Night was falling by the time they had gathered all the dead Dwarves. So many... There were so many of them... Hundreds... Thorin contemplated them in silence, his senses dulled by sadness and grief. They had been fierce, loyal warriors – all of them. He was so exhausted himself that he could barely stand, yet he didn't move to sit down or rest. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the corpses.
« Thorin ? » someone called him softly.
When he turned around, he saw Balin standing behind him. He was bloody and bedraggled, with a haggard look on his face.
« We found Frerin. » the white-haired Dwarf announced. There was grief in his voice, and Thorin knew what his next words would be even before he said them. « He is dead, Thorin. I am sorry. » Then he added, more formally. « His death is a terrible loss for our people. »
Frerin... His little brother... Dead as well...
Just like Thror, the King Under the Mountain.
Just like Thrain, that everybody believed dead even though his body had not been found yet.
Thorin's legs were weak after his efforts during the battle, and he didn't know how long they would still carry him. His left arm was stiff, sore and bruised after the terrible blows the pale orc had landed on his makeshift shield of oaken wood, but pain was the proof he was still alive, unlike all the others. He also bore countless bruises, scratches and cuts all over his body, and when he watched his own hands he saw they were encrusted with drying blood.
« What of Boraìn ? » Thorin asked wearily. « Did you find him ? »
« He is alive. » Balin said, and Thorin sighed in relief. « But he is badly wounded, though. The healer says he is strong, and she should survive if he is given proper treatment, but nothing is certain, so far. »
Let him live, he prayed silently. For my sister's sake, let him live. Dis needs a bit of love in her life, and the little ones need a father to raise them.
« See that he gets everything he needs. » Thorin ordered his old friend.
Balin nodded and walked away, limping.
Then Thorin stared at the dead Dwarves again.
« What have we done ? » he whispered hoarsely, even if there was no one around him to hear his words. All we wanted was to make our lives better. Have a home again. Reconquer the halls that the Orcs have been besmirching for too long. We were full of hopes and dreams, and now more than half of our people are lying on the ground, cold and dead.
He wanted to cry, and to scream in agony, but he couldn't. Not here, not in front of his people. As a prince, he had to remain strong at all cost, so he took in a deep breath and straightened up, in spite of the pain.
It was high time to pick up the pieces, and to go back where the rest of their people were waiting for them. Like beaten dogs, Thorin relfected. Heads low and grief in our eyes. Dejected and empty-handed.
Life and fate had been hard on them once more.
When would all the pain stop ?
Laurelin hadn't slept for several nights. Every morning and every evening since the kings had left to reconquer the Moria, the young maid had wandered at the limit of the camp, and searched the horizon in the hope of seeing them return, of hearing their voices in the distance... So far her hopes at been dashed every time, and she had trudged back home in silence, her heart stricken with anguish and sorrow.
But today, as if the gods had heard her prayers at last, she saw Thorin and his men appear on top of the grassy hill that faced the camp.
She almost screamed in joy and relief, even more so when Thorin's eyes fell on her.
She called his name and all but ran towards him, but very soon she realized something was wrong. Her enthusiasm faded away, leaving her filled with dread. So few of them had returned... It was no more than a few score of wounded Dwarves, with grim faces and ragged beards, their eyes filled with a darkness that frightened Laurelin. She looked up at Thorin, horrified tears were pouring down her round cheeks, and she had to fight back a strong urge to put her hands on him, on his face, to comfort him. Death had struck them once more, and she had almost lost Thorin, too. She was certain of it. He was in such a bad state...
Before Laurelin could say or do any more, though, the Lady Dis came running towards them, her face in tears as well. The maid hesitated, then she stepped back quickly. She knew this was not her place right now was the time for family reunions, the time for siblings joining to mourn their dead together and to comfort each other - and Laurelin was no family. She was just a servant, after all, and no matter how much she would have loved to comfort Thorin, she had to accept the situation as it was. She went to sit on a stump next to Thorin's home, waiting for her turn, her throat so tight it was hard for her to swallow, or even to breathe. She was full of fear and grief – and bitterness. Having to stay out of the way was awfully frustrating.
When Thorin appeared at last, several hours later, Laurelin was still sitting at the same place, a bit stiff after being still for such a long time. Her face was wet with tears when she looked up at him never before had she been so afraid. She got up and walked awkwardly over to him, banging her hips into the heavy oak sideboard on her way, but she was so worried for Thorin that she barely felt the pain.
« You waited here for me ? » Thorin asked, surprised. It was late, and he had probably expected her to be in bed, yet Laurelin would have been unable to sleep without having exchanged at least a few words with him.
« I didn't have the priviledge to talk to you when you came back, » she said, both relieved to be close to him at last, ande worried as she saw his wounds. No one had tended them yet, obviously. The healers were probably too busy with the Dwarves whose lives were still threatened. Minor injuries could wait. « Let me clean your wounds. » she suggested.
« Just scratches... » he whispered, too exhausted to say any more. « Don't worry. »
« Please, let me help. » she insisted. Thorin saw the glistening tears on her cheeks, and his last strand of resistance melted away. He let Laurelin lead him inside the house, sniffing and wiping her tears with her sleeve. First she prepared a quick but hearty meal with the goods she had put aside every day during his absence – a thick slice of dark bread, smoked river trout, a piece of soft white cheese, a pair of garlic sausages, and a hot bowl of vegetable stock from the day before.
Thorin ate, but without real appetite he agreed to feed his hungry body, but he didn't take any pleasure from his food. He was bone weary, and still dazed by the death of almost every member of his family. His eyes, ordinarily so piercing, were now empty and without focus. His thoughts were elsewhere, as if he had left part of himself over there, at the gates of the Moria where so many of his warriors had fallen.
When Thorin was finished with his meal, Laurelin got the small chest of cherry wood she kept on top of a shelf, in the kitchen. It contained everything she would need – medical herbs, soothing slaves, sticky onguents, and other remedies she had gathered over the years she had spent in Thorin's service. She knew how to tend to small wounds or scratches, but she had never treated such important injuries as Thorin was now bearing. She was not sure she would be up to the task – would she even be able to see all that blood without flinching ? - but she gathered her courage and did it anyways. Thorin didn't resist he was already more than half asleep, and barely realized what she was doing.
Laurelin spent the rest of the night nursing Thorin back to health, cleaning even the smallest scratches on his body, inch after inch of skin. His left arm was was bruised from shoulder to wrist, yet luckily no bone had been shattered when the pale Orc had unleashed his fury on the Prince of the Dwarves. He would heal without after-effects, with time, yet Laurelin was aghast every time she thought about the violence of this fight. She had heard rumors while she had been waiting on her stump Thorin had only just escaped death, saved by a mere piece of wood. Oakenshield they now called him. Thorin Oakenshield. The one who had killed Azog the Defiler. Laurelin shuddered as she tried to picture the huge white beast, and how he had almost taken the Prince's life. Her hands started to tremble, but then she pulled herself together.
He is back, isnt he ? He is alive ! There's no point in agonizing over things that didn't happen, you stupid.
She cleaned the wounds with hot water, till there was no dirt left inside, then she smeared the small ones with healing salves and stitched up the deeper sword cuts. She also put a cataplasm on Thorin's battered left arm, before wrapping it in a thick bandage. Her small hands were red with blood and sticky with ointments by the time she was done she washed them in a bucket of cold water, then she cleared away the mess.
When she was done at last, she retreated to let Thorin sleep quietly. Healing and recovering his strengths would take up most of his energy, during the next days, and the best way to help him would be by letting him rest without disturbing him any further. It was hard to leave his side, though, and she had a hard time concentrating on anything else. She came to check on him several times during the following hours – to pull the blankets over him again, to watch if the bandages were holding in place, or simply to make sure he was still breathing...
Thorin slept for almost two days in a row. When he woke up at last, Laurelin was still there, at his side. She had been the first to rush towards him as he had returned, even before Dis. It had surprised Thorin, as much as he was now suprised by the maid's devotion to him. It was the proof that she was not only serving him out of duty, like most servants in Erebor did it was obvious she truly cared about him.
To be honest, Thorin did not remember that much of his first night at home by the time he had reached his bed, led by Laurelin, he had been so exhausted that everything around him was no more than a blurry haze. But some things he could recall dimly, like her cold hands on his feverish hot skin, and how nimble her fingers had been, and the strong smell of the salves she had used on his injuries. He also remembered the strong feeling of well-being that had swept over him as the maid had bustled around him. And now she was sitting here, right next to his bed, mending one of Thorin's old shirts she had turned into a wonderful seamstress over the years, and she greatly enjoyed working with the needle, but right now she had dark circles under her eyes.
How many sleepless nights did she spend watching over me ? Thorin wondered. Did she sleep at least a few hours, since I came back ?
He sighed, and moved slightly in his bed to find a more comfortable position. A strong smell of roasting meat was floating in the air, making his stomach grumble, but he still felt too weak and tired to get up. He closed his eyes again, and listened to Laurelin she was singing herself, as usual, and her soft soothing voice slowly eased away the horrible pictures he kept seeing in his mind. He felt his muscles relax as he enjoyed her soft humming, like a small child being rocked to sleep by his mother's voice.
A few moments later, when he had gathered his strengths and wanted to get up, Laurelin jumped on her feet and put a hand on his brow, to keep him from moving. Her hand was pleasantly cold, and in spite of her callused skin her touch very gentle, almost tender. He looked up at her. She blushed, and lowered her eyes. She removed her hand at once.
« Please, Prince Thorin. » she said shyly, fidgeting nervously with the hem of her shirt. « You need to rest, if you want to heal. »
Since he did not yet feel strong enough to squabble with her – or with anyone else – he obeyed, and reclined on his pillow again. His left arm was still bandaged, but the pain there had been reduced to a dull throbbing.
After a short silence, Laurelin spoke again :
« Are you hungry ? » she asked, with a sweet and reassuring smile on her lips, and her eyes shining with tenderness. «We have roast pork chops, and pigeon pie, and also fresh turnips. And berries from the forest, too. Maghà gave them to me, but I didn't eat them. I saved them for you... » she added timidly. The young maid knew how much Thorin loved pigeon pie they couldn't afford it very often, since the butter she used for the crust was so expensive, and she was sure he would appreciate it. She also wanted him to know that he had never left her thoughts during his absence, and that she had always believed in his return.
« Yes, please. » Thorin said in a whisper. « I am very hungry indeed. »
His stomach was still rumbling loudly, and besides he knew he needed food to recover from his injuries.
He propped himself up to sit in his bed, and Laurelin put a pair of pillows behind his back to make him more comfortable. Then she went into the kitchen, and came back with his meal on a wicker tray. Thorin smiled at her seeing her bring him his food was a familiar sight – familiar and reassuring. So many things had fallen to pieces in his life, but Laurelin at least was still there. It was a comforting thought. It made him feel better, a bit.
While Thorin was eating, Laurelin kept wiping his brow with a cold, wet piece of rag, to bring down the fever. She didn't say a word, but Thorin say in her big brown eyes all the genuine concern she was feeling for him she was obviously very sad and worried.
« Thank you. » he said softly, when she removed the rag from his forehead to plunge it once more in the bucket of water.
« You're welcome. » she answered, with a shy smile.
When Thorin's bowl was empty, he laid down on the bed again, and closed his eyes once more. Eating had taken up most of his strenghts, and he needed to rest. Laurelin removed the bandages to check on his injuries, to make sure they were starting to fester again, but everything was all right. They were healing nicely well, the deep cut on his right shoulder was still a bit red and inflamed, hot to the touch, but it was much better than it had been on the first day.
She started singing again, in a very soft voice, barely more than a whisper.
Thorin sighed, and relaxed. As long as she would sing, there would be no nightmares, Thorin knew it – as if her voice was some sort of guardian angel watching over his sleep.
Laurelin kept singing, as if she had somehow sensed how much he needed to hear her.