Warrior's Heart

Chapter Thirteen

She didn't make it very far before her ankle simply gave out on her. She sank against the rocks, buried her face in her hands, and gave into her sobs. Much like the night before, on the bench at the summit of Dale, she cried until she was convinced there was no water left in her body.

A shadow fell over her and she looked up to see Gandalf sitting beside her. "What do you want?" she managed around her sobs. "You did this! You are the reason he is gone! This is your fault! All of it is your fault!"

"My lady, we need get you to Rivendell. You should have that ankle looked at by Amara. And any other injuries you might have sustained."

Her ankle throbbed, her cheek stung, her hip was most likely terribly bruised and quite frankly, her entire body ached from head to toe.

But that was nothing compared to the throbbing, fiery pain of a shattered heart. That pain made all the rest fade into nothingness.

Thorin was gone. She couldn't save him.

She glanced over at Kili and Fili. How could she let them down? How could she fail them as she did her husband?

She thought of Tiriana. Of the baby she carried. She failed them. She promised her daughter she would bring Thorin home safely. Instead, she would bring home only memories to someday be shared with Thorin's daughter. With the son (hopefully) who would not remember him, but would (hopefully) still wish to know about him.

"My lady?"

She jerked back to him. "What? Can you not see I don't care about my ankle. Don't you understand? What does it matter now? What could it possibly matter now? I need go home and tell my daughter her father is not coming home."

"Your daughter is in Rivendell, Arielle. As is Thorin."

She swallowed hard. "So, we are to have his funeral there? I should think he would wish to be buried here, in Erebor. Where he belongs, with his people."

"I'm sure he would, only there is to be no funeral."

"I am still his wife. The decision is not yours, but mine." She shoved away from him and got to her feet with a sharp intake of breath as fire burned through her ankle. Her cheek hurt from where the stone cut it. She was beyond exhausted. Bruised from slamming into rocks.

Heartbroken beyond belief.

"I should think the decision is Thorin's, actually. And since he is not yet dead, I think he might object to being buried. I know I certainly would."

"What?" She spun about to stare at him, her heart threatening to stop beating once more even as her pulse pounded through her temples and her blood roared in her ears. "What did you just say?"

"I said, he is not yet dead. And he is not. He is gravely wounded, but thanks to Tauriel's having kingsfoil on her and Amara's many gifts, he should survive. Now," he gestured to the eagle waiting patiently on the now-silent battlefield, "shall we venture to Rivendell?"

Her heart rose and suddenly, she didn't feel the pain in her ankle, nor anywhere else, quite so much. "How... oh... who cares... I'll ask my questions later. Yes, let's go at once! And tell the others. They will want to know."

Gandalf winced but nodded. "Let's get you there first and then I can warn Elrond to prepare for dwarvish visitors."

He held out his arm for her and she accepted it, leaning on him as she hobbled to the eagle and it lowered enough for her to climb atop it. She buried her face in those soft feathers and whispered, "Thank you."

***

Rivendell was every bit as tranquil and peaceful as she remembered, but Arielle didn't take any time to admire it. She was far too impatient to get to Thorin, to see Tiriana. She wouldn't believe Gandalf told the truth until she saw him with her own eyes, until she felt his touch, heard his voice, and it was all she could do to be polite to Elrond when he came to greet them.