15: A Broken Heart

The ground underneath her jostled. There was noise. Cries of fear. Shouts to flee.

It was all so far away.

An ache filled the space between the noise. It took a few minutes for the hobbit to realize that it was a constant screeching. Something was keening. It was like the very air was mourning.

Llorabell forced open her eyes. Her lashes were caked in something that made them stick together. Her eyes couldn't focus very well.

There were blurs moving around her. She was on something large and furred. A keen, nearly matching the one vibrating all around her escaped her lips. She was crying.

The burglar of the company of Thorin Oakenshield tried to sit up. Pain exploded out from her chest and head. The keening in the air grew louder, quickly reaching a painful octave.

"Don't get up."

Llorabell turned to the voice with a helpless whine. A tall blur of grey filled her sight. The blur made some strange movement and then a wet cloth was rubbed over her face and water was trickled down her throat.

Gandalf came into clarity. Behind him the lonely mountain swarming with orcs was revealed. Blurs that could only be eagles swarmed between them and the orcs. As if guarding their back.

They were retreating.

Tears welled up and fear chased away the pain in her chest as she tried to sit up once again. Something kept her from rising properly, though. She looked down and stared uncomprehendingly at the rope around her waist.

She was tied to a giant bear.

The wizard carefully pushed her down. "Rest, Bilbo. You have to rest."

Llorabell tried to say something but Gandalf touched her forehead and her exhaustion rushed back. The hobbit struggled against his magic. There was something wrong. About the mountain. There was something wrong.

"Will she be alright?"

The hobbit forced her head to turn and look at the new voice as she succumbed to sleep. It was a tall blond blur. Her sight faded against her will. Her last thoughts were of the fact that it couldn't be Fíli or any dwarf. It was too tall.

An endless scream echoed out, it vibrated through her mind. Pain. And cold. It was too cold. Her eyes were glued shut, lashes clung together. It took so much effort to open them.

Another scream, one from a long time ago, joined the endless keening. Shouted pleadings for it to end rang around her. Her parents last breaths clung to her as they lost themselves to the pain of being dismembered, of watching the orcs eat them.

Voices joined the keening. Cries about the poison and how she failed in healing the land. Pleadings of her to go back and fix what was done.

She didn't want to listen. She didn't want to see. She didn't want to remember.

Llorabell forced her eyes open. And screamed.

Bifur stared at her as they stood on the battlefield. His front was covered in blood. He clutched the broken remains of his boar spear in one hand. The kind dwarf was missing flesh and muscle on parts of his face and arms. An eye was gouged out.

Llorabell squeezed her eyes shut.

Sometimes she opened her eyes and it wasn't Bifur standing there.

It was Fíli.

Or Kíli. Nori. Thorin.

Every member of the company had appeared at least once, dead and covered in signs of scavengers having gotten to their bodies. Sometimes, her parents would be there. At times, more than one appeared.

A few times, Llorabell opened her eyes to something else. The screaming always increased in volume and it was always hazy. She had a hard time keeping her eyes open. Once she was almost certain she had seen Beorn staring down at her.

It felt like she was trapped in an endless cycle. Then the keening slowly faded away until she could barely hear it. And one day a song, beautiful and strange, Elvish, filled her ears.

Everything faded away.

There was nothing.

It was a sweet peace.

But that didn't last either.

Whispers reached her ears. That was the first thing she became aware of. The second was the silken feeling of cloth surrounding her. Distant singing reached her a moment later.

Llorabell reluctantly opened her eyes. They were no longer caked with dried tears and blood (and who knows what else) but they were still difficult to move. Her lids were so very heavy.

There was a soft light surrounding her. It reminded her of dawn, or dusk — when the sun was below the hills of the Shire but its light still lightened the sky. A canopy of golden leaves filled her sight. A few snowflakes fluttered down between them but never reached far before fading to nothing.

"Little Bunny is awake."

The hobbit lass turned until the large form of Beorn came visible. He sat on the floor with a few of his dogs relaxing at his side. A large map was spread out before him.

"B-" Llorabell choked as her throat struggled to produce any words.

"You've been screaming too much," Beorn noted. At her helpless stare he continued, "You were too close to the land. When its heart was destroyed, you couldn't handle it."

Her eyes widened at his words. Memory flowed back to the forefront, Beorn flying off the eagle and attacking Bolg, of the screaming of the land, of the cry for help from the stone. Bolg stabbing the stone. Fíli being set upon by a large orc. Bifur dieing, saving her.

Her heart pounded in her ears. She could feel herself panicking. A large hand rested on her shoulder and gave a calming squeeze. "Nothing you can do about it now, Little Bunny," Beorn consoled, "We just have to find new lands, new homes."

Llorabell sucked in her breath in horror. A vague memory of orcs swarming the mountain forced its way to the forefront of her mind. That couldn't be right. Durin's folk had just gotten the mountain back. That was their home. This couldn't be happening.

"Mo–mo–."

Beorn regarded her for a moment before rising and walking around her bed. Llorabell watched the shapeshifter move out of her sight. He reappeared only to hold out a grey stone with cracks moving outward from a center hole.

The Arkenstone: It was dead.

"It was a heart," Beorn stated softly, "You cannot live without a heart. You know that." Tears welled up in her eyes at his words. She didn't want to think of what that meant. Beorn said it anyway, "The mountain is dead and claimed by orcs."

Llorabell looked up at the man-bear as her tears fell.

Beorn stared back as he said, "Laketown is destroyed. The land feels lessor now. As if the loss of this stone was more than it could take and the poison grows stronger."

Beorn laid the dead stone at the hobbit's side. "Your dwarves fled to the Iron Hills as we fled in the opposite direction.–" The shapeshifter shook his head. "–There is nothing to be done but move on. I must find a new home also."

He stared at her for another moment before sighing, patting her on her head. "Rest Little Bunny."

With that, Beorn turned and left.

Llorabell was left to her thoughts. Only the golden leaves and the distant singing was present to entertain her. It was a peaceful place.

The hobbit forced her too weak arm to move until her hand hit the stone.

It was cold.

The mountain was dead.

She grasped it even as thoughts of her dwarves filled her mind. A breath of warmth and phantom pain filtered through a still whole bond. She had never been so conscious of it before. She had never been so glad of it.

It meant that Fíli was alive. He was hurt but he was alive.

More tears fell. Bifur's last moments filled her thoughts. She didn't know about anyone else. Fíli might be the only one to survive.

Tears slid down her cheeks.

It was her fault.

If she hadn't taken the Arkenstone out of the mountain, it would have never been destroyed. Erebor would not be lost. The dwarves would have their home once again. Bifur would still be alive.

She closed her eyes at the pain. She could feel the tears cling to her lashes. Llorabell opened them again and the golden leaves filled her sight.

"Sleep…Sleep little one and you will find peace...sleep….and know you are safe within my home…."

Llorabell snapped her eyes around, turning her head to try and find the speaker. She saw no one.

"Sleep…"

The hobbit shivered even as her eyes grew heavy. She didn't want to sleep.

"You are safe...here within Caras Galadho...now sleep."

Llorabell's eyes fell shut and the world faded away. Her hand tightened around the dead stone and rolling hills of emerald green, a silver bead, and dancing blue eyes filled her dreams. Later they would change back into nightmares. Later she would deal with the horrors.

Caras Galadhon - the city and fortress of the Galadhrim of Lothlórien.