On the moment she wondered whether she would have to spend the night fighting, she heard the unmistakable sound of a elvish horn. First she was afraid the elves from Mirkwood got reinforcements, but then she saw Thranduil and his companions moving away. Some fights were interrupted immediately, but others didn't want to bury the hatchet, or were afraid they would be hit when they lowered their weapon. Iorwen faced no opponent, for the amount of elves had shrunk.
Iorwen supported her arm, in which was a deep cut. A razor sharp sword had pierced through her armor, and she had been close too losing her arm. For a long time her urge to survive had driven off the pain, but now she was no longer in danger, it came back twice as heavy. She put her sword in her scabbard and tried to pick loose the arm pieces, but she wasn't that skillful with her left hand. Blood dripped out of the attachment pieces and Iorwen feared the injury was more serious than expected. She however refused to complain; around her were many who suffered much more.
A few moments later the arm pieces fell on the ground. A bloody wound crept form her elbow to her shoulder. With aversion she went inside, where someone could treat it. She rather started to help the wounded, but she wouldn't help herself much if it got infected.
Iorwen believed the aftermath of a war was the worst. The identification of the fallen brothers and sisters was a true nightmare, constantly living in fear to see someone she cared about. She knew Thorin was all right, but that was the only whose safety she was sure about. Dwalin, Kíli, Alyssae... she had seen none of them.
A dwarf woman came to her, without speaking a word she bandaged her arm. Iorwen watched her quickly, but she did not recognize her. She wasn't surprised, for she didn't knew much women. She lived in a world full of men and she believed most of them didn't even give their difference in sex a moment of thought .
After her arm was bandaged, she made a quick round through the hall of Erebor to see if she could find one of her friends. It looked like an anthill, everybody came and left. Elves and dwarfs walked around all together, as if they were one people. The smell of blood and the corresponding fear got stuck to her as a obstinate parasite, and she decided to go outside.
It was an elvish muttering that made Iorwen's head turn around, so that her eye caught the dwarf prince. She knelt next to the elf who had taken care of him. An arrow stuck out of his chest and Iorwen looked nervously at the elf.
"Will he make it?"
She nodded slowly. "The mithril has protected him."
Irowen breathed in relieved. For a moment she had been afraid Erebor would lose its king before he was crowned. She stood up and went outside. The clean air lightened her heart, until she saw all the bodies, on which black birds landed. In small groups the wounded were carried inside.
Iorwen moved her glance. A little away Thorin wandered through the fallen bodies. A lump appeared in her throat. If Alyssae was still alive, somebody would have told him so. She was sure.
She just wanted to go to him when someone held her elbow. Full of hope she turned around, hoping it was Dwalin, but her face petrified when she looked right into Vaughn's face. In a reflex she grabbed her weapon, but he grasped her wrist.
"If you hurt me, you'll never know where you can find Oakenshield's whore." A grin appeared on his face. "Or your own... toy."
Iorwen squeezed her eyes, considering her chances. She couldn't take the risk. Not yet. "What do you want?"
"I want you to tell Thorin that Alyssae died, and that you have buried her body because she was totally mutilated."
She sniffed scornfully. "He wants to see her."
Vaughn watched her, with no expression on his face. "If you don't obey, I'll make sure he'll receive her head." He squeezed her arm. "And not only hers."