Éiwyn's question of whether Thorin would return to battle was answered more suddenly than she anticipated. One of Thornost's scouts had spotted a small orc pack roaming in the mountains a day's ride to the north. Thorin quickly called his company together to ride out and cut the orcs down before they could establish a nest. They were ready to depart almost before she even knew what was happening.
Thorin was a formidable sight when he took his leave of Éiwyn, dressed for battle. The sun glittered off his chain mail and shone upon him with a golden light. He took her hand in his and gazed into her eyes for a moment before bidding her a brief farewell. He then led his men to their horses and down the road through the outer gates, the clink of weapons and armor echoing as they went. Thorin did not look back.
Dís patted Éiwyn gently on the shoulder. "Do not fret. A dozen or so orcs will give them no trouble." She said no more and returned to the halls.
More than forty men of Thornost rode out into the mountains that morning, wearing full armor and bristling with swords, bows, and axes. Even so, forty hardly seemed like enough as she watched them fade into the distance. Éiwyn soon followed Dís inside, worry trailing her like a shadow.
Dís went about her usual work that day, seemingly undisturbed by the company's departure. Whatever anxiety she felt over them, she did not confess it. Éiwyn could not keep such calm composure. She wanted to trust Dís's word that the orcs would give the company no trouble, but she did not quite believe it. What if there were more orcs than anticipated? It was conceivable forty men would not be enough.
There was nothing to be done but wait. Éiwyn paced the corridors of Thorin's halls without relief from her anxious thoughts. She tried to busy herself in the gardens and kitchens but had no mind for it. Always she thought of Thorin battling faceless creatures on the mountainside.
Useless to Fern and the cooks, Éiwyn wandered aimlessly through the city. She sought distraction among the shops and marketplace, but could not find it. She wondered what orcs were like and what Thorin felt facing them. Did he fear them? It seemed impossible to her that he would.
Eventually she found herself in the small, disused library of Thornost. Dís had shown it to her on their tour of the city, but Éiwyn had not returned since that first day. A library was far less a comfort to her without Olórin's familiar face and cheerful voice to greet her. She wondered how he fared with a pang of regret, knowing it unlikely they would ever meet again.
She walked through the books with unseeing eyes, touching the spines but not bothering to read the names listed there. The books and parchments could not capture her interest, but she found something else that did. In the back of the library sat a large stone chest and above it hung a tapestry of Thorin's royal ancestry. With her fingertip, Éiwyn traced the portion of the line from Thrór, to Thráin, to Thorin. She lingered there, wondering who might come after.
Her gaze dropped down to examine the stone chest. It was intricately carved, but Éiwyn could not understand the markings. The lid was heavy but not locked. On opening it, she found a tapestry as elaborate and lovely as the ones in the great hall. Its glittering threads seemed to call to her, begging to be seen. Clutching it to her chest, she pulled it from the trunk and rolled it out upon the floor so she might have a better view.
The tapestry was of a wondrous city carved into the side of a solitary mountain peak. A wide river flowed away from the halls to form a long blue lake below. Surely this must be Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, and the river Running. Éiwyn knelt before it until her knees ached, taking in the scene. It was beautifully worked and she envied whomever had labored over it. Reverently, she lightly touched the stitches, tracing the path of the silver river, the golden mountain, the mighty halls.
She understood now why the people of the Lonely Mountain had chosen Thornost for their place of refuge. With the Blue Mountains behind and the river Lhûn flowing out, they surely saw in it reflections of the glory of Erebor. Walking into the valley must have felt like coming home again after their long journey in the wilds.
Why did this tapestry not have a place of honor among the others in Thorin's halls? Surely the people of Thornost would want to see this beautiful reminder of their former home. No, she thought, that was not right. The tapestry would only serve to remind them of what was now defiled by a dragon and lost to them forever. This image, splendid as it was, could only bring grief. Carefully, she bundled the tapestry up and replaced it in the chest.
That evening Éiwyn took her supper alone with Dís. The empty places at table did nothing to soothe her thoughts. The image of Erebor loomed in her mind and gave her little heart for conversation. What a kingdom to have had and lost. How Thorin must grieve his rightful home. Where was he now? Éiwyn did not linger with Dís, but took her leave and retired early.
Rest did not come. In the night she woke, her mind fixed on the men of Thornost fighting orcs somewhere in the darkness. She lay awake long hours, her ears straining as though she might hear some trace of the battle through the still night air. Knowing sleep to be impossible, she dressed before dawn.
Éiwyn sat staring at her unfinished breakfast when the horns on the walls rang out. Forgetting for a moment that orcs do not usually travel by day, she ran to the doorway of the great hall, fearing to see a mass of evil creatures at the gates. Instead, she saw the riders of the company galloping across the fields home and heard the distant peal of their own horns.
She rushed down the front steps and along the lane that wound its way through Thornost. Dís was already waiting at the edge of the open gate along with many other residents of the city. Éiwyn wanted to join them but thought it awkward to receive Thorin so conspicuously. Instead, she lagged behind the crowds and watched for the company's arrival from afar.
The riders came into view with Thorin in the lead, and Éiwyn sighed in relief. She felt suddenly lighter as the fear that had gripped her heart all the last day eased.
He is safe.
The horses kicked up dust in the main road as the men all dismounted and entered the city. Thorin went to his sister, who embraced him and kissed each of his cheeks. He looked about and when he saw Éiwyn yet on the hill, he strode through the crowd to stand before her.
"My lady." Thorin bowed to Éiwyn.
Her eyes searched his face and armor, desperate to confirm that he was uninjured. "Welcome home," she said as she bowed to him in return. She both longed and feared to say more.
Thorin seemed pleased to see her and yet strangely discouraged. Éiwyn did not have long to study his expression before he excused himself and led his men into the halls. As the company filed past, Dís followed slowly behind and cast a curious glance on Éiwyn.
All that day the men of the company rested, for they had not slept in the night. Éiwyn busied herself with Fern, picking fresh, ripe berries among the vines and hedges. Her mind wandered again and again to Thorin's arrival at the gate, the way her heart leapt when she caught sight of him again. What if one day he did not return? What would she feel then? Her stomach clenched as she tormented herself with such thoughts.
"You still look worried," Fern said to her from across a berry bramble. "I would have thought you'd be comforted now that Lord Thorin has returned home."
"I am comforted," Éiwyn replied absently. "Of course I am." She looked at her friend and smiled self-consciously. "I am just borrowing trouble, I suppose."
"You're already thinking of the next time he'll depart," Fern said. Éiwyn nodded. "You cannot do that or you'll never be at peace. You live among warriors now. If you're always thinking of the next separation, you'll never be able to appreciate the reunions."
Éiwyn thought of the awkwardness of her reunion with Thorin in the lane. It seemed wrong somehow, but she hardly knew what she might have done differently. Still, she tried to take Fern's advice to heart. It would do no good to dwell on worries of the next battle. She would simply be grateful that the last had ended well, and that Thorin was home.
#
That evening, Éiwyn stood just outside the great hall's doors, looking across the valley. Sunset painted the fields and houses alike with a golden, ethereal light. In the distance, the river Lhûn sparkled as it flowed away through the valley. Torches all along the city's outer wall flickered in the slight breeze and she could just make out the guards stationed there. Windows in houses and shops glowed from candlelight within, and townsfolk hurried to and fro on the lanes.
Suddenly aware of Thorin near at hand, Éiwyn gasped in surprise. Lost as she was in her own thoughts, she had no idea how long he had been standing beside her.
"Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you." Thorin reached out to her but stopped short of touching her and dropped his hand abruptly.
Éiwyn tried to brush off his concern with a confident smile. "I didn't see you there."
He stepped closer to her side. "And what are you thinking of so fervently?"
"I was thinking how wonderful Thornost is," she said. He gave her a keen glance. "Truly. It is far beyond what I had ever expected."
"We have worked hard to make it so."
"I know. I cannot imagine how furiously you must have labored to achieve all this in so short a time."
He smiled slightly. "The vision of our former home was still vivid in our minds as we worked."
Éiwyn sighed a little, thinking of the tapestry of the Lonely Mountain. "I'm sure it cannot compare to the grandeur of Erebor, but this city is lovely in its own way."
He looked out across the valley, still shining from sunset's fading glory, as though taking in the view for the first time. His eyes seemed to miss nothing as he scanned the lands and buildings before him.
"You are right," he said at last. "As lovely as it is, it does not quite compare. I am not sure any city ever could."
"Do you miss it?" Her voice was quiet in the stillness.
"I have been away from it half my life," he said. Although not curt, his words seemed dismissive of her question, and she turned her gaze back to the town. They stood together in silence, watching over the city below.
"I think of Erebor often, Éiwyn. Both what it was and what it might have been. It pains me to know it is lost to darkness, but this is a thing I cannot change." His voice was low but steady, as though he had accepted this long ago.
"I should not have mentioned it, I'm sorry. "
"Don't be," he said. "I don't mind telling you of it. But know this. It is a temptation for me to dwell too much on the past, to linger in thoughts of my lost kingdom. I must set those regrets aside. I must look to the future of my people."
Thorin's firm resolve in the face of his own devastation was admirable. "You lead your people well," she said gently.
He gave her a curious glance. "You think so?"
"Yes, I do." She made a sweeping gesture before them. "Look at all you have accomplished."
He shook his head modestly. "I was but a part."
"You were instrumental," Éiwyn insisted. "I've read the histories and I've seen it here first hand. This couldn't have happened without you. You have given your people new life."
Thorin smiled at the compliment, but she guessed he thought to correct her again, so she rushed on. "You held them together when it seemed all would fall apart. You have done more for your people than many kings have done for theirs, and you are loved all the more for it."
He seemed struck by her choice of words and looked at her so tenderly she abruptly turned her face back to the city. Although she kept her eyes fixed on the knots of wooden buildings, she could tell his eyes remained on her.
"I should like to be deserving of the love of my people."
The way his voice dropped as he said my people, she thought sure he meant her alone. A wave of nervousness washed over her and her cheeks grew pink, which only compounded her embarrassment. She clasped her hands and glanced back at him but could not bring herself to form a response.
Thorin had the grace not to say more, and turned his gaze back to the city. He shifted his body slightly and his shoulder pressed against hers. They stood side by side, looking out across Thornost as the last of the sunset faded into darkness.
#
Thorin sat alone by the fireside in the great hall late into the evening. He took long draws on his pipe and stared into the flames. The band of orcs they had killed the previous night disturbed him. Never before had a nest been attempted so near to Thornost. They were growing bolder.
Dwalin approached, still wearing his mail shirt under his tunic, and leaned against the fireplace mantel. "What are your orders?"
Grim laughter rumbled from Thorin's chest. "You know me so well?"
"Closest orcs have ever been to the halls. You'll be wanting to do something about it." Dwalin spoke with firm resolve, as though there could be no doubt Thorin would act. Indeed, there could not.
Thorin had waited too long, hoping to avoid a second battle such as the one at Azanulbizar. He had thought it enough to destroy the nests only. But if the orcs marched as one? He did not like the idea of sitting still, waiting for legions of orcs to march in force on lands of men. He could ill afford to wait any longer.
"Send out scouts, riding at speed, as many as we may spare. I want all of northern Beleriand and the Arthedain scoured for this orc hive."
"Aye. And then?" Dwalin asked, his eyes made menacing by the red firelight.
"Then we will strike."