愛しのリチャード・アーミティッジ(Richard Armitage)に捧ぐ — grendel's mum's blog

The Maiden of the Fountain

by NEKO; translated from Japanese by Sooty

   Thorin casually withdrew himself from the dwarves, to     walk staggeringly down the stairs into the underground       great hall, where the odour of the dragon breath would still   linger in the air.  Because of what he said and did a while   ago, his Company (including Balin, who was his retainer)     felt deeply disappointed by Thorin.  There was nobody        amongst them that would come after him now.

   Is this true?  But how can it be?  Thought Thorin.                The burglar took the chance and snatched the Arkenstone, the Heart of the Mountain, from the snout of Smaug the      dragon!  This explains why the hobbit would not really         answer the questions at all, when asked.  Why did we not   hang him upside down and give him a good shake?  The    gem would have popped down out of his pocket.

   Now that he knew the Arkenstone was not there anymore, it seemed unlikely that the worm, who used to lie in this bed  of gold, would ever return.  Thorin gazed into the hall, which was still filled with the remaining gold and jewels.

   “ ----- Never will I give this to anyone.”  After a long while,    the words came out of his mouth dryly.  “Never, ever.  For   all this belongs to the Kingdom under the Mountain.  It        could have been shared with those of Esgaroth, as promised.  But no, it will never be, so long as they are on the side of Thranduil.  For I am never going to forgive him.”

   “And Bilbo,” he thought, “the dirty little thief!”  As he said   this, it brought back memories of the eagles airlifting the     dwarves, and also of the scene happening in front of the     secret door of the Lonely Mountain.  Thorin felt the feel he  had on gladly holding the halfling in his arms.  But he was  bitter now.  In fact, recently he had never been hurt as badly as this.  The friendship that he had with someone outside of the community of dwarves ended in such betrayal (or to Thorin at least, that is what seemed to have happened).

   Layers of various types of treasure, which filled the very    large hall, started to look as though it were heaps of junk.   Still, there was some indescribable power in the glow that    these piles of gold gave out.  Combined with the evil force  of the dragon, who was very greedy for this and had spent a long time in the space, the power had very much increased its menace.  It ate into Thorin’s heart, ruined his thoughts, and made a hole in his soul.  And the hole was rapidly filled with anger.  There was nobody who could save him from     this now.  The voice that next came out of his mouth was    neither words of Westron nor the dwarves’ own Khuzdul.   What seemed to sound similar to some heavy breathing, or groaning, gradually turned into the noise of steam hissing, while his body grew larger and quickly transformed into       some giant worm.  There stood a dark, towering dragon,     covered in bristling, steely scales with blazing fire in his      belly.

   If someone saw this huge, Smaug-like worm he had turned into, they would never know that it was Thorin.  In the      shape of the dragon, he spat out fire as crimson as blood,  and made some terrible noise while scratching the surrounding objects with sharp claws.  Fire and smoke filled the hall as he swirled his bat-like wings.  He burnt himself in fiery     air.  Yet he went on and on, roaring in helpless anger and   despair.

   Then, to the hall that was starting to resemble an inferno, a little white figure appeared.  It did not emerge from the outside of the palace through the hall entrance, but the room of the throne in the furthest part of the hall, as though a stream of water came flowing in.  It was a slim and fair-skinned   little maiden, clad in white.  Her hair was thick, wavy long   and golden, and eyes as blue as early morning sky were    keenly focused on Thorin the dragon.  Unafraid, she came  towards him.  Fire and smoke disappeared in the path she walked.  The roaring dragon quickly turned back into the     small dwarf, who crouched down on the pile of gold.

   She stretched her white hands that softly touched Thorin’s back, as she called him.  “My lord.”

   Slowly raising his head, Thorin muttered as though he     were still in a nightmare.  “ ----- What happened?  What is it that I have done?”  “You lost your mind with terrible anger, which turned you into a dragon.”  She said quietly, her hands still placed on his back.  Not until hearing her voice did    Thorin notice there was somebody behind him.  But he        immediately knew who it was.  He was startled.  He turned  round, slowly looked up on her face and said, “Clarita.  Is it you?  Is this where you have always been?  I mean, since we last saw each other.”

Deep into the back of the underground palace of Erebor, there was a gushing fountain at the base of a tree.  And its clear water, reflecting the surrounding lights and the fences decorated with mithril, was shining freshly silver.  For this, the dwarf kings were called “the master of the silver fountain” as well as the lord of Erebor.  There were also priestesses who would attend the fountain: the position traditionally given to fair-skinned maidens in the kingdom.  The day Erebor fell, when the dragon arrived it was this Clarita who guarded the fountain.  Her hair was golden, and eyes were blue like the clear sky at dawn.  She was the one and only that          Thorin, still a young prince, had truly loved.

   The day the dragon struck, Thorin saw it coming and was busy taking command of defense forces with Balin, who     was the king’s chief retainer and his own aide.  The palace however was destroyed in fire caused by the dragon, which was overwhelming.  They eventually fled carrying the         wounded over their shoulders.  A great number of dwarves  failed to escape the palace on fire, and many more lost their lives while on the road after losing their homeland.  During all this Thorin did not forget Clarita for a second, but she     had gone missing.  Nobody accounted for her fate, except   those who claimed to have seen her heading for the hall of  the fountain.

   Days went by.  Thorin kept thinking about the woman whose life he thought he could have saved.  He also thought about his dead grandfather, and his father who had also gone missing.  Thorin cut off his beard under his chin, and would never let it grow so long again.

It was indeed Clarita who had now appeared in front of him.  Thorin touched her cheek with his fingers, stroked her        golden hair and said in his quiet voice.  “You have not         changed your appearance.  Not in the slightest, since both our lives were still happy and full of hopes.  But it goes back to a long time before the day of devastation.  Therefore am I talking in a dream?  I do not believe you are still alive.”  He whispered the last set of words in a painfully shaky voice,   as though he were already in tears.  Since he was young,    the king had had a tendency to talk like this in time of          distress.  Knowing him well, Clarita only had a gentle smile on her face, wanting not to tell him that she had been dead for many years.  “If this really is a dream, fine.  It is good to see you again, as I can finally ask for your pardon.  That     day I could not manage to come for your rescue, thereby     failing to save your life.  Forgive me.”

   “You did all that you had to.  Why apologise?  I, too, tried  to do what I needed to.”  Clarita said.

   “That day there was someone who saw you head for the hall of the fountain.  Did you try to cut off the torrents of      water?”  The water veins of Erebor, which led to the silver    fountain, run freely inside of the mountain.  While dwarves  used the resource in many different ways, water exited the mountain as it cascaded down beside the city gate of         Erebor, halfway to the top of the mountain, before running   through Dale of the valley and into the Long Lake.              By saying the torrents of water, Thorin meant a floodgate,  which had been built in order to control the water veins       within Erebor.  “Yes.” Clarita replied.  “I thought surely the  water must be used to stop the dragon and the heat.  But.”  Thorin understood all.  It was exactly the case that he          feared it might have been.  “You did not want to involve us, did you?  You were going to wait in the hall of the fountain,  looking for the chance to do whatever you thought you        needed to.”

   Thorin did not even want to hear what had happened       next.  The dragon, as though he had known that many        dwarves were there, went into the hall of the throne and      spat fire in every direction.  The heat pierced through the   walls, as all was burnt in fire.  The dragon poked his ugly    nose into the hall of the fountain as well, saying, “How did I not know where the guardian of water would be?  Stupid    dwarf.  You cannot throw any water over me.  Now sleep   well, the maiden of the fountain.  Only, I doubt whether you could still dream after charred.”

   Thorin held Clarita, as he began to weep.  “You went        through it all alone?  How frightening it must have been for you.  I am sorry.”  His voice was much shakier than it had   been a few moments before.  Being unable to take revenge for her in any way, he felt very ashamed and had no idea    what to do.  But though she was supposed to be only an      illusion, Clarita said, gently stroking his back.  “All this         happened such a long time ago that by now fear has           completely gone.  So please, my young lord, stop it.  There is no need for you to suffer.”  “Do you still call me so?  I am no longer in my youth.”  While saying this, however, Thorin wondered how she made him feel as though he had gone  back in time.  He started to remember his own carefree, younger self with his long beard still tied into braids.  It also seemed the burning pains he had felt inside him for a while     were being washed away.  He recalled the fact that after all the maiden of the fountain was always an expert in healing by water.

   Then, Thorin saw the image of Clarita start to blur            suddenly. He eased his hold of her.  So far he had had a     very clear vision of her golden hair, fair skin and white,       mithril-studded garment.  But it all became gradually            transparent, while giving off a celestial radiance.                 He thought he had seen this light before, for it reminded     him of the Arkenstone in every way.  “That is right.” Clarita  said.  “I borrowed the power of the Arkenstone, so that you could see me.  This way the Arkenstone is still helping the King under the Mountain, no matter who physically possesses it.  Never can anyone interfere with this.  And likewise,   never can anyone make me part with you.  My dear lord, you have lost nothing and still have everything.  Stop making yourself suffer.  And please keep your heart at peace.”       After saying this, Clarita gave the gentle smile to Thorin      once more.  Then she slowly turned into particles of light in his arms, and began to fade.

   Afterwards she completely disappeared from his sight.    But Thorin had no more pain in his heart.  Because he        knew for sure that Clarita was never going to leave, but be with him forever.  He quietly smiled before he stood up.      The hall full of treasures would no longer be of any interest  to him.  “I shall reclaim the One Stone in exchange for all     this gold.  The Stone wants to be with me.  Or the Stone      being the Heart of the Mountain, it wants to return and to     reside in Erebor.”  Having firmly made this decision, he       slowly began to climb up the stairs in order to exit the         underground palace.