This was not real. It was not real that her heart had stopped, was not real that his queen had stopped breathing.

It was a mistake. Had to be a mistake. Some horrid dream, or he had gone to hell after all, because he couldn't exist in a world without Arien, a world where her hands, her eyes, her beautiful laugh, that unfaltering heart were no more.

She could not be dead.

Dimly Thorin was aware of Dis bursting in, saying something about hearing of the attack. She went silent when she saw who he held.

The world swayed around him.

He could barely breathe, couldn't think beyond the conviction that this was all some terrible illusion, that he would wake up in the bed beside Arien, her head nestled in his chest, her soft breathing in his ear.

But it didn't happen. Arien remained motionless, those eyes remained sightless.

Footsteps, then Dis's hands were on his shoulders, attempting to make him look at her.

Arien did not move. Did not breathe, or see, or think, or feel, or love.

No longer would he hold her, kiss her, hear her voice, see her eyes. No longer.

She was dead.

Arien was dead.

***

He wouldn't leave her like this, on the cold blood-stained floor amongst the bodies of orcs, as if she somehow mattered no more than they did.

He yanked out of Dis's grasp. Wordlessly, he removed his fur-lined coat and spread it over Arien, covering the fatal wound in her stomach. He pulled her closer to him, lifting her limp body in his arms, holding her close.

The body still smelled of Arien. Of sweet jasmine and the pines that once surrounded his home.

Thorin buried his face in her slender shoulder that was already growing cold.

He wouldn't leave her.

Footsteps heading away, fading into echoes as Dis left him to his grief.

He closed his eyes. He wouldn't leave her.

He wouldn't leave her.