Words Like Wind ᚠ Thorin Oakenshield

ѕíхtєєn: kíngѕfσíl, fírє, αnd wαtєr

Now I see fire, inside the mountain.

SHE had tried all the old remedies twice over, Oín had done all he could, there was nothing left to do but wait for a miracle. After the fourth hour of her healing, the fairy stole away to the small porch outside Bard's home and sat on the top stair, her face buried in her hands. When the door cracked open she did not even bother to look back, she only looked up when Fili sat next to her and laid his arm around her shoulders. "Arethusa, what's wrong?"

The fairy sighed, she could not cry in front of these dwarves when they knew her to be a bearer of strength, yet everything was unraveling and there was nothing she could do but tug on the strings and try to mend the tatters. "All my life I've known exactly what to do, Fili, I had a treatment for every ailment and more, but I don't know how to help your brother. I've tried all that I know how to do. I'm sorry." She felt as if she was failing them, the company, and Thorin.

"I know one or two things you could do." Fili mused.

"And what is that?" She managed a weak smile, as did the blond dwarf.

"Sing, I've heard you have quite the voice. Or tell him more about your home. Just something to distract him." Arethusa nodded and stood, as did Fili. For only a moment she embraced the young dwarf with such a warmth and kindness that it felt as if his own mother was there. The fever was taking hold of him, his skin was so ashen pale that he looked to be dead already. Bofur and Oín stepped away when Arethusa came back and took a seat at the edge of the small bed. She smoothed a cool cloth over Kili's forehead and at the contact his eyes opened despite their weariness.

"A king he was on carven throne
In many-pillared halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor,
And runes of power upon the door.
The light of sun and star and moon
In shining lamps of crystal hewn
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night
There shone forever fair and bright fair and bright."

She had to pause to swallow the growing lump in her throat and to remember the words of the song her mother used to sing to her long ago about the dwarves.

"The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge's fire is ashen-cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere;
There lies his crown in water deep,
Till Durin wakes again from sleep."

For now, he slept again, his breathing was steady despite the effects the fever had on his heart. Arethusa had sent Bofur off to find more kingsfoil, she would not give up in her attempts. She would give her life before seeing harm come to the Sons of Durin. The reverberations of something truly massive echoed through the air, churning the water and causing dust to fall from the ceiling, the house seemed to creak more so now. It had woken Kili and he laid writhing and moaning. Now it was a matter of time before the town would be in flames, she knew the sound of a dragon waking. Arethusa looked to Sigrid and Tilda, "Bard, you should leave us. Take them and leave."