Chapter 64: Home at Last

"Oy, one could get right turned about in this place," puffed Bofur, hiking Bilbo further onto his back.

Sara couldn't help but agree. She didn't remember anything after her wild sliding descent down the mountain of treasure with Smaug at her back until she had woken to see Bilbo, Bofur, and Airidan peering down at her. She had been unconscious for some time and Airidan had finally resorted to the little healing magic he knew to bring her around. She had peppered them with questions and they had answered them to the best of their ability. They had debated if they should wait for the others to come find them or set out in search of the company. Eventually, the need to do something had driven them to action. They made their way through the empty halls of Erebor, moving in the light cast by the elven lamp Bilbo held aloft. They were following a string of lit torches and the trail of fresh destruction hoping to reunite with the others. Had they been walking for minutes, hours, days perhaps? All Sara knew was that she was sick of the oppressive dark and ready to see the sun and open sky again.

"It is quite boggling," sighed Bilbo. "I only hope we are getting close. I could use a rest and I'm anxious to know what's become of the others. It's been quiet for far too long."

"Yer tired," said Bofur, cocking an eyebrow and glancing over his shoulder at the hobbit. "Who's carrying who?"

"How are your legs?" asked Sara.

"Healing but still tender," lamented Bilbo. They were silent for a moment.

"Do you think they're all right? " asked Sara, biting her lip.

"No sense worrying over that which has already occurred," said Airidan. "Once we find the others we shall find the truth of events."

"I only hope we don't find a live dragon at the end of this trail," said Bofur.

An unease settled in Sara's stomach at the thought and she glanced behind them looking for a pair of large glowing eyes that she was sure to remember for the rest of her life. There was nothing but the enveloping darkness. She stumbled forward, her foot catching on a bit of rubble. Airidan caught her elbow, steadying her.

"Thanks," she said, wincing as an exaggerated throb pulsed through her head with the sudden movement.

"How is the pain?" inquired Airidan, studying her face with concern.

"Well I don't think my head is in danger of dropping from my shoulders, but it's safe to say this is one of the worst headaches I've ever had."

"May I examine you once again? Just to be sure the swelling has not worsened, or the gash to bleed." She nodded and he stepped forward probing her head with his nimble fingers. "You really should see a proper healer. My skills in the art of healing are meager at best," he said with an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid my skills lay in combat. Is it painful to walk?"

"A little," she admitted. If she were telling the truth her head throbbed with every step and she was only just fighting back the stinging heat in the corners of her eyes.

"You look pale," he said with a frown. "Your wound did bleed considerably. Would you allow me to carry you?"

"I'm not sure how that would help my head and I don't want to slow you down."

"Please allow me. My gate is much less jarring than your own," he said, reaching gently to scoop her into his arms. Her first instinct was to resist but it only took a few moments rest for her body to realize just how tired she truly was. Her muscles ached and her body was filled with a bone-deep sense of exhaustion. Airidan and Bofur resumed their trek and Sara was once again amazed at how smoothly an elf could move about.

"You're like a figure skater on ice."

"A figure skater?" asked the elf, raising a dark eyebrow.

"A sport on earth. People glide across the ice on skates. Very beautiful," she said, flicking his ponytail over his shoulder and out of her face. "So smooth."

"I see," he said.

"Is it okay if I fall asleep?"

"Not until you've seen Oin," said Bilbo. "Head injuries can be serious business."

"Then perhaps we should move faster," suggested Bofur. Airidan nodded in agreement and they picked up the pace.

Sara struggled to keep herself awake as Airidan carried her. While her pain was not completely alleviated, she no longer had the stabbing pain with every step. She bit her lip wondering if they would pass back through the room filled with dwarven skeletons, but it seemed that there was more than one way back to the main gate for they never passed through the room of dully glinting skulls. Her eyes were so heavy and the gloom invited her to sleep but while her body relaxed the throbbing in her head won out in the end.

"We're getting close," said Bofur after a long while.

"Indeed, I can hear them as well," said Airidan.

"Them?" asked Sara, perking up.

"It would appear so," he said looking down at her. "You need only endure a while longer."

"That's welcome news," said Bilbo.

After several more minutes, they rounded a corner and the soft glow of the early morning sun greeted them. They passed through the high arching doorway and into the great hall and the room before them fell silent. A part of the company was gathered around a small fire in the midst of tending the wounded. Behind them, nearly blocking the main gate, loomed the hulking mass that had once been Smaug. The two groups simply stared at each other for several long moments taking in each other. Sara felt a pang go through her. Several faces were missing.

"Well don't everyone rise to greet us at once," muttered Bofur, letting Blibo slide from his back. The spell holding them broke and those who were able rose to meet them. One of the figures stood taller than the others and Sara could tell by his outline in the sun that it was her Bard. What was he doing here? Bard was the first to reach her, his face a wash with worry and relief. Airidan set her on her feet just in time for Bard to draw her into a hug that smelled of burnt musty leather.

"Thank the gods you are alive," he muttered into her hair. He held her for several long moments before releasing her, his palm swiping conspicuously across his cheeks before he cleared his throat. Airidan, Bilbo, and several of the others moved off to examine the remains of the dragon.

"But what are you doing here?" she asked, watching Bard's shifting expression. "I thought you were in Dale?"

"He saw you get carried off by Smaug," cut in Dwalin appearing beside them. "Fairly tore the mountain apart to get to ya. Almost as frantic as Thorin he was."

"Dwalin!" she cried. "Oh thank goodness." But her heart plummeted to her stomach as she took in the blood-stained bandage covering his misshapen hand.

"Hello lass," he greeted.

"What… what happened to your hand?" She reached instinctively to examine him. "Dwalin… your fingers?"

"Aye," he said with a sigh. "I lost the two smallest. Still, it's an easy price to pay for the death of Smaug. Though it will make handling an axe a right challenge."

"But can't Oin do anything?" she insisted.

"We are quick to heal lass, but we cannot regenerate, we're no lizards."

Looking around Sara could see that several of the others were bandaged and bore signs of fresh stitches and Oin's administrations. Bomber sported a large bandage held to the right side of his head and Ori's sleeve was torn off at the shoulder where a nasty gash had been stitched up. But there were faces missing from the group. Her mind spiraled into a tailspin. She could not see Thorin.

"Dwalin where… was anyone… where is…" But she could not quite bring herself to finish the question. What if he should say the words that would shatter her world? What if despite all her best efforts there were more empty eyes like Ruven's

"They are all…we are all safe," assured Dwalin, sensing her unspoken question. "Biffer and Dori went back to retrieve any belongings that were abandoned at the secret door." That accounted for two of the missing faces but that still left…

"Where is Thorin?"

"I am here Sara," came the reply. The bands constricting her lungs loosened as his deep voice washed through her. She turned to see him in the doorway behind them, Balin supporting him from the left. Thorin picked his way gingerly over the rubble that was strewn about in the entrance hall. Her feet moved of their own accord but just as she was about to close the space between them Thorin jerked a hand up to ward her off, wincing at the sudden movement.

"For once, I would not welcome your tight embrace." Sara stopped short, watching the pained way he moved. Despite his words, Thorin's eyes fell softly on her and she relaxed. Balin released him and Thorin closed the few feet between them. "I am relieved to see you, Sara." His eyes glistened as he gently pulled her to his left side. She slipped an arm around his back to support some of his weight as Balin had been doing. He leaned on her, bowing his head to her face, his nose brushing hers. Instinctively she reached for his cheek, kissing him gently. Warmth spread through her as his lips greeted hers.

"What happened to you?" she asked, pulling away. His spare hand closed around hers, swallowing it up in his warmth.

"It's a lengthy tale, but in short…"

"In short, he has four broken ribs," cut in Oin, his tone clipped. "To be exact, three on the left and one on the lower right. He should be resting."

"I take your point friend, but where would you suggest I do so? Curled up beside the dead worm? How was I to rest without knowing Sara's condition?"

"Well she's here now," grumbled Oin. Sara squeezed Thorin's hand gently and he looked at her before shaking his head.

"I will be still," he vowed. "At least as much as possible. But what of Sara? Tend to her."

"I'm all right," she insisted, knowing all too well the look in Oin's eye. She was about to be lectured for 'not having tended to her own safety properly.' "Really, I am."

"I'll be the judge of that," said Oin dryly. "Come. Sit and let me examine you." He pointed to a piece of a broken column. Resignedly she sat, Thorin taking up the space to her left with Dwalin and Bard behind them. Oin's fingers searched her head until he found the gash. "This will need stitched," grunted Oin before taking her face and turning it toward the morning sun streaming in through the front gate. He studied her eyes covering one and then the other.

"I dare say you are in considerable pain," he said, letting go of her with a frown. He turned to dig into his bag and drew the needle and thread she was becoming all too familiar with along with a clean cloth. "I'm running out of these," he grumbled. "Mahal only knows when I will be able to procure more. Now hold still." She nodded and winced.

"I have a really bad headache," she admitted. "And I'm really tired."

"I'd imagine you are. You may sleep once this is done, though you should be checked on in the night."

"I will see to that," said Thorin. Oin looked at them out of the corner of his eye.

"Yes, I have no doubt of that."

Sara felt the heat in her cheeks grow as Bard cleared his throat behind them. Dwalin pulled the water skin off his hip and handed it to the Oin who wetted his cloth and attacked Sara's head, cleaning the wound.

"A nice gash you have here."

"Can you see bone?" she asked, remembering when she had reached to touch it and felt something hard and smooth. Oin hummed the affirmative.

"Will she recover?" asked Bard.

"Oh certainly, deep it may be but not too big. If we can keep it clean it should heal nicely, save for a small scar hidden by your hair. It will be tender for a few days and I shouldn't wonder that your head will ache as well, but I can give you something for that. But you must keep it dry once I stitch it up."

"I hate stitches," mumbled Sara, wincing as Oin dabbed at the wound with his antiseptic. It stung, to say the least, but the stitches would hurt more.

"Well I don't particularly like giving them to you," countered Oin.

She tried not to pay attention as Oin readied the needle and thread. Even just sitting here she was having a hard time staying awake. When had she last slept? She had no idea how much time had passed inside the mountain since Smaug had carried her off. Her eyes drifted over to the mound of red and gold scales near the entrance.

"Is he really dead?" she asked in a half-whisper. Thorin turned to follow her line of sight.

"He is," said Thorin. It was hard to believe. Hours ago Smaug had been alive and tormenting her yet his body was completely still, all signs of life absent.

"What will you do about the carcass?" asked Bard, rubbing a hand over his stubbly chin. She squeezed her eyes shut wringing Thorin's hand as Oin began the painful work on her scalp.

"I don't know what can be done," admitted Thorin, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, trying to distract her. "My thoughts were bent to killing the beast. Little else seemed to matter after that."

"We could always hack him up and eat him," suggested Nori, appearing from nowhere. He had been the last face Sara had been missing.

"Where have you been?" hissed Sara through clenched teeth. This hurt more than her arm being stitched up.

"He was scouting out something for me," replied Thorin. He turned to Nori. "Your report?"

"I reached the area you told me of. The royal quarters and those with it seem to be intact, but the bridge leading to the residential district has collapsed. It will have to be repaired if we are to cross to the other side."

"That is mixed news," said Thorin with a frown. Nori shrugged.

"Did I hear something bout chopping up old Smaug?" asked Bofur as he and the others returned from their examination. "We could sample roasted dragon. I have to admit I'm quite hungry."

"I would advise against it," said Airidan.

"Why?" challenged Nori.

"Smaug was not a simple beast but an ancient magical creature. An evil one at that. Who's to say that it would not make you ill."

"I have to agree with Airidan," said Sara, hissing as Oin dug in once again.

"Why?" asked Thorin. "Something from the book?"

"Yes and no. When Smaug fell into the lake in the book the lake was poisoned. I don't know if that was just because his body decayed or if it was because he was a dragon. But I would not chance it. It just seems like asking for bad juju."

"Bad juju?" asked Thorin, turning to her in confusion.

"Bad luck," she said. "Also hasn't Smaug been living off of men, dwarves, and elves for the past 150 years? Wouldn't it be like secondhand cannibalism to eat him?"

"All right, all right. I see your point," said Bofur with a grimace. "But what do you propose to do with him?"

"No idea," she admitted with a sigh. "Can't we just sleep on it for a day? I'm so tired."

"That may not be a bad idea," agreed Oin, gently tugging a stitch closed. "Many of us require rest and all would benefit from it. Let dead dragons lay for a day. It's not as though the 14 of us, injured as we are, can handle his body on our own. At least not today."

"Little though I like the idea of a rotting carcass in the entry hall, you may be right," said Thorin, leaning to the side as he took in a breath. "I have to say I am not currently up to the task."

"And you won't be for at least 2 weeks," said Oin. "Just you rest so you will be hale in time for the battle. Those are some nasty breaks."

"He will be healed in time won't he?" asked Sara anxiously. She did not like the idea of Thorin going to battle with an injury. The occasional pains in his shoulder were bad enough without him having to fight for breath.

"As long as he takes my advice he should be. At least if we are not attacked sooner rather than later."

"When exactly are you expecting the battle to begin?" asked Bard, looking over his shoulder towards the ruins of Dale.

"In all honesty who's to say at this point," she said.

"That's you done," said Oin, snipping the thread free and cleaning his needle.

"I wish we knew what happened to the orcs that escaped Laketown," said Bard. "But yes, you must all rest for a day. Dragon slayers deserve that much at least."

"The day after we will determine what areas of the mountain are stable and safe to house your people," said Thorin. "We shall need to confirm a clean source of water and meet your other needs before you arrive. Give us three days to find a suitable place."

"Very well," said Bard, gathering his bow and empty quiver and slinging them over his shoulder.

"Are you leaving?" asked Sara, a little disappointed.

"Yes. The people will no doubt be anxious for news and I find that anxious minds and idle hands are not a desirable combination."

"Let me walk with you for a bit," she said, getting shakily to her feet. Her vision blurred for a moment as the blood rushed to her head but both Thorin and Bard reached to steady her.

"Are you well?" asked Thorin, his eyes never leaving her.

"I'm fine, I just stood up too quickly. Let me walk with you," she insisted.

"That would be welcome," said Bard. He turned to Thorin. "I will return in three days' time." Thorin nodded and let go of Sara's hand, releasing her to her father.

"I'm sorry you had to leave your kids to come help me," she said as they skirted around Smaug's extended wing. Bard glanced over her in slight amusement.

"Have you forgotten you are one of my children?"

"Well no, I just meant… well…"

"I understand," said Bard good-naturedly.

"But how did you even know Smaug had taken me?"

"You're not the only one who has trouble being still when loved ones are at risk. To be honest I found it difficult to remain underground simply hoping you were safe. I made sure the people were as comfortable as they could be and promptly set out to spy on the mountain from a high point in the ruins. But I should return. I left without warning and they will certainly be missing me."

She swallowed. He had left the care of his people and his children to others because he had been worried about her. Not only that, but when she was in danger he came running to her aid. She had been in trouble and like all the stories the children used to tell in school about their fathers her's had come charging in like a white knight to slay the dragon. She had a father, not just in name but someone who would lay his life down to save her. She knew the rest of the company would do the same but there was just something different about Bard being willing to leave his other children, who were still children, to come to her rescue.

"But you have only known me for a few weeks," she said, trying to keep her voice from cracking with emotion. It was hard enough to keep the tears at bay. He looked at her confused.

"No matter where you have been for the past 24 years, I am still your father. Fathers act irrationally when it comes to their children's safety."

"I suppose that is a father's prerogative." Why could she not quite say what she meant? "Are you anxious to get back?"

"Indeed. Who knows what's going on behind my back with Talson and Eric in charge. And Tilda will no doubt be convinced I am dead."

"You left Talson and Eric in charge?"

"Hence my desire to return," he said with a grimace. They came to a stop in the large arched doorway feet from where Smaug's head lay, his mouth lolling open. She caught sight of Bard's coat. Spots were charred right through the leather.

"Your coat is burnt. Are you hurt?'' she asked guiltily, reaching to rub the edge of the garment. Pieces of the char rubbed off in her fingertips. He had come that close to death just for her.

"Miraculously my coat took the brunt of most of the burns, though I dare say my hair is singed a few inches shorter. I'm sure to have scrapes and bruises over every part of my body but no lasting damage. Quite lucky for having helped to defeat a dragon."

"Oin checked you out didn't he?"

"He was a bit busy with the others," said Bard, looking over her shoulder to the old healer. Sara opened her mouth to scold but he raised a hand. "I promise to have Sigrid look me over when I return. No doubt it will be the first thing she does and none of this is beyond her skill. Besides I suspect she will have a much softer touch than your companion Oin."

"You're probably right," she admitted. The top of her head still throbbed where he had put in the stitches. "Do you promise to have her look you over?"

"I do," he said, placing a hand over his heart. "Do you wish to come with me just to be certain?"

She smiled weakly. "Even if I did want to, I'm not sure I could make it back to Dale without collapsing for sheer exhaustion."

"Understood," he said, chuckling. "I go to the teeth on my own." He reached cautiously to hug her and with a slight hesitation, she returned it.

"Tell them hello for me?"

"Of course," he said, turning to leave.

"Wait!" she called. She caught his sleeve and he turned back.

"What is it Sara?" he asked, his gray eyes searching hers. "Are you okay?"

"I know Tilda, Sigrid, and Bain call you Da," she said, not sure what exactly she meant to say.

"They do," he said uneasily. She searched for the words.

"I…I grew up hearing other kids call their father Dad." He watched her unsure. "Can… Can I call you that? Can I just call you Dad?"

Bard's eyes widened and his jaw went slack. His eyes glistened as he drew her into another embrace, this one much longer.

"Call me Ranson, call me Bard, call me Dad," he whispered into her hair. "Call me what you will. Just call me." She squeezed him tighter, fighting the tears that were threatening to slip down her cheeks.

"I like Dad best," she said into his shoulder.

"I like it too," he said, pulling away, wiping a tear from his face. "If I had known that all it took for you to call me that was to slay a dragon, I would have done it weeks ago." She could not help the weak laugh that bubbled up in her.

"A father likes best to see his children laugh," he said, hugging her again.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you for coming to get me."

"Always," he said. "But now I really must go." She let him go and after a parting wave, he was making his way away from the mountain and across the valley back toward Dale.

The crunch of grit on stone behind her sent her primal fear into overdrive and she turned half expecting to see Smaug lifting his head off the ground.

"It's only us," said Thorin, Airidan at his side.

"Ah… I thought… well… Smaug," she said, trying to calm her racing heart.

"Understandable given the last 24 hours," said Airidan.

"Are you well?" asked Thorin. "Bard, is he gone?"

"Yes, he's headed back to Dale."

"I should accompany him," said Airidan, peering into the valley below.

"You are leaving as well?" asked Thorin looking to the elf.

"I was unsure if you would still welcome my company now that Smaug is dead and Sara rescued."

"You would be welcome," said Thorin.

"It's not only that," said Airidan, glancing behind them. "Although my king's palace is built underground I am not accustomed to the gloom of Erebor, beautiful though it may be."

"We will not hold you if you wish to go. You have my utmost gratitude and thanks."

"But aren't you tired?" asked Sara, stifling a yawn. Airidan chuckled.

"I will sleep much better under the open stars and I need not rest as often as you. I will go first to Dale to see if I can be of any aid. Then I must get word to my king and prince of the events that have transpired here this day."

"Then may Mahal strengthen and speed your steps," said Thorin with a nod of his head.

"May the stars shine down on you with kindly light. But before I go I have something for you, Sara." He pulled an elvish lantern from his pocket and handed it to her. "To light your way in the mountain."

"Thank you!" she said, taking it eagerly. It was smaller than the lanterns they had used in Mirkwood, about the size of a golf ball, and slightly ovoid. The smooth white crystal sat dully in her hand inert.

"How does it work?"

"Does this also possess the capability of exploding in a flash of light?" asked Thorin, eyeing the stone with slight apprehension. Airidan chuckled.

"If need be, yes, though only if a certain word is repeated thrice in rapid succession." After some quick instruction, the elf bade them both goodbye and vanished. Sara couldn't help but feel a slight pang as he left. She had rather come to enjoy the elf even if his manner was stiffer than that of the dwarves.

"I'm exhausted," she said, reaching for Thorin's hand and pressing gently into his side to support him.

"I have a solution or at least I hope to find one," said Thorin, raising her hand to his lips.

"Please tell me it's a bed."

"I hope so, yes. But it will require some walking."

Sara looked out at the sunlit landscape and then back into the gloomy interior of the mountain. She wasn't keen on leaving the sunlight but a bed was even more inviting. Simple oblivion. "Is it far?"

"A short walk, are you up to the task?"

"Are you?" she countered.

"No movement is comfortable at the moment but I have the strength."

Five minutes later the company had gathered their belongings and 25 minutes later they were once again deep in the mountain. Thorin brought the company to a halt. They stood in what appeared to be a grand central plaza with corridors leading off in many directions. In the center of the open space stood an enormous stone statue. The crown atop the statue's head was adorned with jewels and ancient layers of dust and cobwebs.

"Where are we?" asked Bilbo, mouth agape as he took in their surroundings.

"These are the royal quarters where the king and nobles once stayed. This is my home."

"It is magnificent," breathed Bilbo. "Quite different from Bag End."

"Balin, Dwalin, your family's residence is in that direction. Oin and Gloin as well."

"I remember well enough," said Balin.

"That makes one of us," grumbled Dwalin.

"The rest of you find a place to your liking but mind you don't take what doesn't belong to you. The possessions in these rooms may belong to a family which will miss them upon their return." Thorin eyed Nori. "There will be treasure enough for all later but these are not for you. Understood?"

They all murmured their assent before wandering off to find a place to sleep. Sara took a step forward to join them but Thorin caught her hand bringing her up short.

"This way," he said, gesturing to a large ornate archway to the right. She followed him into a smaller courtyard where the remains of a water fountain stood dry and dusty. Exploring the edges of the courtyard they paused before a large stone door carved with intricate patterns. Thorin reached for the handle and then paused. Taking a breath he grasped the door handle and whispered a word in dwarvish. There was a faint click and the door swung wide. An empty gloom met them and for a moment they both just stood staring through the doorway. Taking the torch Thorin stepped inside a few paces. After a long moment of silence, he turned to her and extended a hand.

"Come," he called gently and she stepped over the threshold to grasp his calloused hand. He led her down a short hallway and then stopped. The torchlight was absorbed and dulled by the room's muted interior. Everything was covered in a thick carpet of dust, the furniture gray lumps at the edge of the circle of light.

"Wait here," he instructed.

He vanished through a doorway taking the torch with him. She pulled the light stone from her pocket and whispered to it. Brilliant white light shown over what appeared to be a sitting or living room; several couches huddled around what appeared to be a fireplace. She ran a finger over the back of one of the couches as she approached the long empty fireplace. There was wood stacked beside the hearth. Would 150-year-old wood still burn? The toe of her boot nudged something in the dust on the floor and she stooped to examine it. A miniature figure lay under the grime. She picked it up rubbing a thumb over the face. An abandoned doll. No doubt left behind in the confusion when Smaug attacked. Other toys lay scattered over the rug and several broken dishes were shattered on the floor as if they had been knocked from the table in a rush.

Clutching the doll to her chest Sara stood her gaze sliding over the room trying not to imagine its last occupants, trying not to think of the little girl's bones and wondering if they lie somewhere inside the mountain. A frame above the mantle caught Sara's attention and she raised a hand to wipe away the grime revealing the portrait beneath. A family or so she assumed; two adults, an adolescent, and two children. There was something familiar about the face of the adolescent.

"I see you found my family's portrait," said Thorin, appearing at her side no longer carrying the torch.

"Your family?"

"Did you think I would bring you into a stranger's home with mine so close at hand?"

"This is you?" she asked, pointing to the adolescent.

His finger reached to caress each figure in turn. "My father, mother, myself, my younger brother Frerin, and my sister Dis."

"This was her doll wasn't it?" She held the toy out to him and he took it gently.

"I gave it to her. She was playing with it that morning that…" He was silent for a moment as his Adam's apple bobbed slowly. "The three of us were all here. Father was with grandfather and mother had gone to visit a family that had just welcomed a new baby." She took his hand and his fingers closed around hers convulsively. "I never saw my mother after that morning. I dare not even hope to recover her remains."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It can't be helped," he said, clearing his throat. "But come with me."

He led her through the doorway and down the hallway. She peeked into each room as they passed it. Thorin stopped at the end of the hall and pushed the door into the last room open. The room was large but not opulent with its own set of soft chairs, a desk, and two large wardrobes. Thorin stood still, his eyes fixed glassily on the different aspects of the room. Releasing her hand he strode to the two chairs in front of the fireplace and rested a hand on the back of one.

"This was her favorite chair," he said quietly, lifting a dusty quilt from the seat. "Many a time I or one of my siblings would sit here with her late at night." The emotions shifted across his face until at last, he looked at her again.

"You are tired. Come with me." He led her through to yet another room but paused in the doorway. "You will sleep here." She looked past him. This room was smaller but what caught and held Sara's attention was the large four-poster bed. A small sigh escaped her lips.

"But wasn't this your parent's room? Shouldn't you have it?" she asked, stepping inside and looking around.

"No, I will stay in one of the other rooms."

"But you're injured," she argued.

"As are you. This is the only bed other than mine that was made at the time of Smaug's attack."

"What has that got to do with anything? They are all beds."

Looking around quickly, Thorin made his way to the head of the bed and bent to one side gingerly peeled back the top layer of bedclothes taking the layer of dust with it. "It's still old and musty," he said, going to the large chest at the foot of the bed. "But it's better than sleeping in the dust." He pulled several clean quilts from the chest and put two on the bed and kept one for himself. "You will take this bed. At least until we can clean another properly."

"But where will you be?"

"Down the hall in my old bedroom."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather just stay here with me?"

"No, I would rather… my room will be sufficient." She couldn't quite put her finger on why but Thorin seemed anxious and slightly uncomfortable. Was it the way he kept glancing around as if expecting to be caught? "I will most likely be unable to sleep peacefully and I don't want to disturb your rest."

"Oh," she said, a small lump forming in her stomach. Why was he so anxious to get away from her? He kept looking at the door.

"Don't fret about me. If you have a need you know where to find me. I will leave my door open."

"Alright."

With a swift kiss on her forehead, he turned to leave, closing the door softly behind him. Sara stood there in the empty room unsure of what to do or think. Something was eating at Thorin. She could understand the pain and grief she had seen flash across his face but the anxiety confused her. Thorin was not easily agitated. What was there to be worried about here in the heart of Erebor with Smaug dead? Was it something she had done or said? No. He had just been in pain and was eager to rest.

She bit her lip as she looked around the room assessing it. She had little on her save what was in her pockets as her pack was still in the collapsed tunnel. A dull ache was once again forming in her head. Oin's herb was a help but it did not completely dull the pain. With precious few options she turned towards the bed, its expanse inviting her to slumber. She set the light stone on the bedside table before removing her boots. Then finally with a sigh of relief, she crawled carefully onto the bed. It creaked with age but held her weight. It was surprisingly comfortable for something that had been neglected for 150 years, then again it was not hard to beat out a stone floor. Her bones ached for want of sleep and her eyes seemed to shutter without her knowledge. Reaching for one of the heavy quilts she laid back and surrendered to black oblivion.

The bed was smaller than Thorin remembered and the dark of his room was more oppressive, a heavy fog smothering his every breath. Or was that simply the radiating pain in his chest? Whatever the reason, his lack of breath was not the only suffocating thing in this room; what truly stifled him was the flood of memories that leached from the walls and washed over him in inexorable waves.

Up until he and Sara stood in front of the door to his family's home he had hardly spared a thought for old memories. There had not been time nor energy with Sara's kidnapping and the trap laid out for Smaug but with his hand on the worn and familiar door handle of his family's home, his memories of that day came flooding back. It was as though he had stepped back in time to that morning. Everything had been exactly where it had been left that morning, right down to the unmade beds, broken dishes, and toys abandoned on the floor. How many years had it been since his sister last held a doll?

The noise of the memories was set in juxtaposition with the utter silence. The emptiness was eerie. This mountain had once been abuzz with life, dwarves all living in close proximity, making, selling, trading, fighting, living, loving… and now nothing. Just silence and the dust that blanketed their bones and swallowed sound. But the silence he felt most keenly was the silence from the unoccupied rooms in this house. Three of its five occupants would never again return, never occupy dusty beds, never sit before its hearths and take in a fire's warmth, never laugh, touch, or embrace.

How hopelessly unaware he had been that morning. Unaware of how the shape of his life would be inextricably altered; all for the want of gold. First, his mother, then his grandfather, father, and brother, leaving only his sister and her sons. He drew his grandfather's ring from his pocket rubbing his finger over its face, the smooth gems making his fingertip numb with the repetition. Had his grandfather's lust for gold and subsequently amassed treasure been what had drawn the beast to the mountain; or would Smaug have attacked regardless? Who was to say?

Having briefly surveyed the treasure hall while rescuing Sara he had been forcibly reminded just how wealthy they had been… how wealthy they were again. He twisted the ring around the middle knuckle of his finger as he brought the image back to his mind. Mountains of gold and precious metals piled in glittering heaps, gems and fine stones in their untold and uncountable numbers. His people would surely never know hunger again. Never again would be looked upon as a vagabond dwarf prince, forced to work in the forge just to eat a meal. He had avenged his people, driven out the worm, and ensured their future. Gone were his days as Thorin Okensheild. He was a king, King Under the Mountain, successor to the halls for Erebor. He would wear the armor of kings, not wield an oaken branch. He need never…

He turned his head, his ears catching the sounds coming from the room down the hall. Sara was in the throws of yet another nightmare. She was not loud in her sleep but his ears had grown attuned to her distress as her dreams troubled her more of late. It was hardly surprising given the events of the past months. No doubt her exposure to the dragon would not be easily forgotten. He pressed a hand to his aching ribs as he lifted himself from the bed and sat, his toes making indents in the carpet of dust on the floor. He pulled the ring from his finger and was on the verge of returning it to his pocket when he paused.

When had he put the ring on his finger? He could not recall taking it out of his pocket. It was not the first time he had reached for it unintentionally. He often found his hand drawn to his pocket without reason, his fingers caressing the token from his father. It made him uneasy to remember Gandlaf's misgivings. But why should he fear it? It was a ring and no matter who its maker Mahal had made him strong like the stone around him, impervious to influence and change. He put the fear aside. It had been passed down for generations and now it was his. The ring of the kings of Erebor. The only other symbol that could solidify his authority to rule was the lost Arkenstone, buried somewhere in the hall of treasure. No. It had been his father's dying wish that he have this ring and he was not about to let the fears of a gray wizard…

The sounds from down the hall were growing louder. Hastily he stuffed the ring away and rose to go to Sara. He didn't bother with a light, his feet having long ago memorized the path to his parent's room, but he paused unsure at the door. Something had held him back, an old and practiced feeling of intruding on a place that did not belong to him. He shook himself as Sara gave a small moan of distress and he pushed the door open.

She lay tangled in the quilt atop the bed, the light emitted from the stone on the side table throwing contrasting shadows across her distressed face. She rolled to face him, whimpering and quickly he crossed the room to her side. Spying her hand amidst the confused jumble he captured it in his own, humming softly as he did. Over the past few weeks, he had found that it was not always necessary to wake Sara from an unpleasant dream. Often a soothing touch was enough and when it was not a simple tune hummed would ease her slumber. She mumbled something unintelligible, her face creased with sleepy worry. Settling himself on the edge of the bed he brushed a thumb over the crease between her dark brows until it smoothed.

At last Sara relaxed back into the bed, the dream passed. Thorin remained at her side simply clasping her limp hand in his, drinking her in. How had he ever come to care so much for another? They were so different in so many ways and yet he was drawn ever more to her, day by day his affection for her growing deeper. At times it was unthinkable to recall how he had pitied and despised her. Recalling their earliest encounters at Bag End he was forced to wonder if it had not been in another lifetime that they had met. So many events had transpired since then. After the death of Frerin Thorin had come to the acceptance that he would likely never find one to share his life with. But then this girl, this human girl raised in another world, had come and turned his world upside down in every conceivable way.

His eyes trace the smooth shape of her face, the soot and blood smeared together near her temple. She was so young and yet she had challenged him every step of the way, her thoughts and attitudes forcing him to see the world through her eyes as often as not. She had her struggles to be sure but he was slowly learning and adapting to them. She could be fierce and immovable in the defense of others but would not hesitate to put herself in harm's way to do so. She had a tendency to take on responsibility for what she could not control and despair when she could not change the outcome. There were times she seemed so lost in herself, unsure of her own value or purpose. Still, despite her faults, she was kind, compassionate, brave, and at times reckless. Her stubbornness could match any dwarf but she would give ground when the truth was irrefutable. Thus far he had found nothing that would keep him from desiring her and many qualities that drew him to her.

Her body was young and beautiful but he valued her companionship more. She had an effortless way of seeing him for himself and not for his race or station. It still took him by surprise to be argued with at times. He knew there were things that he did not and may never know or understand about her but he had many years to try. At least, if she would permit him. Who knew what the future might bring? Not even Sara could predict that anymore with a degree of certainty. His thoughts strayed to the battle to come and the work to be accomplished in the days ahead.

If the dry water fountain in the courtyard was any indication they would need to work to restore water flow to the homes that would soon be inhabited. Mahal willing the archive room would still be intact and they would be able to locate the maps and blueprints to aid in the repairs. They would need to repair the bridge to the main residential district and assess the damage to be repaired. They would need to fully explore the mountain to ascertain the extent of the damage and learn what usable resources were at their disposal. Gold could not be eaten. Without food, they would quickly starve.

Hopefully, Fili and Kili were faring well in their negotiations with the elf king now that the spell had been broken. But he need not worry, Fili had infinitely more patience than he did for the elves and the sense to include basic needs in their discussions. Besides fresh water and food, they would need to see to waste disposal and provide light. So much to be done and he was sure that more tasks would arise as they always did when time was short. Tomorrow they would need to…

"Thorin?" The small hand in his twitched and he turned to see Sara blinking blearily up at him. "Is something wrong?"

"It is you who was in distress. A nightmare."

She frowned. "I remember," she said darkly, suppressing a shiver. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"You needn't fear that," he said with a sigh. "My rest has been restless at best. I was not asleep."

"Your ribs?" she asked, sitting up.

"Partially," he admitted, brushing a lock of hair from her brow.

"What else is bothering you?"

"Nothing you could remedy. Just the ghosts of memory and regret." She caught his hand as he tucked the hair behind her ear and held his palm to her cheek.

"I'm sorry."

"There is nothing for you to be sorry for." He pulled away, pressing his hand to the pain in his ribs. "Is your head still troubling you?" he asked, seeing her wince as she gently moved to sit beside him.

"A bit, but it's not so bad when I'm sleeping."

"Then I will let you return to your rest," he said standing, but she caught his hand.

"You don't have to leave," she said quietly. "You could stay."

"I'm not sure that would be entirely appropriate," he said, looking down at her pleading face, not quite bringing himself to mean the words. "We are alone."

"We could leave the doors open."

"It's not the same as last time."

Her face fell. "Have… have I done something to make you feel uncomfortable?" she asked, watching him with those piercing emerald eyes. "You seemed to want to avoid me earlier; you were anxious to leave."

She was not wrong, but also not quite right. She was not what had caused his unease but it took him several moments to determine the truth. When he sussed out the reason he chuckled and then winced at the sudden jolt. He had been feeling like an adolescent once again for that was where the feeling had stemmed from, his adolescence.

"What is it?" she asked, looking a little hurt.

"It is not you," he said at last. "It's this room."

"The room?"

"As a child, I was never permitted here."

"But you said you sat with your mom in the chair out there."

"And that was true enough, we were often permitted in the outer room when my parents were about, but this inner room where they slept was never accessible to us. I had not realized it until now."

"I guess old habits die hard," she said thoughtfully. "Even 150-year-old ones."

"I suppose they do," he said, feeling more at ease now that he knew why he was expecting to be caught in an unknown act.

"Would you like me to move to a different room?"

He shook his head. "That's not necessary. My parents are gone and this house belongs to me now. The other beds are covered in dust."

"It's not as though I could get much dirtier," she said, holding her arms out to the side as though awaiting inspection. "Besides, an inch or two of dust might just make the bed softer, more pillowy."

"Tomorrow we shall find a way to clean you up," he said, admiring the blood and grime smeared across her face. "You are in quite a state."

"You should look in a mirror," she jabbed, folding her arms over her chest protectively. "You're not exactly the poster boy for a soap ad yourself."

He looked down at his hands and had to admit she was right. None of them had properly washed since Lake Town. "Then we shall have to make procuring a clean source of water our top priority tomorrow."

"That would be nice."

"Now I shall let you return to your rest." Once again he made to stand and once again she stopped him.

"Stay," she pleaded. "Please."

"It would go against my agreement with Fili," he said, trying not to covet the empty space beside her.

"With both of us wounded I hardly think either of us has the energy or physical strength required for anything compromising," she said, looking away. He studied her face, the pink in her cheeks fairly pulling him closer. He wanted to stay. She wanted him here. Her argument was not ironclad, but it was not without merit either. And it was true that she would sleep more soundly with him to draw her from her unpleasant dreams.

"I will stay," he said, pulling free from her loose hold on him before going to the other side of the bed. Carefully he settled himself by her side while she propped several pillows behind his back. Settling down he pulled her close to him, draping an arm over her shoulders as she fairly melted over his lap. She lay there, her head on his leg clutching a dusty pillow to her chest.

"This doesn't hurt your ribs does it?" she asked, peeking up at him through her dark lashes. Despite the blood and dirt, she was still beautiful enough to create that oddly familiar and deeply pleasant constriction in his chest.

"I am satisfied with this arrangement," he said, his mouth dry. More than satisfied… rather he was left wanting more than just the heat of her body pressed against his thigh. Perhaps this had been a mistake, perhaps he was indeed capable of a compromising position… or two. No, he should leave now.

"Thank you for staying, Thorin," she said through a yawn, settling herself more snuggly and reaching to hold his hand. "I don't like sleeping anymore."

And with that, he was unable to find a reason or desire to leave. Perhaps she had a touch of the silver tongue gift herself… or perhaps he cared for her that much. Still, this would not end well if he did not distract himself. She was too warm and soft beside him in the bed. He laid a hand on her side, his thumb rubbing back and forth as she stiffened yet another yawn.

"How are you coping with the day's events?" he probed. She peeked up at him again.

"You mean with Smaug and all?" He nodded. "Well, I have some bruises on my back and sides from his grip on me and my head of course, but I suppose for being carried off by a dragon I got away relatively unscathed."

But there was something in her voice, the hesitancy of her speech, that told him there was more to the ordeal than this simple summary. He waited patiently knowing she would continue when she found the words.

"It's weird," she said, at last breaking the silence. "But in the end, I don't think I was quite as afraid of Smaug as I am of Azog or Bolg. I'm not sure why. Maybe Smaug was just too large for life although with all I have seen in the past few months that's hard to imagine. Or maybe it's just because he's dead that I feel I feared him less."

"You have been through a lot," he agreed. "And while the Smaug is dead, the orcs still pose a real threat and you have seen blood spilled by them." She was silent for a moment thinking.

"He tried to enchant me, you know. Thought that by using my name he could control me."

"I had heard that dragons were capable of such enchantments," he said, pulling her hair away from her face so he could better see her expression.

"I'm not sure one way or the other," she said, biting her lip. "It didn't work."

"In what way did he wish to control you?" She shuddered under his hand. He waited.

"I could only see when he let his mouth hang open so there was light."

"Being in the dark with a dragon is enough to unnerve anyone, including myself," he said, remembering the wild dash he and Bard had taken across that dark room.

"It's not just that," she said, not looking at him. "He… he made me cross that giant chasm on a very narrow archway… but when I was halfway across he snapped his mouth shut. I don't think I have ever been so immediately terrified in my life."

Dark rage and horror charged through his chest as images of Sara stranded on the catwalk in utter darkness flashed before his eyes.

"He tried to force me to jump to my death," she said, rolling away from him onto her side. "When he realized he couldn't enchant me and got tired of tormenting me in the dark… he pushed me. I didn't… I didn't know you could fall that far and survive."

A hard lump formed in his chest as he heard the fear and anguish in her voice. How could he have let this happen to her? It never would have if he had been more careful, and kept her closer to him and the others. She was silent for many long moments before she rolled over and looked at him. There were tears on her cheeks.

"I'm… I'm so sorry," she choked out, taking him completely off guard. "I'm sorry. You told me to be more careful, to stay closer." She was fighting off sobs now. "I should never have been up on that rock."

"Sara I…?" But she was rubbing the heels of her palms into her eyes.

"I put you all at risk because I didn't have the common sense to be more cautious. The whole reason Airidan came with us was to keep me safe and I still messed everything up. You had to rescue me again. I… I put you all in harm's way. You all could have died. Tilda, Sigyn, and Bain almost lost their father." She got to her knees staring at him. There was terror in her eyes and she looked like she was about to be sick. It was the same look he had seen on her face after the elf had been killed, right down to the blood smeared across her face. "I… I almost killed my Dad."

"Sara," he urged, taking her by the shoulders despite the stab of pain in his ribs. "Sara, you are talking nonsense."

"But I…"

"No," he said, his voice sounding sterner than he intended. "None of what happened is your fault. I should have been the one who was more cautious. I put too much trust in our plan and not enough in a hearty sense of skepticism. You did nothing wrong."

"I got taken again."

"That could have just as easily been any one of us and we all would have been just as helpless. None of us is a match for a dragon on our own."

"But you almost died. So many of you were hurt because of me. Dwalin lost his fingers! They will never grow back."

"Sara we were dealing with a dragon. We all knew it was a tremendous risk and yet we all went. If it's anyone's fault it's mine for not insisting you stay in Dale with your family."

"But you know I wouldn't have listened," she wailed.

"I know," he said, drawing her into his embrace. "But it is not your fault. If you must blame anyone, lay the blame on the one who deserves it. The dragon is responsible, not you." She was growing quieter as he held her.

"I still feel so bad," she said, burying her head into his shoulder.

"I know," he soothed. "But it happened and there is no sense dwelling on how it might have happened differently, either for the better or worse. It happened and we all lived to tell the tale. That's what's most important. Who's to say it would have ended any better given other circumstances? Smaug is dead and we are alive. The mountain is ours. It was not your fault." He turned her chin so she was looking at him. "Understood? Not your fault." She nodded feebly, the fresh tears leaving clean tracks down her face. "Not your fault," he repeated, rubbing a thumb over her cheek. She was quiet for many long minutes as he held her in his arms. Her breathing began to even out.

"At least I made sure Fili and Kili were not here," she said, at last pulling back to look at him.

"That is true and for that I am grateful." He took her hand, squeezing. "Are you all right?" She grimaced, rubbing at her temples.

"I'll be okay," she said through a thin smile. "Apparently, crying with a head injury gives you a massive headache."

"Rest," he said, lightly kissing her brow before taking her shoulder and guiding her once again to lie across his lap. "All is well. I'll stay, so rest."

Gripping the pillow to her chest she settled. His fingers found their way to her hair gently massaging her head but being careful to avoid her stitches. Slowly her eyes closed and her breathing slowed and steadied. The pain in Thorin's chest thrummed through him with every breath, his injuries aggravated by all the movement, but he could not bring himself to regret it.