Waking up that morning, Arien had found herself still nestled in Thorin's arms.

He hadn't been awake, so Arien had wriggled out of them and stood as quietly as possible before going to saddle the horses –– a task which Thorin usually did himself –– and preparing breakfast. When the Prince had awoken, they'd eaten and then began the journey; the last day before they reached her homeland.

She was trying not to think about that now as Shadow puffed on after Thorin's horse, sweating as he went. Despite the early morning the sun's heat was worse than ever, so much so that Arien's mouth and lips were already cracked and dry from thirst after only ten minutes on the road.

Thorin twisted in his saddle to look at her. Her eyes were heavy from lack of sleep, her clothes torn and disheveled from weeks of travel, and her hair limp and unwashed.

"You look miserable," Thorin told her.

"I..." she began. "I'm not..."

But she broke off. These days she didn't know what she was.

"And Shadow looks exhausted," Thorin went on. "We should give him a rest."

"How?" Arien demanded. "Short of me riding on your horse with you, we can't..."

"That's exactly what I was suggesting."

She went still. But she wanted to. Not least because... because...

Because.

"Now?" Arien asked.

Thorin gave her a half-smile. "Yes, now."

Arien pulled Shadow to a halt as Thorin did the same. She dismounted and tied her horse's lead rope to the back of Thorin's mount's saddle. Then she moved round to the side.

The Prince extended a callused hand.

"Ready?"

Arien nodded and took it. It was warm and strong around hers.

He hauled her up into the saddle in front of him with that easy strength of his and she settled against his chest, so strong and comforting with his arms around her. She could feel those muscled biceps pressing against her own as he urged the horse into a walk. Shadow snorted as he was dragged behind. His scent wrapped around her, his body so warm and solid...

And there, encircled in Thorin's arms, the horse falling into a lulling rhythm, the steady beat of his unfaltering heart sounding in her ear, Arien's eyes began to close.

It wasn't long before she fell asleep.

***

She jolted awake in the late afternoon, judging by the intensity and position of the sun, and had to blink a few times because of its brightness. It was so blindingly hot that Arien could hardly see where she was going, even though Thorin's coat mostly shielded her from its glaring rays. She had no idea how he was wearing a coat in this heat, but he seemed to be fine.

"We're nearly there, Arien," he murmured. Her stomach flipped at his warm breath against her ear, at his nearness.

But that didn't matter right now. They were approaching her people's home, and fear pounded in Arien's chest as she wondered what they would find. Thorin let go of the reins to put a hand on her shoulder.

"It'll be OK, Arien. Whatever we find there, I'll be with you. Whatever happens, I won't leave you."

Arien half-twisted in the saddle so she was facing him, and maybe she was being stupid, but she couldn't stop thinking about last night, and how he'd held her in his arms as if she were something precious, and today when she'd fallen asleep against him. So she reached up and cupped his cheek in her palm, his skin surprisingly soft against hers compared to the roughness of his hands.

"Thank you," she whispered, even as she noted how still he went at her touch. "No one has ever said anything like that to me before."

"They should," Thorin told her. "You were one of the most beautiful women in the room at your farewell party."

"Really?" she said, all her focus narrowing on the warm skin beneath her palm.

"Of course. You're the most beautiful woman in most rooms."

Her face flushed at his words. At the fact that he... thought of her like that.

Thorin smirked at her blushing face but squeezed her shoulder.

"Look."

A green hill rose up above them.

"I think beyond that is your homeland," he said quietly.

Arien realised her hands were trembling as she dismounted from the pony.

"Will they stay here if we leave them?" She nodded at the horses.

"Yes." Thorin stroked his mount's neck. "Do you want me to stay too?"

"No. Come with me. I... I need you." She must have sounded as desperate as she felt, because Thorin nodded, and his feet landed with a thud on the grass. He unbuckled his sword from the saddle and secured it at his back.

"Do you really need that?" she asked.

"You don't know what we could find there."

Arien shrugged, the only thing she could really manage to do. She was afraid that if she spoke her voice would break.

"It's going to be all right, Arien." Thorin approached her, and held both her hands in his. "Whatever you see down there, it probably won't be what you expected, but I promise you I will be there every step of the way."

"Thank you," she murmured again, and before she could stop herself she flung her arms around his neck, and after a second he pulled her to him, holding her tightly, and they remained like that until Arien took a deep breath, trying to ignore the fact that it brought his scent of pine and metal into her nostrils, and straightened. "I guess this is where we find out if I have a people or not," she said.

Thorin nodded grimly but didn't speak. So Arien stepped away from him, her heart pounding, and began to ascend the hill. Thorin's steps were near silent behind her, the soft grass springing back up wherever her feet touched the ground. It reminded her of the grass in Rivendell. Reminded her of days of peace and comfort wandering the beautiful halls of the elven city. That's when she saw it.

Arien gasped, tears of horror and grief already in her eyes as she crested the hill and beheld the devastation of her homeland.

"Durin save us," Thorin breathed behind her.

What had evidently once been a beautiful valley was now nothing more than ash and ruins. And Arien had no doubt that most of that ash was from the bones of people. Her people. She could see the remains of once fine buildings, even a cracked stone statue of what appeared to be a young woman. She could almost hear the screaming of children as they ran from the orcs, as they were torn from their mothers and slaughtered cruelly. Every last child. All bright lights, all hers to protect. She had failed. Completely and utterly, she had failed them all.

Arien staggered back, her legs giving way underneath her, only to fall against a warm, solid body with arms that wrapped around her and held her tight.

"I'm sorry, Arien. I'm so sorry," Thorin murmured, his voice raw with shock and pity. But they were empty words. As empty as her heart.

Thorin had been right. This was nothing like what she'd expected. Arien wanted to cry. She wanted to cry so badly, but the tears wouldn't come.

"We don't have to go any further, Arien," Thorin told her.

"No." Her voice came out clearer and stronger than she expected. "I want to see."

Thorin didn't object, he just let her walk forward, keeping a hand on her back in silent support. There for her, no matter what. Arien leaned into his touch as they made their way down the hill and stepped into the ruins of the Taurhelim.

Her feet were almost buried in the dust as she walked further in, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. It was not the thought of what she might be breathing in, but who, that threatened to choke her. That made her want to flee far away from this place. This place, which had once been so full of light and song, and was now nothing more than ruins and dust, a distant echo of a once great civilisation. Arien looked ahead, trying to find an end to the broken houses. Instead a choking noise came out of her. A great stone building rose up above the ruins with only part of its structure torn off. The rest was intact, and Arien... Arien knew that building. The sight of it stirred something in her memory. Something buried deep, that surfaced now. An echo of a voice, murmuring words that she had forgotten.

'"Return one day to the people of your birth, Arien, and find in this palace my sword, Anglachel, the ancient blade of the Taurhelim. May it serve you well."'

That. That was what her mother had said to her as the orcs converged on the palace. Right before she had told her to run.

"That is my mother's palace," she whispered, staring at the stone building. "I have to go in."

Thorin looked down at her. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"No," she answered. "This I have to do alone."

Thorin nodded, not arguing, but he caught her hand before she could go and looked deep into her eyes, his blue eyes searching her green ones.

"Be careful, Arien."

She nodded, her voice too choked to speak, and began to walk towards her mother's palace, which she supposed was her palace now.

Each step shot bolts of terror through her, each step made her want to turn back, but Arien knew she had to do this. As she reached what was left of the doors she realised that apart from the ruins there was nothing, no evidence to show that people had once lived and breathed and cared for her in this abandoned and forgotten part of the world. She put a hand on the stone, fingers trembling with shock and grief.

Some of the stone crumbled beneath her touch.

Arien shivered and moved on quickly, not letting herself look at anything else, not until she reached the centre of the palace and there, lying on the floor, was a great sword.

It was covered in cobwebs, yet Arien could still see the glint of aqua jewels on the hilt. Could still remember the flashing of its shining silver blade as it slashed through an orc's throat.

Anglachel.

Her mother's sword, which had been forged for the first queen of the Taurhelim when her people were young.

The world went silent.

Arien approached cautiously, as if taking it away from this place would violate her people. But it was all she had left of them and she had been told to retrieve it. She knelt down and put a hand on the black leather hilt. The moment she held it Arien knew this sword was meant for her. For her, and her alone. She tightened her grip on the hilt and pulled it from the cobwebs.

The curved, beautiful blade was in its leather sheath, and Arien carefully brushed away the remaining cobwebs, revealing the intricate carvings in the elvish language that spiralled down the scabbard. She pulled the blade from its sheath. It flashed with silver, still bright and gleaming despite lying here for a hundred years. She pressed her finger against the blade, her skin splitting on the keen edge, drawing blood. It was still sharp.

Arien stood, returning the sword to its sheath and buckling it to her back.

The world came flooding back.

As she staggered from the palace she could almost hear the screams as people ran, could almost see them as they pushed and shoved each other, trying to find a path to flee along when once familiar routes were blocked by rubble and blood and chaos.

The full horror of what had happened here suddenly hit her and she realised people, children even, had been slaughtered as they ran.

Every last one of them. Even her parents, who had been the best warriors in the land.

Arien emerged from the palace, saw Thorin standing there, and ran towards him so fast she nearly lost her footing. She slammed into him, and he staggered back a step before pulling her against him and holding her tight. And it was then, wrapped in Thorin's arms, that the tears Arien had been holding back from the moment they arrived came spilling out. She buried her head in his fur lined coat and just sobbed. He gently stroked her hair with one hand and murmured words of comfort in that warm, deep voice. And for the first time in Arien's long, long life, she felt as if she were home.