It was with great sadness that Aranel stood beside Thorin on his throne once more. She could hear the sounds of battle but had been forbidden to intervene. Once she had returned from taking Vanora away, Thorin had accused her of wanting to be with her kin. The obvious lack of trust in his eyes had felt like a fist was wrapped around her heart. Had it not been days ago when he had told her he trusted her? When he had kissed her palm and lit her soul on fire with joy? So little of that feeling remained. That fire was now no more than embers growing cold. So much of the joy had been replaced by pain.
The sound of stomping footsteps alerted her to Dwalin's arrival before she noticed him storming towards them. Thorin tensed a little beside her and she took a deep breath. She knew the dwarf well enough to know that he was likely to say something inflammatory.
'Since when do we forsake our own people?' he growled. 'Thorin, they are dying out there'.
Thorin frowned a for a moment Aranel could almost fool herself that he was concerned. It became apparent that he was concerned, but only for the gold as he rambled something about fortifying the mountain further. He rose from his throne and paced around as he muttered. Dwalin looked sullen as Thorin turned back to the throne.
'Did you not hear me?!' he bellowed. 'Dain is surrounded! They're being slaughtered, Thorin'.
'Many die in war,' Thorin replied calmly. 'Life is cheap. But a treasure such as this cannot be counted in lives lost. It is worth all the blood we can spend!'
'You sit here in these vast halls, with a crown upon your head, and yet you are lesser now than you have ever been'.
Aranel shifted a little, concerned that she would have to intervene. Dwalin must have known that he was playing with fire, and yet maybe that was his plan. After all, bending to Thorin's every whim was getting them nowhere.
'Do not speak to me as if I was some lowly dwarf lord…' Thorin cried hoarsely, panting a little from his rapid turn. 'As-as if I were still…Thorin…Oakenshield…I AM YOUR KING!'
Aranel dodged quickly to the side as Thorin recklessly drew his sword in anger. The movement nearly knocked him off balance and he awkwardly righted himself in a way that was so unlike him. Aranel noted then that he seemed almost drunk in his greed. The Thorin she knew was agile, dignified, and even graceful for a dwarf.
'You were always my king,' Dwalin replied sadly, not seeming to be at all intimidated by the display. 'You used to know that once. You cannot see what you have become'.
'Go!' Thorin growled. 'Get out before I kill you'.
Dwalin looked even more sorrowful and Aranel felt compelled to comfort him. The idea was of course preposterous. What comfort could she possibly be? Of course, as an elf she was more likely to cause insult, especially with one of the surliest members of the company. So she held her tongue, watching silently as Dwalin looked at Thorin and then at her.
'What good are you if even you can't sway his madness?' Dwalin spat in her direction.
Thorin lunged at Dwalin and Aranel leapt forward to knock the surly dwarf out of the way. She hit the ground hard, knocking Dwalin to the ground beside her. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears and for a moment it and the cold stone beneath her were all she could feel. And then it hit her. Searing pain spread across her side and she looked down to see a small puddle of dark red gathering by her side.
It took her a moment to register what had happened. Dwalin was there, wide eyed and scrambling towards her on the ground, and there was Thorin. As she blinked up at his face, she saw pure horror in his eyes. The sound of metal clattering against stone echoed through the cavernous hall, though the sound was somewhat muffled to her. Her natural instinct took over and she pressed her hands to the wound at her side.
'Help!' Dwalin bellowed. 'Someone help us!'
'Aranel…' she heard Thorin murmur but paid him no mind.
She was vaguely aware of Dwalin yelling and the sound of a feminine cry before the world around her began to swim in and out of focus. The last things she heard before darkness overcame her were Thorin crying her name and Vanora's voice, somehow harsher than she'd ever heard her before.
'Get away from her!'
Xxx
'We have to get her out,' Vanora insisted again through tears as Oin and Balin fussed over her wounded sister.
'And I say she cannot be moved,' Oin replied stubbornly.
Vanora turned to Balin, giving him an imploring look. The older dwarf looked haggard. There were dark circles around his eyes which themselves were bloodshot from tears. Dwalin had helped Vanora relocate Aranel to a safe chamber and then left. Vanora didn't expect any more from him, but she had hoped that he might stay, nonetheless.
'Is there nothing more that we can do here?' Balin asked earnestly. 'What of the apothecary?'
Vanora shook her head. 'Very little remained there. We need a wizard'.
'Think though, Vanora,' Balin sighed. 'There's a battle raging out there. We cannot simply carry her through the throngs of evil, even if we were permitted to leave the mountain'.
'What?' she asked incredulously. 'You will not leave? Balin, she's my sister. She's your friend'.
'That may well be,' Balin winced, 'but in doing so we would be committing treason'.
'Why does it matter?' she cried desperately. 'Thorin will make her his queen. Is it not in the best interest of the king to save his queen?'
'She's losing a lot of blood,' Oin announced gravely as he added more linen strips to the wound. 'We're running out of time'.
'What would you have me do?' Balin asked.
Vanora stared at him for a moment. 'Help me get her to the hidden door. I will take her to Dale from there'.
'But the valley is a bloodbath,' Balin shook his head. 'You'll never make it'.
'I will,' she replied with a confident nod. 'I must'.
Balin took one last look at the semiconscious elf and gave Vanora a curt nod. Vanora knew that he saw what she did. If they did not try, then Aranel was sure to perish long before any help could reach them. Together the two dwarves took Aranel's legs and Vanora seized her by the shoulders. It was awkward to manoeuvre her through the tight passageways, but they finally found themselves out in the open air. Standing atop the cliff, Vanora was made acutely aware of the amount of movement down in the once desolate valley below. Still, she stubbornly squared her shoulders and began to drag her sister down towards the carved stairs that the dwarves had indicated. She grunted a thank you to them as she left them behind, tugging her sister along.
The stairway was steep and constantly changing directions backwards and forwards. Vanora growled in irritation after the fifth turn and poked her head over the edge to check on her progress. The ground may have been close enough for her to jump, but not when she had Aranel with her. She let out another frustrated growl and continued down the next layer.
'V-Vanora,' a soft voice murmured and Vanora stopped immediately.
'Aranel?' she scrambled back up the stair to lay beside her sister. 'I'm here'.
'What happened?' Aranel grunted. 'My body…'
'Shhh,' Vanora hushed her, looking out at the battlefield not so for away. 'I am taking you to Gandalf'.
'Where is Thorin?' Aranel whispered and Vanora froze.
'He's alright,' she nodded. 'He's safe. I need you to help me if you are able'.
In a fashion that was typical for her, Aranel sat up far too quickly. Vanora carefully wedged herself behind her to cushion her back and prop her up. After taking a moment to recover, the older elf began to move gingerly down the stairs. Vanora kept behind her like a shadow, watching and listening for any signs of her pain worsening. She knew that Aranel was putting on a brave face for her. The wound made by Thorin's sword was deep and Vanora knew that losing any large volume of blood could be fatal for the strongest warrior.
When they finally reached the bottom of the stairs, Aranel slumped forward, sprawling out on the cold, hard ground. Vanora hurriedly tried to awaken her but was unsuccessful.
'No,' she murmured. 'No, no, no'.
She grabbed one of Aranel's hands and was horrified to find it icy. She mumbled something about lost blood like a quiet reminder to herself and braced herself. In a feat of surprising strength, she pulled Aranel up into her arms and strode forward with stubborn determination.
xxx
The elf panted from exertion. The horde of enemies seemed never ending and he was growing weary from the constant onslaught. He had long since lost sight of his king and fellow guards. The thought had crossed his mind that he was likely to be punished as a deserter, but that was quickly quashed by his desire to survive. He cut through another orc, the stinking creature's flesh giving easily to his razor-sharp knife. With a guttural growl the creature fell before him, body shuddering as the life left it. For a moment he was sure he'd heard his name amongst the clashing of metal-clad bodies, but he was sure that he must be imagining it. Cutting down another foe, he heard it again. This time he could hear the direction and saw a familiar face looking at him through the fighting.
'Vanora?' he called in confusion, unsure whether what he was seeing was truly there.
'Maeldir!' he heard her cry again. 'Help me!'
With curiosity and a renewed sense of determination, he fought his way to where Vanora was fighting off her own assailants. Together they dispatched the final one and he stared at her for a moment.
'Child, why are you here?'
Vanora looked his way, and he noticed the redness of her eyes as she gestured to a body on the ground beside her. He saw her lips move, but barely heard her quiet voice as more orcs came thundering in their direction. 'Help me'.
Xxx
Balin sat silently on one of the large chunks of rubble that littered the entrance hall. The rest of the company were nearby aside from Thorin, the two elves and Bilbo. None of the others spoke much either. It was torturous to hear the sounds of their kin dying beyond the wall and be powerless to stop it. Balin wept quietly for their dire situation. He wept for his friend and king and he wept for the uncertainty of Aranel's condition. Deep down he knew that Thorin would never forgive himself if she were to perish by his hand. He hoped against all odds that Vanora had gotten her to Gandalf and that she was already on the mend. Of course, the idea was a fantasy at best. The likelihood of Vanora singlehandedly delivering Aranel across the battlefield was slim, no matter how much confidence he had in her.
He looked back in the direction of the treasure hoard and was shocked to see Thorin striding in his direction with worried eyes. There was something different about his walk. Gone was the drunken-like stumbling of a madman. He walked with purpose. The ornate crown and robe of the king were also absent, which boded well for the condition of his sanity.
'Balin,' he greeted solemnly. 'Where is she?'
Balin frowned. 'She's gone. Vanora took her to Dale. The girl is not a jewel for you to possess, Thorin'.
Thorin hung his head a little. 'No, she is not. I have committed the greatest crime and wounded one that I love. I can only hope that in time she will forgive me'.
Balin almost couldn't believe his ears and tears of joy welled in his eyes. 'Oh Thorin'.
'I know that I have no right to ask, my friend, but I would ask that you stand with me again'.
'Of course,' Balin sobbed, standing up to take Thorin in a gruff hug. 'I know that the others will as well'.