Thorin did not pause for breath as he hurtled down the halls and passageways of the Keep, searching for the source of that terrible screaming. Arien panted behind him, Anglachel already drawn, a long, gleaming knife in her left hand. Because those screams... They were mixed with the triumphant shrieks of orcs.

"They snuck in through a culvert," a panicked dwarf had shot at them as he fled. "The western chambers are overrun. The woman and children are trapped; they are being slaughtered."

Thorin had frozen for a moment in alarm, then seeming to recall himself he turned to one of the guards stationed along the hallway.

"Gather as many of your men as you can," he had told him, in the commanding but calm voice he used when giving orders under pressure. "Guards and warriors –– any dwarves that can fight. Send them to the western side of the Keep."

The dwarf had nodded and set off. But Thorin had halted him with a hand on his shoulder and said

"When you reach there, your priority is getting the women and children out. Don't jeopardize their safety by getting them caught up in the fight."

A sharp, confirming nod. A warrior receiving orders. Arien couldn't help a spark of pride.

"Come on," Thorin had told her. "Hopefully we'll get there before the rest of them."

They did.

They reached the western side to find destruction. Blood and screams and shouts and weeping.

The orcs had no reservations against slaughtering children. Arien supposed she should have learnt that after what happened to her people.

Neither Arien nor Thorin thought twice. They plunged into battle, swords flashing, blood spraying, orcs shouting in surprise.

Arien's ancient blade gleamed as she spun, using the momentum to bring the heavy sword down on an orc's skull. It split in two like a piece of ripe fruit, showering Arien in gore. She whirled, gripping a woman's hand, hauling her up and roaring at her to go go go!

She ducked and twirled and slashed alongside Thorin as more guards joined them, beating the orcs back and back while the women and children fled. She gave herself completely to that killing calm, until the blood was a black mist around her and the smooth rocks were slick with it.

And when the last of the orcs had slumped to the ground around them, Thorin didn't waste a second as he whirled on the nearest guard.

"Send your men," he ordered. "Each one to a different area of the Keep. Check everywhere –– make sure it's safe. Don't leave a single room unsearched."

The guards nodded and dispersed. As if they had practiced this a million times before.

Thorin finally turned to her, panting, covered in blood. Arien scanned him, checking over and over. The blood was not his own.

They were alone as Thorin stepped toward her.

"Please tell me you're not hurt," he said, still breathless from the fight.

"No, I'm not," she told him. "I'm..."

She broke off, eyes fixed on a spot over his shoulder, drawing in a sharp inhale of breath.

"Thorin," she whispered.

"What?" he asked, detecting the fear in her voice. "Arien, what is it?"

She opened her mouth to speak, to scream, to roar at him to get away!

And the orc that had appeared from the shadows grinned at her and hurled his long, wicked looking spear at her king.

***

"No!" she screamed as she lunged for him, not caring if it killed her, damning the consequences to hell and flinging herself in front of him, shoving him backwards. Flinging herself right into the path of that spear.

She didn't care if this was to be her end. All she could see as she moved was that spear about to pierce the unfaltering heart of her king.

She wouldn't let that happen. She would never allow that to happen. No longer would she flee from danger, no longer would she cower in fear, no longer would she leave those she loved to fight and die alone.

"Arien!" Thorin's scream of horror was cut short as she shoved him out of the way.

And the spear went clean into her stomach.

***

For a moment, the world stopped.

Stopped, then started, then stopped again.

Thorin couldn't think or feel or see. Even as he whirled, his body doing it on blind instinct and training and unrestrained, cataclysmic rage, hurling the Taurhelim dagger right into the neck of the orc, he didn't think or feel or see. He didn't see the orc slump, didn't see it bleed onto the stones. His mind kept replaying the moment his queen had screamed, the moment that spear had entered the body of the woman he loved. He couldn't think. Could barely breathe as he turned towards her. She was staring at him, the spear protruding from her gut, blood spreading in a slow, dark stain over her tunic.

"Arien," Thorin whispered. "Please."

His heart. That spear had been meant for his heart.

And she had taken that blow for him.

A single tear slid down her cheek as she pulled the spear from her body as if in a trance. Blood gushed from the wound.

And Arien Feathalion, the woman Thorin Oakenshield loved more than his home, more than gold, more than life itself collapsed into the arms of her king, her life blood spilling onto the stones.