Taming the Wolf (A Hobbit Fanfic)

Chapter 30

A hand was placed gently on her head, followed by soft whispering. Though she didn't understand them at first. The voice being too far away for her to hear. But still, she recognized it.
As her hearing returned, she heard Dwalin whisper soothing words to her in Khuzdul as his hand continued to caress her cheek. His hand warm to the touch, his voice endearing, unlike anything she has ever heard from the warrior.
She realised she was laying on a bed. A pillow beneath her head, sheets underneath her body to protect her from the hard, rocky floor. And as the scent of Smaug filled her nostrils, she realized she was back in Erebor.
Was all of it just a dream? And all of it just been a bad dream and once she would open her eyes, she would see all who was dear to her? Her father, her uncle, Bilbo, Fíli, Kíli. Unwillingly she held her breath as she thought of his name.
'Thorin!'
With a jerk, the ferian sat up straight. Gasping in shock as she let everything sink in. The battle, the mortality wounded Thorin. Had all of it been a dream? Please, let it be a dream!
'Shh, shh, shh.'
She allowed herself to be pushed back down as tears start to form in her eyes. She needed to see him. She needed to see that he was alright. She needed to see everyone. But as she took a good look at her father, she knew.
It hadn't been a dream. It had really happened. Her father might have sounded soothing, but his eyes said it all. They spoke of battle and loss. They spoke of his loss.
'I couldn't save him, hêu. I've failed him.'
She allowed her voice to quiver as tears started to fall. Not ashamed to cry in front of her father, not when it came to the loss of a friend. No, she thought to herself. Thorin wasn't a friend. He was more than that. He was family!
'You did your best, mizimel,' Dwalin whispered as he wiped away her tears. 'You did all you could-'
'But it wasn't enough,' she interrupted in a mixture of anger and grieve. 'I was still too weak!'
'You did all you could and that's what counts, Frey.'
She didn't dare look at Dwalin again. How could he say that, when his best friend had died! She had failed his king! He should hate her.
But instead Dwalin did something unexpected. He took her in his arms as she cried. His hand stroking her back in comfort, whispering words of comfort as he did so.
'How long have I been unconscious,' she managed to ask after a while.
'A day. Preparations have already started for the burials.'
Burials, plural, not singular. Did that mean more of their company had died? Or did he mean they are to bury all fallen at once. No, that couldn't be right! Thorin should have a proper burial of his own. Not share it with fallen soldiers! He was king after all. King!
He was Thorin Oakenshield. He was their leader. He was their friend. He was a warrior. He was the descendant of Durin. And she couldn't save him! She was so close, but she couldn't save him! She couldn't do anything!
She cried into Dwalin's shoulder. Sobs escaping everytime she tried to hold the tears back in. Her nails digging in his shoulders must have hurt the dwarf, but he didn't let anything show.
'He died a painless death,' Dwalin eventually whispered as her cries turn into whimpers. 'You took his pain away, Frey. You did that. You helped him.'
But she just shook her head, telling him she should have saved him. Not ease the pain.
'You gave him a chance to say goodbye in peace. You made his final moment bearable.'
She remained silent after that. Her mind blank, unable to register anything at the moment. Then a burning question came in mind. Once again she was tormented by the thoughts of burials. She hadn't seen Fíli nor Kíli before she fainted. Bilbo had been there next to her. She even remembered him shouting her name before she collapsed. And her father had been there as well.
But where were the two princes? Where was her uncle? Why weren't they there as well? Did they still had to fight off orcs? Had they arrived after she had fainted? Or had they...
She whimpered at the thought. She needed to know who else was being buried. How many of their company had not survived the battle? But at the same time, she didn't want to know. Dreading the names she might hear.
'Who else,' she finally choked out in a soft whisper. 'Who else died?'
'Kíli.'
Again her eyes started to water up, upon hearing his name fall from Dwalin's lips. She did not want to know anymore! She already regretted asking. What if he said the name of another loved one. What if he said Fíli as well?
So she quickly pushed Dwalin away, before standing up. She ignored the nauseous feeling, due to her quickly standing up. She ignored the stars that temporarily appeared before her eyes. Instead she hastened towards the door. She needed to get away from here. She needed fresh air!
As she made a run for it, she heard Dwalin calling after her. But it seemed he did not pursue. Perhaps he was finally giving in to his grief, now that Frêllian was awake. Not that it mattered right now. Frêllian only had one thing in mind.
Fresh air.
As Frêllian ran through the halls, she saw flashes of familiar faces. Bilbo, Bofur, Bombur, Gloin and Oin. Each of them dealing with their grief in their own way. But she did not stop. Her feet bringing her to a destination on instinct.
She knew which way she was going. She recognized this way as the way out. To where Thorin had ordered them to block the entrance. Though the route she took was different than what she had become familiar with.
Then she came to an halt in the great open hall. The hall Smaug had burst through the entrance when he made his way to Laketown.
But it was not the sight of the entrance that has stopped her in her tracks. No, her attention had been drawn to the stone tables. Those hadn't been there before. Even from where she stood could she see the runes written all over them, a body placed on each table. One person kneeling in front of one.
She swallowed, trying to find any words to say. But her own grief disabled her. For as she glanced over at the table holding Thorin, it took everything to not burst into tears again.
They had washed him, she noticed. He no longer was covered in blood. His hair washed and rebraided. His clothes clean. His face serene as he layed on his back. And with his eyes closed, it almost looked like he was asleep. But with the arkenstone between his hands and his sword, Orcrist, under one arm, she knew it is all a delusion.
On his left was Kíli. He too, has been washed. Even if she hadn't seen the way the young dwarf had looked before his death, she could tell by how clean he looked. No one came out of a battle, looking that clean. Besides, she knew it was customary for the dead to be washed before their burial.
She trembled as she tried to hold back the tears. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. This wasn't how their journey should end! Especially Kíli! He was supposed to outlive his uncle. Be there when his mother returned to Erebor. He had often told her about how much he had wished to see her face when they would meet again.
But now he layed there on the cold stone table. His face white, in contrast to his black hair. His brown eyes closed forever. Under his arms his sword was placed. A sword he would no longer need. Not in this life.
Before she could even stop herself, she let out a sob. The sound giving away her presence as a head shot up. His voice roared in anger and grieve.
'I told you I did not wished to be disturbed!'
She started to stammer an apology, making his blue eyes to look at her. First in anger, but then in relief. She watched as Fíli scrambled to his feet, his eyes not leaving her as he ran over to her. And all she could do is stand there, frozen to the ground. Fíli was alive! He was alive!
As he took her in his arms, he whispered to her. How afraid he had been that he had lost her as well. His arms tightening around her as he cried. The once strong warrior, now laying broken in her arms.