How I Leave You

Blood.

There is so much blood.

It's as though someone made a hundred cuts to my skin, letting me bleed to death as they watch.

Somehow, these waves of pain go much deeper. My spine twists, hurting, my body thrashing about like it seeks to escape from itself.

But there is no escape. That much I know now.

"There's another one," Balin declares.

"Another what?"

"Another babe."

Everyone goes quiet at this, for everyone knows what this means.

I will not survive.

One child of dwarven heritage was enough to tear me in two. Another will rip me apart.

In the time I still have left before the pain will cloud my thoughts entirely, I gather the strength to look up at Thorin.

"Name him Thrór," I say.

The realization spreads across his face.

"No," he says, his voice as deep as the day I met him. "Ilwien, no. You will not leave me like this."

But I am no longer there to hear. As I give myself over to the contraction, as I let it swallow me whole and fill my lungs with screams, the last conscious part of me is replete with something.

Gratitude.

The feeling of it is warm and tender. It tastes sweet on my tongue. To think I got to experience love such as this. To be with someone who would cut his heart in two, just so he could give me the other half. Even if our time together was not long, it is alright, for I would rather have had this than a lifetime alone.

And Thrór. Thrór with his father's hair and his mother's eyes.

A smile spreads on my lips, for suddenly, I do not feel any pain at all. I almost laugh.

"Stay with me," Thorin begs.

Why is he crying?

"Keep her awake," someone else commands.

Gandalf.

"Look at me, amrâlimê," Thorin says, his face bent into a frown. "Good. You've done so good."

I nod, putting my head down on something soft. Yes, I have done good, haven't I? Now it's time to rest. To sleep, just a little.

"No. No, Ilwien. Open your eyes. Open your eyes for me, my love."

I feel so light. If it wasn't for the hands pushing down on my stomach, I think I would have floated away.

"We're losing her."

"No," Thorin begs. It makes the baby cry. I frown, because I cannot get to him. "I am not losing you."

"Thorin..." someone says.

I think they place a hand on his shoulder. He pushes it away, instead falling to his knees by my side.

"Get the Arkenstone."

At first, his words don't make sense to me. He repeats them, seemingly talking to Bilbo, and I think he takes off, though I don't know where to.

My body has started shaking. Violently it trembles, all of it out of my control. But there is no pain.

"It won't work, Thorin," someone else says.

"It will have to."

Feet against the stone. Bilbo's.