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The Parting Gift
Bella was almost entirely certain that she was dreaming.
She was certainly not in Erebor, at any rate, and the last thing that she could recall was falling asleep in Thorin’s arms as he hummed the tune of the song that had spurred her into leaving the Shire. Instead, she was standing on a rickety, old dock on the outskirts of Esgaroth, on the Southern edge of the town, if the dim light to her right was truly the rising sun and not merely a trick of her slumbering mind.
A gentle splash prompted Bella to spin around, and she immediately caught sight of a slender Woman with loose, dark blonde hair tying off a small boat at the end of the dock. The Woman carefully climbed out of the water craft, the tentativeness of her motions enough to convince Bella that the Woman was not at all used to doing such a thing. She was very beautiful, Bella noted, though the gaunt lines of her face spoke of hard times having befallen her, and seemed almost familiar.
The long, layered, white and gold dress that she wore might have been fine at one point, but now it was faded and worn from travel, the hems of her sleeves and skirts torn in several places. The Woman carried nothing on her person save for a small, leather satchel, which, like her clothes, had seen better days, and a curved knife with ornate designs in white gold and opals that was strapped to her hip.
Recent hard times then, Bella deduced.
Once she was standing steadily on the dock, or as steadily as she could be considering that it was swaying and bobbing as the windblown water moved beneath it, the Woman pulled a medallion out from where it had been hidden, below the neckline of her dress, and gazed at it in deep sorrow and longing. It was crafted of white gold, Bella noticed, and upon one side was stamped the Crest of Gondor- the White Tree, the Seven Stars of the House of Elendil, and the Crown of the King. The Woman flipped it over in her hand and Bella saw that the opposite side was embossed with a pair of swans, a curved sword, and a crescent moon.
Bella recognized the pendant then for what it was. She had seen many a noble lord and lady wearing similar ones in Minas Tirith, during the time that she had spent recovering in the White City in the direct aftermath of destroying the One Ring. The medallion was a status symbol, a traditional piece of jewelry that distinguished a person as being one of the Dúnedain. One side always held Gondor’s particular crest and the other side held the family sigil of the nobleman or noblewoman who wore it.
The Woman took a deep breath, slipped the medallion back over her head and tucked it out of sight, and then steeled herself. Holding her head high, she marched into Lake-town, not once looking back from whence she came.
And then the dream, because it had to be a dream, morphed into something else entirely. Bella blinked and she was no longer standing on the edge of Lake-town awash with the light of the dawn, but in a great dark.
She had not the time to fear the inky black before it was abruptly banished by pinpricks of light, hundreds of them flitting around. They were Fairies, Stone Fae with silver, gossamer wings that flew around Bella in complex, swirling patterns. And where they alighted on the large rocks that jutted out of the walls of the massive cavern, a gleaming kingdom sprouted out of lime green crystals that glowed with startling vivacity.
Rockery Orchids bloomed all around the city, thriving in the glimmer of the Fairy citadel and due to the permanence and power of Fae Magic. Babbling brooks encircled and wound their way through the kingdom, the water singing as it rushed over parts of the crystal clusters. Glossy Caps grew in giant groupings and sparkling, hoary salamanders made homes amidst the mushrooms and flowers.
Bella had seen a Fairy Kingdom before, when she was very, very young and had not yet learned that the forests surrounding the Shire could be as dangerous as they were beautiful. It had been a kingdom of Green Fae, though, and looked so very different from this one.
One Fairy froze before Bella; she had spiky hair the color of sandstone, alabaster skin, and bright violet eyes. The Fairy smiled at her and waved; Bella barely had the time to wave back before the startling beauty of the cave was replaced rapidly by a new scene. Bella was in the middle of a misty wood, the sounds of battle ringing around her… and before her was the Horn of Gondor, cracked in two.
Bella awoke gasping, sitting up in her bed with a swift jerk as adrenaline crashed through her body. Her abrupt movements roused Thorin from his rest and caused him to blink blearily at her.
“Bella?” Thorin’s voice was thick with sleepy confusion, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Bella murmured soothingly, having forced her breathing and body to calm. She laid her head back on Thorin’s chest, taking comfort from the familiar heat that he almost always exuded, “Just strange dreams. Go back to sleep, everything’s fine.”
Thorin wrapped his arms around her and drifted off again with ease, having never fully woken. Bella had no explanation for the Woman or the Fae that she had seen in her dream, but the brief image of the broken Horn had been a memory. During a brief battle that had occurred only a few days after the Fellowship had departed from Lothlórien, the Horn of Gondor had snapped under the stress caused by one of the Urak-Hai landing directly on it. Boromir had collected the pieces and had later placed them in a museum in Minas Tirith.
What Bella had last dreamt was nothing greater than a mere recollection of more uncertain times, was just a memory that refused to die as it ought to. So then why had recalling it made her feel so terribly uneasy?
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Dwarves were very fond of grand feasts, Bella had come to realize early on over the course of her various acquaintances, friendships, and kinships with the Sons and Daughters of Mahal. They were especially fond of feasts in which the mead flowed freely and roasted meats were in abundance. So it was little wonder, then, that Thorin had chosen to send his cousin Dáin, Lord of the Iron Hills, off with a magnificent revel and lots and lots of stout Dwarven ale.
The Great Dining Hall was adorned not just with the Standard of Erebor, as was typical, but with the colors of the Iron Hills as well, to honor Dáin and his people. Dark red, to denote that which the region had been named for, explicitly, the iron ore that it was so rich with, and platinum, which Dáin’s father have favored above gold and silver. Where Erebor’s Pennant bore the Crest of Durin and Ravens in flight, the Flags of the Iron Hills’ each sported a War Hammer and a Battle Ram. The two types of flags hung, interspersed, around the entirety of the hall, the silver and platinum gleaming as the light from the copper lamps and great silver lanterns glanced off of them.
Bella was wearing a dinner dress in shades of Durin blue and silver, which Dori had given to her earlier that day. It was a statement, a declaration that Bella belonged in Erebor, especially when one considered Thorin’s outfit, which complimented hers nicely. Fíli had also requested that Bella wear her silver brother beads in her hair as well. Dwarves, Bella also knew, could be ridiculously jealous and possessive of those whom they loved.
Still, Bella’s kin were heartily enjoying themselves. Nori had been challenged to numerous arm wrestling contests, all of which he easily won, while Glóin and Bofur cackled over the coin they had earned, from those foolish enough to doubt Nori’s strength, in the inevitable wagers that had sprung up in regards to the challenges. Kíli and Tauriel were whispering sweet nothings to one another in some strange mash up of Sindarin and Khuzdûl. Balin and Dori were engaged in a spirited debate about what types of food and music would be appropriate for Bella and Thorin’s wedding and whether or not Bella walking barefoot down the aisle, as she had already determined that she would be, was a feasible plan considering her still-healing ankle, with Dís and Lací making the occasional comment to assist them in their deliberations.
Bifur and Ori had somehow gotten a hold of the plans for the Buznel Abkundaz, a name Bella had protested, though she had been outvoted, and had made alterations to the overall design so that it would be even grander than the Architects’ Guild had already planned for it to be; Bifur was also signing something in Khuzdûl under his breath, something with a tune suspiciously close to that of ‘The Ballad of the Bél Flower’. Bombur was laughing with Rína and bouncing their youngest child, Garnin, on his knee. Dwalin and Óin were apparently having an unofficial drinking competition, judging by the number of empty mugs between them. Fíli was attempting to put a dent in his share of the treasure by commissioning a ridiculous amount of baby clothes from the Tailor’s Guild; only the Company and their immediate relations knew what the mark on Bella’s left wrist meant, because Bella could not fathom hiding this truth from them, but they had been joyous enough for the whole of the Mountain.
Nearly everyone was at least a little bit drunk, courtesy of the free and abundant alcohol, by the time that Dáin decided to rise from his chair and give a speech.
Dáin lifted his bejeweled goblet toward Thorin, who had opted to only drink mulled cider because he did not wish to have his good sense impeded by anything during this particular feast, and said in his booming voice, “My King, on this, the eve of my departure from your fine halls, I wish to once again congratulate you on the reclamation of Erebor, for seeing our people’s legacy freed forevermore from the Great Drake. Mahal’s Blessings upon your reign, cousin, and upon your upcoming marriage to one of the daughters of his honorable Wife. A union between the respective children of our Father and Mother shall surely bring great prosperity to Durinsfolk!”
Dáin was briefly interrupted by raucous cheering from nearly all of the Dwarrow present before he continued, “I must also express my heartfelt thanks to you, Thorin, son of Thrain, for being such an understanding and forgiving King. You shall ever have my gratitude and unswerving loyalty. I am deeply indebted to you, my cousin, and so I now present you with this gift, fit for a King Under the Mountain, as a token of my appreciation, as a representation of my fealty to you, and as a symbol of the pride I feel because I have the privilege of calling you my King.”
Dáin waved a group of eight Dwarves, who were carrying two large, rectangular parcels between them, forward. The Lord of the Iron Hills nodded meaningfully at the Dwarrow and the group made quick work of removing the maroon silk coverings to reveal what, in any other circumstances, Bella would have conceded to be two exquisite examples of Dwarven craftsmanship.
Bella’s smile froze on her face and her blood turned to ice in her veins. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt herself pale significantly as she took in the pair of doors that had been presented to Thorin.
She twisted around corner after corner until she finally reached a heavy set of doors adorned with a sprawling golden dragon, inlaid seamlessly into the dark oak and sporting a large ruby for an eye. She shoved them open.
Thorin was on his knees, held there by a pair of dwarves with flawlessly curled black beards, the likes of which Bella had never seen before, while a third dwarrow with a golden belt covered in strange runes held Orcrist to Thorin’s exposed throat.
Bella blinked rapidly to banish the vestiges of the horrible dream, dispelling the images from the nightmare but failing to change the scene currently before her, which remained as it had been. The doors were made of black Oak and had an enormous silver dragon stretched across them, not laid into the wood but embossed upon it and which was outlined with dozens of petite sapphires. Fit for a King, perhaps, but utterly horrifying to Bella all the same; her heart and soul screamed in protest at the sight of them.
“To replace the plain doors of your study,” Dáin revealed magnanimously, having moved much closer to Thorin’s side, and how Bella wanted to punch him in that moment, before he admitted wryly, “My advisors suggested a golden dragon, but I did not believe that you would appreciate a gift made from such, not from me.”
Thorin, for his part, remained utterly composed, at least visibly. Bella would have believed him to be nothing but pleased with the gift, that is, if she had not been able to feel how his fingers had tightened around hers beneath the table the very moment that the doors had been shown to him. “It is a magnificent gift, cousin, and one that I shall honor all of my days.”
Dáin beamed in delight and raised his goblet once more, “To Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain!”
“To Thorin Oakenshield!” the people echoed proudly.
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“Don’t change the doors of your study,” Bella spoke later that night, the moment that she and Thorin were alone in her sitting room; it was half a demand and half a desperate plea. “Just leave them as they are now.”
Thorin reached out and gently tugged her into a consoling embrace, though even his touch was not enough to completely quell the minute trembling of her upper body. “I have to use Dáin’s gift, Ghivashel. It would be seen as a grave insult to my cousin if I did not.”
“But, Thorin, the dream-”
“You told me that the dragon in your dream was made of gold, not silver, Bella,” Thorin pointed out, his voice low and soothing. He rubbed comforting circles into the small of her back as he murmured, “If the future was indeed what you witnessed, beloved, then, in some way, it has already been altered.”
That was… true.
Bella took a deep, calming breath and reached up to gently, affectionately, tweak Thorin’s betrothal braid with a hand that was still quivering slightly from fear and anger before admitting sotto voce, “You weren’t wearing this, in my dream, and your beard was still shorn.”
“You see?” Thorin stated. “The future is not as set in stone as you fear it to be. If some things can be changed then perhaps all things can be.”
“That’s not a guarantee, Thorin,” Bella protested. “That horrid dream, nightmare, vision, or whatever it was, could still come to pass.”
“Nothing in this life is guaranteed, Nangingith,” Thorin reminded.
“What dream?” a new voice rang out and Bella and Thorin let go of one another to take in Nori standing three feet away from them. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was frowning at them.
“How long have you been standing there?” Thorin demanded, unwillingly startled by the unexpected presence of Bella’s stealthiest brother.
“Long enough; you two are entirely too unobservant,” Nori rejoined, sounding suitably unimpressed with them both, before repeating, “What dream?”
“A few nights before I arrived in Erebor,” Bella revealed quietly, “The night of the Summit in Dale, actually, I had a dream about Blacklocks murdering Thorin. In the dream, Thorin’s study had doors with a dragon upon them.”
“A golden dragon,” Thorin interjected. “With a ruby eye.”
“Yes, fine, it was made of gold,” Bella allowed. “But it was still a dragon. When I woke, the Lady Galadriel told me that there was a possibility of what I had seen being a portent of the future.”
“Just to clarify,” Nori questioned after a long moment, focusing on Thorin, “Bella is possibly having prophetic dreams about your death and you didn’t think to bother mentioning it?”
“Yes?” Thorin replied tentatively.
Nori groaned in exasperation, “How the hell am I supposed to protect you if you keep pertinent information like that from me? Dwalin’s right, we should just have a fleet of guards following you around at all times.”
“I hoped that it was nothing more than a terrible nightmare,” Bella spoke up.
Nori’s expression softened perceptibly as he turned to look at Bella, “So do I, Namadith, but any threat, even one as seemingly intangible as this, is something that I need to know about, so that I can be prepared to neutralize it, if or when it materializes. Until now, I did not think to be more wary of the Blacklocks than I would naturally be of any other strangers visiting the Mountain. That oversight could have proved fatal to Thorin.”
Bella felt herself growing pale again and Thorin shot Nori an irritated look as he pulled Bella close once more.
“You cannot hide this from her,” Nori defended firmly. “It would be more harmful than helpful.”
Thorin sighed heavily but nodded. Bella gripped his midnight blue doublet tightly with her fingers and pressed her head to his chest, so that she could hear the reassuring beat of his heart.
After a minute, Bella regained herself enough to speak, “Nori?”
“Yes, Namad?”
“If Blacklocks come to Erebor and you even remotely suspect that they are a threat, to any of us, I want them permanently removed from our home,” Bella instructed steadily and without a trace of guilt.
“It will be my pleasure,” Nori promised.
“I’m going to pretend that I did not just hear my future Queen and one of my High Lords plotting a potential assassination,” Thorin remarked blandly.
“That’s probably for the best, Your Majesty,” Nori returned cheekily.
“Shouldn’t you be congratulating Bofur on his remarkable success this evening?” Thorin challenged.
Nori rolled his eyes, “Alright, alright, I can take a hint. Good night, Namaduh. Try not to do anything stupid before morning comes, Thorin.”
Thorin growled as Nori slipped, like a shadow, out of Bella’s sitting room before lamenting, “Life was so much easier when I could legitimately threaten him with imprisonment. ‘Annoying the King’ is not a justifiable charge and I’ve pardoned him for everything else.”
Bella swatted his arm, grinning despite herself, “Thorin.”
“Are you alright?” Thorin inquired gently.
“I want to break Dáin’s nose,” Bella huffed in response. “But otherwise, yes.”
Thorin raised an eyebrow at her in amusement, “I think, perhaps, that we have had a bad influence on you, Sanâzyung.”
“You made me strong, you mean,” Bella replied.
“No, no one can make another person something that they were not already in their heart,” Thorin disagreed, “You always had this fire burning fiercely inside of you, beloved.”
“Maybe,” Bella conceded to him, “But, I never would have found it, Khaeluh, had you and the others not been around to fan the flames into something substantial, something that I could perceive and grasp and wield.”
“And look how you’ve wielded it, Kurdûh,” Thorin returned proudly, kissing her soundly.
“Mahzâyung,” Bella murmured against his lips.
Thorin scooped her up into his arms with a broad smile, making her giggle, “As you wish, beloved.”
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Dáin Ironfoot and his men departed from Erebor with the rising sun, while the Royal Family and their guards watched them leave in varying degrees of weariness at the Mekhêmel.
“I hope they make it back to the Iron Hills before the first heavy snowfall,” Glóin muttered groggily, shielding his eyes from the light of the dawn with one hand.
“They’ll be cuttin’ it close,” Dwalin agreed, one arm wrapped around Ori’s shoulders as the scribe leaned sleepily against him. It was a testament to how tired Bella’s youngest brother was- that his hair was almost in disarray. Except for his betrothal braid, sealed at the end with a cylindrical bead of gold and peridot, which was as immaculate as ever.
“Are winters harsh in the Iron Hills?” Bella asked Thorin.
“No harsher than they are here or in the Blue Mountains, at least not usually,” Thorin replied. “Last winter was an anomaly.”
“What were winters like in the Shire, Bél?” Kíli inquired, moving to stand beside Bella. He was still wearing the clothing he had worn the night before, although they were rather askew. His shirt was on inside out and his trousers were backwards.
“We usually got some snow,” Bella told him, “But, except for during the Fell Winter when everything froze over, it was never more than a light dusting, really, and it never lasted very long, thawing by midday.”
“So,” Kíli’s eyes sparkled mischievously, “That means that you’ve never had a snowball fight?”
Bella raised an eyebrow at him, “What in the Green Lady’s name is a snowball fight, Nadad?”
Kíli smirked gleefully, “We are going to have so much fun this winter. We’ll have snowball fights, and build snowmen, and go ice-skating and sledding.”
“Snowmen,” Bella repeated incredulously, “Ice-skating?”
“It’s basically controlled sliding over frozen water,” Fíli explained before looking over at Kíli. “Let’s not get to ahead of ourselves, Nadadith, our sister needs to learn how to swim, first and foremost.”
Bella frowned, “I do not.”
“Yes,” Fíli disagreed, “You do. And once Ruby Springs has been completed, we’ll be teaching you.”
“Ruby Springs?” Bella questioned.
“The Royal Family’s private mineral pool,” Bofur spoke up helpfully. “We’ve diverted hot water from the Ân‘ezhul, because Lací said that having salt in the water would make it easier for you to learn how to swim.”
Bella stared at him, aghast, before spinning to her betrothed and hissing out in indignation, “Thorin.”
“I’m afraid that I was overruled in this particular matter,” Thorin said hastily.
“You’re the King,” Bella protested in disbelief. “You can’t be overruled.”
“Tell your brothers that,” Thorin rejoined dryly.
Bella looked skyward, seeking solace from the clouds that drifted lazily across the robin egg blue above her.
“Hey,” Fíli gently touched her chin, making her turn toward him, “It’ll be fine, Bél. You know we won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Of course I know that,” Bella huffed, “But I hate deep water, Fee.”
“And I’m not expecting for you to change your mind about it, but I do expect for you to be able to survive in it,” Fíli announced.
Bella frowned at him but didn’t bother to argue the point any further. They couldn’t teach her if she refused to get into the mineral pool and that was something she would not be easily convinced to do.
“There goes Dáin,” Dís said, drawing Bella’s attention away from thoughts of water and swimming, and Bella looked up in time to see the Lord of the Iron Hills vanish over the horizon.
“Breakfast time then,” Bombur spoke, as the last of the Iron Hills’ Dwarrow disappeared in the Wildes, shooting a wink Bella’s way, “Or Second Breakfast, if you’re a Hobbit.”
‘Or a bunny,’ Bifur teased in quick Iglishmêk, as he walked past Bella.
Bella rolled her eyes good-naturedly, took Thorin’s outstretched hand into her own, and followed her kin back into the reassuring warmth of their home.
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Translations
- Ghivashel – Treasure of all Treasures; Beloved
- Nangingith – Little Flower
- Sanâzyung – Perfect Love
- Kurdûh – My Heart
- Khaeluh – My Wolf
- Mahzâyung – Make Love to Me
- Buznel Abkundaz – Great Gardens of the Dawn
- Namad – Sister
- Namadith – Little Sister
- Namaduh – My Sister
- Nadad – Brother
- Nadadith – Little Brother
- Mekhêmel – Great Gates
- Ân‘ezhul - Name of one of the heated rivers running through Erebor; (Basically means salted river)
THE END