Disclaimer: The Hobbit does not belong to me, but to Professor Tolkien, Peter Jackson, and his Company.
Gem of His Heart
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.
Chapter 8
Fili led his rescue party out of the mountain. The ponies' hooves were soon coated in thick clumps of mud. It had begun to rain once again. Fili tugged his hood closer to his face and tried not the think of the cold rain beating down on his uncle as he lay injured somewhere out in the woods. He glanced at Kili and knew his brother was entertaining the same sort of thoughts.
Hoof beats ahead drew his attention, and Fili reined his pony to a halt. The guards immediately moved to the front of the company and stood ready to greet the newcomers.
"Maybe it is Uncle," Kili murmured hopefully.
The ponies came into view. Dain, Nal, Dain's servant Feykir, and two guards approached them at a gallop. Thorin was not with them.
"Where is Uncle?" Fili called to the dwarf king from the Iron Hills as Dain reined to a stop before them.
"We must help them," Dain panted. "There was a mudslide."
"Is Thorin injured?" Fili asked pointedly. "And the others?"
"One of our servants made it to safety on a rock, but Thorin and the guards…" Dain trailed off, shaking his head.
"No," Kili gasped. "No, Uncle cannot be dead! HE CANNOT!" The youngest heir of Durin radiated with frustration and anger. His pony, sensing his rider's distress, pranced sideways.
"I would not count your uncle out yet," Dwalin spoke up. "You followed him to Erebor and saw how he carried himself. Thorin is tough and resourceful. If anyone could survive something like this, it would be him."
"Aye, lads," Oin added. "Have faith in Thorin. We should keep moving. He will be waiting for us."
"And we will not stop until we find him," Fili growled. He turned to Dain. "Come with us. You can show us the last place you saw my uncle." He switched his gaze to the guards. "Take the others back to the mountain. My wife will see that they are cared for."
Sigrid hugged both of her boys tightly. "Be good for Tauriel. I am going to finish up this stew and then I will check on you before I go to bed."
Soren nodded sleepily, but Arne looked determined. "I want to sit up and wait for Fili." Worry edged into the child's tone.
Sigrid knelt before her eldest son. "Arne, you need your rest. It may be that Fili will need our company tomorrow. If that is the case, you will need to be well-rested in order to be of service."
The boy nodded solemnly. "Will you wake me if Fili needs me, Ma?"
A tender smile curved Sigrid's lips. "Aye, my love." She ran a gentle hand over his hair. "You are such a dear boy, and I love you very much."
"Ma," Soren yawned, allowing Tauriel to lift him into her arms, "what if they do not find Fili's Uncle Da?"
"They will find him, Soren," Tauriel soothed. "Fili will not stop until he finds him. Now, it is way past time for little boys to be in bed." She nestled Soren on her hip and took Arne by the hand.
"Lady Sigrid, Lady Tauriel!"
Both women turned. "Mr. Bofur!" the boys crowed in delight.
"Some of Dain's party has returned," he told them, his eyes worried.
"Thorin?" Sigrid asked, her heart clenching for her husband's sake.
Bofur shook his head. "Nay, nor Queen Nal's maidservant, Drifa. Two of the guards failed to return as well. There was a mudslide."
Sigrid's raised a shaky hand to her mouth. "Oh, no," she moaned.
"We must not give up hope," Tauriel said stoutly. "Bofur, have them brought to the kitchens and send for the healers. We can warm them up in front of the fires with some of Sigrid's stew and the healers can check them over."
He nodded. "I will tell Balin."
"And please, Mr. Bofur, find someone who can watch my boys. It is past their bedtime," Sigrid spoke softly.
"Let me speak with Balin, and I will watch your boys meself."
"Thank you, Mr. Bofur," Sigrid smiled gratefully.
"It is getting too dark to see your blasted hand in front of your face!" Dwalin scowled as he held his lantern high above his head and scanned the muddy terrain.
"Oh, stop complaining," Oin grumped at the seasoned warrior.
Dwalin growled, but Fili turned and glared at both of them. "We need to find Uncle. Every second we spend arguing amongst ourselves is time Thorin could be buried in the mud injured and dying. Will Erebor lose its king because of your ridiculous squabbles?" His blue eyes were as fierce as Thorin's and his demeanor that of a king, whether or not he realized it.
"Let's keep moving," Kili interjected, nudging his horse forward in the deepening gloom.
Thorin moaned as he woke. He was chilled clear to the bone and his leg ached dreadfully. His ribs kept a steady pain stabbing in his side which intensified if he attempted to take a deep breath. The only warm place on his body was his shoulder. Carefully, he turned his head to see Drifa's head cradled there, her cheeks flushed pink with the cold.
"Drifa," he murmured.
She stirred and blinked in confusion for a moment before she remembered where they were. Gingerly, she pushed to a sitting position, wincing as every muscle in her body protested quite strongly. "Thorin, how are you feeling?" she asked as she brushed back the hair that had fallen loose from her braids.
The dwarf king grunted. "I have a broken leg and broken ribs. How do you think I feel?"
Drifa sighed. "I am not thrilled to be stuck down here either, but I am sure help will be here soon."
"You asked how I felt, and I was only being honest," Thorin grouched back at her, feeling irritated.
"Fine," Drifa snapped, reaching out to feel his forehead. He was still running a fever, and his eyes were glassy. She bit her bottom lip worriedly. Oin needed to get here soon.
"You still do that," Thorin murmured softly.
Drifa stared at him in confusion. "What?"
"Bite your lip," Thorin stated. "You always did that when you were upset."
Memories seemed to float in the air between them then. Drifa reached out and tucked her cloak beneath his chin, but stayed silent.
Thorin cleared his throat and broke the quiet. "So, how did you end up in the Iron Hills with Dain's family?"
Drifa looked at him incredulously. "How dare you ask me that question!" she hissed, her cheeks suddenly flushed red with anger. She could feel herself trembling and she clenched her hands into fists until her nails bit into her palms.
"What?" Thorin asked, utterly confused. "Ask you how you came to work with Dain?" Perhaps the fever was making it difficult to think clearly, but he did not see what was so terrible about the question. "Did you not leave Erebor to seek work elsewhere?"
A growl escaped Drifa's lips and she was angrier than Thorin had ever seen her. "You act as if you have forgotten why I left, Thorin Oakenshield."
"That is something I will never forget," he answered back a bit breathlessly as the pain from his ribs intensified. "That day is burned into my memory forever."
"And mine as well," she sneered, wishing there was room under the rock to pace. She desperately needed to move to work off her frustration.
"Drifa, I do not understand. If you are so angry, then why are you caring for me?" the dwarf king asked in confusion.
"Because I cannot leave you to suffer alone, not like you did to me when you sent me away when I was carrying your child. I will hate you for that for the rest of my life, but I will not leave you. Your people need you and your nephews need you. I am doing this for them."
Thorin gaped at her wide-eyed. "I have a child?" he asked as his blue gaze locked on her face. He was so focused on the idea of a child that he never even realized that Drifa mentioned being sent away.
She turned her back to him and did not speak.
"Drifa, please, you cannot keep our child from me. You cannot."
There were voices then, drifting down the hill. Drifa crawled out from beneath the rock and waved for them. "We're here! Thorin is injured."
"Drifa," Thorin called. "Drifa, please."
She ignored him as Oin moved past her and began to assess Thorin's injuries. The dwarf king fought against the healer. "Drifa."
"Uncle, we are so relieved to find you," Fili breathed.
"You had us worried," Kili added, both dwarves pressing forward to get a better look at their uncle's injuries.
"Fili, hand me that pouch," Oin instructed, pointing to a leather bag he'd dropped on the ground. "He's delirious with fever. I am going to sedate him to get him back to Erebor."
"No," Thorin argued, fighting and then gasping in pain.
"Fili, Kili, hold him down."
Thorin's heirs moved to each side of their uncle, Fili stroking his hair back from his battered face gently. "It will be all right, Uncle. We will soon have you have in Erebor where you will be warm and comfortable. Sigrid is making a stew to warm your belly and Oin will see to it that you will soon be feeling better."
Thorin continued to strain against them. "Drifa," he called. When she did not respond he got louder. "Drifa!"
Oin poured his herbal mixture down Thorin's throat. The dwarf king gasped and choked, but whatever it was worked quickly, and Thorin found himself sliding into darkness.
To Be Continued…