Heart of Embers (Thorin Oakenshield Love Story)

Chapter 19

11 Days Later...

Arien was sick, utterly sick, of mountains.

She was sick of the hard rock beneath her feet, sick of the way the wind moaned and whistled around the peaks, sick of stale bread and cheese and apples every morning, every afternoon, every damned meal.

It had taken them a week to cross the Greenwood alone, and then a further five days to cross the Misty Mountains. Whose foothills they were now climbing down.

Thorin rode ahead of her, his rugged bay mare plodding on doggedly. When she'd first seen the pony, she'd thought her utterly unbefitting for a Prince. But now, she realised Thorin had chosen the best horse for the job. It seemed that Arien had made a mistake in choosing the small flea-bitten grey gelding she rode now, as going any faster than a reluctant trot seemed to annoy the horse so much that it merited trying to buck her off.

Arien growled with annoyance as the pony reached for the leaves of a sparse bush as they passed and she had to tug on the reins and give him a sharp kick to get him moving on. She double checked her short sword was still buckled to the saddle packs, her hand brushing the beautiful silver belt fastened around her waist as she did so. The belt, made of sturdy black leather but with a shining silver buckle created entirely of dwarvish runes –– which, apparently, said her name and the date she had entered Erebor –– was a parting gift from Dis.

"Fit for a princess," Thorin had said quietly from behind her as she'd buckled it on. She knew he hadn't been talking about Dis.

It was Dis who had somehow, with her charm and good humour, convinced Thror to let Thorin go with her, albeit with punishment. Thorin still hadn't told her what that had been.

Arien couldn't help thinking, as she nudged her horse, whose name was Shadow, to go faster, that Thorin had been so much more civilised to her than on their journey to Erebor; offering her his own blankets if she was too cold, letting her do the cooking because his was terrible, and not growling at her every time she spoke.

Thorin had estimated they were now two nights away from where she had told him her homeland was, about halfway between Rivendell and the Misty Mountains.

Two more nights, and then...

No, don't think about that.

Arien had no idea, absolutely none, of what she would find there.

And perhaps it was because of the dread and apprehension she felt building in her chest, but suddenly the silence that had fallen between her and her companion became unbearable.

"Do you know even the elves have stories about you and your grandfather?" she asked.

Thorin chuckled. "I've often wondered how a girl from so far west knew who I was."

She smiled. "Do you know they call you the Lord of Silver Fountains?"

"I thought that was my grandfather."

"Mithrandir started it when he came to Rivendell one summer."

"Mithrandir?"

"Gandalf the Grey," she amended. "A Wizard. He..."

"I know," he said. "I think almost everyone has heard of him."

She laughed. "So? Do you like the title?"

"It is strange, I think, to become a story while you are still alive," he replied. "You yourself have been surrounded by some living tales for most of your life. How do they feel about it, Princess?"

"Don't," she said quietly. "Don't call me that. I am no more a princess than you are an elf."

"No," he said, stopping his horse and turning in the saddle. "You are a queen."

Arien went still. So much so that she slackened her grip on the reins enough that Shadow took it as an opportunity to put his head down and eat. "I am not," she said, a bit wildly. "I am n..."

"Yes, you are," Thorin said. "You are in denial of it now, but one day, Arien, you will have to grow into your birthright. Just as I will have to grow into mine."

Though he was right, she didn't want to think about it. About any of it. So she changed the subject.

"Have you ever met any? Elves, I mean."

"Yes," he ground out. "I've met elves." His tone was dark.

"What happened?"

"Nothing happened. It's just... King Thranduil is an arrogant bastard who thinks about nothing but himself, and I hate the fact that though he should be rotting in the deepest dungeon of hell right now, he and his kin are very advantageous allies to us, so we have to be at least half civilised to him."

Thranduil, King of Wood and Stone, King of the Woodland Realm in the Greenwood. If it was him Thorin had met, Arien didn't blame him for his hatred.

"He has asked us to create a necklace for his wife. We have agreed, but... I hope he gives us our rightful pay. Otherwise I am afraid... I am afraid my grandfather will ruin our alliance with him."

Dusk was beginning to settle in around them as they reached the end of the foothills of the Misty Mountains. They had finally crossed them. Arien felt a strong sense of relief as she urged Shadow into a trot to catch up with Thorin. The sun had been getting increasingly hot as they journeyed across the mountains, and now... Now thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Tell me about your grandfather, Thorin," she said quietly. "Dis said he has not been himself."

"No, he has not," Thorin murmured, so quietly she had to strain to hear him above the patter of the rain now beginning to fall. "He very rarely leaves the treasury, and it is as if... as if he does not trust us, does not trust anyone any longer. As if he suspects that we have betrayed him, whatever we do. I –– we all –– feel that we are losing him, that he is slowly slipping away from us into something like madness. And I... I do not know what to do."

A fork of lightning speared through the sky, illuminating the rapidly darkening rock that was now giving way to grassland.

"Whatever you do, Thorin," Arien murmured quietly. "It will be best. I trust you."

Thorin swallowed, but did not speak. Thunder boomed again, closer now. The rain began to get heavier, and Arien flicked some of her already sodden red-brown hair out of her face.

"A storm is coming," Thorin observed quietly. "We should make camp."

Arien nodded, pulling Shadow to a halt beside him.

Thunder boomed and lightning flashed at exactly the same moment.

'A storm is coming,' Thorin had said.

But Arien knew one was already here.