Disclaimer: I do not own the property of The Hobbit. The ideas and characters all belong to Tolkien. The film verse belongs to Peter Jackson and Fran Walsh.

Unfortunately, I do not have a beta reader for this chapter. Any mistakes are mine and mine alone shall be the blame.

AN: I am back. I am sorry for the long wait. I hope you can forgive me.

Warnings: Death

:Injury

:Deception

Chapter 104 – What doesn't kill you...

Daín gasped in blinding pain as he came to. Darkness clouded his sight and he groped blindly for a weapon for anything to anchor himself. His whole being ached, throbbed with the beat of his heart. The very organ that pounded in his chest and made it hard to breath. A worn hand grasped his and his senses were flooded by his cousin. Thorin was alive. His plan had worked. He might not have been able to save anyone else, but Thorin was alive.

His joy was to be short lived. He was awake little the first few days but soon came to learn just what the attempt had cost them as a race. Just what it had cost them as a clan…and as his head cleared, just what it had cost him alone. Not yet of age he was now an orphan. No parents left to him. His mother dead. His father murdered. Many of his uncles…the ones that could be trusted…slain in the same battle, many aunts dead by the dragon, sickness or injury. The number of his cousins decimated. Dís' husband slain. Frerin gone.

His own physical losses hit him not nearly as hard. The leg could be replaced, he would still be able to fight. The almost blindness of his left eye would be harder to overcome but it was doable. He despised himself for the shake in his hands, and the feeling of cold that crept into his bones. He was a dwarrow, a Durin, he should be stronger. He would be stronger!

Daìn's respect for Thorin grew. Like him, his cousin had lost nearly everything. It was Thorin who supported him in his first few painful steps. It was Thorin who organised the remaining troops. His cousin never once flinched, never allowed himself to bend. Daín found himself walking alongside the taller form of his cousin, leaning heavily on a tree branch. He learnt much in those days. He learnt how to be so strong as not to break, to weather the storm without bending. He learnt compassion and to put others needs before his own.

Days passed into weeks, and the weeks passed slowly into months. Thorin left and Daín was left to run a kingdom alone. The ravens were slow to come at first, but as the months grew into years they became more frequent. The letters became more detailed as time passed. The wounds: Physical, mental and emotional: still ached, were still raw. Yet every time a letter arrived a cover was drawn over the gapping pit of despair that lingered at the back of his mind.

%

Thorin Stonehelm rested his head on the pile of papers that seemed to be multiplying with every passing bell. How his father coped all those years ago he didn't know, nor would he be able to use Dan's coping mechanisms. He and the Lord of the Iron Hills were hewn from two very different types of rock. There was a plan he needed to follow. One he had never thought they would ever need. Deception and treachery in the heart of their home. The weight of what needed to be done sat heavily on him. He wrapped his arms over his ears as the passing bell sounded. If his headache would go away it would be easier.

The sounds finally peeled off and the Stonehelm raised his head and wiped wearily at his eye as the candle guttered low next to him. The shadows danced eerily around the room and he was filled with a sense of dread. He froze momentarily the feeling of doom crawling up his spine. His skin tingled with a sudden internal chill as realisation swept over him even as the candle flickered out. His young eyes adjusted instantly and he was on his feet drawing a fine blade the next moment. His reaction not a moment too soon as a blade embedded where he had been seated moments before. His own blade flew true and an agonised shriek echoed from a stumbling figure. His blue eyes hardened to ice as he glared down the dark corridor at the figure stumbling away from him. There was no time to waste giving chase, and the blade would do its job soon enough, or his Gudmor's gift had finally lost its touch.

Knowing the blade would find its way back to him as always, Stonehelm strode from the office. He ignored the now doused candles and headed straight to the training rooms. The Iron Hills would stand idly by no longer. They would not cower in the dark while others fought their battles for them. His fingers caressed the shaft of the hammer as he swung it at the gleaming metal in front of him. Anger swept his headache away and he barely flinched as the sound tore through the predawn silence.

Someone had broken oaths and he would be dammed before he saw the Iron Hills fall into that pit. His father had faced death and destruction, his mother had faced discrimination and hatred. He himself had faced scorn and mistrust. It was time the idle lords found just how deeply the Durin mithril ran in his blood.

Head held high, he sneered in distain at the captains who staggered into the training hall. His voice rose sharply silencing the unhappy mutterings. Sharp words, twisting, cutting deep flowed from him. The dwarrows of the Iron Hills had always been a force to be feared. A name whispered in darkened corners alongside the Shadow and Flame. The troops would be battle ready in on moonth. No ifs! No buts! No maybes! They would be ready! And they would march to the aid of Thorin Oakenshield!

Silence followed, heads that had been hung in shame raising with a new light in their eyes. The words echoed out from the training hall and flowed through the Iron Hills.

"For our King! For Thorin Oakenshield! For our Lord! For Daín Ironfoot. For our Captain! For the Stonehelm!"

%

Daín sagged in his saddle as he drew up on the boarders of the Shire. What he was attempting was quite possibly a suicidal move. It could leave his wife and son without support. His kingdom unsettled. Yet it was probably the only thing he could do. The Nightshade was a good friend, and he missed his correspondence with the Thain. More than that though, it was the only honourable course of action left open to him.

Nodding Daín drew his shoulders back and forced himself to dismount. He noticed he was being watched and started to remove his weapons and armour. The pony stayed still, even as the dwarf lord stripped to his cloth under armour. Keeping sight of his watchers Daín stepped clear of the pony and knelt in the dirt, hands laced loosely behind his head.

The young female who stepped forward seemed almost annoyed to have no reason to attack him. He met her eyes steadily and noticed the second she caught sight of his iron leg and glass eye.

"You are forever banned from the borders of the Shire Lord Daín!" she gasped out, hands flying in a sent message.

Daín bared his throat, "I have not stepped over the boarder line my lady!"

"That is no excuse! Give me a reason I should not end your life!"

A new voice spoke before Daín could.

"Because that would bring war down on our heads!" The new female's voice was blunt and Daín bit back a wince as the iron leg nipped.

"But Primula…"

"No!" Voice like a whip, the new female shoved her sandy brown, short curls off her face with a huff of annoyance. "We do not kill those who come in peace!"

"But…"

"I said NO!" blue eyes flashed in a manor so reminiscent of Dís that Daín couldn't help his gasp.

Those eyes turned to him. The female offered a short bow.

"My Lord Daín! Please get out of the dirt." She sighed and shouldered the bow he hadn't noticed her leaning on. She smiled weakly at him as he heaved himself to tower over him. "I apologise for my colleague, she is young and we are on war footing."

Daín gapped in shock as she nodded and several hobbits slunk from the surrounding brush. Blue eyes met his and he was once again reminded of Dís as she spoke. "I would offer you a warmer welcome, but you are a person non-grater here I am afraid." She flicked her fingers and a guard was set around the pony and his gear. "If you would follow me I will lead you to the Thain. Weapons stay here!"

Daín bowed shallowly. "I am at your mercy my lady!"

"I doubt that," she grinned saucily up at him and he was struck by her youth, "but my favourite cousin has run off with some prince." She sucked her teeth, "and most of my friends…including my fiancé…have ran off after them." A short shrug, "If I keep you alive I get answers, I might even get them back!"

Daín found himself cursing Thorin in his mind as he followed the hobbit lass like a duckling. What had the damn idiot gotten them into now? As if what he was doing wasn't hard enough.

%

Filí's cry alerted the rest of the Company, calling Bilbo and Óin to the brothers' side almost instantly. Bilbo was pale and shaking, with Óin looking green at the edges, but their whole attention was on the fallen prince. Bilbo signed something to Bifur as Óin wrapped the wound quickly. The dwarven healer hoped his actions slowed the bleeding as the young prince was too pale and he also wanted to secure the arrow from moving around further. He could do little else.

Bifur was moving to intercept Thorin, while Balin and Dwalin scouted a perimeter. Nori sagged on a rock, his head swimming. Ori leant against him as Dori stood guard. The eldest Ri was shaking in pent up anger and Óin feared for his blood pressure.

Thorin was panicking. They needed to move as the orcs couldn't be far behind. He doubted Thranduil would take their escape well and if they stayed on the shore of the lake they could die from exposure. Bifur was talking quietly to him and guiding him with an arm on his elbow. It was the look in the old toymaker's eyes that pulled Thorin up short.

He took a careful look around.

Óin was bandaging up his youngest nephew's leg, all the while looking a little green.

Bilbo seemed to be directing those who could meet his eye. The hobbit's hands shook, lips already taking on a blue tinge. Changeable eyes were wild and unfocused, even as he failed to utter a word.

Kìli was lying still grasping his brother's hand desperately. Filí's blond hair was plastered to him and Thorin noticed for the first time just how much weight his heir had lost.

The RI family painted a picture of exhausted dejection. Nori for once unmoving, curled around the youngest of their trio. Eyes shut, his now trailing hair messily falling over the two of them. Dori knuckles white as he glared at their surroundings, worry painting the strong features.

Balin and Dwalin prowling at the edges of the group. The diplomat growling lowly as he flexed his fingers. The warrior limping badly and on edge.

The Urs, bar Bifur, stood casually, and Thorin was struck at just how hard their life had to have been to still be upright despite everything. Bombur's form was diminished, yet he stood tall at Bofur's back. The miner's eyes were alert and shining under his drenched hat and bedraggled braids.

Thorin swallowed and turned his eyes to meet Bifur's. He barely had a chance to raise the tree branch he was gripping at the warning there, before an arrow knocked it from his almost numb grasp. His mind whirled as he took everything in quickly. It was a human arrow, that was a plus. That is was a human arrow could also be a negative, but at least it wasn't an orc. He narrowed his eyes into the fog. There was a single figure, that was a plus. The figure was standing beside what appeared to be a raft. The man looked worn, pale and little roughed around the edges. The dark eyes were wary but not unkind.

Rolling his shoulders Thorin took a leap of faith and stepped forward, hands held palm out.

"We mean no harm!" he rasped, feeling his shivers start to subside and knowing that it wasn't good. "We mean no harm and could desperately use some aid!" He lowered his eyes, and swallowed hard. "Please! We are tired and cold." He looked up, not moving forward, treating the human as he would a skittish animal. "Please help us! My nephew he is injured!"

The man stepped forward eyes suddenly wide with alarm. "Dwarves seldom bring good news in these parts."

Thorin thanked all the deities he could remember as Bilbo stepped forward, his softly lilting voice hoarse. "We can pay! But please put prejudices aside for the moment." His chin wobbled, before his voice whipped back sharply. "I will stand as guarantee, but I will not see my boys suffer further because of prejudice!"

The man stepped back in shock. "I had thought…" Cleared his throat and tried again…" My apologies master Halfling! You must understand me. Times are lean, and I have little to offer." He glanced around the group, "Tales are for another time. I can at least offer you somewhere warm and dry!"

As the man straightened Thorin gasped as a picture from time floated in his mind. It was gone as soon as it arrived, but it bare remembering. He tuned back into what the human was saying, "I will not take payment Master Dwarf, although maybe you could tell some tales to my young ones!"

AN:
Translation

Gudmor – godmother (my thanks to my goth mama for the Danish translation)