Anyone else super psyched up for this Sunday? Valar morghulis, my friends. Valar morghulis.
I apologize for the fact that it's not as long as the last one, nor will the next chapter probably be either. I had an 'accepted student day' college thing/visit today and there's another one next Saturday too, and those are kind of super important, so…
Rosemellen: I don't write the music unfortunately—just play it in the pit. My cello is awesome when it wants to be. Unfortunately, those 'awesome' moments are kind of few and far between… And as for your question 'is anyone else going to show up in the mountain,' I don't want to spoil anything, but YES!
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Dragon's Bait
Chapter 11—Be the Pallbearer
The pain was overwhelming.
Slowly, Arya stepped into the chilled water of the bath. It was uncomfortably nippy, but she needed the cold. She needed to shiver and watch her hair stand on end like needles. She needed to not think of the sweltering heat that had practically melted the skin from her bones. She gradually eased herself in up to her chest, keeping her singed arm above the surface.
Each event on its own would have been horrible enough, but the summation of all of them… It was almost too much to bear. Arya had long since prided herself on being able to 'tough it out'—suck in her tears and rub dirt in her wounds. Tears heated in her eyes and she sniffled pathetically, feeling the start of another onslaught of sobbing. What was so different about this time? What made this pain so much harder to suffer through than anything else?
Well, for one thing, she supposed that she'd never exactly had to deal with being burned by a dragon before.
Shakily, she lowered her arm into the water. She swore the skin should've hissed and steamed when it hit the cool water—seeing how unbearably hot it was—but it simply sunk down like the rest of her had. Arya stared at it for a while, as if expecting the limb to splinter and float away. Carefully, she touched the mottled red skin with the tip of her finger. It was sore and uncomfortable, but nothing she would die over. Unless it became infected. She shuddered.
Cautiously, she leaned back against the edge of the deep bath, making sure that her arms stayed far from the rough stone sides.
She never wanted to leave this room.
She never wanted to face Smaug. Not ever again. Just the thought of the dragon brought a wave of fresh tears to her eyes and a vicious snarl to her lips.
How dare he. How dare he.
Not only had he viciously massacred the closest thing she'd had to a companion for all the time she'd been here, but then… Then…
The burn twinged uncomfortably beneath the water.
And what had she ever done to him!? Yes, she'd hid Lance from him. But was it so wrong that she hadn't wanted an innocent man to die? Was it so wrong that she'd wanted to experience the company of another human being even for just a little while? She hadn't helped him to steal anything. She hadn't conspired against the mighty dragon. And if their plan had gone as… well, as planned, then there would never have been any issue! But no. Smaug had killed him! Lance was dead. Tears clouded her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. An innocent, good, man was dead. And here she was, nursing a well-cooked arm. All because Smaug couldn't control his raging temper!
With an animalistic cry somewhere between a mangled sob and a furious shriek, Arya finally let it lose. She cried and cried—tears and snot dribbling down her face as she raged and mourned all at once. But it wasn't enough. When her eyes could no longer squeeze out even a single tear and her throat was raw from rage, she collapsed backwards against the stone with a dry whimper. No amount of crying or wailing could kill the shadows swirling in her heart and in her mind.
Smaug had burned her. Smaug had burned her.
Her dragon.
Her teacher.
Her fellow riddler.
Her friend.
And he'd left her not seconds after. And he hadn't cared.
She wanted to claw at her hair, to curse the scaled beast to the Heavens and to Hell. She wanted to scream and bawl until she could no more. But she had done all that. She'd used up the last of her tears. She'd all but worn through her throat.
What could you do when you had so much to cry for, but no tears to shed?
With a shaky exhale, Arya let her body go limp. She had to get through this. She couldn't mourn over the injustices of the world forever. And she wouldn't. She wouldn't let herself.
She floated away from the side, feeling the rocky edge disappear somewhere behind her.
She would get over this. She was Arya! She was the girl who had been bound to the stake as a witch. She was the girl who had escaped, made her own choices, and faced off with a mighty dragon. And here she was now. Alive—a bit damaged—but alive none the less.
With another sigh, she sank beneath the water—hair swimming around her pale face. She opened her eyes and stared up from where she floated, just below the surface. She reached up with her burned hand, fingertips just breaching the thin, liquid, veil separating her from the rest of the world.
She would survive, no doubt—and she wouldn't give up like some hapless damsel in distress. She would live on.
But not here, she thought, closing her eyes and sinking further. Not here.
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Carefully, Arya wrapped the makeshift bandage around her arm. It was made from the fabric of an old dwarfish dress shirt that she'd torn in two. The material was soft, but it was still uncomfortable against the burned skin. She wondered what the dwarves would have thought of it—a human using some of their finest cloth as a bandage for a dragon fire burn…
Once the bandage was secure enough not to slide down or rub constantly against her injury, she began to walk. Arya may have been damaged on the outside, but on the inside… on the inside she felt rejuvenated—refreshed, full of life. She had a purpose again.
And that purpose was getting out of here.
She had been content living with Smaug. In fact, she was certain she would have stayed with the dragon until she passed away. But now… The burn spoke for itself. If Smaug didn't care about her, then she wouldn't care for him. And if that relationship was gone, well then, she had no reason to stay in the Lonely Mountain, did she?
The hole in the mountain was unreachable. She didn't have the brute strength to pull off Lance's plan, let alone a rope or any way to actually accomplish said plan. And in way, she felt like doing so would have almost trampled on his memory. Who was she to try to succeed doing something that he had lost his life over?
There had to be another way.
Arya was certain that the dwarves hadn't used said hole to get in and out of the mountain. They must have had some kind of entrance, some kind of door… Perhaps it had collapsed?—been buried in the rubble and debris that resulted from a dragon smashing through your mountain. Could she dig her way out? If the dwarves hadn't been able to, then would she? That brought up the question of the dwarves. How had they died exactly? Had Smaug killed each and every one of them or had they been trapped in here as she currently was? Had some managed to escape?
Arya sighed and rubbed at her hair. She wondered if Smaug was back by now. She wondered if he was going about his routine as normal—curling up in that gold of his. She wondered if he would treat her differently, act in any way abnormal.
She wondered if he even cared.
Arya shook her head.
No. It didn't matter if he cared or not. She was leaving! She was going to find a way to get out of here and she was going to take it!
…if she could find one.
She circled the mountain for what felt like hours on end. She trudged on until her legs turned to limp noodles and her stomach became no better than a black abyss. Her arm hurt, her muscles hurt, her stomach hurt, her everything hurt. If she recalled, there were a few apples in the pile by her tiny nest… but that was in the hoard. And that meant possibly facing Smaug…
But it also meant getting food.
And he may not even have returned yet.
So Arya turned and trudged back in the direction of the hoard, purposely avoiding the chamber with the hole in the mountain. When she reached the hoard, she peered across the great expanse of glittering gold. Her heart beat roughly against the inside of her chest.
The dragon was here.
But the dragon was asleep.
He didn't stir when she came to the bottom of the stairs, nor when she moved to her pillar.
She glanced at Smaug once more before reaching down for one of the apples and taking a large bite out of its red hide. It was a bit unpleasant tasting, but she swallowed it anyways and opened her mouth to take another chunk out of it. She stared at her personal, little, nest as she chewed. She had so many pretty trinkets—things that meant nothing.
She picked up a finely carved candle stick before chucking it to the side. What had she seen in any of this? She had no use for it.
Her eyes widened a bit as an idea struck her.
Or did she…?
Arya stared at the gold and gems flooding the chamber. Precious metals and jewels that men literally gutted one another over… now nothing but dragon bedding. She knelt down and began to sift through the mound closest to her. From it, she plucked pink, red, and light blue gems from amongst the gold. Grey eyes caught on a glowing stone unlike the others. It was gorgeous, seeming to pulsate with a life of its own. Glimmering, and shimmering, and oh how she wanted it. Arya reached for it, but stopped. She stared at it longingly for another moment before turning away, collection of jewels in her arms. The last thing she needed was to become as greedy asthe dragon snoring across the room.
She piled the gems, the candles, a book, some ink, and a few of the other bits of precious junk into a bundled tapestry before slowly carting it up the stairs.
Arya looked back just once when she reached the top, thinking for a moment she'd caught Smaug's golden eye staring at her retreating figure. She shook her head, going on her way.
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It seemed to take no time for her to reach the hole in the mountain.
And it was certainly an unpleasant sight. Every nook and cranny of the cavernous room was coated in ashes and soot. She could even make out the trail of her footprints imprinted in the black grime.
Silently, she moved so that she was standing beneath the star splattered sky—where she was almost sure Lance had been before Smaug had… had…
Arya placed the bundle in her arms on the ground and began to organize. She rolled the tapestry out across the floor and piled the miscellaneous items in the center so that they made almost a stand of sorts. She placed the candles around the edges of the mass and lined the border of her makeshift stand with the jewels. Next, she took the book and the ink. She ran a hand over the smooth, leather cover and the sketch of the knight across it before twisting the cap off the ink and dipping a finger into the black liquid. She had never learned to write, but she supposed reading was not much different, right? Hopefully. She opened the book briefly to search for the letters she needed—just to make sure she had the correct image of them in her head. Carefully, she traced the tip of her finger over the cover.
When she had finished, she placed the book on her lopsided stand and stood back to admire her work.
LANCE.
The letters were a bit lopsided and shaky, but it would have to do. She didn't have anything to light the candles, but it seemed almost fitting. He had died in fire, the last thing he needed was to be surrounded by it even in death.
Arya sat back on her knees and stared blankly at the book. She supposed she believed in a God. Her parents had never been overly religious or bothered to mold her as such, so the names of any divine figures or prayers slipped her mind. She wanted this to be done properly; she wanted him to have a proper send off. But she didn't know how… She had to do something though. She couldn't just sit here like an idiot. She had to try at least.
So Arya gently clasped her hands in her lap, closed her grey eyes, and prayed in front of the makeshift grave.
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*sniff sniff wipes away tear*
I wanted to give Lance a proper send off. I felt like if I just glossed over his death, well… That wouldn't have been very nice. He was only around for a short while, but he did make an impact on Arya. And I wanted to show that. I hope everyone like it :)
Until next week.