside for Thorin. He's had it stocked for your and Kíli's crafts also." Balin explained as Fíli claimed the various tools and tucked them away on his person.

"Thank you," Fíli offered with a faint grin, feeling more like himself than trimming his hair had achieved. He was tempted to hunt down the forge right this moment. The days ahead would be far too busy for him to spend hours hidden away, focused on one of his crafts. He was already too busy to allow the time.

Balin rose and clapped Fíli on the shoulder. "We all are glad you're back and alive, laddie." He squeezed Fíli's shoulder. "Now come along, dinner should be ready."

ooo

Lothlorien had not changed physically. The ancient trees and elves still stood tall. The heavy canopy of leaves still shaded the city. Her deeper connection with the world made a difference though.

The otherworldly peace it had exuded was gone. The musical voices of plant and tree and stone made it far more lively. It was still otherworldly but now Llorabell wasn't certain how she'd ever find peace. The plant life was simply too chatty. The earth vroomed in pleasure at her footfalls. The stone whispered greetings in deep drumbeated voices. (So many voices whispered support for healing a land that should have never died. Some sounded almost threatening in their support. Llorabell couldn't help but wonder if the earth would swallow her whole if she failed this time.)

"You have not slept."

Llorabell looked up from the parchment filled with scribbled notes on her poem, the secrets the ancient dwarven library had told her, and rough sketches of a marriage bead. The map of Moria's royal hall was on the other side. Lady Galadriel stood before her, as ageless and beautiful as ever.

"There's too much to think about. Too much to do yet…and Gandalf..."

"We mourn his passing." the elf lady aggrieved.

"You could aid him instead." Llorabell countered as the earth whispered of the ongoing battle at the pinnacle of Zirakzigil, "He still fights the balrog." She tilted her head at the startled expression that crossed Galadriel's face. "It will take time for the battle to end."

Galadriel watched her intently for a long moment before she gave a slight shake of her head. "Mithrandir declined Lord Glorfindel's aid. If any could aid the wizard, it would have been him."

Silence fell as they regarded each other. Llorabell wasn't convinced that only the singular elf could have aided the gray wizard but a swath of the forest kingdom's army had gone East. What was left was for the kingdom's defense. They would only aid Gandalf if the wizard brought the balrog to their doorstep and the wizard had purposely avoided that.

"I have spoken with Haldir," the elf announced.

Llorabell shifted on the root shaped bench. "I'm not staying."

A faint smile spread. "No I imagine not...but you require rest for the journey ahead. Your journey West was not easy, and you travel East to your beloved and an infested mountain. We are, of course, here to aid you in any way possible. I would lend an ear to your worries or some item you need for the journey ahead can be collected...perhaps a tonic would help you sleep at the very least?"

The hobbit lass stared up at the elf for a long moment. Then she looked down at her unfinished poem and her terrible sketches. "Does it get better?"

"All woes fade with time," the lady stated kindly as she settled down besides Llorabell, "but it is never easy and never as it once was. All we can do is hold those dear close and remember them with fondness when they are parted from us."

"And war?" Llorabell asked quietly.

Galadriel did not speak for a long moment. She reached out and took the parchment. A finger traced across the poems words, sketches, and the hobbitish lines of dwarven phrases. "War is inevitable in many ways. Most can be traced back to some smaller conflict...It is a terrible thing but sometimes your morals and convictions demand nothing less. Sometimes it is a requirement to achieve your goals and desires." She looked over at Llorabell. "You can only hope that your reasons are noble ones and that your dear ones will keep you straight and true. War brings heartache and heartbreak no matter what started it. Someone will lose a loved one. So it must be a worthy cause.

"It can haunt us for all our days. Some succumb to perceived failures or horrible experiences...but," Galadriel smiled softly down at the hobbit, "If you hold onto what is dear, you will pull through. The shadows cling to you and can hide what is important. I think you have seen that, though."

Llorabell stared up at the elf in sad wonder. She couldn't help but wonder at how much grief an elf must contend with. What all had she lived through? How many loved ones had this elf lost?

Galadriel tapped at one of the sketches. "If nothing else, I would gladly offer you material for this."

"My marriage bead?" Llorabell said, startled from her thoughts. She felt her cheeks flush. "I-I don't know how to craft it…"

The lady hummed thoughtfully. "What do you wish to make it from? I have smiths and jewelers that could aid you."

Llorabell shook her head before she even finished the offer. "I want–need to craft it myself...I just—I only ever learned how to whittle wood as a child." Frustration escaped her near the end of her explanation.

"I'll have tools brought you and a variety of woods. You'll be able to take whatever with you and work on it during your travels." Lady Galadriel decided kindly.

"Bell?"

Llorabell turned from the Lady of Lothlorien. Adalgrim stood back, dressed in clean clothes. At her attention he explained, "We're planning our next leg. Thought you'd like to give some input."

She nodded and rose to follow. The hobbit lass paused after a few steps and turned back to the elf lady. "Thank you. I think I understand...and I would like the wood...and the tonic."

The elf's smile widened. "I will have them sent to your room...Your journey has aided you more than I had thought. I am glad for it."

Llorabell smiled back before she turned after her cousin.

ooo

I've always thought the Gandalf vs Balrog battle had to happen for Gandalf to come onto his own. I hope no one is too disappoint that such is basically following cannon so far.

I also hope Llorabell's sort of high and scatterbrained response to the world speaking fully within her hearing makes sense. She slowly gets used to it as they flee to the exit and is mostly back to normal by the time they are in Lothlórien for a day or two. Or as normal as she can be with what has happened.