Disclaimer: The Hobbit does not belong to me, but to Professor Tolkien, Peter Jackson, and his Company.

Gem of His Heart

Thorin reached for a nearby stick and nearly screamed at the pain that ricocheted through his ribs and leg. Blackness hovered at the edges of his vision for a moment, but he had to try to help himself. He moved once more, and this time the blackness won and Thorin mercifully sank into the realm of unconsciousness.

Chapter 7

Sigrid gnawed her bottom lip nervously as she stirred the stew she was making. The cooks had protested when she arrived in the kitchen, saying they would make the stew for her, but she needed to keep busy. She didn't know what awaited her new husband out in the countryside as he searched for his uncle. She worried for Fili's safety, of course, but she also worried about his emotional well-being if something happened to Thorin.

Fili's mother, Dis, was gone now, and Thorin and Kili were the only family he had left. She knew from listening to her husband's stories of his childhood that Thorin had been more father than uncle to Fili and his brother as they were growing up. Fili would be devastated if something happened to Thorin.

The loss of Thorin would also mean that Fili would take the throne, and she knew her husband felt he was not ready for that responsibility. Sigrid knew he would make a good leader, but Fili still doubted himself. He watched Thorin carefully so that when his turn arrived he would be ready. None of them had expected that time to be now.

"Ma, what ya' cookin'?"

Soren's voice penetrated Sigrid's thoughts and she whirled around to see Tauriel and her boys standing behind her. "I am cooking stew for Fili and the others when they return," she smiled.

Soren yawned. Both boys were dressed in their nightclothes. They were staying with Kili and Tauriel this week, but Sigrid and Fili still told them goodnight before bed each evening.

"Ma, where's Fili?" Arne asked.

Sigrid sighed. Her eldest had likely picked up on the tension under the mountain and knew something was wrong when Fili wasn't here in the kitchen with her.

"Fili had to go look for some missing dwarves," she explained as she tried to keep the worry off of her face and out of her voice.

"Who's missing, Ma?" Soren asked, letting go of Tauriel's hand and moving to cling to his mother's skirt.

Sigrid handed the spoon she was using to stir the stew to one of the cooks and lifted her youngest into her arms. "Come, Arne and Soren. Let us go into the library for a few minutes." The boys exchanged worried looks with one another as their mother and Tauriel took them down the hall to the library.

"Did something happen to Fili, Ma? Is that really why he's not with you?" Arne's eyes were wide with worry.

"No, my love," Sigrid answered, smiling as she settled Soren on her lap once she sat on the plush, velvety sofa. Arne clambered up beside her. Tauriel sat on his other side and ruffled a hand through the boy's hair tenderly. "Fili and Kili have gone to help locate some missing dwarves."

Arne scrunched up his nose in thought. "But who is missing, Ma?"

Sigrid bit back a sigh and shared a look with Tauriel. Arne noticed and his face became pinched with worry. "Ma?" he asked again.

"Arne, Fili's Uncle Thorin is one of the missing dwarves," she said softly. Her boys were frightened of the dwarf king, but they knew of his importance to Fili.

Soren gasped. "But Ma, Fili loves Uncle Thorin. Is Fili sad?"

Sigrid hugged her youngest tightly. "Yes, I am sure Fili is sad and frightened all at once."

Arne leaned back against Tauriel and played with the elf's long, red tresses. "Fili once said that King Thorin was like his da. He'll be very sad if something happens to him." His voice was thoughtful.

"I do not want anything to happen to Fili's Uncle Da!" Soren wailed, turning to bury his face in Sigrid's shoulder.

"Fili and Kili are determined to find Thorin," Tauriel soothed, her lips quirking at Soren's new name for the dwarf king. "I am sure they will find him and will do their best to bring him home safely."

"Now, it is time for bed," Sigrid added, "but perhaps one of the cooks can find a small snack for two little boys."

Arne and Soren nodded somewhat solemnly and allowed Sigrid and Tauriel to lead them back into the kitchen.

Fili pushed his pony forward in the chill twilight, his heart in his throat. The idea of something happening to Thorin terrified him. He wasn't ready to be king, but even more than that, he loved his uncle. Thorn may come across as hard and gruff and unforgiving, but Fili knew the man beneath that hard exterior. There was the uncle who had tucked him into bed at night and held him when he'd had a frightening nightmare. The idea of losing him so soon after losing Dis made Fili's blood run cold. They couldn't lose Thorin; they just couldn't.

Kili rode quietly next to his brother, his mind whirling with some of the same dark thoughts. He had not known his father. Thorin, for all intents and purposes, was his father although he called him Uncle. It was Thorin who had discovered Kili's prowess with the bow and fostered it. It had been Thorin who had helped Kili forge his first sword. Thorin had been the one to comfort his youngest heir when he was tormented by others for being too tall for a dwarfling. Thorin. Kili swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. They had to find him.

Drifa knew she had to get to whoever was farther below her down the hillside. She grasped the sturdy stick and plunged it into the mud. It was not too deep although it would make walking very difficult if not impossible. Her other fear was that she would disturb the mud and cause another landslide. Then she thought of Thorin with his body broken and bleeding. She could no longer hear anything from the bottom of the hill even when she shouted. Drifa knew she had to make her move and make it now.

She tugged off her sodden shoes and placed them to the side. Next she tucked both her shirt and cloak into her belt to keep them out of her way. She tied her shoes to her belt as well and then, grasping the stick tightly, lowered herself into the cold, squishy mud. She grimaced at the sensation and struggled forward. Drifa discovered that it was very difficult to take a step. Mostly, she just pulled herself along for each movement using the stick. She prayed it was sturdy enough to allow her to make it to the injured soul down the mountain.

It started to rain when she was halfway down to the rocks below. Gritting her teeth in determination, Drifa pushed herself forward. She ached all over. Her legs and arms trembled from the exertion of fighting her way through the mud. Her teeth were chattering with cold. "Hello?" she called as she wondered if the lost soul was even alive anymore.

"Down here!" came a weak cry.

She knew that voice. It was Thorin. "I'm coming!" she yelled even as she sent up a prayer that her legs would help her reach the King Under the Mountain.

Thorin shivered in the early evening air; perhaps the cold was what had finally brought him back to wakefulness. His leg ached and a pain kept shooting from his ankle to his hip. His broken ribs produced a stabbing pain every time he tried to move or breathe too deeply. There was no way he was going to be able to make it up the hillside on his own.

A cry reached his ears over the sound of the rain that had just begun to fall. Drifa. "Down here!" he shouted. His voice was weak and gravelly; he prayed that she heard his cry. A tremor ran through him when he heard her answer. She was coming to help him.

Fear spiraled through him. No, it was too dangerous. She needed to go back to Erebor and get help. Thorin wanted to cry out to her, to tell her to go back, but he knew it was futile. Drifa was too stubborn for her own good at times. Perhaps it would be in his favor this time.

The rain began to come down harder, and Thorin was grateful to be under the outcropping of rock. He was still caked in mud from his tumble down the hill, but at least he was not getting soaked once again.

He must have dozed off; he suddenly became aware of the sound of someone struggling through the mud. He forced his eyes open. The darkness was murky and damp. Rain still pattered on the mud around him, but not as hard now. "Drifa," he murmured before his breath hitched in pain.

"Thorin," Drifa panted. She could see the rock formation looming before her in the darkness. Struggling with her trembling limbs, she pulled herself the last few feet and nearly tumbled on top of the injured dwarf king as she dropped exhausted to the ground beneath the outcropping of rock. While she gathered her breath and rested a moment, she tried to gauge Thorin's condition.

The rain had all but stopped now, and a sliver of moon peaked out from behind the clouds. The light was poor, but Drifa could just make out Thorin's mud stained face and the way his leg was twisted at an odd angle. "Oh, King Thorin," she sighed.

"Drifa," he called quietly. "You should have gone for help instead of coming down here." His voice was raspy, and he sounded tired.

"Dain and the others have gone for help," she explained as she crawled forward and placed her hand on his muddy brow. "You have a fever, and I do believe your leg is broken."

"Have some broken ribs, too," he managed through clenched teeth as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position.

"Lie still," Drifa admonished him. "Let me check on your leg."

"Oin will care for it once we are back in Erebor," Thorin grunted, watching as Drifa ignored him and inspected the damaged limb.

"It will need to be set before they can get you up that hill," she warned him. "I think I can set it. I've watched the healers in Dain's kingdom many times. It needs to be set, Your Majesty."

"Just call me Thorin, Drifa. I think our shared history will allow for that. This is hardly the place to rely on society's standards." Thorin was tired, too tired to hold onto his bitterness at the moment. All he wanted to do was sleep and get warm. A shiver ran through him. He was so cold.

Drifa noticed. She shrugged out of her cloak and though it was damp and muddy, perhaps it would be better than nothing. Carefully, she draped it over Thorin.

"What are you doing?" he asked sharply.

"Trying to help you warm up," she informed him.

"You need your cloak," he snarled.

"Stop growling like a wounded bear and let me take care of you!" Drifa responded as she crawled forward and ran her hands down his broken leg. She tried to ignore Thorin's gasp of pain, but it made her stomach turn all the same.

Running her hands over the ground, she found a thick piece of a branch and leaned forward to place it in Thorin's mouth. "Here, bite on this," she instructed.

He stared at her stubbornly and clenched his mouth shut.

"Oh, you!" Drifa sputtered. "Open your mouth, Thorin. Do you want to wait for the others to get here? The longer we wait to set your leg, the larger the chance it won't heal correctly. Do you really want that?"

"Fine. Just get it over with." Thorin allowed her to place the branch between his teeth and he stared at the rocks above his head. Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore the pain he knew was coming and instead focused on thoughts of Fili, Kili, and their families back in Erebor. He had to get back to them. It was not time to leave them yet.

Drifa felt shaky and sick to her stomach as she looked at Thorin's leg. True, she'd seen the healers in Dain's kingdom set many a broken bone. She had assisted them at times when she had a free moment from her duties with Nal. It made her feel needed and useful. However, she had never done anything like this on her own. What if she made Thorin's leg worse? She glanced at his ashen face and the twisted leg and knew she had to try to set it.

Wiping her hands on her bodice, the only area on her body that was a tiny bit clean and dry, she grasped Thorin's ankle tightly in her hands and felt his body tense. "On three," she murmured into the darkness. "One….two….three." She jerked as hard as she could. Thorin's scream made her hair stand on end and bile rose in the back of her throat.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, realizing the leg hadn't set. She would have to do it again. Grasping his ankle in her trembling hands, she jerked hard one more time. Thorin screamed and went limp. He had blessedly passed out. Working quickly, Drifa splinted the leg with a stick she'd found by the dwarf king's side and strips of material she cut off of her skirt using Thorin's knife that she'd tugged from his belt.

Then she crawled to the edge of the outcropping and vomited. Tears tracked down her cheeks and she wiped them away with her muddy sleeve. She had hated hurting him. Drifa may have harbored her anger and bitterness against him for years, but seeing him in such agony like this was difficult to bear.

Shakily, she crawled over to the stick she'd used to get down the hillside and cut off another piece of her skirt. Tying it like a flag to the stick, she managed to jab the stick into the mud where their rescuers would be able to see it. Then she crawled back to Thorin's side and felt his brow. He was warm with fever, yet he shivered with chills. With a heavy sigh, Drifa curled up on her side and rested her head against Thorin's shoulder after tugging her cloak up beneath his chin. She would do her best to keep him warm until help arrived.

To Be Continued…