A few hours had passed since Rhavaniel had been left alone in the forge. None of the blacksmiths had returned, certainly not Daeron, who had promised to be back soon. She could tell the Woodland Kingdom had not been attacked - she would have seen it and heard it already. But Smaug was still lighting up the eastern sky. He could turn his attention to them at any moment.
'That boy is not very bright.' Rhavaniel thought to herself. 'He must have overheard Melima talk about chaining me, just as I did. Daeron is not one for an original idea, that is certain.'
She heard someone enter the forge.
"Daeron?" Rhavaniel called out. "About time you came back."
It was not Daeron. It was Hérion, her friend, Vehiron's youngest child.
He looked so much like his father. At forty-nine, Hérion had nearly reached his adult height. The boy was tall, a younger version of his father, with identical blond hair and pale blue eyes.
"Hérion, are you alright?" Rhavaniel asked gently.
"No, I am not."
"I wanted to talk to you, when I first came back, but everyone thought it best that I wait." Rhavaniel told him. Even Tauriel had agreed with her family on that point, and urged Rhavaniel to be patient.
"My father's friends came. They told me all that they knew. Is it true that my father was an Orc when he died?"
Hérion was not merely a ghost of his father, he was a ghost of Rhavaniel's lost childhood. She felt ancient from having experienced so much more death and dark forces than should be imagined in a child's life. But she also felt small - too young to find wise words to comfort this boy.
"Your father's spirit was already gone before the life in his body ended." she said simply, because that is how she thought of it.
"But you ended his life."
"Yes."
"You don't know if he was really gone." Hérion pressed. "You don't know if he could not have been fixed."
Rhavaniel was at a loss for answers, "I know that I could not have fixed him."
Hérion threw the lamp in his hand at her. She dodged it, and it hit the post instead, breaking and bursting into flames. Wood shavings from the lathe caught fire.
Rhavaniel jumped back but the chain stopped her retreat.
"Hérion, help me!" she shrieked.
He looked shocked. He had only thrown the first thing handy out of anger, and had not seen that she was chained in the shadows.
"The key!" she shouted, pointing to the ring of keys hanging near the door, out of her reach. Hérion turned and ran away.
The fire began to spread. Rhavaniel searched for anything within her reach that could be used to grab the key.
She pulled with all her might against the chain, but it would not give. She managed to knock down a tool rack, but everything scattered out of her reach. She grasped a file - it was too big to pick the lock, and she would never file through the chain in time.
"Daeron! Daeron!" she screamed.
No one was going to hear her over the din of alarm and activity. No one was going to see her - she was on the west-most edge of the perimeter wall, and the fire in the sky was in the east.
She was going to die trapped, burned to death. This was certainly a way an immortal Elf could die, and it would not be quick. This must be her punishment, she thought, for setting the Watchtower on fire, for causing Glennodad and Vehiron to be sent to investigate. This was all her fault.
It did not matter who she called for anymore, so she called, "Kili!"