Someone to Watch Over Me

Chapter Thirty

In the daylight, the plains between Erebor and Dale were far more desolate looking than they were at night. Snow still lay on the ground in patches, but the air itself was on the warmer side now, carrying on it hints of spring as it wafted across the open spaces and around the large boulders. The earth's battle scars looked much fresher in daylight. Where the snow had melted, it was easy to see a struggle had taken place, with the exposed new earth a darker shade of reddish brown than the outer layers. They looked very much like healing wounds, and Seren wondered if there would ever be a time when she would look at these lands and not dwell on the tragedies and near-tragedies that had happened there. Would there ever be a time when she and the land around them would actually heal completely? When they would be able to put what happened there well into the past and not forget about it, but not dwell upon it, either?

She drew her cloak tighter, as it gave her an excuse to clench her fists about the seams to keep her hands steady. Although Thorin survived to walk alongside her now, the images of him lying wounded and bleeding on the ice had yet to let her mind rest at ease. Nightmares plagued her sleep, worse since their arrival in Erebor. Night after night, she jolted awake as if someone screamed her name into her ear, fighting for breath, sweating and sobbing silently into her pillow so as not to disturb Thorin. The dreams never left her in peace, but seemed to worsen with each day. Images of Azog bursting from the water, landing atop Thorin replayed on an endless loop.

But they weren't nearly as terrible as the images of Thorin calmly easing the Orcrist from his left hand, to let it come to rest alongside him as he'd made the conscious decision to let Azog run him through. His sacrifice, what he saw as his only chance for redemption, tortured her night after night since that terrible day.

Snow crunched softly beneath their boots as Thorin strode alongside her, the wind rippling through his cloak, blowing back his hair. The dragonfly sparkled in the pale sunlight. In the distance, people moved about the streets of Dale, and she glanced up at him, wondering if anyone stood there now, hoping to catch just a glimpse of any particular dwarf.

Day after day, when she was a child, she would do just that, would finish her morning chores and then, when the day was hers, she'd grab her sword and make her way to the highest point in the city. Sometimes she would be rewarded and would catch sight of the young dwarf prince. Sometimes, like the day he caught her following him, he'd venture into Dale itself. But most of the time, her attempts were in vain.

That no longer mattered, of course, for now she could look upon him any time she wished. An odd flutter rippled through her, one that came out of nowhere and took her breath away. So much so, she actually stopped.

"Seren?" Thorin was several strides ahead of her when he realized she had stopped. He turned toward her. "What is it?"

She looked up at him as the flutter appeared again. "Come here."

"What? Is something the matter?"

Taking his hand, she shook her head as she pressed his palm against her belly. His eyes held a quizzical look. "Am I supposed to feel something?"

"Drat it all," she grumbled. "I think the baby kicked. Twice."

His thumb moved gently along the curve of her lower stomach. "Well, if he did, he's quiet now."

"I was hoping you could feel it."

"Worry not, Seren," he withdrew his hand, "for I'm certain it's bound to happen again. Is that why you're so quiet this morning?"

"No. I suppose I'm merely lost in thought. I'm still not feeling very well."

"If you wish to go back—"