Warrior's Heart

Chapter Seventeen

The cell spun wildly out of control. It rocked. Thorin heard voices, mocking laughter, he saw Arielle in the elf's arms, proclaiming her love for him while he, Thorin, tried to get to her. She laughed at him, slapping his hands from her, telling him was not worthy of her affection.

Everything hurt. He couldn't move without flaming arrows of pain splitting him in two. It was worse than when the dragon Smaug attacked Erebor. The fires burned a thousand degrees hotter, searing his skin, burning his hair, threatening to scorch him alive.

"Arielle..." Her name rose to his lips in a low, pitiful moan. She had forsaken him, chose to live with the elf instead. The pain was untenable. Death would be welcomed. He thrashed about, fighting to escape the dragon's flames, while the faces of those who were lost floated before him. Their voices called to him, heaped scorn upon him for failing them.

He tried to stand, grabbed hold of slick, wet iron bars to drag himself to his feet. Nausea rose in a mighty wave. His knuckles went white as he put weight on his right leg and fire devoured it. He sagged against the bars, his face up against the cool iron. He fought he dizziness. Fought the fires. Fought to remain upright even as hot jets of pain split his skull, flayed him from within.

He saw the sniveling elf just beyond the bars. Thrust his arms through them in a vain attempt to wrap his hands around the bastard's throat. But he was just beyond Thorin's reach and his voice was high pitched and whiny as he gloated, "She is not coming, dwarf. Her father believes not a word she speaks. You will die here. Alone, as you deserve."

"You lie," Thorin managed to push over a sluggish tongue and through even more sluggish lips.

"I do no such thing." Elwin came closer. He held his bow, and an arrow rested on the string. All he need do is draw back that string and—

And yet, the elf didn't fire.

Thorin's head cleared a fraction. He saw a shadow in the he-elf's eyes.

Elwin was scared.

His reserves draining rapidly, Thorin leaned even harder on the bars. "You will lose, elf," he managed to mutter. "And I hope, when she runs you through, she sees the same fear in your eyes that I see now."

Elwin caught the bowstring, drawing it back. "What was that, dwarf?"

Thorin nodded slowly. "You heard me."

"It is only unfortunate she is not here to see the fear in your eyes."

"I do not fear you. You can do what you like to me. It changes nothing." The words were so difficult to form, to force out. Only sheer stubbornness kept him upright and conscious. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to collapse, to give into the fever raging through him. His eyes burned. His hair hurt. And yet, he remained on his feet to taunt a pathetic elf. "It will not change the fact that Arielle loves me. That she agreed to be my wife. That I am the only man she has ever known. She will never love you, elf. She will never look at you anything more than the worm you are. And you will never know what it feels like to be loved by her in every sense of the word."

The bow bent slightly under the force with which Elwin pulled the string. Thorin braced himself for the hot sting that would follow being impaled. He tensed as Elwin's hand shook.

"I would not do that if I were you."

Relief surged through Thorin as Elwin turned, and the last of his reserves gave out. His knees buckled, he slid down the bars to crumple at their base. But he smiled at the sound of Arielle's voice.

Arielle held her sword out and behind her, twelve very angry dwarves were only barely containing their fury and restraining their urge to dispatch the lone elf. But out of respect for their future queen, they hung back.