He didn't offer her food that night, and Arien didn't ask for it, despite her screaming belly. She did, however, offer to keep watch, but he just gave her a look that said you honestly think I'd trust you to do that? and that was that.

She slept better that night, perhaps because her body was used to the hardness of the ground, but more likely because the Dwarf actually lay down to sleep.

Arien woke up that morning with an excruciating, aching pain in her stomach. She groaned as she rolled over, her hands immediately clutching it to check for any injury. She found nothing, and fear pooled in her gut as she tried to work out why her stomach hurt so much. She looked around for the Dwarf, half hoping he could help her, but he wasn't there. Arien curled into a ball, hands pressed against her stomach, and nearly jumped out of her skin as the Dwarf dumped a rabbit carcass next to her head.

"You look like hell," he said by way of greeting.

Arien was in too much pain to bother being horrible, so she said

"I feel like hell."

"Why?" As if being sympathetic would be an inconvenience.

"I... have absolutely no idea," Arien admitted.

He glared at her for a second, then turned back to the rabbit by her head, which he began to skin. She'd learned not to be too offended when he glared, as it normally meant he was in an average mood. Arien groaned as she forced herself to uncurl and get up, shoving away the blanket she'd slept under. But she froze when she felt wet, thick blood crusting between her legs.

"Shit," she hissed under her breath.

This was maybe the second time this had ever happened in her life, and there was no way of predicting when it was going to happen, but... shit. Arien jerked her head at the outcrop of rocks just behind her.

"I... have to go behind there," she said, trying not to show her utter mortification.

The Dwarf only inclined his head. She took that as a yes and slipped behind the rocks. She had nothing, absolutely nothing, to soak up the blood. She supposed the best she could do was a broad leaf. As if luck was on her side, there was a broad-leafed tree just behind her, and Arien picked one and set about the business of cleaning herself up.

***

When she emerged from the rocks, her stomach still sending excruciating pain through her gut, Arien felt slightly cleaner, and slightly less covered in blood. The Dwarf wasn't there, but he'd ever-so-kindly left her the freshly skinned rabbit by her bed. She hissed and made her way over to it, preparing to pack away the blanket which was still lying there. But Arien stopped dead when she saw the pool of dried blood on the grass. And stopped even deader when she saw the strips of blue cotton laid out neatly on the blanket. Strips off the Dwarf's shirt. He must have known from the blood. But why the hell would he help her?

Arien shrugged off the question and gathered up the strips, slipping behind the rocks again and double checking to make sure he wasn't there.

It didn't take her long to change, and by the time she emerged the Dwarf was back, both the skinned rabbit and her blanket gone, along with the blood. He smirked at her, his eyes –– eyes that were so dead and joyless –– watching her with predatory stillness. What had happened to make those eyes so blank? So expressionless? Was it training, or something darker? And Arien found that she cared. She cared what had happened to this mysterious and, she had to admit, handsome dwarf.

"Thank you. For the... supplies."

She could have sworn the hint of a smile graced the Dwarf's unyielding features as he dipped his head. "Don't be. No one deserves that kind of embarrassment."

Arien had to smile at that. He must have sensed her mortification.

"Come on." He jerked his head toward where they could see Erebor rising up in the morning light. "We still have at least a day's travel before we get there."

Arien nodded and held out her hand for her pack. Offering to carry it for him. He glanced at her for a moment, as if weighing, assessing, before handing it to her. And his hand froze atop hers. Every muscle in his body had gone rigid, as though he was straining to hear something.

"Get down," the Dwarf hissed, shoving her behind a rock and crouching down beside her.

Then Arien heard it too –– quiet but harsh voices speaking in the hideous language of the orcs.

And the whine of a sword being drawn.

"Yrch," she hissed, falling into the elven tongue she was more used to using.

The Dwarf glanced at her, but he seemed to know the word, because he nodded. He gripped her shoulder.

"Arien, listen to me." It dimly registered that it was the first time he'd used her name, and the sound of it in his voice...

"They don't know we're here yet, but that won't last long." He spoke evenly. Calmly. "I want you to get into the trees and find cover. Once you're in there, keep low and out of sight. Do not, for any reason, come out again. I'll find you after I've dealt with them. Do you understand?"

Order after order, and not a hint of fear. A commander on a battlefield, whose sole intent was to get them out of this place alive. It was strangely comforting.

"I'm not going to..."

"Do it."

The look in his eyes told her there would be no arguing. Arien nodded curtly and turned towards the trees. But the Dwarf caught her wrist.

"You're going to need these," he told her as he slid her daggers into her palms.

"Thank you."

He nodded. "Go."

Arien gripped the knives, their weight so familiar, and slipped into the trees just as the Dwarf stood up and drew his sword. She flung herself to the ground, lying face first on the forest floor, and began to crawl towards a gap in the branches where she could see him fight. The late spring sun cast dapples of dark and light on the soft earth as Arien parted the leaves of a low lying shrub and peered out.

The Dwarf moved fast.

There was such a fluid grace and surety to his fighting, it took Arien's breath away. The orcs didn't stand a chance. Not when he twirled and stabbed his sword with what looked like centuries-trained ease. But the orcs hardly ever did stand a chance unless they were in great number, and these were not.

Black blood sprayed as the Dwarf's sword thrust into an orc's chest before he kicked the body away from him. Each movement of his –– it was like a dance. Like a song and beat in his bones. And as Arien watched him, transfixed, she wished she could fight like that. Wished she had the...

Arien's mouth opened in a scream of agony as a sword pierced her shoulder blades.

And the world was engulfed in a wave of darkness.