Thorin had not come.

Thror and Thrain had arrived, and she'd heard that Freris was dead. Freris, who'd been so kind to her, who had convinced Thror to allow her on that journey that had changed her life. Who was Thorin's mother. And was now irrevocably gone. And...

Thorin. Where was Thorin?

Dis and Thrain were worried too, but it was nothing compared to the panic Arien was feeling. The terror and despair and pain.

If Thorin was dead, she could never forgive herself. She had fled. She had left him in that mountain when she knew he could very well die. And now... Now...

The sun was setting, and Arien sat huddled against a stone, her body shuddering as the bitter chill of evening crept down her spine. Waiting. Waiting for her prince, for the part of her heart that she had abandoned in the mountain. Please don't be dead please don't be dead please don't be dead.

'I will always find you, Arien,' Thorin had once said to her.

She prayed he would not break his promise.

Black smoke still swirled around them, still blocked her view of Thorin's home. His home. He had lost his home, his mother. Pity welled up inside her.

And still Thorin did not appear.

He had to be alive. Had to be.

A figure appeared through the smoke. Arien stood, stumbling forward a step.

One step, as if in a daze.

A noise somewhere between a sob and a cry broke from her throat. Thorin. Her prince was alive. She moved, sprinting the short distance that took her to the figure, not caring that everyone was watching. Alive. He was alive, and by the looks of him, unharmed. She flung herself at him with a force that would have pushed most people over, but Thorin just caught her and held her close, burying his head in her neck, breathing her in as though he would never do so again. She pulled back, though her arms remained twined round the back of his head, and stared at his beautiful face in wonder and relief, assessing him for any hurt. The plait on his beard was gone. Singed off, she supposed. But that was it.

"You're... you're... I thought you were dead," she rasped.

His smile sent a wave of heat down her body. "How could I be? I couldn't leave you."

That voice. That deep, warm, rich voice that rumbled in her very bones. She wondered if it was possible to get sick of it. Arien buried her head in his chest, and now it was her turn to breathe in that pine and metal scent, and whisper into his solid warmth

"Why? Why can't you leave me?"

Thorin pushed her away, those beautiful blue eyes soft with rare gentleness.

"Through fire and ruin and death I have found you, Arien. And I cannot, will not lose you again."