With a yawn, Elena sits up, and rubs sleep from her eyes. Hearing a clinking, she looks down at her side, and finds Bilbo huddled against her side, just waking up, from a good night's sleep. Even if they did sleep in piles of gold. Ruffling his hair, she gets to her feet, her burned arm singing in agony under the bandages, her healing rune's not being able to even dull the pain.
Seeing Thorin still digging through the gold, she walks over to him, and helps him dig, despite her arm screaming in agony. Thorin shakes his head, "You should take it easy, Elena."
"I'm fine, Thorin," she denies, wincing every so often.
Thorin sighs, and grabs her arm, making her wince, and gentles his grip, "Elena, dragon fire is extruciating, and takes years to heal. Go and rest, or Oin will have my head."
Sighing in defeat, Elena nods and retreats, finding the healer dwarf in the kitchen's. "Oin, Thorin me for some more treatment," she says, sitting beside him.
"Aye, lass," he nods, and removes the bandages, as gently as he can, and marvels at her strength, as she doesn't once move her arm. "Well, no infection has set in, and the swelling has gone down."
"That's good," Kili says, sitting across from them at the table, Kira laying beside him.
"Aye, very good," Oin nods. "I'll just apply some more poultice, and bandage you back up," he says, moving away. "Don't let anything get on your arm, or it'll hurt," he warns.
Elena salutes him, "Aye, master healer." Reaching over, she grabs some meat, and devours it, savouring the taste. "Who caught this?"
"Kira," Kili says, patting the wolf pups head.
Elena smiles, and tosses him a chunk of meat, "Good boy." Looking up, she catches the sorrowful look from Kili, aimed at her arm, and sighs, "Kili, scars are part of my life."
"Not from dragon fire, though," he points out. "Your runes can't even heal it a bit."
"No, they can't," she agrees. "But, if I am forced back, I'll always have this momento, to remember fighting a real life dragon."
"Don't you have dragon's in your world?" Dwalin asks, taking a seat beside her.
"Draconis demons," she offers, nibbling on some more meat, and rests her elbow on his shoulder, wincing at the shifting of her wounded flesh. "They're mostly extinct, and don't breath fire. They breath poison, though," she adds. She shudders, "That was not fun, getting covered in that guck. Totally destroyed my gear and clothes."
Kili chokes on a laugh, and Dwalin asks, "It burned your clothes?"
"Yepp," she nods, popping the 'p' at the end. "Burnt straight through, and I had to share an over large sweater with Alec."
"Why did he not give it to you?" Fili asks, walking in with a yawn.
"He doesn't like showing his chest. Unlike Jace," she grumbles. "Alec wouldn't give me his sweater, and no one had any extra clothes, so I slipped into the sweater with him, and we walked home like that," she shrugs, like it's no big deal.
The assembled dwarves laugh at her story, easily seeing it, and having seen the few poison scars on her, that even the cultish Brother's can't get rid of.
Oin comes back in, and reclaims his seat beside Elena, and applies the thick, and cooling, poultice onto her arm, and she grits her teeth, bearing it silently. At least until he's done, and she bolts from the room. She stops at the outer gate, and leans back against the wall, and wipes her eyes, "Damn."
"D-does it hurt that bad?" Bilbo asks.
Elena looks down, and offers a smile, "You have no idea."
Bilbo sighs, looking down at his hands, clasped in his lap, "I am sorry, that I couldn't protect you, Elena. You got hurt, and I can't do anything," he growls at himself.
She drops into a crouch, facing him, "Hey, knock it off, Bilbo. Wounds like this are a staple of my life."
"Yes, but you can heal everything else," he cries, throwing his arms around her shoulders, and crying into her neck.
Smiling, she hugs him back, "There now, no tears, Bilbo Baggins. I'll survive this. I always do," she tightens her hug, then releases him, and looks at where she heard the clatter, of whatever had been in his hands had fallen. She arches brow, "That's a pretty peice."
Bilbo stiffens, and draws back, and steps around her, to pick it up, and tucks the jewel into his coat. "It's, uh..."
"A very fine acorn," Elena offers, closing his fist over it, and breathes in his ear, "Keep it hidden, until he is more himself."
The pair sit on the wall, watching the sky, just enjoying the peace and quiet, and talk quietly about non-pressing matters. Bilbo pulls an acorn from his pocket, and holds it in his hand, and that's when Thorin rounds the corner, demanding, "What is that? In your hand?"
"Th-this? It's an acorn. I picked it up in Beorn's garden, and I'm going to plant it in mine, at Bag-End," Bilbo says.
Thorin smiles, and Elana keeps her attention on the sky, while they talk, Thorin becoming more himself. Until Dwalin comes, "The people of Lake-Town are pouring into Dale, by the hundreds."
Elena follows them to the gate overlooking the ruins of Dale, and sees that, indeed, hundreds of people are pouring into it. "They survived Smaug's attack."
"Aye," Balin nods, happy they survived.
Thorin rounds on them all, "I want the wall built by the end of the day. No one rests until it is done!" he orders, storming off. He calls over his shoulder, "Elena!"
Turning, the Nephilim follows her friend, "There was once a Nephilim, who stayed with us for a month, before wandering off. Your mother was here, Elena, in these very halls, when she was carrying her first child. She was only a month along, when she came here."
"Mom was here? Before Smaug came?" she asks, in a small voice.
Thorin nods.
Several hours later, Bilbo finds Elena sitting on the wall they spoke on earlier. Taking in the thoughtful, yet sad, expression on her face, he sits quietly beside her.
"Mom was here," she whispers, after a long while of silence, and she draws her knees up to her chest. "He was friends with her. King Thranduil was in love with her, despite her being pregnant with me. Legolas knew her as well, and claims to love me, like the little sister he never had."
Bilbo sits back blinking, "Well..."
"I know," she nods, dropping her face into her knees. "Did he know, when I first came along? Thranduil did."
"I think, Elena, that he saw a friend, before he saw your mother. He saw you as yourself, not a memory," Balin says, coming into view, and sitting down beside her. "He gave you the Gear we made, didn't he?"
Elena nods, still not having lifted her face from her knee's.
Balin claps her back, "Don't worry, lass. You've proven yourself to be loyal to Thorin, despite everything."
Elena falls asleep on the wall, alone, and when she wakes up, she's in a room, on a bed, under a fur coat, and wearing only her shorts and tank-top. Sitting up, she spots Thorin, sitting at a desk, his back to her.
"This was my room, before we left," he says, aware of her having woken up. "My father once said he wanted nothing more then for a beautiful woman to wake up next to me, for the rest of our long lives."
"Look's like he got the wish," Elena murmurs, walking to him, and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
He clasps her hands, "Yes. Elena, will you stay here, and forever be my friend?"
Elena dips her head, until it rests on his, and says, "If you were a Nephilim, I'd claim you as my parabatai. My forver friend, and we'd always have each others' backs."
"Is there a way to do that, without me being a Nephilim?" he asks.
Elena nods, "There is one way. But, it means we must have unbreakable trust in each other," she says, letting go of his shoulders.
He turns to face her, and she turns, fidning her stele, and returns to him. She crouches on a knee infront of him, and offers it to him, "You consume some of my blood, and I draw a rune on your neck. And I consume some of your blood, and you draw a rune on my neck."
Thorin swallows, and takes the stele, "Are you willing? Do you trust me that much?"
"Yes, to both," she nods.
The door bursts open, and Dwalin enters, "Bard is approaching the gate!"
Together, the three race for the wall, Elena in her tank and shorts, the stele thrust into the waist-band, and her tank riding up over her belly. "He lives," she smiles, releived.
Bard rides up, on a snow white horse, and asks to speak with Thorin, who hears his words. At being denied, he demands, "Will you have peace? Or war?"
Thorin growls, "I will have war!" With that, he storms back down the stairs, followed by the Company, but Elena stays there for a moment more.
"Elena! I am glad to see you alive and well," Bard calls, having stopped her descent. "King Thranduil asks after your health."
Elena lifts her bandaged arm, "I've been better. Tell him I am fine, and nothing like she is."
"She who?"
"He will understand," she says, and lopes after her friends.
"You are definately nothing like your mother," Balin admits.
"She was fearsome, but she would only fight for a cause," Thorin says. "When she was here, she declined helping us, after Smaug claimed our home."
Elena snorts, "Sounds about right. Abandoning her friends, and her family," she growls, clenching her fist, and wincing, it having been her burned one.
"Easy, lass," Dwalin suggests.
Elena shakes her head, "I'll be getting ready for war." She walks down the hall.
"Elena, mark me!" Thorin yells.
Everyone looks at him, and Elena turns to him, "Do you truly want this? It is painful, and we will be able to feel each others' emotions, and pain."
"You are my samman. My family," he states, walking up to her. "I claim you as my family, Elena Morgenstern."
"Thorin?" Balin asks, stunned, the others speechless.
Elena turns to face him, "Do you truly want this? To feel everything I feel? My fear. My pain. My lust?"
Thorin nods, and walks to her, pulling a dagger from the small sheath on his waist, "Do you accept those terms?"
Elena blushes, but nods, and closes the distance between them, and takes his wrist. "Once we are marked, there is no turning back," she warns.
Thorin nods, "I will bare it."
Elena inclines her head, "So be it." She grips his hand tighter, and draws the dagger across her wrist, and holds her dripping arm up, "If you consume my blood, the blood of the Angel, you will have temporary ability to accept a powerful rune."
Thorin takes her arm, and closes his mouth over her weeping flesh, and let's her push his head to the side, baring his neck.
"The parabatai rune is powerful, and will mark us as forever friends," she says, lowering the stele. "This will hurt," she warns, before pressing it down, and drawing it on his neck.
When she's done drawing, he lifts his head, and rubs his neck, "Couldn't you have been a bit more gentle?"
"I was," she snorts, and takes the dagger from his hand. "Clasp my hand, and draw the dagger across your wrist."
He does so, baring the deep gauge, as his blood splatters onto the ground. "What's the rune?"
She bends her head, and whispers in his ear, "Think of your tongue, and the runes for it. Draw a rune, a single rune, speaking of family, loyalty, and protection."
He nods after a moment, "Got it." With a nod, Elena lifts his wrist, and attches her mouth to his cut wrist, and bares her neck, offering the stele. The familiar biting kiss of the stele descends, and he traces a rune into her flesh. "Done," he murmurs, and she lifts her head.
"Now that you are done, what are the two of you doing?" Dwalin asks.
"Becoming parabatai," Thorin says, admiring the rune on her neck.
"S-seriously? You can do that?" Kili asks.
"It's painful, and not recomended," Elena says. "But, it has been done, so couples could stay together, in Alicante."
"Nephilim and a Downworler?" Fili asks, for clarification.
"Yes," Elena nods. "The Nephilim marks their chosen one with the rune best speaking of their releationship, and the chosen one marks the Nephilim with a rune, speaking of family, loyalty, and protection. Both while sharing blood."
"How often has that been done?" Dwalin asks.
"Not often," she offers. "Now, are we going to get ready for war?" she asks, walking away.
When she gets back to Thorin's room, she pulls on her gear, and slides her few remaining weapons home around her. Grabbing up her gauntlets, she slides them on, with such familiarity, and tightens the strings, to keep them from flopping around. Her fingers are bare, and she grins at the thought of having used only her fingers to get away from a lecherous elf, and wraps her golden whip around her wrist, where it sits coiled up to her elbow, covering the burn. Satisfied, she plaits her hair into a French braid, the feather hanging infront of her ear, and coils it into a bun at the back of her head, staying with a pair of throwing needles slipped through.
Nodding at herself, she lopes to the armoury, and joins the dwarves in finding weapons, seeing as most of her's were lost in the scuffle with Smaug.
"You look ready for battle," Thorin says, walking up to her at the wall. He takes in the fresh runes on her arms, chest, back, and even on her neck, knowing there are more hidden under her clothes. Looking at her face, he finds a determined expression there.
"You look ready for war," she nods, looking at him out the corner of her eyes. Indeed, he's wearing armour, and is armed to the teeth, with a fur coat over his shoulders, and his crown upon his head.
They don't have long to wait, before the army of Men, accompanied by elves, approaches the front gate. King Thranduil is atop a large stag, and Bard is atop the white horse, both riding to a stop ahead of the army.
"They have no subtlety," Elena murmurs, crossing her arms under her chest, scanning the crowd of elves for the blonde prince.
"We cannot defeat an army that big, with just us," Balin worries.
Thranduil and Thorin exchange words, and Bard holds up the jewel Bilbo had, and Elena's eyes widen, while the dwarves clamor about them being theives. When Bilbo confesses, Thorin is about to throw him off the wall, when Gandalf appears, and Bilbo escapes from the wall, and runs to the opposing army.
Thranduil looks at Elena, "Lady Elena, do the smart thing, like your mother, and join us."
Elena takes a deep breath, and says, clearly, "I will not abandon my friends! I have given my loyalty to King Thorin, and will fight at his side. If you want me, come and claim me!" she challenges, drawing a shining dwarf blade. "I will not come quietly," she warns, her voice a snarl.
"Thorin, you are outnumbered!" Bard calls. "Will you have peace? Or will you have war?"
Thorin waits, for what feels like hours but is only minutes, until a raven lands infront of him, and caw's at him. He looks releived, and he calls out, "I will have war!"
Over the ridge, like a tidal wave, comes an army of dwarves, walking like a thunder storm, and all carrying heavy weapons. The one in front rides towards them, on a giant boar, and stops on a knoll on the hillside.
Elena slashes an orc, merely one in the host that is surging at them, including trolls, and she fights, beside, Men, elves, and dwarves. Somewhere in the fighting, she'd lost track of her friends. Right now, she ducks, and hears a swinging behind her, and then a clash. Spinning, she tosses a dagger into the head of an orc, and takes in King Thranduil, sword gleaming, and protecting her.
Gritting her teeth, she presses her back against his, and they fight together, and when Legolas joins them, along with several dwarves and Men, she arches her brow. With the enemy pressing in, Elena growls, and releases her inner animal. With a burst of speed, she launches herself forward, her whip gleaming with a life of it's own, and she cuts a wide swath of orc and goblin, and let's her instincts take over.
Sometime during the battle, she feels a sharp twinge of pain in her shoulder, and she doubles over, letting the allies surround her, and someone to support her, as she holds her shoulder. Something's wrong. Very wrong, she pants, and the pain leaves her, as sudden as it had come, and she blasts from the circle of allies, and sprints to where her heart is telling her Thorin is. She finds him, fighting several orcs at once, and wounded.
Sprinting to him, she ducks into a roll, and stops on her feet at his back. "Trying to best me?" she asks teasingly.
"Nay, never!" he yells back. "How's it going?"
"Could be worse," she offers, blocking a sharp sword with her arm. A mistake, it seems, as another blade swings from her side, and sever's her arm with a ripping noise. The scream of agony rips from her throat, and she collapses to her knees, holding the stump of her shoulder.
"Elena!" Thorin yells, feeling her pain, as he protects her. He's almost happy to see the elf Thranduil, and his son, cutting a swath to them. "Elena's hurt!" he yells, and they quickly make their way to them.
Thranduil crouches next to her, "Elena, what can we do?"
"Iratze," she groans, clenching her stump.
Thorin understands, and grabs her arm from the ground, "Where's your stele, Elena?"
"Left boot," she murmurs, not moving an inch, her body as still as possible.
Thorin holds the severed ends of her arm together, and draws an iratze above the wound, and watches in amazement as her arm re-attaches itself. He draws another into her arm, just to be safe, and feels the rune's effect on him.
Elena releases her arm, breathing easier, and clenches her fist, "I never want to experience that again."
Thorin grabs hold of her neck, and presses his brow to hers, "I don't want to feel that pain again. Ever," he mumbles.
Elena nods, and rises to her feet, beyond mad, and launches into an attack, her instincts guiding her.
