This is because of my exam revision: George Eliot, you are a genius.
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"...for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs."
George Eliot, Middlemarch
...
Aaryan was twenty-seven, and had grown up in Laketown, surrounded by old stories of Smaug the dragon, and the dwarves who used to live under the mountain. He took his grandfather's stories with a pinch of salt, after all; a dragon? Seriously? But then, he was always careful when he went outside the perimeters of the town; it wouldn't do to be surprised by some strange creature, even if he didn't believe that Smaug was really in there.
And so he had lived, until the company of dwarves visited, proclaiming that they would reclaim Erebor from Smaug, one of them claiming to be the rightful King under the Mountain.
Well, if that didn't take the wind out of Aaryan's sails...
When they left, Aaryan wished them well, but half thought they were madmen, claiming to be kings, and claiming they would kill the dragon. It would not end well for them.
Then, all was havoc. Smaug was real, and so was the fire he breathed; it was all too real as it laid waste to their town and their livelihoods. Aaryan ran round the town in a sort of feverish madness, helping any of those he could find; a little girl trapped in a building (Aaryan's neighbour), an elderly man who couldn't run quick enough, a mother with too many children to carry all at once, a young man (Aaryan vaguely recognised him as the man called Bard, but paid that little attention) who was standing by a house at it collapsed, nearly ending up with it all on top of him.
And so Aaryan continued, until the great beast was dead, shot through the heart with an arrow that had been fired by one of the last remaining archers.
Then there was all the repair work to do; helping the injured, rebuilding the town etc, and Aaryan did what he could. He paid little attention to the groups of warriors going up and coming back down from the mountain, nor did he pay attention when the Halfling met with Bard a few nights later, except to pass the hobbit a bowl of hot stew on his way past.
Then, suddenly, everything was happening at once again, the Halfling returned to stay, and a large army of dwarves was on their doorstep. Aaryan stood in the ranks of men, fearing the battle to come.
Yet it seemed he was to be spared a battle that day, and instead fight alongside the dwarves the next day, against creatures the young man feared to the point of insanity. This time, as Aaryan stood among the men and gazed at his sword, with which he was barely competent, he knew this battle could only end one way for him.
Therefore, he was resigned when an arrow pierced his leg fifteen minutes later, and he merely snapped the shaft off so it did not catch anything. And he was resigned when he received a cut to his left side from an orc sword, followed by a blow that he was sure broke a couple of his fingers. Still he fought on.
All of a sudden, he looked around to find himself fighting amongst dwarves, and not men. Behind and to his right, there was a tall dwarf with long black hair and blazing eyes; he killed all in his path as he headed for the bodyguard of Bolg.
Aaryan followed on an impulse, fighting his way through three orcs, and gaining a small injury for each one. He and the dwarf reached the bodyguard about the same time, the dwarf killing any who got in his way, while the best Aaryan could hope for was to dodge and not get killed himself.
There was a roar of triumph from a bodyguard, as the dark haired dwarf was felled by a mighty blow to his chest. Aaryan rushed over, taking everything in in a glance; the dwarf was still breathing, but in terrible pain if the closed eyes and furrowed brow were anything to go by, and the orc was standing above him, raising his mace for a blow that would surely end the dwarf's life.
Aaryan did something he could only see as stupid: he jumped onto the dwarf and in front of the mace.
The impact of the first blow broke the skin on his back, and crushed a few ribs. The young man gasped for air, feeling the pain and the rattling in his chest, then overwhelming pain at the second blow came. His ribcage collapsed, his lungs and heart punctured and crushed.
Aaryan blearily opened his eyes to see a pair of dwarf feet rush past him, followed by a cry of pain from the orc.
The last thing he saw as he closed his eyes was a silver bead from one of the dwarf's braids.
The last thing he heard, well, no-one could hear anything over the noises of battle.
The last thing he felt was a contentment that washed over him; though he had never done anything important, he had lead a life that he was pleased with.
...
Aaryan was buried in a mass grave, along with all those other foot soldiers of no note who had died in the battle.
Fili and Kili, the dwarves who had rushed to help their uncle Thorin, thought nothing of Aaryan's body, except that it prevented their uncle from breathing well, and made him harder to get to.
Aaryan's father, the only member of family he had left, deeply mourned his son's loss until he too died a few years later.
No-one knew that he had saved the life of Bard, the dragon slayer, and the life of Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain. Perhaps the only one who remembers him still is Bilbo Baggins, who, if he remembers him at all, remembers him only as a faceless person who showed a small kindness when the small hobbit was so fearful of what was to come.
Aaryan's acts are not recorded in the history books, nor are they known to anyone save I, and I wish to tell you of just one of the many who faithfully led a hidden life, and now rest in an unvisited tomb.