Chapter title taken from Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons.
XXI. when your eyes are red and emptiness is all you know
Her eyes shot open, seeing nothing but darkness for a moment. Cold rain drops biting deeply into her skin, the sudden promise of solid ground beneath her. Slowly regaining control of herself, she found herself crouched against the rock of the mountain, hands flat on the ground, supporting her weight as her breathing came in short, ragged gasps.
The noises of falling rocks and the raging storm were muted by a sharp ringing inside her head, so crystal clear that she felt as if her very mind was being cut in half. Somewhere, faintly in the distance, she could hear Thorin's voice, and the groans of her company.
As she pushed herself up onto her knees, her hand came to rest against her ear, instantly feeling the warmth of her own blood seeping thickly across her palm. Dropping her hand, her eyes rested on the crimson standing out against her pale skin, now feeling its trail across the side of her face and down her neck, mingling with the icy water pouring from the midnight black sky.
It took a moment before she balanced herself enough to stand, palm pressed flatly against the sharp rock, slipping as the blood left a gruesome print, only to be washed away by the streams of icy water, smearing it into grotesque lines.
Where's Bilbo? Her eyes instinctively shot to her other side, where Bilbo had been mere moments before. Yet, he was nowhere to be seen, her gaze met only by a sinister relief etched upon Thorin's features. Where is the hobbit?
Her legs began to tumble forward, shaky and unsteady, the ground littered with scattered debris, slippery from the downpour, her heart beating frantically within the confines of her chest.
There, he's there! While she could not see where Bofur was pointing at, it told her enough to see everyone lunging forward towards the slippery edge of the cliff.
Grab my hand! She could not get through, her heart still pounding furiously, pushing her forward, further and further, until she could see the top of Bilbo's head, and the abyss threatening to swallow him.
Thorin moved before she had noticed him near the edge, holding himself with one hand, stepping into nothingness to grab poor Bilbo. She saw something then, as she stumbled forward, bumping into legs and arms, her foot getting lodged between rocks and baggage. Something she had known was there all along, a will to sacrifice, a tendency towards valuing honour more than his own life. It had hoovered above him like a dark cloud for so many decades, and now it had burst, burst like the black sky, as Thorin pushed Bilbo back up into safety.
The rain, the clouds, groans of relief, it all turned silent abruptly as she watched his hold on the rock falter, his body slipping away, her own arms shooting forward aimlessly, his name escaping her lips in a rush of pure horror. Thorin.
It was Dwalin who pulled him up, everyone's eyes fixed upon their leader, the man to be their king, the man willing to die for someone whom he had wished as far away from their quest as possible so many times. Her breathing came unevenly, and in harsh gasps as she sought him out within the crowd, his eyes evading hers. The rain was still washing streams of blood down her face and neck, the searing noise in her head returning now that her mind found the time to focus on it once more.
I thought we lost our burglar.
She could barely keep her eyes open, the sharp pain throbbing behind them causing dark spots to cloud her vision, blood and rain catching hold in her lashes, threatening to spill into her eyes. Fighting to remain upright, she focussed on Thorin, towering above the company, scattered across the small space, shock and relief combined into horrifying masks. He's been lost ever since he left home. He should never have come. He has no place amongst us.
She worried briefly about Bilbo, about his kind heart and the cruelty of Thorin's words, words she knew he could have directed at her. Yet, something inside of her – it might have been the searing pain and the smell of blood or the gut-wrenching image of Thorin dangling on the side of the cliff – focussed all her attention to remain on Thorin. He walked towards her, his eyes never even straying in her direction.
Thorin. Her voice sounded small, more like a child than a woman.
Leave me alone. Not a single glance, only three muttered words, loud enough for her to hear above the raging of nature surrounding them, yet too quiet for anyone else to notice. Dwalin!
.
The cave was cold, draughty, a cool chill humming through it like the distant echo of clinging swords. Not much could be heard of the raging storm, the mountain's thick, ancient walls sheltering them from the outside world. Yet, it was the mountain itself that worried her, the faint smell of blood and death which would not leave her nostrils.
Her hands felt clammy as she continued to press the stained cloth to the side of her head, just above her temple. The pain the pressure caused, she barely recognized. The searing pain from earlier had faded a little now that she was sitting down, leaning against the cool, but moderately dry rock. Nothing felt more overwhelming in this moment than the need to close her eyes, find some rest, sleep away the pain. Yet, she knew she would find no rest in this place, not even daring to close her eyes longer than to blink.
The others were unpacking just enough to have a little comfort to sleep, the rummaging around her most welcome. In silence, she feared, the sharp ring, like knives, would return.
Carefully removing the cloth from her wound, she held it in front of her, inspecting the dark blood that had been soaked up. From the corner of her eye, she could see Thorin stepping towards her, but it was not until he sat down next to her that she really began to trust in what she was seeing.
Forgive me. Quiet, a private apology in a cave filled with others. I was harsh before.
The trail of pity in his voice echoed in her mind, fuelling the blood red rage that she carried, still, all she did was nod. Whether it was to accept his apology or to confirm his unjust way of treating her, she could not even uncover for herself. Pressing the cloth back against her head, her eyes remained fixed upon the wall opposite her. All she could see of Thorin was his dark coat, his legs stretched out next to her own.
You are bleeding. Most of the blood had been washed away by the rain, while some coated her light hair.
It is a scratch, really. Landed on my head.
Let me. His hand reached out, but she recoiled, pushing herself away from him, not enough to draw attention to them, but just enough for his hand to still. It was only now that she finally looked up, and met his gaze. Hurt. She had hurt him. And while it was all he ever seemed to do to her, the pain that his own caused inside of her was excruciating. It was merely a poor excuse for comfort know he felt no different.
It is alright, Thorin. A whisper, aware of the many eyes that might linger on them for a second too long, the many ears that might listen to words better left unspoken.
No. No it is not.
He shook his head ever so slightly, and slowly reached his hand out once more, this time waiting for her to allow him to take care of her, even if it was only this short moment. A fleeting flicker of something they once might have had.
Gently, his fingers brushed against hers before she dropped her hand. She had always been fascinated by the tenderness of his calloused hands, and when he carefully pressed the cloth against her wound, she sighed, allowing the pain and exhaustion to wash over her.
It is not safe here. She kept her words down so low, she could barely feel the vibrations of her voice, casting a worried glance towards the company, now settling for the night. Too many nightmares haunted her of these mountains, too many memories she longed to wipe away, too many scars left to tell bloodstained tales.
I know. He had turned to face her completely, and without her knowledge, her own body had twisted, etching closer towards him. I thought you were gone. A rough whisper, spoken with the constricted throat only choked back tears could cause.
It pained her that his fear of losing her came as such a surprise, when, in a morbid way, she had always regarded her own death as Thorin's salvation. The ultimate and only answer to all their troubles. A world without her in it meant no pain, no conflict and no doubts for him. Only now that she saw the way he took her in did she realize what she had overlooked all this time. The fact that he might miss her. That his world might be as incomplete without her in it as her own was without him.
So did I. She sighed, losing herself in the moment, in the feeling of Thorin's hand brushing against her hair, the pain now only a faint echo. Why did you jump after him?
Because he is my responsibility. Like everyone else. Her eyes drifted towards the others, Bilbo already lying down with his back towards them, breathing too unevenly to be asleep already. Like you. Which is why it would have been my fault had you died.
But I didn't.
His free hand came up to cup her cheek, warmth seeping into her every pore. No, you did not. She leaned into his touch as his whispered words burned themselves into her memory. One more painful memory to cling to until the long future granted to her would fade into darkness.
Faintly, Thorin's fingertip brushed her lips, causing a shiver to run down her spine. It was the look of longing, of memories flickering in his eyes that told her it was no accidental move. Her breath was shaking, her eyelids finally fluttering. Not from feeling secure, though. An act of self-preservation, of hiding the all too well known hurt that reflected in her eyes like the sun on the surface of the sea.
And I am glad.