"Something must be wrong. Skin-changers never visit without a good reason."
The throne room was lined with members of the Company, Royal Council, and an entire contingency of the Royal Guard. Bilbo stood at the far side of the chamber with Ori and Nori at his side, watching the huge doors at the front of the room in anticipation and a trifle of nervousness. Everyone was quietly whispering amongst themselves, their King an unmoving statue upon his granite throne, the royal heirs and princess seated on either side of him. More than a little confused by the strained atmosphere in the room, Bilbo came to the conclusion that some extra reading on skin-changers and their history with dwarves or northmen would be necessary in the near future.
"Will they be dangerous?" asked the hobbit.
"Not unless we attack them first. They're a pragmatic bunch, the skin-changers. A lot like Beorn, although not quite as bizarre in their behavior. Well, okay, I take that back. They're still a peculiar bunch, but these skin-changers live in communal packs, so they're a little more sociable than our beary friend," explained Nori. "The line of Durin has had a long-standing agreement with this particular pack and several others around the numerous borders of Erebor. Basically, if we stay out of their territories and let them live in peace, a strange presence of any type in or around Erebor will be reported to the King. Aside from Smaug's assault, the Lonely Mountain has always had timely forewarnings from the skin-changers about potential invasions."
"What do these ones change into?"
Nori grinned. "We've got ourselves four wolves and two badgers today. They're a part of two conjoined packs, if you want to get technical. Because of this, the full range of their territory's huge, stretching from eastern Dyr to the edge of Mirkwood and then north to the upper foothills of the Barl Syrnac. I'm sure you'll find a bunch of maps about those regions eventually, just ask our aunt for some help with it. If you ask me, next to the men of the Forodwaith, they are the toughest people of Middle-Earth. Only those with balls of pure iron could live right under the snouts of dragons. I'm surprised they weren't eaten by a drake centuries ago."
"Do they know Beorn?"
"I've no idea," admitted Nori. "We've only been in communication with them for eight months now. It was actually one of the first things Thorin did after taking the throne since they're such a great source of information. Well, when we can actually find the wily bastards, that is. Took over six months for me to track them down along one of the northeastern rivers, and even then my lads had to corner them near a high ravine to even start a discussion." He shrugged his left arm. "I got an unpleasant bite for that particular scheme of mine."
"They sound fascinating," said Bilbo with an amazed smile. He'd never given too much thought to skin-changers in general. "Are they friendly at all? Or do they distrust all outsiders like Beorn did when we first met him?"
"Why don't you see for yourself?" Nori pointed to the throne room doors, his dark eyes growing more serious now. "Here they come..."
Six cloaked figures walked to the front of the chamber, each bowing their heads to the King Under the Mountain in an open display of respect and solidarity. Considering all of the ways Beorn had behaved towards the dwarves, Bilbo was genuinely surprised that a skin-changer of any form would be willing to show even the minimum levels of deference to a dwarven king. Of course, the hobbit could also see many similarities just from gazing at their bare feet.
"Looks like we got the nude ones again," snorted Nori. "Shedding clothes must be annoying, especially in this climate." One of the skin-changers glanced over at them. "Oh, yeah, they can also hear you talk from afar. Wolf ears and all."
"King Thorin," said the figure at the front. "We come to your mountain city at the behest of our matriarch, Mother Nymeria. We've an urgent problem to discuss with you. I ask that you listen to our words without interruption."
"Of course," rumbled the Dwarf-King. "You may speak with a free tongue and my people will heed any warnings you might give us."
Bilbo could tell by their speech and tone that these were familiar words, obviously a formal greeting that had taken place between their people for many centuries. Stoic and composed as ever, the elder Durin siblings watched the skin-changers with suspicious eye and ear, an unfortunate habit of their hardened lifestyles. In contrast, the Durin heirs were staring at the figures with wide eyes and slightly reddened cheeks, which Bilbo figured to be a direct result of their guests' nudity beneath the offered cloaks. Apparently, despite all of the nude-openness Bilbo had seen at bath times among the dwarves on their quest, that candid attitude didn't apply to other races or genders.
"Kíli's gonna lose an eyeball if he keeps staring like that," sighed Nori. "Even by skin-changer standards, ogling a nude female's just plain rude. Not that they truly care in the slightest. But Dís will, though."
The hobbit couldn't blame the prince too much. It wasn't every day that you saw a bunch of very tall and very wild-looking people standing directly in front of you without a stitch of clothing on their person. The cloaks had obviously been provided by the dwarves if the newcomers' naked feet and Beorn's proclivity for partial nudity were anything to go by in reference. And just like the bear-man, each of the figures somewhat resembled their animal of change, including the woman standing at the front. Her wild nest of long brown curls looked like it required a very thorough brushing, her muddy toenails were in need of a good trimming, and the pale skin of her face, lips, neck, and legs was cracked and bright red with windburn. All of her equally rugged and feral companions seemed very much the same in terms of hygiene and cleanliness, including the two other females who stood right behind her.
"About two fortnights ago, a band of twenty-eight dwarves were found wandering the lower plateaus of the Barl Syrnac range nearest the Lusraig River. I will not pretend to know your current beliefs, but this region has long been forbidden all travel because of its close proximity to Gostir's caves. After intensive questioning by Mother Nymeria, one of the dwarves told us that they wished to reclaim the Mirror Halls and Hollow Spire of their ancestors."
Thorin sat up even straighter on his throne. "Kheledhkhizdín was abandoned long ago for good reason. No dwarf would be idiotic enough to attempt reclaiming it. Not even the most senile or arrogant of Ironfists."
"I speak only of what I've seen and heard with my own eyes and ears," stated the skin-changer. "The dwarf's heartbeat remained steady and pure; he spoke the truth, even if it was under duress. An Ironfist dwarf-lord from Nurunkhizdín desires to reclaim their ancient place of awakening, something that cannot happen under any circumstances. The consequences would be disastrous."
"Although the thought of Ironfists so close to Erebor pains me, I don't understand why their foolhardy attempts have driven you to inform me of the issue," said Thorin. "It is no concern of mine what happens to the spineless Ironfists in their pursuit of riches and ancient mining halls."
"I can smell their stench within your halls," answered the woman. "And wasn't an especially greedy drake from the north what brought your kingdom to its knees before? A similar fate could manifest itself again if the northern mountains were opened to dwarven picks and axes in the current age. Our mother knows the acrid stink of a dragon well. And she believes that one or more of Smaug's scaly kin reside deep within the snowy peaks of Azjan and the watery caves of Ukal Sêj. Not only would such an awakening spell extreme hardship for my kin and the northmen of Dyr, Lotan, and surrounding settlements, but it'd likely bring the eye of a dragon back unto the Lonely Mountain."
The entire chamber was shocked into silence at this. None of them had considered the possibility of another drake descending from the north, especially so soon after they'd reclaimed their home from Smaug.
Nori shook his head. "Bluntest bastards you'll ever meet, these skin-changers. I'd wonder about the lass's sanity if I didn't know they were all like this. It's no surprise that they don't get along with other races at all."
"Where are these dwarves now?" asked Thorin.
"In the custody of Mother Nymeria to the east of the Iron Hills. The coming storm forced us to separate several nights ago, the six of us carrying your message while our kin found a secure location to keep the dwarves and ride out the blizzard. An eagle should've already been released to confirm their exact position."
"If what you say is true, then transporting the captive Ironfists to my cousin would be the most logical option at this point," said Thorin. "And considering the strange events of the last few weeks in this mountain, it would seem that the Ironfists of Rhûn seek more than just the reclamation of Kheledhkhizdín."
"Dwarven politics remains a non-issue to my kin," assured the skin-changer. "Our concern lies in an attempted recolonization of the ancient Barl Syrnac strongholds. We do not need another drake awakened in the north."
"And I very strongly share that sentiment," stated Thorin. "A raven will be sent to the Iron Hills and passage will be provided for your kin through the storms. Do you know if any other colonist bands have passed through your territory?"
"Our scouts are presently monitoring another group of wandering dwarves that've been sighted near the Dyrian wood. My kin have seen none except the dwarves of the Iron Hills for well over a century. Mother Nymeria suspects that the successful reclamations of Erebor and Dale may have spurred the Ironfists into a fervent desire of recovering their own long-abandoned strongholds in the far north."
"All of the traitorous dwarves rotting in our dungeons at the moment are Ironfists as well," sighed the Dwarf-King. "Tell me, were there any Stiffbeards among your lot of captives, or were they all Ironfists?"
"If there were any of another clan, they chose not to disclose it."
Thorin nodded. "I will begin investigating the matter the moment we adjourn. The Ironfists have long been the most difficult and warmongering of our people. They care not for loyalties of kinship or cooperation with other races. As the King of Durin's Folk, I am apologetic for the actions of our turncoat kinsmen."
"We are all well-versed in the history of Sindri's Folk, but our agreement with the line of Durin has always been honored in the past," said the skin-changer. "It's in the best interests of all northern peoples that the Barl Syrnac and their caverns remain uninhabited and abandoned by Mahâl's Children. The awakening of another drake will be inevitable if those mountains are colonized again."
"The dwarves of Durin's Folk will work to prevent this," stated Thorin with a stiff nod. "Balin, Kíli, escort Sister Currin and her kinsmen to their rooms. I'm sure some food and clothes would be much appreciated at this point."
Nori snickered at that comment, nudging Bilbo in the ribs and pointing toward the twitching shape of their youngest prince. For the most part, Kíli appeared to be relaxed on the outside, but his wide eyes and fidgety fingers gave the younger heir away to the rest of the Company. As the spoken-leader of the skin-changers flexed her neck and hands, some of her teeth elongated in the process, filling up her jaw and flexing the bones in a way that wasn't natural to the mortal eye. Of course, the fact that all six of the changers were either buck-naked or caught in a constantly shifting state of mud-matted hair made for a peculiar view as well.
"Wow," breathed Ori, his fingers sketching away in his newest journal. He'd been at this one for several weeks now. "They're really tall. Balin doesn't even reach her chest. Or Kíli, for that matter."
"The bigger the animal, the bigger the skin-changer," guessed Nori. "Doesn't look like any of them are as big as Beorn, though. Leaner and meaner, I'd say. Especially those two badgers over there."
"Are they hissing at each other?"
As they left the chamber, Bilbo watched the female badgers hiss and snap at each other, their movements non-aggressive and almost conversation-like in appearance. None of them quite knew what to say about it.
"Very strange lot, those skin-changers."
And just before they disappeared out the doors, the leader snapped at the bickering badgers with a mouthful of elongated teeth, irritated growls rumbling low in her chest and throat. If possible, Kíli's eyes went even wider, his feet naturally dragging him away from the skin-changers' toothy leader.
"Not the friendliest bunch, either."
Bilbo stood off to the side with the brothers and watched as Thorin ordered many of his council members around, demanding that a raven be sent to Dáin that evening and the prisoners brought in for another round of questioning under the skilled eye of Dwalin and Nori. A number of other names and places were mentioned as well, but Bilbo did not recognize any of them.
"Why does everyone distrust the Ironfists so much?" asked the hobbit. "I've never heard the Firebeards or Broadbeams referred to in such a resentful manner before. What'd they do to deserve it?"
"Many of them aided Sauron during the Battle of Dagorlad," answered Dwalin, an unpleasant frown on his face as he approached them. "The filthy bastards were so blinded by their greed and selfishness that they preferred to fight for that evil abomination instead of joining in the Last Alliance through Moria or just staying out of it altogether. None of those traitors and turncoats deserve an ounce of pity from you or anyone else. They're always at war with one another, anyways. Let them destroy themselves, I say. At least the Stiffbeard clans have honor and loyalty in their blood."
Bilbo watched the warrior dwarf stomp off, murmuring Khuzdul curses under his breath the entire way out of the throne room doors. Despite Dwalin's gruff appearance, it'd not taken long for Bilbo to realize that he was actually a pretty calm and collected fellow underneath all of those inkings, battle axes, and swords. Angry reactions like this weren't the norm for Dwalin, son of Fundin.
"Don't mind him," said Nori with a tight smile. "Dwalin possesses a special kind of hatred for Ironfists. Partially because he used to arrest even more of them than he did me back in Ered Luin. And they offered no aid to Durin's Folk after Smaug's assault on the Lonely Mountain. Add all of that to their already treacherous past and you've got a lot of reasons for an honorable dwarf like Dwalin to despise them."
"Hurry it up, you starfish-headed clot!"
"And that's my cue to leave," laughed the spymaster. "Another evening of making Ironfists squeal. Oh, what a lovely prospect."
"Nori!"
"There's just no pleasing that fellow," he sighed, "There really isn't. Well, good night, lads. I'll probably not be seeing you until the morning at this rate. I'll save a finger or a tongue for you, Ori. Aye?"
"Ugh, no thanks."
"Well, suit yourself, little brother. More for me."
"Nori!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming. Untwist your ass hair, Mister Inky. We've got all night for torturing and tooth pulling and evisceration and incineration and..."
And then Thorin was suddenly at their side, a list of place names in his hand. The script was messy and unfamiliar, which meant that it'd likely come from the skin-changer Thorin had been speaking with earlier about the dwarves. Bilbo really hoped they were as honorable as Nori said, because he was really getting tired of patching up injured dwarves and stubborn princes. The hobbit really hoped that Kíli would keep his usual comments to himself tonight.
"I need you to take this list to your aunt, Ori. Tell her to gather every map and text about these specific areas," ordered Thorin. "We need to know every possible trade route, dirt road, goat path, or water passage that the Ironfists might take towards the Barl Syrnac Mountains. And if there are any texts on dragons, all the better."
"I think we have most of these," assured Ori. "I'll have another copy of this ready by morning for you, Bilbo. Hmmm, a complete map on the Talathrant River might be a bit hard to find, though. I'll have to look in the..."
"Will everything be alright?" asked Bilbo once they were alone. "I didn't think an issue of this nature even existed among the dwarves."
"Enough pettiness exists between dwarven clans for those bloody fools to not only attempt to invade my mountain, but to also run the risk of awakening another dragon from the far north," snarled the Dwarf-King. He wrapped an arm around Bilbo's shoulders and gently led him out of the chamber. "My kin have avoided those mountains like the plague for centuries because of the dragon menace. I won't allow an Ironfist with the sickness of gold and mind to bring another one of those wrecked beasts upon my home. I won't make the same mistake as my forefathers. Not again."
"I know you won't." Bilbo kissed the King's hand. "I know."