Chapter 4
Gailien wakes again, covered in her own sweat and tears – though thankfully no blood. The winter blanket on her cot tangles in her legs as she kicks them about, kicking and pushing away invisible beings. Her chest heaves as she snaps her head around, looking for any sign that her dream was real. But she has awoken to an empty tent, not even the healers around.
The white sheet creases under her clenched fingers which are just as tightly shut as her eyes as Gailien tries to settle both her mind and body. It was another dream, her third, that has been like this. Even since she first came back to the land of the living, every night has plagued her with nightmares that are specifically made to be her worst fears.
Last night she had dreamt of Smaug again, terrorizing the Lake-Town. She had just stood there, watching as people screamed and burned alive right in front of her. But she had done nothing except watch.
And this night it was Thorin. It was like he was sick again, but his eyes showed her that he was not. He cursed at her in Khazdul, drawing his sword to her neck. He told her that she was lying (about what, she will never know). Spit flew from his mouth like a feral animal.
Gailien sits numbly as she recalls every second of the dream.
He had forced her back to the edge of the battlement, the stone edge digging into her back, but she didn't dare look over. Behind him, the rest of the company stood watching blankly. All except Kili who had the smallest smile on his mouth as Thorin pressed the sword deeper to her throat.
Gailien's hand rises to the spot, half expecting to feel the wound of a shallow cut but there is only the dwindling pain of the bruises. She buries her head into her hands, crying silently.
She knows that it isn't her Thorin – not the one who she has fallen in love with but the fear in the back of her mind grows because he has been that man. Drowning in Gold Sickness. Was it luck and fortune when Thorin dropped her on the side of the battlement with the stairs? Would he have dropped her from the other if had the chance?
Why must her mind taunt her in such ways?
Someone is coming down to collect her today and help her travel back to Erebor to stay under the watch of the Dwarven healers instead. If she is to be candid with herself, the thought of seeing Thorin and Kili is sickening. Like she has swallowed an entire bottle of seawater that now sploshes in her stomach.
Gailien tries to convince herself that she has just scared herself with the dreams, and that once she sees them again all will be normal. But the fear that she will be facing his anger and Kili's blame never truly leaves her as she waits alone in her tent.
She does get one surprising visit while she waits. Gandalf comes in to see her, filling her in with everything else that she has missed in his own side of the story. It is a pleasant visit, and Gailien teasingly tells him not to visit her with another quest or adventure for at least another twenty years. Gandalf promises to not visit her for such reasons unless in dire need.
Just as he is about to leave, another thought wriggles into her mind. "Gandalf," she calls. The Grey Wizard turns around, leaning on his staff. "Do...Do you know how long I will live for? I know in my heart that I have chosen mortality but I don't know if the Valar have yet to recognise that choice."
"That, my dear, is an utter mystery to me," he answers. "You may live for another thousand years, or you may begin to fade within a week." Gailien's skin on her face pulls tight. "Not to worry," Gandalf says quickly, fixing his words. "You will most likely pass due to mortal wounds or sickness. Or if you choose to die willingly."
"So I have no idea when I will die?" Gailien states blankly.
"Does anybody?" Gandalf counters. Gailien thinks about his words then nods silently in agreement, letting the wizard leaver her tent. She recalls what she had said to Legolas when they were in the Mirkwood cells: what is the point of mortality when everything she loves is cursed by death? And still, she has not found anything to counter that argument. But what if she outlives the Dwarves? She would have to live with Thorin's passing, then eventually the brothers and the rest of the company until she is the only one still alive.
This is supposed to be the time of rejoicing – they have completed their quest, after over an entire year. Goblins, Trolls, Elves, Stone Giants. And yet nothing seems easier. No weight off her chest has been lifted.
"Are you ready to go?"
Gailien looks up, seeing Dwalin standing near the end of her cot with crossed arms but a soft face. "You're my special escort?" she teases half-heartedly.
"It was going to be Kili," he grunts, walking forwards. "But Thorin noted that he hasn't been allowed in to see you in the past two days. Something you want to tell me?"
Gailien stares blankly at him then shakes her head. "No," she states.
Dwalin raises a brow but nods. "Alright," he dismisses. "Come on, unless you want to stay here around the pointy-ears."
Gailien manages a small smirk, sliding off the edge of the cot. "They are a snobbish bunch. I almost miss seeing someone make a mess when they eat." She instinctively looks around for any of her belongings, but she has nothing other than the clothes on her back.
They exit her tent, the two guards already gone. "How much pain are you in?" Dwalin asks as he leads her.
"Not too much," she answers honestly. "Just don't punch me in the chest or back and I'll be fine. How is it being back in Erebor?"
"Strange. I barely remember it; it's been so long. I was too young to really remember the smaller things." Dwalin stops in front of one of the goats that Dain's army had brought with them. Gailien looks around, feeling the eyes of people on her.
Though most of the Men of Dale (formerly Lake-town) go about their day, helping rebuild their lives, a few closer ones stare at her. Their eyes don't leave her until someone else breaks the contact, walking in front of them.
She's the reason they are here. Why they may have lost their parents, siblings or children. Loved ones. Every scream that came from their mouths is the price of her actions.
"Gailien?"
Gailien's head snaps back to Dwalin who stands near the odd-looking saddle of the beast. "Sorry," she mutters, walking closer. There is only one, but she is glad that she is not going to be responsible for driving such an animal. Dwalin guides her to it, his hands hovering as she places a foot in the stirrup then supports her as she pulls herself up.
A groan is caught by her teeth as her shoulder turns into position. Dwain mounts up behind her, taking the reins. The goat starts walking slowly through Dale, never going faster even though they have a clear road ahead.
As they travel through the streets, she tries to keep her eyes forward and unfocused.
"So. You're not dead," Dwalin notes to break their silence, feeling her tenseness.
Gailien snorts, slightly rolling her eyes as she dryly replies, "I swear you are asking for a rude and sarcastic response sometimes. But yes, your clever observation is correct."
"I'm glad."
"Yes, your eyes are sparkling at the sight of me still talking," she snarls in a faux light tone.
"I see you haven't lost your attitude," he snarks back.
"I only have an attitude with you," she retorts. "You bring it out in me. Honestly, you should be honoured. I can be hard to rile up most of the time."
"You'll be dealing with a lot worse than me as the future queen," he chortles. "Though Thorin will be dealing with most of the foreign affairs. You'll be acting mostly behind him."
Gailien's stomach drops onto the saddle, then bounces away down the stone path. Queen? How much else has she not thought about? "I...I don't think I'm going to be a queen," she chokes out, shaking her head. "Especially not in a Dwarven realm. I think they would riot."
"It is not up to them. Thorin is king and when he declares you queen then that is what they will call you."
Gailien tries to reach out for her stomach but it is long gone. Her face has lost all its colour, almost feeling numb. She doesn't want to be queen. Not of Elves, Dwarves, or Men. She can barely focus on taking care of herself, let alone others.
"I don't want to be queen," she admits quietly. Almost instantly she regrets saying it aloud. Not because it isn't true, but she doesn't know how Dwalin will read her words – would he relate them back to Thorin in a way that she doesn't mean?
"Well, that is the title that will come when you marry him, lassie. So, unless you plan on never marrying him, then you will get used to it." Gailien doesn't answer, not having a solid sentence form in her mind. Dwalin's hands tighten around the reins. "You don't plan on marrying him, do you?" he growls lowly. Gailien almost flinches with how terrifying his voice sounds. "I like you, lass. I really do but you're testing my patience. You can't be doing this to him. He is already thinking about marriage to you, he told me so himself. Asking if I knew anything about Elvish marriages."
"I love him," she gasps out finally. "I do, Dwalin. But... I'm so scared."
Dwalin's body changes, his fingers loosening once again around the reins, letting his shoulders drop. "And why are you scared?" he asks softly. "Have you seen something?"
Gailien nods slowly but then shakes her head. "Not visions. I...I've been having nightmares," she confesses, shrinking slightly in on herself as the exit Dale. "A-and they are so real that it's hard for me to remember that they're just that."
"And what are these nightmares about?"
"I don't even know where to begin."
But she finds somewhere, and along the entire ride back to Erebor, Gailien spills her mind to Dwalin. She tells him everything she remembers from the dreams, from Kili and Thorin's malicious actions to the Smaug's return. She holds herself from crying – having done so much in the past few months that crying again would seem pathetic. She tells him that she knows they would never do such a thing to her, but her mind almost tells her that they will. That Kili will realise what she had done and turn on her, and that Thorin will fall into the sickness once more. Then she adds on that Fili refuses to see her – which she excuses as not being able to travel down but she knows that he would find a way if he wished to.
Dwalin listens sympathetically, his perspective on her actions changing with each word. Not that he still doesn't think the same way as before, but he understands why she is hesitant now. "I think you'll feel better being back in Erebor with them, where you can see that it's not true. Fili will come around eventually and I will talk to Thorin for you. I won't tell him everything, only that I think he should give you time before he brings anything up about marriage to you."
"Thank you," she mumbles. "I know I'm causing a bit of a mess, but I just need some time to think everything over. Can you take me straight to my room when we get there? I don't think being around everybody is going to be best at the moment."
"I agree with you there."
Xx
Erebor almost looks nothing like it did when she left it just over a week ago. The rubble all around the front entrance has been cleared away and Dwarves move about like worker bees, all with something to do. Dwalin guides her through them, and the Dwarves of the Ironhills barely give her any sort of glance beside the odd few that catch her eye.
Dwalin keeps her promise and quickly leads her into a narrow hallway that nobody seems to be using. He leads her through the maze, providing quiet commentary about what is happening in Erebor at the moment. The feast is in two days, and as Thorin said, all that want to attend may. They already have the main hall cleared out, tables ready for the public and another large chamber next to it for the company themselves as well as Dain and his high lords to eat at before they join the rest.
She says that she will attend – for Bofur's sake.
They enter a large hallway much wider than the ones they have been through. The entire section is cleared of rubble. "Your chambers are the third on the right," Dwalin says as he leads her to them. "Thorin's is opposite and the lads' are the two before yours."
"Where are the rest of you staying?"
"In another wing," he juts his head off to the right. "Just a little bit over that way."
They almost reach her chambers when a voice calls out behind them. "Gailien!" they cheer. The pair turn around, facing Kili who jogs towards them with a large smile. Gailien tries to smile – she really does. There is nothing but the boy she adores coming towards her, but her mind betrays her eyes. It tells her that it is fake, that he hides his anger.
She takes a stumbling step backwards, knocking her shoulder into Dwalin's. From behind Kili, Thorin comes around slower – still using his staff crutch. "There you are," he greets down the long hall.
As Kili comes in front of them, arms widening outwards, Dwalin steps forward and places a hand on his chest. "I'll be gentle," Kili promises with a small smile, going to move past but Dwalin's tough hand doesn't drop. Dwalin looks subtly back at Gailien but her eyes are planted on the ground near her feet.
She wants to look up at him and hug him so tight that his face goes red, but her mind combats every instinct she throws at it. How could he even bear to look at her after she failed to do what she has promised – and no small promise at that. Maybe if he just showed a little sadness, a little anger than she would not think that he was hiding it all behind a mask.
"Give her space," Dwalin counters quietly. Kili's arms drop as he looks past Dwalin to the woman, but she never meets his gaze. Thorin finally catches up and places a hand on his nephew's shoulder.
"He's right," he says. Kili looks down at his shoes with a scowl – did they not trust him with her? "She needs more rest. Thank you Dwalin, I'll take her in."
"Actually," Dwalin begins carefully. "I think it's best if Gailien has some more time to herself."
Thorin's eyes narrow at his friend, almost glaring as though challenging him to order the king. But as his gaze flickers to Gailien he begins to doubt himself. Slowly, he reaches a hand out to her arm. Gailien sees it coming and even though she tries to hide it, stopping as soon as she realises, Thorin doesn't miss the slight pullback of her arm.
She raises her other, gripping the elbow of the arm she pulled back as though to hold it from doing so again. "I'm sorry," she says, speaking for the first time. "I'm just tired from the travel up here. I'll come speak with you all later."
Twirling around, she opens one of the two large metal doors to her room, sliding in almost silently. Thorin stares at the door for a minute before looking back to Dwalin. Gailien leans against the door and can hear the sound of them talking outside but the thick metal blocks the words from becoming audible.
Sorry, I'm back - I'm terrible with Wattpad (and AO3) but I AM here.