Iron and Oak

Chapter Eleven

WARNING! MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIES IF YOU KEEP READING.

He pushed himself to his feet, wiping blood and filth from his face. He looked at the carnage surrounding him. The acrid scent of congealed orc blood burning in his nose as he breathed heavily. Orcrist's solid weight anchored his right ar; it's bright sheen undimmed by the violence, still pristine, this magic elvish blade. On his left arm the heavy iron-bound oaken shield from which he had earned his name. The silence of death smothered him as he turned. He had thought this was Azanulbizar, but now he knew it was not. Only dwarves and orcs had fallen that day. He could see in the dead here, dwarves, yes, but also men and elves broken and scattered among the hulking corpses of wargs, their orc riders, and countless goblins. A wearied sadness coiled in him at the sight of the broken elves. Their ageless eyes never to see again. They lay intertwined in death with the dwarves they so hated in life.

Turning from the blood-drenched plain, he walked toward the broken wall at the front gates of the Lonely Mountain. He could see a few dwarves moving about in the darkness of the entrance. His boot caught, causing him to look down at the bodies surrounding him. He bent to untangle an arm from across his path only to recognize the ring on the finger, covered in blood. The ring was emblazoned with the House of Durin's seal and belonged to the next in line for the throne. Dropping Orcrist and shrugging off his shield, he scrabbled, tossing the bodies of goblins aside, and found himself staring into Fili's sightless blue eyes. Protruding obscenely from Fili's chest, the broken blade of an orc pike. 

"Fili!" he said, grasping the boy's shoulder, touching his face. "FILI!" he shouted, shaking him. "No, No," he closed his eyes, pressing the boy's cold cheek to his. He held his nephew to his chest, rocking him as he had often done when the boy was small. Now, his booming voice smothered by heartbreak, he whispered the boy's name. Holding Fili's lifeless form to him, he scanned the bodies around him, looking for the others. He heard panicked breathing and, looking to his right, saw Esja clothed in a dress of woven mithril covering her from nose to feet. The silver sheen blinding him in the sunlight. She pulled and heaved at a monstrous warg, tearing at its fur and screaming in frustration as she tried to move it. Then Dwalin was there, and with a shove of his heavy shoulders, he uncovered what she sought. She fell to her knees, touching the dark hair of the dwarf, whispering his name as tears blinded her. 

"Thorin, no, no, no, no, Thorin...THORIN! You said- you said, not again, don't do it again. Please don't leave me," she cried, wiping the blood from his face. She whimpered as she struggled to lift him, stroking his hair. When Dwalin kindly tried to pull her back, she pushed him away, shouting, "Don't touch him! Don't you touch him!" as she rested Thorin's head to her shoulder, trying to close the gaping hole in his side, pressing bulging entrails back inside the wound and fretting at the rent in his armor. Her other hand pressing his face to her cheek.

Thorin watched as Bifur and Bofur came and carefully took him from her arms, carrying him toward Erebor's gates with great dignity. Esja stood to follow but fell back to her knees; her body wracked with grief. Dwalin bent and picked her up, speaking quietly to her as he carried her back towards Erebor. She did not fight him. Her head laid on his shoulder, her eyes unseeing her breath in gasping sobs. Thorin reached for her as they passed, but she could not see him.

Thorin's eyes opened. He took a hard breath. The darkness of the room here in the deeps of Erebor settled around him, and his body slowly relaxed.

The embers in the fireplace glowed peacefully, still just managing to illuminate the room. The only sounds to be heard were his own pounding heart and the gentle resonance of Esja's breathing from where she lay curled against his left side. He slid a protective hand up the warm skin of her back, sifting his fingers through her long hair. Turning his face slightly, he kissed the palm of her hand, curled at his cheek. She sighed but didn't wake. He lay still, sorting through the devastation of his dream. Shaking off the remnants of fear and despair.