All Roads Lead Home

“Come on then, hop to! Up, up, up!”

Ossi was pounding on the door to Jokim’s cell, without bothering to glance inside to see if the prisoner were standing right beside the door or even awake. The prince had just navigated a tense conversation with the commanding jailer, and wasn’t much in the mood to take things slowly.

Finally he swooped his head in front of the barred window, to see Jokim staring at him almost nose-to-nose.

“Aye, sir?”

The prince recoiled slightly. “No backtalk! Raise your right hand.”

Jokim raised a brow, but did as he was told. The prince raised his right hand as well, and then began to speak in a galloping stampede of words.

“Do you, Jokim, humbly admit remorse for your actions at the Eastern Gate, acknowledge the harm done, commit to future penance and swear to do no further harm to the realm or its people, under threat of censure, banishment or death, as determined by the duly designated rulers of the Blue Mountains, forever may they tower?”

“Sir, beg pardon…?”

“Backtalk! Do you swear it?”

In truth, Jokim had missed about half the words that had spilled from the prince’s mouth. So instead of gauging their worth, he had to measure Ossi’s sincerity by reading his face. It was no easy read. He took a chance.

“I swear it, sir.”

The prince gave a short nod. “Then by the power entrusted in me by the realm and its ruler, I hereby release you from your present sentence and relegate you to house arrest, to be served at the home of Vorik the healer until further notice! Jailer! Keys, now!”

It took a fair deal to knock Jokim off his guard, but this did it. “Sir! I am in your debt for this amnesty…”

“Not amnesty. You are still awaiting trial. Just in better appointed surroundings.” Ossi glanced down the hall. “Where are those confounded keys? Jailer!”

Jokim pressed against the door and clutched the bars. “What is the matter, sir?”

Ossi leaned in and dropped his voice to a deep hiss. “Those Elvish friends of yours are as brittle as autumn leaves now. The one nearly killed himself forging a new arm for the other, and now they are both dancing with death. You need to be there, or else…” But now the jailer was approaching in a storm of jangling keys and grumbled curses, so Ossi drew back from the door and bit his tongue.

The jailer opened the cell, and out stepped Jokim. He bowed before the prince. “It will be a great pleasure to serve as your lieutenant, sir. But if I may request… could you not also be so generous as to place the merchant Kabur under house arrest? Surely he is of no further threat to the realm, sir.”

The prince flashed red, but the moment passed. “Well. If Vorik can fit another head into that overstuffed hut of his, perhaps that could be arranged. But Jokim?”

“Aye, sir.”

“If you plan to serve as my lieutenant, you need to learn one thing. Any time an idea pops into that stone-thick skull of yours, and I happen to agree with it, all the credit goes to me, understood?”

“Understood, sir.”

Prince Ossi nodded, half smiling, and turned on his heel to face the jailer. “Jailer. I believe I’ve just decided to make the same offer to the merchant in the next cell. Lead me to him, would you?”

Four sets of eyes shot to Prince Ossi as he strode through the door: Vorik, Druri and the rangers were having a minor meal at the table while Greta took her shift at watching over the Elves. They all started and shouted when Jokim and Kabur filed in next.

Druri leapt to his feet. “Uncle! And Kabur too! Prince Ossi, you freed them!”

“No-no-no, little tadpole. I have merely transferred them to a different cell. House arrest, you see, is very different from…”

But no one was listening to him. They were all rising from their chairs, bellowing and laughing, clapping the two newly returned prisoners on the shoulders. Druri took a flying leap and wrapped his uncle up for a hug. Jokim caught him, but with an audible “oof!”

“Quite excitable, aren’t we?” he muttered, dropping Druri. “Haven’t had enough to occupy you here?”

“He has been extraordinarily helpful with our patients, in fact,” said Vorik, standing with his hands on his hips. He looked drained and drawn, bruised rings about his eyes, which blinked just a little too frequently.

“We can both attest to that,” said Eldred, elbowing Hurod. “He has usurped the both of us as Vorik’s chief assistant! I feel rather redundant, myself.”

“Well if you so desperately need to feel useful, there’s a whole mountain of bedsheets that needs cleaning!” Vorik had turned to give Eldred a squinty glare, but soon felt Jokim’s hand on his shoulder.

“Vorik… how are they?”

The healer sighed and turned, rubbing at his right eye while gazing at Jokim frankly with his left. “They are both sedated, fighting their separate fights. Greta is keeping an eye on them now.”

“May I join them? May I speak to them?”

“You… may.” Vorik had considered the thought for but a moment. “The two of them clearly feed off one another, even while unconscious. You might have the same effect sitting with them. More scholarly fellows than I have scoffed at the notion, but these are the sorts of things you notice after years spent at people’s bedsides: presence matters. Even those sleeping or dumb to the world can sense it, and it often speeds their recovery to have a loved one near.”

“I thank you friend. Perhaps you could grab some sleep while I tend to them?”

Vorik laughed and shook his head. “You should remember this, Jokim: I don’t grab sleep. It grabs me, wherever I may be found. So if you should walk out to find me facedown beside the hearth, do not act surprised. My body will give me a sound whack on the head when it is time for me to rest.”

“Fair enough.” Jokim glanced down to Druri and ruffled his hair a bit, but the boy seemed to shrug off the familiar gesture. “It gladdens me to hear that you are proving so useful to our friend Vorik.” He leaned forward in a low bow and whispered in his nephew’s ear. “See if you can’t tend to Kabur a bit, eh, lad? I believe the stay in the dungeons upset him. He worries for his family.”

Indeed, the merchant had drifted backward after all the jovial slaps to his shoulders and currently sat near one of the windows, gazing out forlornly at the guards who stood watch over the front door. Druri nodded, and although he seemed to hunger for some greater acknowledgment, accepted his assignment.

Jokim made his way into the miniature infirmary that housed the two Elves. A mismatched pair of footrests had been dragged in from elsewhere in the home to accommodate their spindly legs. Two candles lit the room, casting long and quivering shadows. It felt like its own world, ghostly and detached from the warmth of the den.

Greta’s face hung illuminated in the darkness, and she stood as Jokim entered.

“May I have a moment with them?” Jokim had removed his hood and held it in his hands.

“Ten minutes.” Greta was curt, but not harsh. “And you will let me know immediately if their conditions change in any possible way.”

Jokim bowed his head, and stepped aside to allow her to pass back into the den.

Then he sat on the stiff wooden chair that Greta had just vacated, facing both beds. From this position, he could not properly see their faces, just the soles of their feet. They breathed in and out, in ragged call and response. Their quiet hum filled the room, and the sounds of muted conversation from the den seemed to fade away. Jokim felt his own breathing slowing, matching theirs.

“Well.” His voice sounded harsh and discordant in the quiet of the room. He cleared his throat and glanced down at his knees, rubbing a hand along the worn fabric of his trousers. He realized that he hadn’t changed his clothing in a good week or more. When had been the last time…? But no, it was not important. He was avoiding the matter at hand.

“Well.” He had to say something. “Where am I to begin? And would it even matter? I wonder if you can hear me.” He glanced up from his knees and searched for signs of life, but there was none save the drone of their breathing. “I am in your debt. That must be said. Several times over, I am in your debt…” He paused again, feeling tied up and useless. Moments passed, and no words came.

“Haluin.” Jokim sat up in a jolt, almost surprised by the words as they began to emerge from him. “When we met one another again… outside of Mirkwood. I said that we ought to have remained apart… it was a fool’s words that passed through me. I was… not myself. I had carried things with me all those years after we parted ways. Forgotten I was carrying them, in fact. And they seized at me… I spoke rashly. Not the first or the last time for that, of course… but it was wrong. You ought to know that.”

He snorted. “Well I suppose you already knew that, but were just being polite in not reminding me, eh?”

He half expected to hear a laugh and a rejoinder in return, but of course there was only that solemn silence in reply. Jokim sighed and tapped a hand against his knee. But now he could feel more words bubbling up inside him, unanticipated, eager for release.

“I… well, there are some things I shall never understand about Elves. You know that full well, the both of you do. Your fascination with the sea, for instance… or your insistence on treating trees like people! Well, that is neither here nor there. But… all this time I have been in your company… there are things I have learned. Things I might not have otherwise noticed — and not simply things about the wilderness or tracking or the stars. But… ways of thought, ways of treating others. And it has changed me. For the better.” He lowered his head a bit and chuckled. “A Khuzd like me hangs around for enough years and he becomes hardened… gnarled. He sees the patterns of the world and expects them never to change. But then he meets some other… or some others… who tell him that no, this is not so, that there is another way to be. Well, you would forgive an old graybeard some confusion, would you not?” He smiled, looking between their prone figures. “And quite confused I was! Why would an experienced warrior care so much for a stripling of a young dwarf? Why would a smith abandon his home and livelihood to care for a kinsman he barely knew? And yet the answers were there…” He shook his head, leaning back in the creaking chair and clasping his hands over his lap. “I have learned. As has Druri. Druri especially."

Jokim fell silent, not knowing whether his words had found appreciative listeners, or if he had simply been babbling alone in the darkness. He stared at the shadows cast along the floorboards and walls as they swayed and jittered. The minutes bled by. His time with the Elves would end soon.

“It is possible…” Jokim began, very quietly. “That I may never speak with you… either of you… again. I suppose I have said all that need be said. Other than ‘thank you.’ Simply, thank you. Not much to offer in parting, is it, but there it is.”

He could hear Greta’s footsteps approaching the door. Jokim stood very slowly, and now he could see both of their faces clearly: lost in the haze of sleep, expressionless. He continued to stare at them even as he heard Greta stop outside the door… heard her knock gently… heard her open the door. A shaft of light shot across their beds. It felt like waking up from a deep reverie.

“Jokim, it’s time…”

The old dwarf nodded.

“Goodbye,” he whispered, and turned for the door. He did not look back as Greta shut it behind him.

Forgotten on the workbench that Eldarin had used, lay Haluin's new-forged arm. It gleamed like obsidian, lit by firelight as it lay dormant now, it's fingers splayed as though reaching out for something. Beckoning.

Measured footsteps entered the dwarf lord's smithy and paused. Eerie. thought Olafur as he gazed upon the arm. Slowly he approached it, as though it would suddenly rise up on its fingertips and bolt in fear. Eerie, yet beautiful. Surely such work has not been seen in Middle Earth since the days of Durin himself!

Slowly he caressed the arm, flexing the minute joints of each finger, carefully studying the way in which each intricate join moved, almost of its own volition. A thought began to grow in Olafur's mind as he lifted the arm from the bench and he smiled to himself as he turned, bearing his burden to the house of Vorik.


*******************************************


"My lord! By all means, enter!" cried Vorik, waving Olafur into his increasingly crowded front room. "Greta! Some ale for Lord Olafur, if you please!"

"I do NOT please!" she yelled back. "I'm trying to keep Eldarin with us. Serve him yourself!"

Lord Olafur raised an eyebrow, but offered no further comment as he scanned the room. Huddled in a corner, sat Kabur, nursing his own pint of ale and mumbling to himself ot anyone else who would listen. Two men came and went, bearing armsful of what smelled like soiled linen and then there was his own son, talking avidly with the one who had apparently started the whole debacle. "Father!" cried Ossi, startled. Lord Olafur scowled at the familiar form of address in front of strangers.

Clearing his throat, Ossi began again. "Lord Olafur, this is Jokim, late of Erebor that was lost to Dragon fire. Jokim, Lord Olafur, my father."

Jokim looked long and hard at the dwarf lord, then clapped a fist to his heart. "My lord, I thank you."

"Your "freedom" was my son's idea." rumbled Olafur. Jokim eyes glittered darkly. "I was referring to what you carry, my lord. My friend has great need of it. I would not have his companion die in vain."

Olafur glared. "Die? Who speaks of dying? Vorik, report! What goes on here?"

The weary healer made his way over to Olafur bearing a large tankard brimming with frothy ale and set it on the nearest table that had a clear space. "Tis true, my lord. The elf Eldarin seems to have given the last measure of his strength to aid his kinsman. I cannot wake him."

Olafur thrust the arm into Vorik's hands. "Here, take it! If this saves the one, then the other will surely recover, is that not so? I would not have all that knowledge lost, Vorik. Not for all the riches in Middle Earth!"

A sharp intake of breath made Olafur turn. The look in Jokim's eyes almost made him regret he had. "Are you saying you want them to live merely so that you can exploit Eldarin's gift? The dwarf was aghast, appalled. "You would use him?"

"He offered, I accepted." replied the dwarf lord quietly. "I don't see the problem."

Angry beyond words, Jokim clenched his fists and stalked into the elves' sickroom. For the first time, he wished that they wouldn't survive. Greta was there at Haluin's bedside, carefully washing his wound. "It has healed, Jokim. I don't understand why he won't wake. No fever, no infection..." she threw the washcloth into the waiting bucket in frustration. "I do not understand it!"

"Elves! These creatures were not made from the mountain's bones as we were, but, as Haluin has told me repeatedly, they were sung into being, if you can believe it! What can anyone do with such beings?" Jokim replied sourly. he stalked over to Haluin's bed and roughly took his good hand. "Haluin, listen to me! Enough is enough now, you must wake! Eldarin is in danger and you must help him. Wake now, you fool, or all will be lost!" Greta gasped as Jokim shook haluin's shoulder roughly, desperate now and Haluin cried out in pain, even as he slept.

Suddenly her eyes went round as saucers and her mouth made a soundless cry. A firm hand spun Jokim around and he found himself staring into the blood-shot eyes of Eldarin. "You will not harm him!" snarled the elven smith as he shoved Jokim aside. Jokim shouted aloud and Druri, followed by both Rangers and Olafur piled into the small room.

There they stood aghast as they saw Eldarin, pale as milk, grasping Haluin by the hand, soothing the frightened elf as trhough he were a child.

"He...but...weren't they both...Greta?" babbled Druri as they all stood gazing at this unlikely scene. She spread her hands and shrugged, then caustiously leaned in close to Eldarin. "Are you alright, lad? You both gave us a turn, you did."

"Aye, good lady, I am well. But what of Haluin?" he asked as he gazed down at his friend. "His heart races too fast. "

"I...I am here, mellon-nin.I hear what you say." said Haluin, his voice gone harsh with disuse. "Someone hurt my shoulder...I heard voices...I saw...I saw...Tirion. It is beautiful, Eldarin...beautiful..." He closed his eyes wearily as a tear ran down his cheek. "Why did the Valar show me now?"

"Shhh, quiet, now and rest." whispered Eldarin as he dragged a chair over to Haluin's bed. He looked up at Greta, his eyes shining. "Thank you, good lady for saving my brother. Now he has another chance with...wait! " He whirled, franticly looking around. "Where is the arm??"

Olafur came forward. "Here, smith. I believe you owe me."

“Ha!” Eldred tipped back his chair until its front legs dangled high in the air. “This is what I imagine a White Council meeting would look like. Well, save for the Elves in dressing gowns.”

With a series of gruff announcements, Jokim had managed to cram all the denizens of Vorik’s overstuffed home into the infirmary.

A few of them were fortunate enough to have actual chairs to seat themselves upon, but the rest had to improvise. Hurod had somehow folded himself atop a dwarf-sized kitchen stool. Druri sat cross-legged on a footrest pilfered from the living room. And Kabur teetered precariously atop a creaking keg from Vorik’s stores.

Greta clicked her tongue at Eldred. “Four legs on the floor! Always!”

“Hmm!” The ranger seemed to wind up to deliver a salty retort, but the glare of Greta’s eyes in the candlelight prodded him to lean forward and resettle his chair.

“Now that we have the pleasantries out of the way, perhaps our ringmaster Jokim would care to tell us why he’s herded us all in here?” Ossi was leaning sourly against the doorframe, his traveling hood pulled over his head. Of course, it never rained or gusted inside the mountain. But the prince often preferred to walk its avenues with his face and identity concealed.

Jokim glanced round the room, his thick eyebrows wiggling as he drew a scowl. “It is for the sake of these two, m'lord.”

He nodded to the pair of Elves who sat, propped up in their beds. Even in the wan candlelight, they looked almost like themselves again. Haluin continued to flex the fingers of his new arm out of habit. Eldarin’s eyes were averted from all the rest, and he barely seemed to draw breath as he sat there, hands clasped in his lap.

“And for the rest of us, besides. We have all been stewing in our own despair for too long. Alone we wander lost, but together we might find strength and fellowship. And a solution.” Jokim rose to his feet. “Yesterday, the Lord Olafur delivered the gift of Haluin’s arm… but wrapped in ill tidings. He would extend his agreement with our friend Eldarin into perpetuity, working him until he can work no longer.”

“You need not grandstand on my behalf,” Eldarin said quietly. “I made my choice, and I do not regret it, for the life it spared. I accept this fate.”

“Tor-nin.” At last, Eldarin glanced up at the sound of Haluin’s voice. “I am grateful for your sacrifice, as I am for the stars and the sea. But I do not believe our dwarvish friend is ready to accept the trade you have made with the lord of this realm. Jokim is building to something.” Haluin glanced to his old comrade with a weary glint of amusement in his eyes. “Are you not?”

“Better it be spoken directly then. We must help Haluin and Eldarin escape.”

A murmur rippled through the tiny room, but Jokim clapped his hands. “It is unacceptable that any friend of mine be kept as a thrall, to a dwarf lord or otherwise! We must find a way to slip both of these Elves out of the mountain. I turn to the lot of you to help me discover how to do it.”

Ossi shifted his weight off of the doorframe, shaking his head. “I knew I had cast my lot with a madman! Jokim. It is not possible, not without detection and not without a row of a fight. And even if the Elves do scrape through the gates, those of you who aided in their escape will be bound for a lifetime spent laboring in the blackest, deepest pit my father can find.”

“Tut, tut!” Eldred waved a finger. “You forget, you are in the company of two rangers and two Elves. That’s four masters of stealth. And I hear tell that the little beardling here is a promising spy himself.” Eldred gestured to Druri, who beamed. “Now you give me and my brother three days. We can slink off by night through Vorik’s rooftop, study the guard patrols, record the shift patterns of the soldiers who guard the Eastern Gate, and then…”

“You know, you would do well to follow your brother’s example and play at being a mute.” Ossi tore off his hood in impatience. “You do not have three days, for one! My father was rather sickened at seeing two foreign races living in this abysmal little hovel.” Greta clambered to her feet and began to roll up her sleeves. “Ahem. Sorry, m'lady.” Greta sat, barely appeased. “But the point remains: he wants the rangers deported tomorrow, and I am to do the deporting.”

Eldred and Hurod exchanged glances.

“Secondly, I can report that Eldarin’s new living quarters are well on their way to completion. My father wants the Elf living in his royal sanctum, adjacent to the forge. As a pet. He shall not allow him to tarry here much longer and play the convalescent.” Ossi slashed a finger at the air. “And once he gets you that close to his breast, you shan’t be escaping. I do not care if you have an invisible cloak… a herd of trained oliphaunts… an arsenal of magical weaponry! The Lord Olafur does not…”

“Excuse me.” Everyone turned to take in the humble form of Druri, sitting proudly on his footstool like a little throne. “Prince Ossi, maybe we ought to talk about how to make my uncle’s plan work, instead of pointing out all the ways that it cannot.”

More than one person in the room immediately had to stifle a chuckle at the prince’s expense, whose jaw hung limp in an incredulous expression.

“Hear, hear!” Vorik smiled and rubbed his hands together. “I say: what if Greta and I were to fix up a sleeping draught and mix it into some tea. Then we offer it to the guards, and…”

Jokim shook his head. “No, no. A fine start, but it only gets us out the front door. Our main test is at the Eastern Gate. We have humiliated Barulin once already. He will be sure that not so much as a beetle passes through his gate undetected.”

“Is there not a Western Gate?” Eldred offered.

Greta shook her head. “Too far. We’d have to traverse miles of tunnels, which don’t offer much room for concealment.”

“Ahem.” Kabur cleared his throat. “I could have my wife fetch my mule cart again, and then…”

“My apologies, my dear merchant,” Eldred said, “but as daring as your effort was to whisk us all in here, it was a once-in-a-lifetime stroke of luck. Those mules have probably been caught and put to slaughter for high treason, besides...”

Kabur blanched.

“Hang on a moment.” Druri was stroking his little fuzz garden of a beard, deep in thought. “Prince Ossi, you said the rangers have to leave tomorrow?”

The prince eyed him suspiciously, not looking to have his authority undermined again. “Indeed they do.”

“Well what if we dress up Haluin and Eldarin in the rangers’ cloaks…”

“No, no.” Ossi made sure this line of thought didn’t go anywhere. “This is not some storybook adventure, child.”

“Half a moment, sir.” Even as he rumbled at Ossi’s treatment of his nephew, Jokim maintained his respect. “Let the lad finish.”

The prince snorted and glared at Druri.

“Well… eh… I didn’t have much more than that.” Druri rubbed the back of his neck and gazed at the floor.

“You know, you could be onto something.” Greta said. “I doubt the guards escorting them would recognize one overgrown foreigner from another, so long as their hoods were pulled up high and tight.”

“Ah, but again we reach the problem of the Eastern Gate,” Vorik said, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “And Barulin.”

“Prince Ossi, sir,” Jokim said. “You know Captain Barulin better than any of us. How can we manage to best him a second time?”

The prince shook his head. “Surely you are not involving me in this inane…”

“Sir.” Jokim’s voice cut through the room and hit Ossi square in the chest. “I am afraid you have already involved yourself in our inane affairs. We are a bit of an odd group, you see, and prone to misadventures. Unfortunately, by taking such an avid interest in us and paying us the favors you have, you now share that fate. Now please. Help us this one last time and you shall only have my nephew and I to deal with henceforth. What can we do?”

Prince Ossi blinked and realized that everyone’s attention was now squarely on him. “What can we do?” He wasn’t sneering anymore. He finally took a moment to consider the question. “What can we… what can I do…”

He pondered for a moment, before a tingling sensation began to overtake him. “Wait.”

“Aye?” Jokim and everyone not confined to a bed seemed to inch one step closer to the prince.

“A preliminary hearing.”

“A what, sir?”

“A preliminary hearing. I could call one tomorrow… easily… to begin your trial, for breaking into the mountain in the first place. You, Jokim, and you, Kabur would have to attend to hear your charges read.” Ossi clapped his hands. “And as the aggrieved party, so would Captain Barulin!”

The room erupted in a buzz of excited cross-talk.

Vorik did not look entirely convinced, and polished his spectacles with a half-frown. “Barulin’s absence guarantees us nothing, however. Surely he’s trained his lads to at least pay attention to the people they’re admitting and releasing from the realm.”

The prince sighed. “Then allow me to be on hand to distract them with some official-sounding words.”

“And when your father finds out, m’lord?”

“Hmm.” Ossi lowered his gaze and shook his head with a chuckle. “I am less than mud to him already. What could possibly stain mud’s honor, eh?”

The prince looked up when he felt a sturdy hand on his shoulder.

“M’lord,” Jokim began. “Someday I shall begin to fathom the kindnesses you have shown me and my companions. I thank you wholeheartedly. My debt to you is redoubled.”

“Hmm.” Ossi mumbled. “Someday I hope to fathom it myself…”

“But we have yet to truly hear from two important voices.” Jokim turned to face the infirmary beds. “Haluin, Eldarin. What say you?”