A portal flickered blue in the early morning grey, just as the mountain shook with the last outburst of Smaug's wrath. Out of it, to the platform in front of the hidden door, jumped a figure that seemed to be not much more than a shadow. She – for it was plain to see, eventhough the contours were not entirely clear, that this was a female – quickly scanned her surroundings, then caught a glimpse of her body, held a hand in front of her face and shook her head in a sort of quiet resignation. She slipped in through the hidden door at the last moment before the tremor shut them. She spared one look at the carving above the door, before starting down the winding path.
The halls of Erebor were huge, almost foreboding. The stone walls caught and reflected light in the most peculiar way she has ever seen. The stillness was almost unnatural. She roamed through the corridors, her feet making barely any sound, almost not touching the ground. There air was heavy with smoke and stench of the beast that has made its lair here, but there was something else too – a metallic quality. She never before smelt gold, and would not believe it was possible. At last she came to the Gallery of kings, as Thorin called it, where the company – or what was left of it, at any rate – stood assembled. She felt an unpleasant lurch in her stomach, as she was reminded of the danger Kili, Fili, Bofur and Oin faced at that moment. But there was no time to brood. The group was breaking up and everyone started in different directions, scouting the place, trying to take in the full extent of the hoarded treasure, taking up watch and above all – by Thorin's orders – looking for the Arkenstone.
She kept to the shadows, not knowing whether her friends will be able to see her – and not wanting to be revealed so soon. She eyed Thorin, as he stood for a few more heartbeats in front of what had moments before been a mold for a golden statue of Thror, and felt a shiver down her spine.
"I have no idea whether I am more impressed by the audacity of that design, or repulsed by the pride and narcissism of it," she muttered under her breath. Then she ran after Thorin, who headed towards the place from which he pulled his grandfather away all those years ago. His head was hung, his expression dark, as he began wading through the heaps of coins, chains, wrought decorations and other treasures. It sounded like a thousand little bells when the pieces of treasure shifted, a cheerful and bright sound that was terribly out of place in the overall atmosphere. Thorin seemed not to hear it. Determined and grim, he looked for the Arkenstone. The ultimate sign, that he, and only he, is the rightful King under the Mountain – that this venture and all those pains had not been in vain. Her heart ached seeing that expression, catching a glance of the hunger creeping its way into those bright eyes.
"Stop," she whispered, sitting on the stone steps, her knees suddenly giving way under her. "Please, Thorin. Don't go any further. Just wait. Wait until you hear that Smaug will return no more. Wait until you know Fili and Kili are safe. Surely you must be more worried for them now. The Arkenstone will be found. It will be brought to you, when it is found. And if it isn't, what does it matter? You don't need it. You don't need the heart of the Mountain to rule. You need the hearts of your people. Hearts made of sinews and blood. Hearts beating for you and for this kingdom. No single stone can return Erebor to its former glory, whatever Gandalf says. No stone can unite the Seven Kingdoms again."
He stopped and looked around, as if hearing something. She stood up again and walked over to him, gently touching his shoulder, willing him to see.
"My king. Your work is just about to start. Focus on that. Focus on building, on the future. Let the past lie where it has fallen. It no longer matters. You united the dwarves with nothing but an oaken branch – it's you they need, not the stone."
He listened for a moment more, eyes focused on something only he could see, then shook himself, getting rid of her hand. He didn't see her, didn't hear and didn't feel. Somehow that hurt more than everything else.
"You shouldn't have come here, my love," she whispered, shaking her head and turning to leave.
Balin walked through the corridors and halls as quickly as he could without it being called running. His steps headed automatically to the balcony over the main gate, the rampart from which he first saw Smaug. He touched the fire-blackened stones, ran his fingers along the cresses of the old sculptures and plastics.
"So you came after us anyway, at last," he spoke, his back turned to her, just as she stepped out and leaned on the railing to look down. She jumped guiltily.
"How did you know I was here? None of the others saw me, and they were looking straight at me," she inquired, going back to looking over the plain in front of the Mountain, trying to discern Smaug's silhouette in the distance – or the Laketown, or anything at all. But she saw only the Desolation, and what once was the proud Dale.
"I've been expecting you. I saw you watching him, as we were leaving. And even though you tried to be cheerful and supportive, your smiles never quite made it to your eyes that day. You were giving him a goodbye that felt so… final. But – forgive me for saying so – I came to know your heart and I had a feeling that you wouldn't just let him disappear from your sight. After all, you are his guardian spirit," the old dwarf smiled at her fondly, as she finally turned to look him in the eyes.
"Not only his, I hope, dear friend," she returned the smile and he took her shoulder. But then her smile faded as she turned back to the view once more. "Balin, this is wrong. I am not supposed to be here. This is a world I don't belong into, whatever I might wish."
"And yet, here you are. Breaking every one of your rules I know of. I wish I knew why."
"Not every single one, Master Balin. I still won't give you my reasons. But I'll stick around for a while, if you don't mind."
The white-haired dwarf looked at her for a moment more with his penetrating gaze, and then turned to the horizon. They stood in companionable silence, until Thorin's voice called them back inside.
She spent the next couple days at Thorin's shoulder, trying to whisper calming words and well meant advice into his unhearing ears. He sent Nori to find what he could about the fate of those remained in Laketown. Nori came back bearing only tidings of fire and destruction. She saw the pain flicker in Thorin's eyes, heard the reprimands he heaped upon himself in private and whispered words of hope in their wake. Still there was no sign of Smaug. And still they were sifting through the gold to find what has already been found. All the while, she was aware of Balin's eyes following her, studying her, scrutinizing her moves, gauging her moods. For all that, he saw, just as she saw, Thorin sliding under the current of the dragon sickness. Balin watched, just as she watched, with much the same feelings, Thorin's eyes glazing and clouding over, his mind reeling and his temper rising with each day, the hunger and lust flaring a bit higher in him every moment. She never left Thorin's side. Her lips were always muttering words reminding him of his wandering kin flocking back to the Kingdom, under the reign of their King. Of the need to take care of them, of the need to prepare the Mountain for their return. And of them needing the eyes, mind and heart of their king first and foremost on and for themselves, not the treasure strewn around.
She hoped that even if he ignored her during the day, some of her words or songs will make it through to him during the nights. She was pleased to find out her new 'body' did not require sleep or nourishment. And so she sat by him in the few hours he allowed himself to pass out every night. Spinning the stories of past, present and future, or gently humming and singing the Lonely Mountain song – the one that in another world carried the power to break any spell, set anything right again. She sang I See Fire – the one song that brought him to her after the Desolation – was it really just months before? And she sang to him the song of the prophecy – of the King returned to his halls, of the triumph and joy it caused to all dwarvenkind. Sometimes her voice broke and cracked under the weight of her tears. Sometimes she just laid her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, as if to assure herself he is not turned to stone yet. But whatever she did, she could not stop the tide of the sickness and she couldn't slow down the passing of time.
And then, one day the heralds came, bearing the tidings of the beast's death. Talking of the members of Company still in their Master's custody. Asking for treasure for themselves and for the Elvenking. Thorin's fury flared mighty and dreadful that moment. Even she turned away. That night she watched the hapless, well-meaning burglar, sneak out of the mountain and run into the camp of the enemy. She sat with Thorin and prayed to Mahal and every other Vala that would listen that his reaction is not as fierce the next day.
It was unnerving. Hearing Thranduil's boasts made her blood boil. But worse still was hearing the calm logic and reason of Bard. Because that Thorin should listen to. That Thorin should be agreeing to. And yet, his answer for both was the same. His treatment of Gandalf and Bilbo bore not pondering on. She screamed at him, wanting to argue, like they did so many times before. But he didn't hear and her strength became depleted. She was crying, begging him to reconsider, begging for him to finally hear.
She knew the fateful battle was drawing near. She saw the darkening of the horizon when she stepped out on the balcony. She saw the ravens circling around. She saw Dain's battle ensigns flapping in the wind as his army was marching to push the elves and men away. And then, one day, she saw the dark armies, as thin lines, barely visible on the horizon, drawing steadily nearer to the Lonely Mountain. She shouted a warning, sounded the alarm, not caring who will hear or see her now. And then she ran back to Thorin's side, as he hastened to the main gate, shouting orders to his men. As he stopped, checking his weapons for the last time, drawing one last breath, steadying himself and ordering his thoughts, she threw her arms around him.
"I won't leave you. I swore I would protect you, and by the Valar I will," she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes, her lips brushing his temple with a soft kiss as she let him go and stood firmly just behind him. Balin took a place by his king's side and the rest of the company assembled quickly behind them, weapons at ready. Numbered only nine, they marched out of the Mountain. And then they were met by the four they thought lost – Fili took his place by his uncle's side, Kili joined Ori in the back, his bow poised for attack, Bofur quickly hugged his brother and stood next to him, and Oin nodded to Gloin on his way to the two youngest lads. Last looks exchanged, last words of encouragement and love muttered between them, they stood side by side, prepared to face just about anything. At that moment, she felt immense pride in all of them. Their determination was still as fierce as when they first set out from the Shire. Their loyalty was not changed nor diminished. They still had hearts willing to stand and fight for the kingdom so close at their fingers now. Fight for their home. Fight for their kin. Fight for their king. Fight for their honor.