Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
The sky was so clear one could see the stars. But aboard the Vingilótë, Elros wasn't stargazing. The young elf was conscientiously scrubbing the deck of the fishing boat when he heard a rumbling sound from above, and something caught his eye. A huge luminous object, falling from the sky at full speed.
Elros followed its course before it hit the surface of the sea and sank.
Inside the cabin, Eärendil, the captain, was already trying to reach the coastguards.
Elros had completely forgotten his task and was scrutinising the black waters, looking for signs of debris or anything to indicate what had happened. The night was dark again.
“Elrond, did you see that?” Elros shouted to his brother who was standing at the other side of the boat.
Elrond opened his mouth to respond, but they heard Eärendil informing the coastguard that they were replying to an unknown distress signal.
Elros and Elrond both shook their heads.
“That was no distress flare,” both mouthed. None either man had ever seen anyway. Distress flares did not fall from the sky.
Over the radio, the coastguard asked if they could see the vessel in distress. Eärendil called to Elros who had fetched a torch and was scanning the water.
It was choppy, but no signs of a vessel or any debris were in sight.
“I can’t see anything,” he shouted. As he was about to turn back, a movement below the waves caught his eyes. “Hang on!”
His scream pierced the night air. Elros was gone.
“Mayday, Mayday!” Eärendil yelled into the microphone. “Man overboard! Man overboard!”
Elrond was already at the helm, scanning the waters for his twin brother.
He grabbed at the railing, but his hand slipped off. Elrond lifted it . Blood. He opened his mouth to scream when a spear-like tentacle shot out of the water and gored through his chest .
“Ulmo save us!” Eärendil was horrified. This had not just happened. Not in the Misty Sound. Reality hit; both of his sons were gone. He jumped up and screamed “Elrond! Elros!”
He grabbed an axe, now deaf to the calls of the coastguards who kept repeating “ Vingil ótë , emergency rescue team dispatched . Please Respond. Over”
He took a deep breath and rushed down the rickety stairs. All he could hear was the creaking of the wood and the lapping from the sea. As he stood at the helm, he looked upwards and froze.
Nobody heard his scream as the creature stabbed him before dragging him into the sea. The wind and the waves and the coastguard on the radio were the only sounds to be heard.
CHAPTER ONE
Kíli woke up, his pulse throbbing painfully in his head, fingers still clutched around a nearly empty whiskey bottle. Like many other nights, he had fallen asleep fully clothed on this couch after a lonely drunken evening.
The young dwarf groaned as he sat up on the sofa and rubbed his forehead. The sun was already up and the light pouring aggressively from the window wasn’t helping his headache at all.
He grumbled a few curses and tried to get up. He knew this day was a big one: he had to pick up a colleague coming from the mainland today, and he’d better be there on time to welcome him.
Realising he was still holding last night’s bottle, he downed it in a single gulp before chucking it carelessly into the trashcan among the others.
He hadn’t got the time to wash or even check himself in the mirror. Anyway, he knew what he’d find: handsome features hidden behind the grey mask of alcoholism. Kíli sighed and rubbed his face in a miserable attempt to completely wake up.
C’mon Kíli, get up! Let’s not make the Jackeen wait.
Slightly swaying, the dwarf grabbed his uniform jacket and his car keys. The fresh air coming from the sea and the sunlight hit his face as he got out of his house. He blinked painfully before shaking his head, and he eventually got in the car.
Today was going to be very long, indeed.
*~*
Fíli was standing at the helm of the ferry crossing the Misty Sound to Erebor Island. His back was perfectly straight, his garda uniform immaculate. He hardly noticed the wind tugging at his blond hair.
The dwarf was focused on the tiny island that had come into sight. The weather was unusually mild; the summer air was warm and salty, and the sea so calm the ferry was barely rocking, making its way smoothly.
Yet Fíli eyed Erebor with apprehension. Remote islands were not his area of expertise, having grown up in Dublin, where he had worked as a guard for the past few years. He had never lived outside the city and ever since he got his job, he had not travelled outside of it. Compared to his daily work in the busy city, this would indeed be a holiday. No serious crime could happen here.
As they approached the harbour, gliding past Thrain Point, he became aware that he was holding his hat in his hands and quickly put in on, taming his hair. He took a deep breath.
There were bus stops twice the size of this harbour in Dublin. It was a miracle that there were any other people on the ferry. As the Entulessë pulled into it, a handful of people were already waving at the other passengers, mostly children waiting to go to school on the mainland. Nearly all of them were dwarves, with a few elves and humans sticking out from the crowd.
Fíli nodded to himself and grabbed his suitcase, walking off the ferry behind the other passengers who were greeted by friends and family. A large sign with a silly sun welcomed him to Erebor. The sun was wearing sunglasses. Not a promising introduction to the island.
He looked around. The email he had received had promised that somebody called Kíli O’Shea would pick him up (he wondered if that had been a joke).
He opened the map he had purchased on the mainland, but as soon as he had opened it, a gust of wind ripped it out of his hands. He hastily put a foot on it and bent down to retrieve it. When he came back up, he spotted the police car standing at the other side of the harbour. A man was slouching against it. He could either be a tall, skinny dwarf, or a small, stocky human. O’Shea was a familiar name among dwarves as well as humans. Or maybe he had mixed heritage? Mixed marriages were common in Dublin, but not so much in the countryside. Fíli dismissed this thought as irrelevant and marched briskly as usual up to the car.
“Hi! I’m Garda Fíli Nolan. You must be Garda Kíli O’Shea.”
The man frowned and didn’t look up from the ground. He mumbled something Fíli didn’t catch.
“Excuse me?”
“You getting in or what?” The other’s voice was gravelly, and he looked vaguely unwell.
“I have a bag.”
“Put it in the back then.”
He still didn’t look at him, as if the bright daylight was hurting his eyes even though it was a relatively cloudy day. Fíli bit his lips and walked to the boot. He had half-expected it to be a cluttered mess and was pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t.
Without further ceremony, Fili’s welcoming committee flopped into the driver’s seat with an annoyed huff and waited.
Once Fíli got into the car he wrinkled his nose. He doubted that this man was legally allowed to drive, he reeked of whiskey. Instead of starting their professional relationship by testing the other guard’s alcohol level, he rummaged in his pocket.
“Do you want a mint?”
“No, thanks. They give me heartburn.”
Fíli pocketed the mints and looked out of the car window, ignoring the way in which his driver was barely able to keep his eyes open or drive straight. Luckily, they were alone on the road.
The island was as thinly populated as it looked on the map. To their left was the Misty Sound, on the right a few houses could be seen scattered through the sparse landscape.
*~*
Today was a good day to take the dog for a walk in the dunes. That’s what Dr Oin Gleeson had thought when he got up in the morning. The weather was fine, not too windy, and Minty was having a good time running through the lyme grass.
The old dwarf paused for a moment to take in the beautiful scenery in front of him. The sea was calm, and the clear sky allowed him to see until Mahal Point. A few more steps on the beach below and they’d be good to go.
Minty was happily barking while chasing a seagull when something caught Dr Gleeson’s eye.
“What in Mahal’s name… ?” he muttered, horrorstruck.
About twelve whales were stranded on the beach.
*~*
Meanwhile, the two guards had arrived at a neat white house, the island’s police station.
The serjeant Fili was replacing greeted him more cordially than O’Shea had done. He was in a good mood: he wore in his civilian clothes already, ready to go on a well deserved two week holiday.
“Garda Nolan, I’m Dori Kenefick. It is lovely to have you.”
“I am happy to be here,” Fíli assured him.
He had already known the man’s name of course. Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see O’Shea pouring himself some coffee. Thinking he could use some as well, Fíli pulled his personal mug from his bag and handed it to the other guard.
“Coffee would be lovely, thank you.”
Kíli looked at the mug (a regular Garda mug! They didn’t even own one in the station) as if he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with it. The serjeant just smiled.
“So, what do you think of this place?”
“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”
And it really was. O’Shea cut in.
“Quiet as shite. - Milk?”
Even working in one of Dublin’s busiest police stations Fíli wasn’t used to this much grumpiness.
“What kind?”
O’Shea blinked and deadpanned: “Cow’s.”
“I just take it black, thanks.”
Sergeant Kenefick showed him his desk and remarked. “It will be dead this weekend with half of the island leaving for the show in Dale.”
Fíli smiled. “I am sure I’ll find something to do.”
He took his mug back from O’Shea. Coffee half drowned with milk. He frowned, but O’Shea had already turned away, pulling the serjeant to the side. Straining his ears, Fíli could just make out what they were saying.
“Is he really necessary?” O’Shea stage-whispered.
“You tell me, boy.”
“You’ll be away two weeks. I can handle two weeks.” He took a big sip from his cup. The serjeant glared at him.
“You could, but you wouldn’t!”
*~*
The Númerrámar was back, her hold full of lobster pots as it arrived at Erebor island.
On the dock, Bofur was unloading the last pot when he heard something squealing inside. The sudden sound surprised him so much that he almost dropped his basket. What the heck was in there?
Now intrigued, the dwarf tried to peer through the seaweed covering the pot, but he couldn’t see a thing. Bofur put the pot down and called out to his coworker.
“Dior, take a look at this!”
The half-elf cast a sceptical look at the dwarf but joined him anyway, driven by curiosity.
“He’s a big ‘un.”
“That’s not a lobster,” suggested Bofur.
“Then what is it?” asked Dior crouching by the pot to try and see what was inside.
The trapped creature growled and hissed before spitting a thick jet of a clear liquid square into Dior’s face and eyes. The half-elf yelled in shock and disgust. Why were Bofur’s twisted tricks always aimed at him? The dwarf’s bad taste humour was really getting on his nerves.
“Agh! You bastard, you, Bofur! You knew it was going to do that!”
“I didn’t, on me life!” protested Bofur, and for once it was the truth.
“Ugh, the smell!” grunted Dior while gagging and trying to wipe his face. The scent coming from the thick sticky fluid was indeed horrendous. It was like a mix of rotten eggs, hot bile and silt.
“What is it?”
“‘Tis no feckin’ lobster.”