Alone.
Everyone was dead.
He saw their bodies, strewn across a blood-stained field, the color drained from their eyes; their faces blank, staring lifelessly to the white sky.
Ori's ears rung with the voices of screeching rust, then silence, threatening to swallow him. Over there was Bofur, his blood-spattered hat covering one wide, terrified eye. Across was Thorin, his mouth slack and an arrow sticking out his chest,a slash in his cheek, his right leg bent the wrong way, his wrists looked like someone tried to cut them off. There was Bilbo, close to the prince, as if he was in mid-run to save him. His red hair stained with blood spatter and his chest an array of wounds, bones, what was once white clothing. Ori kept walking, passing Kili, stuck through with arrows, still holding Fili's hand, a deep cut across the blonde's neck. Then Dwalin, to gruesome to tell what had his demise. then Gloin, an axe embedded in his chest, then Oin, burns. Stepping over Bifur, such a mess of blood and ripped clothing and wet hair he could only tell by the familiar axe blade extruding his head. Bombur looked as if someone had ripped out his entrails,and after one glimpse at that he looked away. Then he saw his brothers.
And that was when he woke up, shaking, with a sheen of cold sweat dampening his clothes.
The dwarf had dealt with these nightmares for awhile now. When he first got them he had screamed out into the night, not calling anyone's name, or any word at all, Just screaming. He never told his brothers though, even when he woke them up, either making up a lie or just completely ignoring them, mumbling "I'm fine" or "It wasn't important." Dori always tried to dig deeper, though. Making guesses or telling him that it's okay to say so.
Ori had learnt to quiet himself, getting more used to it every night, but the fear of it always lingered. That it could actually happen.
He was happy he had learnt to hide his emotions, not like when he was younger, he would have told everyone, along with every detail. Ori was not one to draw attention to himself.
Staring up at the ceiling, he felt hollow, Numb. He sighed and lifted a white sleeve to his face, clearing his forehead from sweat. Silently he swung up, out of the bed, and through the door, down the corridor. Merely a ghost, revisiting the past. He opened the next door he saw and found himself outside, and breathed in the cold air. It soothed his spirits.
Leaning against the wall, Ori looked into the dark around him. He knew from the silence he was alone, and even though it was always there, the feeling he was being watched pricked his spine.
He stared up into the night sky. It was a fairly cloudy night.
There were fourteen stars, that he could see.
After a bit, he felt the cold wind finally start to bite into his flesh, and went inside.
He was just about to enter his room again when he heard his brother's voices in the next room. He heard his name; and went still. He listened carefully.
"Just because he has taken a preference to the arts does not mean he is weak."
The dwarf in question recognized the statement to come from Dori. He felt hurt, of course, but he understood why people called him weak. He was never good at using a weapon, only having a good aim, and had a sharp eye when it came to the little things. He knew that the other's thought he was naive, unknowing how to survive in the wild alone, or how to save someone wounded, and was shy, and fragile. That was false. He grit his teeth bitterly but kept listening.
"He barely knows how to use a weapon, what if he gets hurt?"
Nori's words felt like a kick to the stomach. He was NOT weak, he could fend for himself fine. His brother, of all people, should know that.
"We will find out in the future. I am done with this conversation, and so are you. Be happy he didn't hear this." Ori heard the grey-haired dwarf sigh and move across the room.
Heading through his door, his silence turning from a calm, collected one to a numb, angry quiet. He set himself back on the bed and tried his best to get back to sleep, finally caving in.
The morning was a normal one, the dwarves and hobbit all settling down for breakfast. The others, well rested, were yelling about merrily, throwing food to Bombur or singing another drinking song. Feeling detached and drained, Ori stayed silent.
He felt weighted, still a bit drowsy and still a bit annoyed from the conversation he had overheard. As he got on his pony, he only looked forward, not paying any mind to anyone.
Their ride was mostly quiet, only murmuring to another quietly, sometimes erupting giggles came from the Durin brothers. They were up to something, and Ori rather he stay outside of it.
So it continued that way, only the scent of rain about to fall and the clop of hooves ringing in their ears.
Ori was too deep in his thoughts to brace for the ambush about to run them down.