I POST THIS IN THE FULL KNOWLEDGE THAT IT HAS BEEN A HELLA LONG TIME SINCE I UPDATED. So, here is a bit of the draft for Ch46, with my sincerest apologies. *smooches*

…

“So you are telling me,” said the Stonehelm, very slowly,
“that the Dwarrowdam who served my father as his guard was in fact Queen of the Blacklocks.”

Ashkar shrugged and took a sip of wine. “Rightfully, this is
so.”

“She was deposed,” added Kara.

Orla herself was sitting stiffly to attention. Her face was
set and her eyes glittered with a dozen emotions, but she made no sound at all.
Dwalin was holding her hand.

“Strictly speaking, her mother was assassinated, and Orla
was framed for the deed,” Ashkar said, frowning at Kara. “But the exact
technical details mean little.”

Watching, Balin huffed into his beard and nudged Thorin with
his elbow. “Did you know about this?”

“Some,” Thorin admitted. “But not much.”

“So the current Queen is a pretender?” The Stonehelm turned
to Orla and raised his eyebrows. “Orla?”

If anything, Orla’s back stiffened even further, and Dwalin
shifted closer to her. “Look, it’s been difficult for her,” he said, in what
was probably the understatement of the Age. “She hasn’t spoken about all this
in decades.”

“I do not want the throne of the Ghomali court,” she said. “My
home is here, in Erebor. I will not return.”

“There’s many who would rejoice to hear that you live,” said
Ashkar gently. “We did.”

Orla’s eyes slid shut, and her jaw worked as she swallowed.
Then she nodded. “I know. But there are also those who would work great evil
against me and mine, and I will not have that.”

“Why depose you in the first place, though?” Gimli said,
tipping his head. “Why put your sister on your throne?”

“Good question,” murmured Balin.

“Because The Cult couldn’t use Queen Ara nor her first
daughter, Orla, but they found the second more malleable. My mother Arna wanted
to please, above all things,” said Kara, bitterness twisting her voice. “The
Cult of Sauron used that. Now she is completely under their thumb, lost in the
haze of their words and drugs. I honestly don’t think she knows my name, most
days.”

Orla’s shoulders hunched, and her eyelids squeezed tight.
Her breath escaped her in a soundless shudder.

“But Sauron is dead now,” Gimli said, and indicated Legolas
and himself. “We can attest to that. So what do they have to gain from
promoting his worship?”

“Power, what else?” said Thranduil, shaking his head. “I
fear that undoing his works will be the labour of many Ages yet.”

“Dwarves are not afraid of hard work,” said the Stonehelm
firmly, a hint of his Iron Hills burr in his voice. “And this will be long, and
hard. They have held the realm for more than fifty years in the name of their
puppet, and their dominance will be well-established. Still, they must know by
now that the Dark Power is overthrown. That will drive them into
disorganisation and despair.”

Orla’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowed. “I will not be an
instrument in any plans you devise. I will not be a figurehead for you.”

The Stonehelm sighed. “That is not what I am suggesting.
Orla, I would never do such a thing to you! I have received my own throne in a
war, unwilling and too soon: would I wish the same on a friend?”

Dwalin glowered under his brows, and his muscles bunched in
warning. “Just so’s that’s understood, then. Yer Majesty.”

“I do not want them to know I live,” said Orla, and she
turned to face Ashkar and Kara. Her words were halting as she spoke, as though
she were assembling thoughts that had lain asunder for years upon years. “My
life is my own to risk. But I have sons. I have a home, and a people I have
chosen, and I have fought and bled with them, and for them. I will not
relinquish them, nor put them in danger.”

“Like to see ‘em try it,” growled Dwalin.

“I wouldn’t,” said Ashkar bluntly. “You may be formidable in
war, I do not doubt, but the Cult uses weapons other than steel. They will
uphold one belief and perform another openly and before all, profess their
decency and respect whilst tearing you apart with their slippery words – and
when words have served their purpose and all opposition is disgraced and
terrified, ah! Then! Then the steel emerges.”

“The question of whether we confront them is not under
discussion,” said the Stonehelm wearily. “We cannot fight another war, on such
a distant front, so soon.”

“Then what can we do?” Kara said, and she wrung her hands.
Her face was tired beyond her young years. “Aunt Orla-”

“It is not my home any longer,” said Orla, kindly but with
absolute finality.

“But it is my
home!” Kara burst out. “And you could save it!”

“No, child,” she said, and reached out to lay a hand upon
Kara’s shoulder, catching and holding her gaze. “No, I do not think I am the
one destined to do that.”

Kara’s lip quivered as she stared at her aunt, and then she
lowered her head. “I had hoped…” she said brokenly.

Thorin gnawed on his lip and tugged at the plait in his
beard, his feelings torn. “Does she not feel a responsibility to her people?”
he muttered. “Does she not wish to seek her birthright?”

Balin gave him a sympathetic glance. “Not everyone is you, my friend.”

“I know, I know,”
Thorin said. “And she has forged her own path after losing so much, enduring so
much, and I do understand why she would not risk the happiness she has found
nor the others in her life…”

“But it would not be your way.” Balin’s smile was wry. “Never
a choice in your mind, remember? Not so for her.”

“One person cannot defeat the Cult of Sauron,” Orla was
saying. “I tried before, and I lost everything.”

“If any could do it, I’d lay my coin on you,” said Dwalin
staunchly. She let out a quiet huff of amusement.

“Not helping, dear.”

“I think that the defeat of the Cult of Sauron must belong
not to one, but to many,” said Ashkar. Then they laughed sourly. “That is, if
it can be done at all, homeless and hopeless as we are.”

“You are welcome here,” said the Stonehelm. “For as long as
you need sanctuary. You are not friendless.”

“And the rest of our people? For there are many living in
fear,” said Ashkar. Their eyes were shrewd as they rested upon the King. The
Stonehelm grimaced, but nodded.

“Aye, them too. It’ll be a tight squeeze, no doubt…”

“No, we cannot make ourselves such a target,” said Orla,
standing up swiftly. “The Cult will insinuate that Erebor is seeking an Empire
– that the Longbeards intend to assimilate and colonise the Orocarni by holding
Blacklock Dwarves as hostages, rather
than taking in refugees! They will find their excuse for a war, no matter what
you do. And they will paint us as the aggressors. You thought those Dalemen
were vicious liars? They were children compared to the Cult of Sauron.”

The Stonehelm ran a hand through his hair. “We can see them
off, as we did before…”

“So soon after the last lot?” Dwalin looked torn. “I hate t’
say it, lad…”

“We beat their armies, didn’t we?”

“Not really,” Dwalin said, very reluctantly. “They left when
Mordor fell. If the Ring hadn’t been destroyed, we’d have starved to death by
now.”

“And look at the cost of victory,” snapped Orla. “Dale is a
ruin, two peoples lost their kings – our dead fill our tombs – there was fire
and treachery in the very heart of the Mountain!”

“They can’t do it,” Balin whispered. “Erebor is too weak,
too exposed…”

“I won’t leave these Dwarves living in tyranny and fear,
with nowhere to go!” said the Stonehelm, slamming his hand against his thigh. “My
father said it once, and I will say it again: we are a people who lose their
homes, century after century, and I will not see it repeat itself henceforth! These
are meant to be days of peace, of rebuilding, free of the Shadow at last! When
do we say ‘enough’? Where can they seek refuge, if not here? Our homes are
their homes: I will hear no argument, and I will not support any inaction that
will see Dwarrows fleeing into the wilderness once more, alone and rejected. We
must give them our aid. We must find another way.”

“But where?” said Dwalin in frustration. “We’re exhausted!
Not the Iron Hills either, they’re too barren to support more mouths, and they
too are exposed to the Northern trade routes…”

“Blue Mountains? You can’t get further from the East than
that,” suggested the Stonehelm, but his voice was dubious.

“Oh, even better, ask ‘em to settle an abandoned and
crumbling ruin, half a world away,” sneered Dwalin.

“The Cult would accuse us of slavery and exploitation, it
would be used to fuel their propaganda,” said Orla, with a jerk of her head. “It’d be
added to the list of justifications for attacking us: the outrage over the conditions
there would unite many people against us. Ered Luin is out of the question.”

“Aglarond,” said Legolas, suddenly.

The word fell across the argument like a granite slab,
rendering all silent with confusion. Gimli gasped, and Thranduil tipped his
head, his expression thoughtful. His eyes rested on Gimli with piercing
curiosity.

“The… place, with the caves. In Rohan,” he said.

“Aye, though calling them ‘the place with the caves in
Rohan’ is doing them a vast disservice,” Gimli said, eagerly leaning forward.
“My king, it’s perfect – the White Mountains are ringed all about by the Lands
of Men, and we can call upon the Horse-Lords and upon Gondor to aid us if
needed!”

“It is closer to Umbar than we are,” said Orla, but her face
was clearing as she mulled it over. It seemed that the idea was to her liking.

“True enough, but there’s no clear route from the East.”
Gimli stood and began to pace, gesticulating with his broad hands as he thought
aloud. “We’re in direct line to the East here in Erebor, and only the Iron
Hills stand between us and them, and they could go around those, quite easily.
Whereas the Glittering Caves!”

“That’s right,” Legolas agreed. “There’s the whole of Mordor
in the way, to begin with – the Towers of the Teeth, and then the River
Anduin…”

“Osgiliath and Gondor…!” Gimli said, pouncing on this with
some enthusiasm. “And if by some miracle they get through Aragorn and Faramir,
they’d have to sneak past Meduseld unseen, which from that vantage point is
nigh-on impossible! We’d have the fortress of Helms Deep to use as a base for
our fortifications…”

“After some renovation, I should hope,” Legolas said drily.

“Hush you, cheeky Elf, I’m thinking.” Gimli grinned at
Legolas.

“As it happens so rarely, I apologise for the interruption,”
Legolas murmured, and Gimli snorted and flipped a hand at him.

“I’ll deal with that comment
later. But this is a very good idea. Aglarond is a new place, a new home, and
belongs to no clan. We could build it together. Surrounded by allies and in a
heavily defensible valley, we could easily shelter any refugees of the Orocarni
who are fleeing the death-throes of the Cult.”

“Look at Thranduil,” said Balin, and Thorin glanced over at
the Elvenking. He was watching Gimli with unconcealed intensity now, as though
absorbing his every word and movement for later study.

“This is all sounding very fine,” said Ashkar in a dry
voice, “but how are you going to let them
know that, without letting the Cult know?”

“Oh, I suspect the Cult will know, almost immediately.”
Gimli waved that away. “That’s another problem. The first problem is to let anyone in the East know. And the second
is to convince them that our intentions are good.”

Ashkar looked surprised. “What?”

Gimli snorted. “Well, you wanted nothing to do with me at
first, eh? A Northern Dwarf, a Longbeard. Gondor and the West meant nothing
good to you: it meant slavery, slaughter and dominion. Such is the fruit of the
history between you. Were I to walk into the Ghomali court tomorrow and make my
offer, it would not be long before the Cult tried to twist my words into these
foul, miserable shapes of old. Am I right?”

“You’re right,” said Kara flatly, before Ashkar could
answer.

“Then we find a way to make our offer, and then we find a
way to make it believed,” Gimli said, and he rubbed his hands together. “The rest is not up to us, but to them. Ach, I need
a pipe. Thinking on a knotty problem always goes better with a smoke, as Sam
says!”

…

(tbc)