I tried to fight it.
The sudden onslaught of knowledge. The memories, the images...
The truth.
I tried to fight it.
To force myself back into the darkness, back into the unfeeling, blissfully ignorant state between sleep and unconsciousness. And yet, too long had I lingered there. Like it or not, my body was waking up, and my mind with it.
Tears welled under my eyelids before I even opened them.
Finally I could no longer ignore the thirst in my throat, the pain in my muscles... the smell.
"What is that?" I questioned, my voice raw and raspy. The odour was thick in the air and it nearly made me want to gag as it hit the back of my throat.
"They're burning the orcs. Huge piles of them, at the edge of the valley." Bilbo's voice answered from nearby. I opened my eyes and, after blinking them to focus, saw him sitting on a large rock nearby.
"I almost thought for a moment it was me." I said with a terribly weak grin which he politely returned.
"I am filthy though." I began to realize as I became more alert. My heavy brigandine had been removed and I was only in my dress and leggings. The arm I had dislocated was in a sling, tied close against my chest. I tried to slowly push myself up using my other one. Bilbo saw my grimace and rushed to my side, helping to ease me into a sitting position. I looked around, immediately recognizing the entrance hall of Erebor. I had been lying atop a few coats, mine included, on a flat slab of rock, rubble from Smaug's desolation. The area was crowded with dwarves, many were injured and were being tended to by those with more superficial wounds.
I felt terrible and the acrid smoke that was wafting in from the open entranceway was not helping. I vaguely noticed certain areas of my clothing cut away exposing small sets of stitches: one on my free arm, a few on my legs, and a larger mended slash on my side.
"How long have I been here?" I asked, raising a hand to my throbbing head.
"The entire night... it's nearly midday now." Bilbo responded.
"Did you get some sleep?" I asked gently.
He grinned reassuringly but his face fell. "Ah, well no, I did try...but..." He looked away pointedly for a moment then glanced back at me. I nodded sadly in understanding.
"Ah, here comes Bofur." Bilbo noticed, happy for the change of subject. "I'll give you two some privacy." he added as Bofur approached. I looked up to see he was still wearing his stained battle outfit. I knew he hadn't slept, or even washed. He nodded to the hobbit in gratitude, and then looked to me.
I swallowed hard upon seeing the grief and exhaustion so plain across his face. So different he looked, with dull, hopeless eyes and a deep-etched frown. It was so unexpected, and nearly made me lose the composure I was working so hard to maintain. I didn't know what to say to him; anything that came to mind seemed so empty, so rehearsed. There were no words of comfort that would make this better.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to speak.
"Are you busy?" I asked meekly. He shook his head, stepping closer and lightly picking up my hand.
"Can you - will you help me to my room?"
His expression softened a fraction. "'Course." he replied quietly, moving to help me to my feet.
We walked slowly, in strained silence, towards our old quarters. I wasn't sure they would be ours for much longer - I wasn't quite sure of anything for that matter. I felt somewhat relieved when we reached the quiet privacy of my room. The smell of the burning carcasses had not yet reached this area, and the fresher air helped clear my head.
Bofur released his hold of me to go fetch water, and I drained three large cupfuls before feeling sated. Then we just stood there, the silence slowly becoming oppressive as neither of us knew what to do to help the other. I wanted to rush into his arms, hold him, comfort him, but for some reason he seemed distant and I worried he would refuse the contact.
It wasn't long, however, before the grime on my clothes and skin, and my sticky, matted hair, succeeded in distracting me.
"Please stay, if you can." I told him awkwardly, heading towards the bathing room. "I won't be too long." I added before closing the door behind me.
I looked down at the steaming bathing pool, longing to feel its waters wash away the blood and dirt that seemed to plaster my entire body. I reached up and tried to fumble with the knot on my sling, breathing through my nose as I jostled my arm in the process. Fortunately, I was able to work it free, and gingerly pulled the cloth away, letting my arm loose. I sat down on a bench and slipped out of my boots, then began to pull down my trousers, grimacing as they stuck in sections to the dried blood on my legs. I stood up once more and moved to pull off my dress, but yelled out in pain when I forget to limit motion in my one shoulder, lifting it too high as I attempted to get free of the sleeve. I let my dress fall back down and cradled my arm to my body, biting back a frustrated cry.
I hadn't heard Bofur enter, but when I looked up I saw him slowly coming towards me.
"I can't." I cried out pathetically, on the brink of a total breakdown.
He hushed me comfortingly, placing his hands on my arms and gently turning me so my back faced him.
He then gripped the upper collar of my dress and I heard a tearing noise as he ripped apart the seam down the back and at my waist. He then spun me back to face him and tenderly took my hurt arm, moving it gently as he eased it out of the sleeve. He helped me with the other arm as well and then slid the dress down off my body, my small undergarments with it.
I stood in front of him then, fully naked. As his eyes trailed over the injuries I had acquired, his expression darkened by the second. I looked down at myself. It was almost difficult to tell what was bruising and what could be washed away. Patterns of dried blood criss-crossed my legs and midsection, and my wrists and hands were in a very sorry state, my knuckles all but skinned. I couldn't be sure what the bruising at my throat looked like, though it did slightly ache and my voice was still not quite normal. I glanced up at Bofur, who looked on the verge of tears himself, and I felt suddenly terrible for making him feel even worse.
"Bofur..." I sighed. "Don't worry about me, please. I'll heal." I stepped towards him and slowly removed his hat, setting it down next to us on the bench.
"Help me." I whispered when he looked at me in confusion. "I won't be able to wash my hair alone." I added when he made no move to undress. More than anything I just wanted him to relax for a few moments; the hot water would help him.
He eventually nodded and I left him to remove his clothing as I went and gingerly stepped down into pool.
I gasped as I adjusted to the heat. My various cuts and scrapes and stitches protested as I submerged up to my neck, but otherwise the water felt lovely.
Bofur joined me soon after, sliding into the water and closing his eyes as he rested along the side.
I grabbed a clean cloth from a pile close by, wetting it before beginning to wipe my face clean. It took a surprisingly long time before the cloth didn't come away dark when I swiped it across my skin.
I set it aside and then pulled the tie from my hair, sucking in a breath at the pain the simple motion caused and suddenly remembering the abuse it had suffered on the battlefield. I wasn't surprised to see a large amount of long blonde strands come free with the tie. I scowled as I set it outside of the tub, struggling to free the loose hair from my wet hand and hoping I would not have a visible bald spot.
When I was through, I looked up to see Bofur watching me, his scowl matching my own.
"I wish you hadn't been out there." he told me quietly as I approached him.
"I know." I said as I stopped close in front of him, my legs bumping against his as I made to kneel on the underwater ledge he was sitting on. He watched me tiredly as I began undoing his braids, trying not to move my one arm too much in the process. I reached around his neck with my more mobile arm and began to loosen the larger braid at the back. Finally all his hair was free, but for a few moments I just continued to trail my fingers through his thick, wavy locks, untangling them further.
Eventually I slid my hand down to his chest, but I did not meet his eye.
His hand then broke the water and came up to rest on my face. He brushed his thumb along my bottom lip and then up against my cheek. I leaned into his touch, my hand coming up to rest on his.
"Bofur, I-" I began softly, but I faltered, still not knowing what to say, still not knowing what was right.
"We'll get through this." he uttered softly, still rubbing my cheek with his thumb.
I nodded and finally looked up to meet his eyes. Again I was struck with how dark and tired they looked, his laugh lines had somehow transformed to appear as creases of worry and anguish. I wanted to bring my fingers up against them, to try to smooth them away and take his fatigue and grief with it. It was sobering to see firsthand the effects of war on one of the warriors.
Realizing we both needed sleep more than anything else, I moved to grab the shampoo bar, not wanting to prolong the bath longer than necessary.
I allowed him to wash his hair first while I tried to scrub my body clean. Then, after cautioning him to be gentle, I leaned back into the water as he carefully tended my own greasy tresses. He very gently cleaned the blood from my scalp, and then spent a long while washing the rest of the dark filth from my light hair.
Finally we deemed ourselves clean again and exited the pool. Bofur dried my back for me, then we wrapped ourselves in towels and headed for the bedroom. I saw my nightgown on the bed, where I had tossed it barely over a day previous; it seemed like a lifetime ago. Bofur helped me slip it on, but could find nothing for himself to wear in my rooms, so he secured his towel around his waist and told me he'd return in a moment.
I lay back against the pillows waiting for him, trying to ignore the sharp pains and throbbing pains and dull aches that tormented my entire body. It seemed I had been waiting for quite a long time when I finally heard my door. Bofur appeared, still shirtless and barefoot but wearing loose brown pants. He carried a wooden plate laden with food, and a steaming mug.
He handed me the cup when I sat up. "Óin made it for you."
I gratefully took a small sip then set it aside to cool and watched as Bofur sat down, setting the plate on the bed between us. He seemed to have fared relatively well through the battle, especially given that he had not been wearing heavy armour. I realized most of the blood that had covered him before washing had not been his own. His knuckles were skinned like mine, he had a shallow cut on his forehead, mostly hidden by his hair, and besides a bruise growing on his chest, he otherwise appeared unharmed.
We wordlessly ate. I don't think either of us even noticed, nor hardly tasted, what we put into our mouths. We ate mechanically, because our bodies needed it, but there was no pleasure to be gained from food right now; not even the finest course could have tempted us to enjoy it.
When we were through I asked Bofur to bring more water to accompany the bitter medicinal tea, and as I drank it he redid my courting braid, having removed it to thoroughly wash my hair.
"I need to sleep." I admitted when I had finished my mug and began to feel my physical woes begin to lessen. "Will you stay?"
Bofur looked at me for a moment and then nodded. "Aye. The lads will find me if they need me."
I bid him to go lock the door as I settled in under the blankets. When he returned, he lay down beside me with a sigh,
"I feel I could sleep for days." he commented wearily, and I remembered that he had been unable to get much sleep even before the battle since he had been busy constructing Thorin's barricade.
"Me too." I agreed as I settled in, my eyelids already drooping. We did not try to embrace in any way - I was too sore, and we were both too tired, so I simply placed my fingers gently over his hand and let myself surrender to sleep.
I don't know how long we slept.
Bofur slept like a rock. I woke up a few times needing to get a drink or empty my bladder, but Bofur never so much as stirred, even when I got up. Eventually, however, my periods of restful sleep grew shorter as I became irritatingly sore and started having vivid dreams.
I jerked awake after a particularly bad one, my face wet with tears I had unknowingly cried. At that point I turned and moved closer to Bofur, gripping his arm and curling against him. My mind, tremulous with dark thoughts brought on by my nightmare, would not settle, and I found myself replaying over and over again the image of them, their battered bodies, forever still.
Bofur turned towards me, his sad eyes boring into mine.
"Sorry I woke you." I whispered. He frowned and shook his head slightly before shifting towards me, placing his lips to my forehead and a comforting hand against my neck. He gently trailed his fingers along my collar bone, giving me something else to focus on, and I was eventually able to fall back into slumber once more.
When I next opened my eyes, Bofur was already awake and moved to get up when he saw I was no longer asleep. He told me to stay put and that he would be back with more food and another herbal infusion for my aches. After he dropped these off to me he left once again, promising to return later but insisting I stay in bed. It wasn't until nightfall when he did come knocking on my door, his shoulders nearly stooping with weariness or the weight of something else. I led him back to the bedroom and wordlessly helped him undress. Bofur fell asleep quickly that night, but I lay awake a while, wondering what dark thoughts had been weighing him down.
I was roused out of sleep in the middle of the night by what I thought was a dream, but when I turned my head I saw Bofur sitting with his legs over the bed, his head in his hands.
I sat up and scooted up behind him, placing my good arm round his back and resting my head against his side.
"I was furious with him." he muttered sadly after a few long minutes of silence.
"What?" I asked gently, hardly able to hear him.
"With Thorin." he said, letting his hands fall to his knees but keeping his head bowed. "I was so angry with him… For drawing his blade on you, for forcing me to send you beyond the walls, for keeping us here when the fighting began. And then everything happened so fast after he finally came 'round... I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't get to say anything to him." He paused, taking a slow breath before continuing. "And then he died... and my last thoughts of him were ones of anger. What's worse, is I might still be mad at him. Every time I look at you, I see how close I was to losing you, and it was all because of him."
I tensed. This was my fault. That explained his distance, his reluctance to talk to me.
He blamed me.
I felt suddenly sick at the thought of having brought him so much pain and conflict. I forced myself to the floor and kneeled in front of him, not knowing if apologizing was worth anything, but still I had to try.
"I'm sorry." I whispered. "Bofur, I'm so sorry. It's my fault." I leaned against his leg and closed my eyes in weary sadness. "I messed everything up. If I would have just stayed in my rooms like you told me to…"
"Amrâlimê... No." Bofur said gently as he guided me back up. I settled on his lap as he pulled me close against his chest, his arms circling me comfortingly. "I do not blame you, nothing was your fault, and my thoughts are my own." he soothed. "I would be in a much sorrier state if it were not for you being here now, giving me something to live for."
I reached my arm up and placed my hand against his neck. "Thorin did not begrudge your anger towards him. When I spoke with him, he told me he regretted his actions, he apologized..."
"I am glad for that." Bofur responded after a moment, finding my hand and squeezing it reassuringly.
"He also said... he gives us his blessing." I whispered, sitting up to look at him though my eyes were beginning to water.
Bofur said nothing, but placed his forehead against mine, closing his eyes as his hand slid up my neck and into my hair.
"I am glad for that too." he said huskily before placing a lasting kiss on my lips.
I woke up the next morning so sore and stiff that I could barely shift positions. I groaned, my limbs feeling as heavy as lead.
Bofur was lying on his stomach, but propped himself up on his elbows to look at me when I began vocalizing my discomfort.
I turned to look at him, my neck straining at the simplest of actions. His dishevelled hair was trailing down over his bare shoulders, his eyes still looking tired and dim. He frowned at me but perked up an eyebrow in question.
"Are you not sore?" I questioned, grimacing as I laboriously shifted up on my pillow.
He looked thoughtful for half a moment. "I feel it a bit in the arms." he admitted with a small shrug.
I scoffed loudly. "Well, I feel it a LOT, in every single muscle and joint in my whole entire body." I glared at him, half in genuine bitter envy, but half in jest. "You and your damned dwarven resilience." I muttered darkly.
The sides of his mouth quirked up almost imperceptibly; if it weren't for his moustache emphasizing the movement, I might not have seen it at all. I grinned a little myself, hoping I would not have to wait too long before I saw him genuinely smile again.
Suddenly he sat up and pulled down the blankets. Kneeling towards me he eased his arms under my back and legs.
"What are you doing?" I asked, grimacing slightly as he lifted me up.
"Taking you to the bath." he said simply as he carried me from the room.
After a long, relaxing soak I felt much less stiff. My muscles still protested against any quick or extreme motions, but at least I could move. Bofur retreated for a while after dressing and returned with fresh buns with fruit spread and Óin himself in tow.
Óin wished to inspect my stitches for signs of infection, and so did not seem to mind that I was dressed only in my short nightgown - nor did I by that point.
"Lass, you took quite a beating out there." he said as I sat down in front of him and he knelt down to look over my legs. He tutted at my large bruises, which were beginning to transform from dark purple to a sickly greyish-yellow colour that almost looked worse even though they felt slightly better. He leaned down closer to look at a particularly garish one above my knee, lightly running his thumb over it.
"She'll be fine, laddie." Óin said, noticing Bofur worriedly staring down at the large mark as well. "Human skin is interesting: as fragile as it is quick to heal."
Óin moved on to the few sets of small stitches, but announced they all appeared to be fine and that he would remove them in a few days time. He set to making me a pot of tea for my maladies and then left us without further preamble.
I tucked into the snack Bofur had brought as my tea steeped.
Bofur wasn't eating, however, and seemed lost in thought. Eventually I placed my hand on his arm, to bring him back to me.
"The funeral is tonight." he began, his voice low and quiet. I nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond. He looked up at me, his expression strained. "You won't be allowed to be there." he said, shaking his head slightly in pity before casting his eyes down.
I sat there frozen, my mouth shaped into a small 'o' of surprise. I heard Bofur sigh beside me and squeezed his arm.
"It's alright." I said quickly, though my voice unusually high and pitchy. I cleared my throat and tried again. "It's alright. It's your people's customs..." I leaned my head against his shoulder and closed my eyes, trying to hide my disappointment. I was being robbed of the chance to say goodbye, to see them, one last time and find closure in their deaths... Kili, I thought sadly. He was a friend to me when I had none. I felt suddenly ill at the thought of never seeing him again, never paying my respects.
"I'm sorry." Bofur whispered, taking my hand in his and gripping it tightly.
I cleared my throat again and quickly swiped my arm over my cheek before sitting up and pulling away from him. "Don't be. There's nothing to be done for it." I said, becoming inanely interested in spreading jam over the last bun. "Can you tell me how long it is?" I asked as I meticulously coated the sides, getting my fingers quite sticky in the process.
"It will go through the night, and then tomorrow the feasting will start - you can join us then. The caravans from the Iron Hills arrived this morning with supplies."
I nodded, and finding my appetite rather diminished, I absentmindedly proffered the bun to Bofur. He looked at it thoughtfully for a moment before grabbing hold of my wrist. He took the bun, but set it back down on the plate, then shifted his grip to my hand and brought it up close to his lips. He glanced at me, the smallest glint returning to his eyes, before placing a finger in his mouth, sucking off the fruit spread I had accidentally coated it with.
"How sweet you are." he said, kissing my hand before moving onto my other fingers as I bit the inside of my cheek and held back a grin. When through, he let my hand down but then leaned in and placed a lingering kiss on my lips.
"I have to go help with preparations, will you be alright here?" he asked, running his fingers through my hair and down along my braid. I nodded in assurance and picked up the last bun to eat as he headed out the door.
After drinking my tea and dressing (which took annoying long given my need for slow, careful movements), I remembered something I wanted to do and headed back into the bathroom. First, I searched around and found some small bristle brushes and a few different varieties of soap. I then grabbed a basin and filled it with hot water and set up a small work station next to the bath. Finally, I walked over and fetched Bofur's blood-stained hat, which had been left sitting on the bench from a few days prior. I cringed at the smell it radiated, and hoped it would even be salvageable. I carefully cleaned it for well over an hour, not wanting to damage the leather or loosen the wool lining. At long last it appeared that I had worked out the stains, and the inside no longer reeked of sweat. I gently toweled it off, soaking up as much moisture from the wool as I could, before setting in to dry in a manner that retained most of its shape. Luckily the flaps were stitched in such a way as to hold themselves up, or else they would have quickly lost that quality upon becoming waterlogged.
Contented with my work, though somewhat worried Bofur would be upset that I messed with it at all, I returned to bed to lay down, my body sore from the stooped position I had been sitting in for so long.
I didn't quite mean to fall asleep, but I awoke many hours later to someone pounding on my door. I hastened to go unlock it, and opened my mouth in surprise when Bofur standing outside it, looking truly regal for the first time since I met him. He wore shiny metal gauntlets, and ornamental mail shone at the opening of a thick black coat, its fabric imbued with subtle patterns of texture. There was a large silver-adorned belt about his waist, and he donned new black boots rimmed in grey fur. His hair hung loose over his shoulders in sleek waves, besides a few small braids ending in bright silver clasps. He had also tended to his moustache, styling it up with the distinct curl he favoured.
"Why is your door always locked?" he asked in an exasperated voice.
I began to stutter an answer but instead he just took my hand and pulled me out into the hallway. "Come with me, quick." he ordered.
I was surprised to see Bilbo standing in the corridor, waiting for us as we exited my quarters.
Before we could even exchange a simple 'hello', after not seeing each other for days, Bofur grabbed the hobbit by the upper arm and all but began to drag us along at a breakneck pace.
"Where are we going?" I asked after a few moments of hearing nothing but our footfalls, wincing painfully as my muscles reminded me of their sorrows.
Neither of them answered.
It wasn't long before we left behind the very small portion of Erebor I had been familiar with, heading down previously unlit passages into the depths untouched by Smaug and his filth. Deeper and deeper we travelled, the rooms and hallways around us growing smaller as we descended, as if they were being squashed beneath the monolithic weight of the mountain above. The grandeur of dwarven halls began to give way to the rough, unhewn purity of the stone.
Our route had been lit, though sparingly, and I wondered how anyone, even a dwarf could ever hope to find their way back if they should become lost so far from the light of day - and yet, I had faced such darkness, only to be rescued by unexpected kindness. The dwarves, no matter how stubborn, would never abandon one of their own.
We walked for what seemed like forever, and this, combined with a growing tug of claustrophobia, was wearing me out rapidly. I was about to beg Bofur to slow down so I could catch my breath when we reached the end of a long corridor and came unto a large stone door, in front of which stood an armed dwarf from Dain's military.
The dwarf said something in Khuzdul in a loud, commanding voice which Bofur seemed to ignore as he continued forward without replying to the guard, coming to a stop just in front of him.
"Let us pass." Bofur asked, his voice thick with an undercurrent of command.
The guard sighed and shook his head. "I have orders. You may enter, but I cannot permit the others."
"You will permit them," Bofur growled, letting go of his hold on us and stepping forward, forcing the guard back. The guard scowled, raising his weapon in defence as he uttered threateningly in his own tongue.
"Oh, I think you'll find that you're outnumbered." Bofur replied, his tone deadly serious.
I glanced at Bilbo in confusion; surely he didn't expect the guard to actually be intimidated with a hobbit and an injured woman flanking the only other dwarf in the vicinity. Bilbo bit the inside of his cheek and raised his shoulder slightly, clearly not really expecting to get pulled into a fight.
I was about to reach out to Bofur, to tug his sleeve and urge him to back down, when the door began to creak open, a gleam of golden light escaping into the darker corridor in which we stood. I heard a familiar gravelly accent utter an unmistakable threat.
"Is there a problem here?" Dwalin asked, pulling the door open further and stepping up alongside the guard. He fixed him with a hard stare while cracking his knuckles, and with his striking ceremonial apparel he cut quite the intimidating figure. Behind him I noticed the others, the rest of the company, beginning to approach the doorway and peering out at us, all of them stately dressed.
The guard had the decency to look slightly contrite.
"The lad is taking his duties a bit too seriously is all." Bofur said, his voice regaining some of the lazy cadence it usually held as he wandered back to us. He then took Bilbo and I by the arm once more, leading us forward a few steps. "Says he won't let them in... They have as much right to say goodbye as any of us." Bofur added, looking to Dwalin somewhat pleadingly.
Dwalin studied us for a moment, and then finally nodded. "Aye. They do." he conceded, his expression saddening. With one last half-hearted glare at the guard, he turned away. His place was taken by a few other members of the company, who approached and glowered at the poor honour guard. Realizing the position he was in, he finally stepped aside.
Bofur took my hand, more gently this time, as we stepped into the room. The door swung shut behind us.
We entered into a great expanse of a chamber that stretched out into the darkness beyond. This cavern felt different, though, from the halls far above us - more natural, and timeless, with cold, still air. The rest of the company had been waiting for us on the far side of the doorway, and sad smiles and nods were exchanged before we made our final descent. The stairway ahead of us wound its way down, lit by a multitude of candles that did little to hold back the oppressive dark.
"It's a wonder Dwalin spoke in your defense..." Bofur whispered as we carefully picked our way down. "He hasn't spoken barely a word since the battle - not even to his brother." It was yet another piece of saddening news, and when I did not reply he fell back into silence
Before long, the stairs opened into rows of seating, and it was from the top of the amphitheatre-like structure I saw them: three figures lying atop separate slabs of carven stone, resting on a massive stone shield, two mournful dwarven statues bearing the heavy burden of their fallen dwarven nobility.
Thorin, Fili, and...
"Kili..." I choked out, then my next breath hitched and I halted. Bofur squeezed my hand in solidarity, and I numbly moved forward once more. At the bottom of the steps, the others had waited, I looked to Bofur in apprehension, but he nodded at me, his expression sad but encouraging, and let go of my hand. Still I did not move and glanced around at the others, unsure, but they all looked at me kindly.
"It's alright lass, it's your turn. Go on ahead." Balin said as he stepped up beside me, taking my arm and guiding me a few paces towards the tunnel that led around through the statue and onto the viewing platform. "Make what peace you can before they are returned to the earth."
He let go of my arm and I tentatively continued forward, placing a hand on the smooth, solid wall of the tunnel to keep me steady as I circled around, and then there I was, standing alone to say goodbye. The muted fragrance of scented candles placed around the edges of the stone beds met my nose first, soon followed by undercurrents of the other scent the candles were trying to mask. To put off the grim purpose of my being here a moment longer, I made my way to the back of the platform, looking down into the deep dark heart of Erebor. In the far wall, I could make out the shape of individual tombs set into the stone, and runic lettering flickering in the firelight as if alive.
It took a moment of courage before I finally turned away and moved to Thorin. He had been cleaned and groomed and dressed to look all the image of the king he was meant to be. His sword was under his arm and a crown sat upon his head. I stepped towards him, clenching my jaw as I studied his features, now and finally at peace. He looked younger. I bowed my head, fighting back tears as I remembered how proud I had been when he had finally spoken to me as an actual person on the battlefield - when he no longer viewed me as a burden. Yet I felt I had gained his approval too late, so fleeting was my joy. I reached out and touched a lock of his hair. I wish he knew how much it meant to me... his blessing.
I moved on to Fili next, my composure being tested as I forced my eyes to take in the golden prince. It was truly a testament to the unfairness of this world that he was taken as well. He had been nothing but kind and loyal and true. It was a monumental tragedy to the kingdom to lose such a future king, one that may have risen above all his forebears. I stroked the back of his hand, ignoring the solid chill of his flesh, and lamented the fact that he would never know how his willingness to teach me, his unwavering patience and acceptance and talent, had saved my life.
I could not contain myself when I moved next to Kili. I pressed a hand as hard as I could to my mouth to stifle my cries, not wanting to disturb the peaceful quiet - but also fighting the urge to just scream, to question why he had to die, to curse the makers and demand he be brought back to us. I tried and failed a few times to compose myself. Finally I took a deep breath and laid my hand on his arm. How handsome he looked. I moved up and brushed a hand against his cheek. He had been one of the first to welcome me, to bother getting to know me, even though I wasn't their kind. I would forever miss his dancing eyes, his amusing banter, even his mischief. Most of all I would miss his unconditional acceptance, and the unselfish comfort he had always offered so freely. I leaned down and whispered thank you into his ear, bidding him farewell and placing a small kiss on his cheek before I slumped down on the edge of the stone, crying hard into my arms.
After a moment I was swept up into Bofur's embrace. He guided me away from the plinth then pulled me tight against him, whispering comforts as I cried myself out. Bilbo had been saying his own silent farewell, unbeknownst to me, and after a moment he wandered over to us, his face streaked with tears. Bofur held out an arm, pulling Bilbo into him in a brief but comforting hug then leaving his hand clasped on his shoulder as he guided the two of us back through the tunnel to rejoin the company.
We remained for a long while in silence after that as we looked down upon the surreal scene from our vantage on the balcony, each of us drifted deep into our own thoughts. Every now and then there was a sniffle or a sigh, a fist wiping away stray tear - but not a word. My only contact now was the hand that clasped mine, now and again offering a reassuring squeeze for our mutual comfort.
After what could have been minutes, or hours, the far-away noise of the door opening into the silence caused some of us to start from our reveries. A much more humbled dwarven guard descended the stairway, facing off against the glares of a dozen mournful faces. After gaining his composure, he spoke a simple apologetic but urgent sentence in Khuzdul.
"It's time." Bofur translated.
He then ushered Bilbo and I through the others, some of them patting us on the back as we went, others avoiding our gaze, perhaps ashamed at forcing us to part with the company in its darkest hour. As soon as we reached the last landing on the stairwell and exited the hall, the doorway shut behind us, and I felt a chill of finality run down my spine.
So it was that I said my last goodbye to Thorin, Fili and Kili.
I hesitated just outside the door, trying to accept the notion, but my inner turmoil was overcome by a simple change in our environment. When we had initially approached the room, the passageway had been dark, and my thoughts only on what lie ahead. Now, torches were lit, their fires burning so hot that the flames danced an unearthly blue, casting eerie shadows along our path.
"We need to hurry." Bofur stated, his own sadness masked by a sense of haste.
Still, as we moved forward I could not help but look into the narrow openings on either side of the hallway - through which I thought I could now make out rows upon rows of what could only be one thing. I gasped quietly.
"Bofur...are those..."
"This battle has cost us dearly, my love." He stated, and finally I realized the amount of hurt behind his eyes. He mourned not just for his king, but for his entire people and their devastating loss - hundreds upon hundreds slain in a single day. I wished I could ask more, say more, but we were nearing the stairway back to the upper levels.
"Head straight up, I'll find you both tomorrow." Bofur said, nodding towards the steps.
"Thank you." Bilbo said, reaching out and grabbing his hand before turning and starting up the stairs.
Bofur looked to me then, and I quickly stepped forward and wrapped my arms around his neck, hoping to express how much that had truly meant to me. "I love you. I hope you know that." I whispered quietly into his ear before straightening up.
His eyes bore into mine and he reached up to place a hand on my cheek. "I love you too." he said, tugging me down to quickly press his lips against mine.
After that he urged me to hurry, so I turned and climbed the stairs as fast as I could, catching up to Bilbo half-way along. We had barely made up onto a main level, exiting the stairwell to find a place to sit down for a moment, when we noticed a procession of dwarves slowly heading towards the opening we had just flung out of. All were wearing dark cloaks, hoods drawn, some carrying lanterns burning with the same eerie flames as the candles below. We watched them with interest as we took a seat on a stone bench nearby. I thought I noticed the red beard of Dain bringing up the rear, but he did not look towards us. Soon they had all disappeared into the stairwell and we were left alone.
"A lot can happen in a week." I mused, sighing sadly.
Bilbo agreed and then we sat, feeling quite at a loss of what to do, the minutes slowly stretching by.
"Gandalf said it's all very secretive." Bilbo broke the quiet almost apologetically, swinging his legs a bit. "Even he doesn't know much about it. They've never let an outsider attend... Though, if even their language is a secret, I guess it's to be expected." he shrugged, glancing over at me.
I smirked slightly despite myself. "Well I know one word of Khuzdul," I told him, "that's progress, I guess."
He grinned and then looked down to his hands, which were clasped on his knees. "Still, nice of Bofur to get us in, to say goodbye." His voice faltered then and I refrained from looking at him, instead giving him a moment to collect himself.
We sat in sad yet companionable silence for a long while. It seemed that for both of us, the company of dwarves had become a larger part of our lives than we had first intended - or even thought possible. Though we had not known them for a significant length of time, we had both found true friends in them - something that I, at any rate, had been sorely lacking. And losing friends is a terrible hardship.
We didn't quite know what to do with ourselves.
And so we sat. Waiting. Reflecting. Mourning… Together.
"Ah. There you two are."
I looked up, somewhat startled out of my reverie, to see Gandalf coming up from the way the dwarves had gone. He looked exactly the same as he usually did, for the most part... though, perhaps in his eyes he looked a bit tired. I wondered if he had been allowed to attend part of the ceremony after all.
"I hear there is to be quite the celebration tomorrow. The dwarves have been hard at work." he said cheerfully, coming to a stop and looking down at us.
Neither of us really responded besides an odd sound of begrudging acknowledgment from Bilbo's throat.
Gandalf tutted, placing his hands on his hips. "Oh come now, you two, surely it isn't all that bad? You're alive after all."
I looked down, a silent tear streaming down my cheek. Bilbo cleared his throat and quickly glanced at me before looking up at the wizard.
"Really, I don't think any of us will quite feel up to celebrating... Actually, I'd very much like to leave, in the morning - if at all possible."
I snapped my head up and looked to the hobbit in disbelief. Gandalf leaned down, placing a hand on the hobbit's shoulder and peering at him questioningly.
"Of course, it might be arranged if you wish it. But are you sure, my dear Bilbo? I believe there are those that would sorely miss your presence during the days of memorial."
Bilbo kept his eyes on Gandalf even though I was shooting daggers at him with my own.
"I need to go home, Gandalf. I've been gone too long." he explained, a slight plea in his voice. "I cannot stay."
Gandalf nodded, straightening up and tucking his fingers in his belt.
"Then it shall be done. I shall start the preparations straight away." He turned on his heel and strode off without a backward glance.
I was now nearly seething.
"You want to leave now?" I asked bitingly, trying to steady my breathing. "After everything? Now you want to leave?"
Bilbo said my name softly under his breath and finally turned to look at me, almost recoiling at the anger in my countenance.
"I have to leave." he said, his eyes shining and his voice weakening. "Please try to understand, I cannot bear it, being here for the... celebration, the remembrance. I will not know the Thorin they sing of, the epic tales they will tell of him... the legend. I knew Thorin differently, he was simply... simply my friend - and that's how I wish to remember him."
I felt my anger begin to ebb away and finally I bowed my head in defeat. "I do understand." I whispered, feeling deflated.
Bilbo patted my hand somewhat awkwardly and then got up, asking if I wanted to be escorted back up to my quarters as he was heading to his own room. I nodded and got up to follow him, wanting nothing more than to fall into a hopefully dreamless sleep.
Bofur roused me the next morning by sitting down next to me on the bed and stroking my arm. Forgetting I had left the door unlocked and unused to being woken by touch, I sat up so abruptly I nearly smoked my head against his. He jerked back in alarm.
"Sorry." I breathed, trying to clear my thoughts. I looked at him. He appeared tired, but not as grief-stricken as I might have expected. He had removed the jacket, mail and bracers and now just wore trousers, a simple tunic and had donned his old scarf. "Are you alright?" I asked after a moment, trying to gauge his willingness to talk.
"Yes. I'm alright." he said, offering me a small closed-mouth smile. "You slept in your clothes?" he remarked.
I looked down at my rumpled attire. "Too much hassle to change without you here to help me undress." I offered by way of explanation, glancing back up at him with a tiny grin.
"Well, I'll be sure not to miss out on that duty again." Bofur replied, the corners of his lips quirking up in a small smirk.
A knock at the door drew our attention, and for a moment I suspected it may be Bilbo, so I moved to get up only to be gently guided back down to sit on the bed.
"Don't you worry, I'll see who it is." Bofur assured me, and then wandered out of the bedroom into the living area. I heard the door open up, a few hushed words being exchanged, and then two sets of footfalls making their way towards my room. Bofur came in first, followed by Balin, who remained in the threshold of the room.
"Gandalf's just told me he is leaving - our faithful burglar has fulfilled his contract's terms and has decided to head for home..."
Bofur looked startled by this. "He can't leave! Not without saying goodbye!"
"My sentiments exactly." Balin agreed. "The lads all want to meet at the gates in an hour or so, to surprise him. I expect the two of you will be joining us?"
We assured him we would, and with that we were left alone once more.
"Oh, I have something for you." I said, getting up and forcing Bofur to sit and wait. I padded out and into the bathing chambers where I had left his hat. Fortunately it felt completely dry, if just a little stiff, and the leather showed no traces of the black blood that had patterned it after the battle.
I returned to the room, rather coyly holding it out to him.
"I really hope it's alright that I washed it... I should have asked. It was truthfully quite filthy though." I explained hurriedly as he took it in his hands and held it up for inspection. I grew nervous when he said nothing, and held my breath, waiting for him to berate me for tampering with such a personal item. He frowned and gave it a sniff, then his face broke into a wide grin.
"My! It's as good as new!" he remarked, stepping forward and embracing me wholly. I sighed and smiled as he nuzzled his head into my neck, pressing a kiss onto my skin.
"Thank you."
The hobbit, having finished his goodbyes to the dwarves, now met me halfway between Gandalf and the gates of Erebor. We stood facing each other for a moment, unsure what to say, two unexpected participants at the end of such a journey.
"Will your travels take you through Bree?"
"Yes, it will likely be the last stop before home." he replied somewhat wistfully.
I told him to avoid the inn I worked at, and then listed a few of the more reputable establishments in town. "The Inn of the Prancing Pony is the safest, and by far the nicest in town." He thanked me for the tip and then quieted. I wrung my hands together before breaking the silence once more.
"I'm going to miss having someone..." I considered how to describe him in comparison to the dwarves for a moment, "...normal, around." I said with a slight grin.
Bilbo smiled and glanced back over his shoulder towards the company thoughtfully. "You know... I think, in the end, even Thorin realized 'normal' isn't half bad." He paused for a moment, still looking at the dwarves. "He - ah - he told me that if more people valued home over gold, the world would be a merrier place..." His then turned to look back up at me. "...and to make sure you have a home." He considered me speculatively, trying to see past my saddened expression. "You will be happy here, won't you?"
I nodded and smiled, telling him I would, and I cried as much in joy as grief then. Bilbo, ever the gentleman, instinctively fished into the pockets of his coat, frowned slightly at what he found there, then drew out a rather grimy - and altogether too familiar looking - patch of fabric, holding it out.
"Here." he offered as I took it. "It's time this got back to its original owner." He explained as he nodded towards Bofur.
I dried my face and the hobbit continued.
"He promised he would visit - Bofur, I mean - I do hope you will come with him. If you ever tire of dwarves," he looked down and lifted his eyebrows, lowering his voice "...and we both know how tiring they can get - you are welcome at Bag End, any time."
With that final goodbye I saw him frown slightly, and then smile once more as he turned to face the company.
"You are all welcome at any time. Tea is at four. There's plenty of it." He made to leave after the dwarves bowed at him in farewell, but then paused to give one last remark.
"Oh. Don't bother knocking.