A Ruby's Shine (Thorin Oakenshield X OC)

133. Cold

I sat on a broken pillar up on the ramparts above the door into Erebor, wrapped in a thick cloak of fur Thorin gave me, warm boots, warm clothes, all dwarf design as I stared out over the plains before the Lonely Mountain, listening to the wind whistle through the pillars, clouds covering the skies, signifying the incoming snows of winter. I wiped my nose as the cold froze my nose, staring out at the landscape that still bears the scars of battle, all those who died within the battle were collected and safely kept by their respective races. King Thranduil planned to take the elves that passed back to Mirkwood for a traditional elf burial.

I only ever visited one as a child growing up in Rivendell, when an elf faded but refused to take a boat across the oceans. He was put to rest at the base of a tree and hundreds of flowers and trees were planted over his grave, so he can never be forgotten.

Lord Bard, now King Bard of Dale, was planning to send off those that passed in an old Laketown tradition, where the fallen were placed on small rafts onto the lake and arrows of fire are shot at the boats, sending them off in a blaze of glory.

The dwarves have a tradition too, and, when I learned what it was, it freaked me out a little... until I learned that dwarves, once they die, slowly become stone. I shuddered that the idea of Thorin's body going cold and slowly turning to stone inside a stone box far, far into the caverns of Erebor. I hope that will not happen for many, many years to come. Most of the dwarves were already put to rest, the horns playing out to give them a good send off.

I stared out, thinking over my people's tradition... one I remember. The body of the person who perished is burned on a pyre and the people sing out the person's achievements in life as the embers rise into the air of the night, wishing for the person who perished to take their place as a star in the sky...

I looked up at the cloudy sky, thinking that, if such a tradition was truly possible, there would be a lot more stars in the sky...

I faintly heard the clump of a wooden staff on the stones of the steps up to the ramparts along with slow footfalls as I stared out silently at the world. I wasn't unaware of how much... brooding... I have been doing since I woke up in my room. I was trying my hardest not to think of F... a certain raven. I don't know what happened to his body since neither Thorin nor Tauriel mentioned him when I woke up...

I felt sharp, biting pain at imagining that Fair.... my raven friend's body is out there on the scarred battlefield, and I can't bury him... it hurt, but I couldn't focus on it of else I would break down again and, since the battle, I have held up a strong shield to the shattering pain within. I will be the strong person I was, no matter how long it takes.

I didn't look at Gandalf as I heard him come to a stop beside me, huffing as he sat next to me. I could see a grey hat and grey robes out of the edge of my eye, but I didn't look at Gandalf, lost in memories of laughing with my father as I rode on Novu's back with him, the cougar releasing happy sounds as she totted us around proudly, her silvery armor glitching in the light as the people waved of bowed as my father and I passed...

I knew I must come from a highborn family... but never did I imagine I was the daughter of a King and Queen. A princess of a dead kingdom, does that even count? My people are gone, nearly erased from history, and I am all that remains, their very demise. No... no I am a commoner, after my part in the destruction of my own people... I will practically say I disowned myself from such titles.

Still, it is hard to believe that I was a princess. I am about as far as one can get from being a princess. The only thing I and highborn people seem to have in common is a like for being clean, beyond that? No, I am no princess, and I never will be.