At times she felt hands on her, restraining her, other times she would feel a gentle energy permeating her, slowly taking away physical pain. Her mind though remained a dark, blank slate for an amount of time she could not account for. She could feel presences around her yet Linshara could not, or perhaps would not open her eyes, her mind to the world around her.
"Miss Lin, please don't leave…." a small voice whispered to her often. It was a sweet, soothing presence, young Tilda.
Other times she heard soft, deep unintelligible murmurs, followed by a boney hand on hers. Gandalf. She surmised he must have been performing healing on her.
"Lin, ye've got ter wake ohp!" Sweet, funny Bofur, she could recognize that accent anywhere. He was overwhelmed with sorrow and fear. Often she would hear and feel the presence of Bofur, though she could not understand a word of his mutterings.
A tiny hand grabbed hers, a broken voice speaking, "Lin, they say you can hear me. They say you cannot return to us. Please find a way, I know so much is gone for you, but so much is still here for you, so many people want you returned to them."
Yet something would not let her return to them. Balin came to visit as did Dwalin, both brothers reeling with devastated feelings. Bombur would sit quietly with her. Sigrid and Bain visited several times also, both praying to the deities she'd come to know as Valar for her recovery.
At one point she saw an image of the white elk again, whispering to her trying to coax her to follow it again, yet she could not move, she could not follow.
Then, she felt a familiar soothing presence in the Force. One she had not felt for a year almost, a presence she had called Jedi back then.
"Gandalf it is no injury or disease that is keeping Lady Linshara in this state," Elrond's soothing, calm voice said.
The wizard joined Elrond next to her, "what do you believe it is then, Lord Elrond?"
Gentle hands framed her face, "I have known this condition myself. A broken heart, my friend. I understand she was betrothed to King Thorin's heir, Prince Fili?"
"She was, yes." The grumbling voice of the wizard replied. "How do you propose we help her?"
The hands left her face, now clasping her hands instead. "We give her time, to see if her life essence desires to stay in this realm or if it is time to travel to where Jedi go when they part of our existence."
"How does one decide when their mind is wrapped in darkness?" Gandalf asked again, his worry obvious, permeating the atmosphere.
"Come with me…" Elrond called.
Once again she felt alone, empty. So it was for a time. Images run through her head, of time now long past, her homeworld Chandrila, her second home, Coruscant and its Jedi Temple. She remembered her time on Rakata Prime, its strange and unique ruins. Her arrival to Arda brought her many joys and sorrows, she remembered. The tumultuous king, the cheeky young archer, the golden lion heir.
She missed them, achingly so. The one person she had been as close to as them, before, her old mentor, Master Zhushan Wu, the loss of whose presence she'd so keenly felt when he was struck down on Cato Nemoidia. Still the pain of that loss could not compare to the pain she felt now, her loss tripled. How did one endure? How did one lose love and survive it without descending into utter darkness?
Then an unexpected presence, a voice ever so broken and gentle, it's twang unmistakable. "Lady Linshara, these are not the peaceful circumstances I had in mind." A hand grasped hers. "They tell me you are in there, that your body lives, yet your mind is undecided. My Lord Elrond says that your heart is broken, after Prince Fili and his kin were destroyed."
Her hand was lifted up at the elbow, held gently between two rough, yet gentle hands. Lips touched her knuckles, moustache and beard lightly grazing her skin. "Dear Lady, it is the hardest thing one has to deal with, the loss of the one you love. I have felt such loss when my wife Medhraen passed from this world, giving birth to Tilda. I was beside myself with grief, unable to perform the basic functions, unable to be a father to my children. It had nearly destroyed my will to live." Bard whispered, still holding her hand.
"But Lady Linshara, after a time, I began to remember. My children, my life, my people. My life was not yet done nor would Medhraen have wanted me to lay down and join her in the thereafter." His words grew in conviction as did his belief in it, "you have done so much for this Middle-Earth, things magical and fantastic so much I cannot fathom. You defended my people and my children and I cannot thank you enough. The dwarves, Lady, you have earned their eternal love and affection, they have been by your side every day. The littler one, Bilbo, he is beside himself with grief."
He was on his knees leaning against her bed now, his elbows indenting the side, where he still held her hand. Bard the Bowman, a person very intriguing in the short time she'd known him.
"You have so much to live for, Linshara. The pain is so great, I know, you feel as if you will never recover. You will not, but it will grow less with time. It will become bearable, in time your heart will mend and you will know love again. I promise you, it IS possible." Bard murmured, she could feel his forehead leaned against her knuckles.
"Please, let us show you how much we appreciate all that you have done for us, dear Lady." His voice broke a little.
He grew quiet then. Time passed again, she didn't know how long, but he hardly left her side. Gandalf and Elrond came on occasion. Bilbo and Bofur too, even Bard's children timidly made their appearance.
It was, after a while that her eyes slowly blinked open. One blink, two. Closed again, then another blink and another. Slowly, ever so slowly they fluttered open. Bard sat in a chair next to her, his feet propped at the foot of her bed, her hand in his gently grasped.
The blond woman opened her mouth and tried to speak but no sound came. This did not wholly surprise her, it was not the first time she'd woken up from a long injury. Instead, she slowly moved her fingers. This did the trick and soon Bard slowly stirred.
At first he was confused and when he finally looked down at their joined hands, his eyes grew wide, then they travelled the length of her arm to her face. He broke into a wide, surprised smile.
"Lady Linshara, you're awake!" He joyfully exclaimed, leaning forwards and clasping her hand with his.
She smiled weakly at him and opened her mouth again but only a weak, "hi," came out.
He cupped her cheek gently, grinning at her. "It is so good to see you smile, Lady. We feared for you greatly. What with all the losses we suffered, the loss of you would have destroyed a lot of people."
"Th...Durin's?" She croaked weakly, steeling herself for the inevitable confirmation.
Bard's grey eyes saddened at her question, "my Lady, Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews fell. I am told they fell to the Pale Orc."
She closed her eyes, her face grimacing. A tear slid down her cheek and her breath wavered. Then a comforting presence filled the tent.
"The one happy news to come out of that sad, sad event is that Azog himself was eventually slain." Gandalf said as he entered.
Linshara looked over at the wizard with pained eyes, "I failed, all of them. I failed."
Gandalf knelt next to her, "no, my dear. You did not fail anyone. You saved this world from a very terrible fate, you did something none of us could do. Not even the White Council's combined strength. As for Thorin, Fili and Kili, it was their time and no amount of our self berating and exploration would yield different solutions."
She felt Bard squeeze her hand reassuringly. "In my mind, I know your words to be true. They are one with…" Linshara paused, having almost said the Force, momentarily forgetting that Bard had no clue what that was. "Their gods," she finished finally.
The man nodded, squeezing her hand again. "Linshara, Lord Elrond is here, he and Lord Thranduil's healers have been tending to your injuries. I will call them now so they may look at you. Once you are able to walk, I assume you'll want to attend the funeral. We have been holding it off for the past few days."
"Few days? How long has it been?" She asked, her voice still soft and weak, another tear sliding down her cheek.
"Four days." Bard offered.
She looked from one man to another, "four days? Feels like years. Spirits…"
Linshara stared at nothing particular for a moment. Gandalf and Bard slowly took their leave and Elrond stepped in, a warm fatherly smile on his face. Beside him stood another elf, this one of pale white hair and a silvery coat of armour. Linshara looked up, meeting his silvery eyes.
"You…" she recognized the presence, "I saw you in Mirkwood and in my dreams. You are the elk."
The elf looked at her bemusedly for a moment, wondering how she could have seen that, back in Mirkwood. Then, he bowed.
"Indeed I am, my Lady. I am Thranduil, Lord of the Woodland Realm." He said in a sharp, deep, regal tone.
In voice, manner and stature he was the polar opposite to Elrond. He was ice, stone, a cold flame compared to Elrond's warmth and wisdom.
"Linshara Thannis, daughter of Rasan." She chose not to reveal everything just yet, not being sure what this new elf had been told.
He nodded slowly. Elrond examined her injuries while Thranduil asked rather curious and pointed questions about her, her involvement in events and wizard apprentices. As Elrond determined that she was more or less fully healed, and physically she felt so, she was allowed out of the tent. Two elven women helped her bathe and change clothes into some that weren't burned, cut or caked with blood. She was given some food, but found herself only taking a little. Her appetite just wasn't there.
Then an hour later, Gandalf came to fetch her and slowly led the way into the mountain halls. It was dusk, which made the whole affair even grander than it already was. Torches lined the path the two took, every twenty metres a sombre dwarven guard fully decked out in his finest armour. Or at least the one he had made very shiny, Linshara couldn't exactly tell. Slowly they reached the Gates of Erebor, at which six guards on each side stood, equally sombre. They bowed as Gandalf and Linshara passed, murmuring in Khuzdul.
"What are they saying?" Linshara asked, her eyes tearing up.
Gandalf, who held her arm in his, squeezed it gently, "they are calling you Princess." He said softly.
She put her fingers over her lips and inhaled deeply trying to stop more tears from coming. Fili would have wanted her to be calm and regal, not the slobbering mess she felt like. Her own moral code demanded she present herself with grace and humility in there, not the destroyed woman she felt like. So as Gandalf lead her to a side hall, she pulled herself together, her mental walls, her will, her inner grace and strength and stepped out into the amphitheatre like chamber. Back straight, head high, she looked around the room.
On the podium, three beds of green marble were placed, the middle one slightly higher than the other two. At the sides, four candles were placed. On the middle bed Thorin lay. Bathed, dressed in the outfit she'd seen him in last. His sword was placed in his clasped hands, above which the Arkenstone lay. To Thorin's left, Kili lay in the same pose, to his right Fili.
Her resolve almost faltered as she and Gandalf approached. On the other side of the room, on the semi-circular steps, a red haired dwarf stood, decked in a kingly outfit, a crown upon his head, behind him his finest warriors, all fully armoured, all stock still and quiet.
What amazed her most though was the incredible control of emotion she sensed from the dwarves on the steps, the firm grip on their sorrow, almost as if they were stone themselves. The company were there too, circling the three stone beds, saying their goodbyes. A little above, there was Radagast and Beorn, Elrond and Thranduil a little to the side of them.
Gandalf lead her over to the beds and she joined the small circling procession. As she came to Fili's bed, she paused looking down at the serene face she so loved. He was gone, his presence was now one with the Force. This gave her some solace, yet seeing his body in front of her like that, unmoving, threatened to break her completely. She felt Balin's gentle hand on hers and it brought her out of her thoughts as Gandalf began to speak.
"The King has come unto his own
Under mountain, under stone
Send him now unto the deep
Unto earth, eternal sleep
Under mountain, under stone
Through all the lands, let it be known
The King is dead."
He recited, all the dwarves repeating after him, under mountain, under stone.
Balin took one of the ornamental swords as Gandalf reached the end of his eulogy and cried in unison with the wizard, "Long Live the King!"
All of the dwarves raised their weapons and cried the same as the red headed dwarf bowed deeply and his entourage raised their swords in front of them. The atmosphere was nearly overwhelming as each of the dwarves stepped over to their new King, swearing their allegiance and fealty to him.
Gandalf and the others meanwhile as well as Bilbo stepped over to her. "That is King Dain, he will be taking the mantle of King Under The Mountain."
Linshara nodded, "what of Iron Hills?" She remembered his name now, Balin had mentioned him a few times in their travels.
"His son will take over kingship there." Gandalf replied.
Linshara nodded. She looked around the room again and felt out of place. This mountain, she was considering it to be her new home sometime in the future, before all this happened. Now though it felt empty, cold, painful. A place she didn't want to be at.
"Gandalf, I cannot stay here…" she murmured to the wizard.
Bilbo however heard this and turned to her, "you can come stay with me in the Shire, Lin. I'd love your company."
Linshara chuckled, placing her hand on his shoulder, "I promise to come stay with you for a time, but I would like to travel a bit first. See this world, things I missed."
He smiled at her and patted her hand, "you are welcome any time, my friend."
She felt Elrond step over to her, "Lady Galadriel bid me extend an invitation to you to visit her in Lothlorien. You are also most welcome to stay in Rivendell for as long as you wish, my Lady."
Linshara nodded slowly at the Elf, "I will definitely do so, Lord Elrond. I was quite intrigued by her in our brief time in Rivendell."
Maybe if she kept herself busy enough, she could not think about the pain and the loss.
"I will escort Bilbo back to the Shire then continue southward. You may accompany us and I shall lead you to Rivendell." Gandalf offered.
"And my sons will guide you to Lothlorien when you desire it." Elrond added.
Thranduil then spoke unexpectedly, "I would offer you to stay in my realm for a time, but perhaps, it is too soon."
The Jedi nodded, "perhaps when the pain is lessened, perhaps then I may come back to the north. I would love to see your halls, Lord Thranduil, and visit with you again, Radagast. You must show me your animal friends."
The strange wizard cracked a toothy grin at her.
"Thank you, all of you for everything." She said, bowing to everyone before turning to those that remained of the Company.
"And to you, my friends. Knowing you has enriched my life beyond words." Slowly, she bowed again, and the dwarves in turn bowed to her.
Dwalin stepped forward, "now lass, we shall feast, you will see a proper dwarvish wake!"
She didn't want to feast, she wanted to wallow in her sorrow. But decorum and friendship pulled her back from the precipice.
So she simply nodded, "there better be beer."