Loving Gin

Hanky Warning. Dragon.






Human Age Equivalent - 25



"DRAGON!"

Thorin had heard enough stories in his young life about dragons to know what Dale and Erebor were about to withstand. His great-grandfather and great-uncle had both been killed by a cold drake. The number of attacks on the old kingdom in the Grey Mountains were the reason why the settlement there was eventually abandoned by Thrór and his youngest brother, Grór, who went further east into the Iron Hills to form his own kingdom. Surely, they both thought, they were far from the winged beasts and their nests of the far north.

Balin would have fried with his beard, had Thorin not grabbed him and harbored with him behind one of the great granite pillars of Erebor. Quickly, his mind raced; his grandfather, the king would be in his treasure room, his father, with the gem cutters.

His wife...

Gin would be in their chambers or with her mother or his mother or...

Great Mahal, she could be on the mountainside, drinking in the sun.

And heavy, so heavy with their first babe.

Heading down the stairs into the Great Hall, he began to issue orders. "Balin, take every available man to the front gate." With luck and prayers, it would be shut and barred, but Thorin rather doubted that even reinforced, the Great Doors would hold back a fire-breathing dragon. "Long pikes in the front. Evacuate the women and children to the side gates and passageways. Send them to the caves on the west side of the mountain. I want any who cannot fight away from the Great Hall."

He continued to move down the stairwell, searching those that were fleeing. He wanted to find his wife, his mother, but his duty...

For not the first time, Thorin detested being a Prince of Erebor.

"Thorin, where do you need me?" Dwalin was running down the corridor, his axes, Grasper and Keeper, sheathed on his back, a long handled pike in his hands. "Your father is on his way."

"My grandfather? The king? Do you know his whereabouts?" Dwalin shrugged and shook his head. "Go to my father. I'll be right there." He watched for a second as his friend ran down the corridor.

Gin... Gin... where is Gin...

"Brother!" Thorin's brother, Frerin, was not quite as tall as his brother. Where Thorin was dark haired and steel-eyed, Frerin was fair and dark eyed. He was stocky, as a dwarf should be and a strong fighter, like his elder brother. "Is it really a dragon?"

"Aye." Thorin continued to move through the hall, pointing, directing warriors and non-warriors alike.

"Why on earth would a fire-drake come so far for us?"

Thorin stopped and glared, causing his younger brother to cower. "Knowledge of our grandfather's greed for gold and precious stones has become wider spread than we suspected." Frerin nodded. "I need you to listen carefully and do as I say." The two went into the weapons room, Thorin grabbing several spears and pikes and passed them to his brother. "Find mother, find Dís-"

"Thorin! I want to fight!"

"FIND GIN!" At this point, Frerin knew this was a losing battle. "Someone needs to take the women and children out of here and into the outer caves." He didn't wait to see if his brother acknowledged him or not. "Find mother, Dís and Gin. Take them to the caves. Take everyone you can find to the caves!"

"How long should we wait?"

"Not long. A few days at best."

They reached a fork in the corridor, Thorin prepared to go left, into the Great Hall, where he could hear yelling, the sounds of the gates being braced. "If we are defeated, go to the Elven King of Mirkwood."

"Grandfather isn't very fond of him."

"Thrór is not fond of anyone, anymore," Thorin snarled. "Not friend, nor family." He inhaled quickly. "Go to Thranduil. Hopefully, he will help." Thorin hugged his brother quickly and then shoved him in the opposite direction. "Find our women. Get them to safety. Tell Gin I love her. If I don't return and the child is a boy, he is to be named Borin." With that, he turned down the corridor and headed toward the Great Gate of Erebor.

In hindsight, the battle would feel like it took hours, when in actuality, it was over in mere seconds. True to Thorin's deepest fear, the door, braced and reinforced, did not hold against a fire-breathing dragon. As the wood exploded, fire spewing through the air, Thorin didn't have time to be fascinated by the power of the beast, much less the terrifying beauty of it.

The beast leveled the Great Hall, destroying arches, pillars, leaving rubble in his wake. His tail, swinging like a great ax, tossed mighty dwarven warriors as if they were sand. As the beast literally walked over top of the guards, Thorin thought he saw a missing scale, but he dismissed it as fancy and shadow. The monster left ruin in his path, many, including warriors, fleeing outside the ruined gate. Thorin made to go after the beast, only to be grabbed by Dwalin.

"Where are you going?"

"My grandfather!" Thorin jerked from Dwalin's grasp and pointed to his friend's father, Fundin, who was aiding warriors to their feet. "Erebor is lost! We will need much reinforcement to retake the city. Get them out of here! To the caves! See if there are any survivors in Dale!" For some odd reason, Thorin did not believe the city of men outside the gates had been left unscathed by the fiend.

Running against the tide of fleeing dwarven mass, Thorin again prayed for the safety of his wife and his family. As the caverns expanded within Erebor, there was less true damage, and simply a mess. Thorin entered the Throne room in time to see his Thrór tip the Arkenstone from above his seat and cuddle it to him, much like a small babe.

Of course, he would retrieve the Arkenstone, that which gave us the right to rule. Whoever held it held the kingship. Without it, we could not hold the Seven Armies to their oaths. It was the only thing besides Dwarves that was worth coming back for. With it, we can call aid to remove this beast!

Except instead of pocketing the jewel and running to safety with the brightly-glowing gem, Thrór ran down behind the throne and towards his personal vault.

Where the dragon was also heading.

Thorin yelled, but his voice, powerful that it was, was lost in the sounds of screaming and roaring. In the back of his mind, Thorin knew that many lives were lost that day, but he couldn't dwell on that right that moment.

The dragon reached the vault moments before Thrór did, plunging in with the joy of a child in a pool of water.

The walls and ground shook as the dragon dove into the treasure, flinging all that Thorin's grandfather coveted and stacked so neatly, into the air, knocking the elder dwarf flat on his stomach, causing him to lose his grip on the precious crystal he held so tightly.

Thorin ran in behind him, in time to see the glowing orb bounce down onto what had been the floor and disappear in a moving river of gold.

Seeing that his grandfather was about to dive in after it, Thorin grabbed him around the waist and pulled him backwards, out of the chamber and into the corridor.

"But the Arkenstone-"

"We know where it is." Thorin pulled him through the smoky hallway. "We'll come back when he's not looking. When he's not expecting us. When we have reinforcements." He entered the Throne Room, mindful of the refuse of dwarves still running for their lives through the flaming ruin of the front gate. He saw death, bodies.

In the haze of smoke and dust, he saw his own father dazed, thrown against the wall.

Dwalin and Balin were heading towards him. "Help the King. Get him to safety." He passed the now befuddled dwarf to his friend and shoved them towards the door. "Take him to the caves. I'm following." As soon as they headed towards the gate, Thorin looked back, making sure the dragon was not behind them. Thorin prayed to Mahal that the toothed wyrm would be content to play in his ill-gotten wealth for a time, while the Dwarven army recouped. He then went to his father, pulling him to his feet.

Thráin's sight had not been the same since losing an eye to an orc during Thorin's first orc hunt. He didn't let it slow him down, but Thorin knew at times he had problems focusing, discerning distance. Throwing an arm around his shoulder and grabbing the dwarf by the waist, he pulled him up and headed through the Front Gate.

It was chaos. Sheer and utter chaos. Warriors were carrying children, little ones who weren't theirs, females were wailing, looking in horror at the destruction behind them in Erebor and ahead at Dale.

Dale was destroyed, in ruins. On fire. There would be no refuge there. Men from the city were meeting, congregating at the foot of the mountain. Several were pointing in many directions, brigades of them at the wells, pulling water, throwing it on a fire they could not contain. Some were armed.

Many were injured.

And then Thranduil and his Elves showed up on the rise.

Looked.

And left.

In that moment, Thorin knew Erebor was lost and his hate for the elves grew to infinite proportions and began to fester in ways that no one being should hate.





Supplies were scavenged from Dale, as much as possible. So much death, so much destruction.

So few survivors. So very few.

As Thorin rounded up his people, Frerin joined him, in aid, to help.

"Gin?"

"In the caves." The young dwarf was breathless, bent over. In the years to come, Thorin would remark to himself how much Fili would look like him. "I got mother and Dís out and met Gin coming through the west gate."

"She was in the garden. Of course." Better she was outside, away from that flying lizard, than in the bedlam within the Lonely Mountain. Wailing rose up, interrupting the discussion between the brothers.

Standing next to a smoldering house was a man, throwing water on the fallen, smoking beams. He turned an ash-darkened face and saw Thorin and Frerin. "Please, master dwarf. My wife and son... please."

Unable to deny aid, much less tell him there was no way anyone could live through such, the two went to assist the man. In the end, a small boy, clinging to life was found, under his mother who had not been so fortunate.

"Is there a healer in the caves?"

Frerin nodded. "Aye, but-"

"Send all survivors to the caves." Thorin pointed in the general direction. "All things salvageable, all food, to the caves."

A single man, scowling, injured, by the way he held his arm, glared down at Thorin. "Who are you, to order us where-"

"I do not see Girion," Thorin interrupted. "Night is falling and it is imperative your survivors find a safe place to stay, even for a night. Word of this will spread like wildfire and orcs and beasts of the night will fall upon you like wild things. " He let his words sink in. "There is room in the caves. Your people must make provisions, decision, as do we. I have done all I can here. I must tend to my people." With that, he turned and started the arduous climb to the caves on the west side of the mountain.

The caves were well hidden, easily fortified. In times of plenty, food stuffs, necessary goods were stored by the people of Dale; the Dwarves had no need of them, or thought they did not, nevertheless, they often added to the food supply, for while it was said Dwarves were greedy and cared not for others, it was not for food that they desired and the city of Dale had been good to them and for them. Therefore, it was an unspoken, mutual agreement. Besides, the deepest depths of the caves were as cool as a winter cellar, meats were hung, smoked, in the recesses, wine stacked in jugs and stored.

Thorin made his way to the main cave; someone there would be able to tell him where to find his family. His father, his grandfather, the king.

His wife.

He entered the cave, the one long designated to be the waygate in case of emergency. Sure enough, there were Dwarves, Men in charge, pointing, showing the way to food and shelter. Many were being carried to healers, healers that were now too few.

Fundin, Dwalin and Balin's father, stood guard, scrutinizing all who came through. His arms were crossed, his stance one that Thorin recognized in his youngest son. Balin, tough warrior that he was, took after his mother, a gentle soul, who could charm the pants off a hardened warrior and barter with the best of the fishwives. When the dwarf saw Thorin, he nodded him over. "Yer grandfather has been givin' a sleepin' draught to calm him down. He's ready to go and fight that beast by himself!"

Thorin shook his head. "Erebor is lost. Even the Elves turned away."

"Thranduil?" Fundin snarled. "Not surprised. Cares only about his kingdom in the woods and his pretty white sparklies. We are nothin' t'him."

Thorin leaned in. "Sound familiar?"

Fundin didn't crack a smile. "You kin say that. I kinna." The Dwarf barreled on. "Yer father took a nasty crack to t'head. Healer says he'll be fine in a few days."

"Did you see what happened?"

"Aye. Beast came up on his blind side. He never knew wha' hit him."

Thorin shook his head. Ever since his father lost an eye, his eyesight had been a burden to him. His field of depth was gone. "Mother and Dís are with him?"

"No." Fundin turned in the opposite direction. "They are in the south portion with your wife."

The southern set of caves was where the healing herbs were hung to dry, extra blankets, healing ointments and oils that needed cooler temperatures were kept. It was made up of a network of small, private caverns, perfect for healers and injured who needed privacy. Thorin's heart sank.

Please not Gin...this pregnancy has been difficult, so prayed for, so long awaited...

"Any dwarf or man who is able, put them on watch at the mouths." He took off down the long cavern, grabbing a torch as he went. Groans, cries echoed from the hallways and he bit his tongue to keep from telling them to be quiet, the wyrm would hear, the orcs would hear. He peered into each cavern, praying he wouldn't see his wife on the ground.

As he turned the final corridor, he was run into by his sister. She stumbled backwards, crying out and Thorin grabbed her by the arms to steady her. "Dís. Where is Gin?"

She was pale and she stuttered for a moment, Thorin's stomach now churning. "Thorin, I'm sorry, so sorry."

"Gin?" he rasped.

"I...I..."

She was interrupted by her mother, who tapped her on her shoulder. "Go check on your father again. Stay with him until I relieve you." She watched as her only daughter gave her eldest brother one sad look, before disappearing down the cavern hall.

"Gin?" It seemed to be the only word he could utter.

"She's... she'll be fine, eventually." Með took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Thorin. The flight wasn't good for her in her condition and she went into labor."

Thorin refused to believe what he was hearing. "The babe isn't due for three more moons."

"No, he wasn't." He. A boy. "A few more weeks, he would have survived."

Thorin's immediate fear was for his wife. "Gin-"

"Is very weak. She's lost a lot of blood, Thorin. No matter what is going on out there, she can't be moved for some weeks. Let's pray that dragon is happy in our horde and that nothing comes near while we protect our own and they recover." She stroked his shoulder. "She needs you. She needs your strength. She needs to know you love her. Losing a babe..." She blinked tears. "'Tis horrible, Thorin. 'Tis horrible." With that, she stepped around him and followed her daughter down the corridor.

Thorin steeled himself, before entering the softly lit cavern. His wife lay on a pile of furs in the middle of the floor; so pale, so frail looking. He knelt down, taking her hand in his, noting how thin her skin was suddenly. She was the color of porcelain and his fear for her now expanded ten-fold. He was vaguely aware when she squeezed his hand and touched his face with other. "You're here. You're alive."

"I'm too mean for a mere dragon to do away with me."

The back of her hand stroked his chin. "Your beard. It's singed off."

He never noticed, never realized. "It will grow back."

With this, her jaw began to tremble. "I lost our baby, Thorin. I'm sorry. So sorry."

Thorin found himself stretching out next to her, taking her into his arms. "It's not your fault," he whispered. "Another death to blame on that dragon."

"It was a boy. A son. I'm sorry."

Thorin tried to pull her closer. "It's not your fault, Gin. I love you. Do not fret." He stroked her hair from her face. Now was not the time to reassure her that once they settled in a new home, they would try again. He didn't know how long that would be, much less where it would be.

"It's cold, so cold here. I can't get warm."

And Thorin spent the night, smoky, smelling of fire and singed fur, keeping his wife warm, while they both grieved their lost baby.


tbc