Beyond the Fall


for @SilmarilNaro

Thorin woke in utter darkness, a part of him remembering pain, another part of him unsure of anything, of any memory. Rising from the stone… yes he had been lying on dark stone, he looked around in the darkness, surprised he could move as easily. Neither his foot nor his body seemed injured any more. The thought of the injuries to his body awoke the memories that seemed so strangely distant now. Wounds… and battle, the pictures seemed unclear.

Azog!

The memory of the pale Orc’s face ripped through the gentle veil that had been between him and his own demise and the memory of death, of falling to battle became suddenly crystal clear again. He had died…

Looking around he realized that he stood inside a wide stone hall, and there was a fire shining from on ahead. For a moment Thorin stood like frozen. For all his knowing that he was in the Halls of the Fathers, he seemed unable to grasp that he was here… dead, fallen in the world he left behind.

“Fíli?” he asked softly. He had seen his elder nephew fall before him - slaughtered by Azog, the first to go. Thorin’s throat tightened when he thought of Fíli’’s death, his body lying in the snows, a bright flame extinguished before his time.

“Thorin!” Rushing feet came towards him, and Fíli embraced him fiercely. “You… you too?” The younger dwarf asked, his voice husky.

For a moment Thorin was lost for words, he knew he had led Fíli to his death, it had been his decision to storm Ravenhill, to do what none other on the field was seeing - that it was the head of the snake that needed to be cut off. It had been what needed to be done, like it had on that dreadful day before the gates of Moria. Back then Frérin and Dari had followed him into the fray, never to return, and now Fíli…

A movement in the darkness made him turn around, seeing another familiar figure hover in the shadows. He did not need to ask, even as he saw nothing more but a shade. Kíli was with them, in death, much as in life, they had not been separated.

“No…” Thorin barely recognized his own voice, at the angry word, as a terrible sense of failure spread through him. Even when he had managed to destroy Azog in the Defiler… even if he had managed to turn that battle around, it had taken the last of Durin’s Sons, his family. “It should not have ended like this… I failed… failed in the end.”

“You did not fail, Thorin,” another voice answered, a firm yet beautiful voice that Thorin had never heard before and yet knew with every fibre of his being. He looked up, to see a man… or was he dwarf? He found himself unable to define a species for the man standing not far from them. He was taller than them, though seemingly not by much - though Thorin strangely felt unsure about that as well, and had bright red flowing hair, falling around his shoulders, his face was even and of a beauty that would have made any artist proud. “You did not fail, Thorin - you did what you always were meant to do: lead your people back to the Mountain Home, to carve the path on which they would follow.”

“I…” Thorin’s answer falls short, when it begins to dawn to him, that he is standing face to face with Mahal, the maker of their race, the great world-smith. Words fail him, he has none to express his thoughts, his conflicting emotions, which calm slowly as the great smith embraces him and Fíli.

“Welcome home. Your journey was arduous, and yet you achieved your task in spite all odds. Thanks to you, your people will last and grow stronger again.”

The words broke a terrible yoke Thorin had still felt on his shoulders, for all his mistakes, his failures… he had not failed his people in the end. There was a warmth spreading out inside him. He was home, he had come home after a lifetime of wandering. “I understand.” he finally found his voice again. “my nephews? They too were not meant to last?”

The great smith shook his head. “Fíli was meant to be with you, he was your strength, your support during that long, dark time. As for Kíli… his journey is far from over, he will have to go on alone for a while and a great task is still waiting for him. Do not fear… he will accomplish it.” There was such a calm confidence in Mahal’s voice that Thorin believed for a moment, he had been wrong with what he had seen in the dark tunnel. Maybe he had seen the shade of another dwarrow fallen linger close by? Yet his eyes strayed towards the silent figure lingering in the shade.

His glance attracted the attention of the world-smith and too glanced over towards the dwarf waiting to be recognized. The red-head’s shoulders tensed all of sudden and he stepped back from Thorin as he fully turned his gaze to the waiting shade. The dwarf still veiled in shadow knelt, and Thorin suddenly wondered if he should have done the same towards their maker… yet it had felt so unnecessary.

Disregarding them for a moment Mahal approached the dwarf in the shadows, pulling him up and into a fierce embrace, that bespoke not just a welcome but familiarity. “Kári, how? It was not your time?”

Thorin frowned, that was not Kíli’s name. Kíli’s true name was Kithál, and Kári… it was a name almost forbidden among dwarrow since the dawn of time. Kári, the Soul of the Deep was too grand, too vain a name for any dwarrow to wear.

“I tried… I fell with them.” The voice… it sound oh-so-much like his nephew, but deeper, with a timbre that Kíli had not lived to grow into. “There were too many of them… so many.”

“You fell with them?” Mahal’s voice was firm, but there was an edge to it. “Was there no one else to have your back in that fight?”

“Them.” Now Thorin can almost hear Kíli speak the words. “There were four… maybe five of us to make it up to that hill. The rest…” The words hang in the air, and they say what Thorin thinks, that none of the others had the wits or the courage to follow them up to Ravenhill.

The dark hall brightened a little, there were no lamps lighting, only the darkness receding a bit, and Thorin can see them anew, Mahal and the dwarf standing opposite of him. His heart almost stops (or could it even stop here?) when he sees this dwarf, Mahal called Kári: it is Kíli and yet it is not. He is as tall as Kíli was, and he has the same finely chiseled, noble features that made Kíli stand out so much among his kind. Yet this dwarf is broader in stature than Kíli was, and he has black hair instead of dark brown, the blue eyes are the eyes of Durin’s line. And yet… when he looks over to them, his smile is one Thorin knows.

“Kíli?” he asks, wondering, not understanding what he is seeing, feeling he should understand.

Striding towards them the dwarf again shows a painful difference to Kíli who walked with a bounce, not that confident stride, but their embrace… their embrace leaves no doubt that he is Thorin’s nephew. “It is I,” he says, his voice rough. “I am so sorry, Thorin, I failed… I was killed too.”

Thorin hugs him tight, before making room for Fíli to tackle his brother. “You had more Orcs against you than you could count… there was nothing you could do. There were too many of them, and too little of us, like always.” These words are for his nephew and yet… he knows Kíli is not just that.

Kíli… no, Kári looks at him and there is a sad smile in his face. “Thank you, Thorin. For everything. You were all that any dwarrow could wish in a father.”

It sounds like a goodbye, like… Thorin does not know like what. His eyes go to Mahal. “He is coming with us, is he?” he asks. “I will not see him punished over something that was my mistake ultimately.” He will not allow it.

But the great smith shakes his head. “This is not punishment, Thorin, what happened should not have happened. Kári’s soul still has a task, neither his first nor the last in this world. He cannot come with you - but he will find you again, in the end of days.”

And suddenly Thorin understands. A soul with several tasks, a soul to keep the very line of dwarrow alive… a soul named for the fact of being a soul… the one soul whispered to have existed in the stone figures before Eru gave them all souls. Kári. Durin the Deathless. Somehow he cannot reconcile his cheery, wayward, wild, beloved nephew, in whom he saw so much room for improvement with the legendary rebirth of Durin the Deathless.

It takes only one glance to Kári to confirm it though. “Thorin,” Kári graps his shoulders. “I have to go on, I do not know how yet, but I have to - my task is not finished.”

And Thorin feels this IS to be their parting, for him and Fíli to go to the halls of waiting, and for Kíli… he still *is* Kíli in his mind, to continue wherever Mahal sends him. Almost pleadingly he looks at their maker. “I know I have to let him go,” he says softly. “but… ere he has to leave, to whatever you decide… may we stay close?” Even if it only for a little while, he cannot turn away from his younger nephew.

Mahal smiles at him, and there is a genuine warmth in his eyes. “It will not make it easier for you, Thorin, but you may stay for now.”

They leave the hall and enter a large forge, the largest smithy Thorin has ever seen, it makes him feel like a dwarf in a giant’s forge. Kári and Mahal come to stand before a huge brazier full of embers. “Tell me what happened.” Mahal says, like he wants to hear it all in Kíli’s words.

Hearing the story again is indeed painful for Thorin, it reminds him too closely of his own failings, and yet… hearing the battle described in that cool, analytical voice that is not Kíli, but something else from his long journey, is also fascinating.

“What of Mithrandir?” Mahal asks suddenly. “He did not join you on Ravenhill? Or send the elves to assist you?”

Kári shook his head. “No. The elves only fought because they had to, to protect themselves, and Mithrandir, I do not even know where he was at that time.”

Thorin wants to say that Bilbo was with them, but the words die on his lips, and he feels a squeeze of Fíli’s hand. This council they are not part of… they only observe, maybe to find a way to say their goodbyes to a soul that was with them for seven long decades.

Mahal’s fist curled around a glowing piece of ember, making it flare brightly. “He was warned.” the smith growled. “warned to not interfere with the lines of fate, to not chose one race above the other… and yet he broke his word and failed to correct his mistakes.”

Thorin flinched, Mahal’s anger was a sight to behold, a flame to not come too close to. How Kári could stand it, he did not understand. But who knew what long history Kári shared with their maker? “He was captured in Dol Guldur…” Kári pointed out. “there are a few places no one will get out easily.”

Mahal’s eyes narrowed and Thorin was not sure if he’d like to get this glance shot his way. “Then he should have finished the quest first, before traipsing after the Shadow.” He said firmly. “He broke his word, and he broke the rules of his task… which in turn allows me to bend the same rules a little. Though it will not make it any easier for you, my friend, I’m afraid.”

Kári straightened up, there was a powerful determination in him in that moment. “What do I need to do?” he asked quietly. “Live another unknown life to make up for my falling too early?”

Thorin felt that he may truly not have wanted to hear all this. Had Durin been born even more times than dwarrow knew? Living ignoble lives to pay… for what? His lives had been hard enough as was, if Thorin recalled some of them, most of them had ended in harsh death’s as well.

“No, it was not your failing.” Mahal stepped closer to the fire. “There are two ways for this - one would be to let the world face the consequences - let the world face the Shadow without a strong dwarven nation to help it this time. Their failing destroyed what should have helped them, so they will reap the consequences…”

Thorin thoroughly agreed with that notion. Maybe the elves would have to come off their little trees and actually fight for a change, if no one did their work for them. But Kári shook his head. “We cannot do that, not if we can help it. You know what is coming… the end is nigh, and it might shatter the world, if it proves too weak.”

“You still have a heart to love the world,” Mahal leaned forward, his hand moving over the embers and forming a map of sorts. “the other way is for you to return now - I cannot send you back to your body, such power is only given to others, but I can send you back into another life. Yet… Kári you will be as young as you are now when facing the great war, it might easily break you.”

Kári sighed. “Then I better learn swiftly this time around.” He said firmly. “We are out of time… the world is out of time. But… there is almost no family left, to which I could be born?”

Now Mahal seemed amused. “The bloodline is not quite dead yet, Kári, even if it were not for the courageous Dís being still alive. There are two others still, who’s line is linked with yours in such a way. Grey, White or Blue mountains, one of them will be your home again…”

The sight of the smithy faded before Thorin, he wanted to shout, to call, he wanted to know where Kíli was to be send, but suddenly he stood in a large hall full of dwarves, seeing his father, grandfather and mother surrounding him. Feeling their embrace Thorin felt he truly was home, and contend to leave the world’s worries to their Maker.

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