Hobbit:One Shot: Do Not Take Him From Me

Kelda was in Balin’s arms now, she was unable to stand on her own at this point. She was outside one of the tents, on the field where the battle of 5 Armies had taken place hours before. The battle was over, the dwarves had won, but at a terrible cost.
Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, was dead. Fili and Kili had been killed also, defending their beloved uncle to their last breath. The death of the dwarf brothers had been unbearable enough for Kelda, but now, as if Fate was unwilling to leave her whole in any way, Bofur’s life was in danger.
Losing Kili…losing the dwarf that she had loved as a brother, had made Kelda unable to say much of anything.  The most she could utter at this time were the dwarve’s names if she needed them. And Bilbo’s name, but he was already with her, holding her hand tightly and tenderly.
Several of the dwarves had been injured. Nori had broken his arm, from holding a shield up against a goblin berseker.  Bombur had received a hard blow to the head, but Dori had bandaged and stitched it up easily, and Bombur was now conscious and very aware of his brother’s plight. He was with Kelda now too, standing as close to him as he could, rubbing her back gently.
But Bofur, her sweet, husband-to-be, was in this tent now with Oin, Dwalin, Bifur, and Dori. And his left arm was severely infected and mauled beyond recognition.  Dori had stated that he needed Kelda to wait outside of Bofur’s tent for a time, until he thought it alright for her to be with Bofur. He didn’t want to tell her the truth, that he was coming to the decision to amputate right above the elbow. But Kelda was already fearing that was reason she had been told  to go outside with the others. Bombur had begun to fear it too, and his heart was heavy with sorrow at the sight of his only brother’s suffering. Not to mention Kelda’s, for he loved her as a sister now. If Bofur lost his arm…no…he didn’t want to think about it. Neither did Kelda.
They both couldn’t bear the thought, they both knew how much Bofur loved to whittle, how much he loved to play his clarinet. After all, making toy horses was what had brought Kelda and Bofur together. And Kelda knew that he loved to present her with new horse figurines whenever he could. She loved Bofur with all of her being, and to know how he was suffering now, how there was absolutely nothing she could do, ate at her viciously. She could do nothing but sob bitterly into Balin’s sleeve, and the fatherly dwarf simply held her as close as he could, hushing her tenderly.
Bofur lay on a stretcher, with Dori sitting next to him, in deep concentration and thought. He was looking over the arm, trying to find any way around amputation. But it was becoming more and more cobvious that he could do nothing else. Bofur lay drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, his heart thumping like a drum. The pain was a throb now, it was a continuous surge of agony. It filled his whole body, there was no relief. Oin had given him herbs to try and dull it, and perhaps they had worked to some degree, but it was not enough. Bofur was still nauseous from the pain, and still fighting the urges to scream. He couldn’t scream, Kelda would hear, and he refused to have his beloved hear that. He could hear her outside, sobbing, moaning his name.
Durin’s Hammer, it destroyed him to hear her out there.
As he lay there, looking up at the ceiling of the small tent, the events that had led to this horror were running through his mind vividly.
Bofur had fought mightily against his foes, and many had fallen at the hand of his mattock. But there was one warg rider who was too fast for Bofur. The warg had come upon Bofur from his left, fast and viciously. Bofur didn’t see the beast until it was too late. The dwarf was in full swing, about to pommel a goblin who was in front of him. His mattock was raised over his head, and that was when the warg took Bofur by his left arm, and tossed him aside.
Bofur was thrown a few feet, his right arm still clutching his mattock with an iron grip. But the hideous creature was not content with simply throwing Bofur. As soon as the dwarf had landed, the warg was upon him, it’s rider jeering and cackling with wicked delight. Bofur has raised his bitten arm in defense, since he had landed on his right arm.
The warg clamped down on Bofur’s arm once again, with every intention of ripping it off. Bofur roared in agony, as the beast gnawed his flesh. The dwarf managed to pull out his knife with his right hand, and began vigorously stabbing the warg’s face. He was even able to stab out the left eye, but the warg was unhindered.
It was bred for this, to tear it’s prey apart and devour it. The warg was hungry, and was hell bent on eating this dwarf. It didn’t even care that it no longer had a left eye.
Bofur continued to struggle, roaring in pain and anger. He tried desperately to lift his mattock with only his right hand, and bring it into the beast’s face. But it was no good, he needed both hands to lift the heavy weapon.
And just as Bofur thought he would die here, never to marry his Kelda, he heard a very familiar war cry.  It was Bifur. The rider was cut down first and furiously by one of the Bifur’s throwing daggers, the warg was skewered through the neck by Bifur’s boar spear. The beast released Bofur, as it gasped for breath through it’s severed windpipe. Bifur pulled out his spear from the warg’s throat, and proceeded to hack away at it’s neck. The beast was dead long before Bifur had stopped hacking at it, and only Bofur’s cries to him awoke him from his blood rage. Bofur’s cousin came to his side then, and Bifur took his good arm over his shoulder’s. Bofur tried to tell Bifur he needed his mattock, but thought better of it, once he realized he had no way of carrying it. He simply concentrated on clutching Bifur’s shoulder with his good hand. He couldn’t think about what has just happened to his arm, he had to focus all of his attention on walking, or staggering rather, off the open battlefield.
The two dwarves made their way back into the lines of their army, and off of the battlefield.
The pain was dulled only by Bofur’s adrenaline, which was still flowing at full force. He didn’t look down at his arm, not once. He knew how bad the injury was, just by the sadness in Bifur’s eyes when he looked to Bofur. And then Bofur thought of Kelda.
She was aiding Dori and Oin with the injured, since she already had experience as a nurse from her time in Dale’s hospice.
She would see him…she would see this…
Bofur’s pain was more than physical now, his heart began to ache too. He didn’t want to cause her such grief and fear, not again. He had already made her suffer so greatly 60 years ago, when she thought he was dead. Now this, now he was severely injured, and all he wanted was to protect her from such a sorrow as this would be for her.
As Bifur brought his cousin into the hospice tent, Bofur looked around frantically for Kelda. She was not here. Good.
Though she’d find out that he was there soon enough, but perhaps by that time, his arm would be bandaged and splinted, and much less horrific. One of the other hospice dwarves came to Bifur and Bofur then, and he looked at Bofur’s arm with a pale countenance.
“Ah, come on now, lad,” Bofur grunted through his teeth, trying to smile. “It can’t be that bad.”
The dwarf’s eyes met Bofur’s then, and the toymaker knew that it really was that bad. Bifur helped him to a bed, and Bofur told him he must return to the battle front.
“They’ll be needing your maniac expertise,” Bofur jested, still trying to be his normal, joking self.
Bifur looked to his cousin, and he smiled a small and sorrowful smile. Bifur took Bofur’s good hand, and gripped it firmly and squeezed it. Bofur squeezed back, and tried to smile bigger, in the hopes of easing his dear cousin’s mind.
Bifur left him then. Bofur knew how horrible his arm was, he could feel it. He could feel the broken bones in so many places, and the shredded tendons too. He guessed he had lost a few fingers, but he couldn’t bring himself to look down and check at the moment. All he could do was stare at the tent’s sealing, and let the hospice dwarf do his job. He simply prayed that Kelda would not come and find him until much later, when he was better collected, when he could be strong for her.
And by Durin’s mercy, she didn’t come back to that tent until much later in the battle, when Bofur was bandaged and could smile for her.
But it wasn’t much help. Kelda still became very terrified and sorrowful at the site of Bofur in the hospice tent. Her fear that Bofur would be injured had come true, and it was such a terrible injury at that. Despite Bofur’s tender and loving reassurance that he would be fine and that his arm would heal, Kelda worried to the point of sickness.
And now, at the end of the battle, in the cold and dark night, Kelda prayed and petitioned whatever gods would hear her to save Bofur from losing his arm.
“Was it not enough to take Kili from me?” Kelda asked in a meek and sickly voice.
Balin looked down to her, as did Bilbo. She was not looking at anything in particular, and her eyes were swollen and red from crying. Her face was deathly pale, even in the dim light of the campfires. Her hair was tangled and in her eyes, wet from her tears.
Bilbo heart lurched up into his throat, as he saw the girl who always laughed and shined with beauty, was now dim and full of agony. Tears began to fill his eyes, and Balin’s heart became heavier than before. The grief of losing Thorin, and the two brothers, was immense for him too. But to see Kelda so broken, so much a shadow of her former self, it made his heart suffer even more. Balin held Kelda closer to him, pulling her head to his chest.
“He will not be taken from you, my lass,” Balin whispered calmly, fighting his own tears.
Kelda looked up to Balin then, as if waking from a dream-like state. She looked into the old dwarf’s eyes, the dwarf she considered as a father to her, and she fought to believe his words.
“I won’t let it happen,” Balin whispered again, this time smiling as best he could.
Kelda took comfort in that smile. She fought the doubt, and focused on this promise, no matter how unrealistic it was. Kelda smiled very weakly then, her lips still trembling. She held Balin as tight as her weak arms could, and they embraced for what seemed like ages.
But the moment was broken by the sound of the tent flap opening slightly, only enough to see Dwalin, standing solemnly and with a grave expression.
“Cover her ears, Balin!” he yelled hoarsely. “Bombur! We need you!”
Balin looked to his brother, and he could see something  in Dwalin's hand glint in the campfire light for a second. It was his axe.
In that moment, everyone who stood outside the tent felt a chill run through them, and it had nothing to do with the cold.
Ori mouthed the word ‘No’, Nori looked to the ground, Gloin turned away. Bombur shut his eyes tightly, clenched his fists, and forced himself to walk to the tent. Bilbo swallowed hard, and looked back to Kelda. Balin’s smile was erased instantly, and he nodded quickly to Dwalin.
Kelda screamed.
“No!! No! No! No! NOOO!!! BOFUR! BOFUR, NO!! Please NO!!”
She wailed and wept, she struggled in Balin’s arms as he tried to cover her ears. She wanted to run to Bofur. She wanted to take the axe for him, she wanted there to be a magic that could take her arm and give it to him. But no such magic exist…no such mercy was there that night.
Bilbo had to help Balin, he cover her ears as best he could with his small hands, and tried to whisper to Kelda soothing words.
Bofur could hear her. He could hear her screams for him, her agonising wailing. He knew what was coming now, he knew what the decision had been. And now, a terrible fear came over him and held him tightly. He began to look to each of the dwarves in that tent with him. To Dori first, whose eyes were filled with remorse. He looked up to Bifur, who stood above him, holding his shoulders. Bifur's eyes were constant and sorrowful. Then he looked to Dwalin, and Dwalin, though he always appeared cold and unfeeling, was looking to the toymaker with great pity. And then, he looked to Bombur, his only brother. Bombur could no longer hide his fear and pain, and Bofur saw the tears form and fall from his younger brother's eyes then, as he took hold of Bofur's right arm.
The terror was growing quickly in Bofur. His face began to lose it's color, his chest felt heavy, his breathing became shorter.
This was actually going to happen, this was not a nightmare he would wake from.
"You do understand we need to do this, Bofur?" Dori said calmly, his eyes locked with Bofur's now.

"Y-yes..." Bofur stuttered, and swallowed uneasily. He was trying desperately not to panic now, not to writhe and kick and scream.
As Bofur watched Dwalin come closer, Dwalin saw Bofur’s eyes on the axe, and then their eyes met.
“I’m sorry, lad,” Dwalin whispered, and Bofur could see pain in his eyes.
Bofur shook his head and smiled a small, but very frail, smile.
“Just…don’t miss,” Bofur said hoarsely, trying to fight his panic with a joke.
Dwalin smiled quietly then, knowing that Bofur was not blaming him for what he was about to do.
“Then don’t move,” he replied, trying to chuckle.
Bofur tried to chuckle at the reply, but no chuckle came, he couldn't even keep his smile. The panic and terror he had been feeling had reached it peak, and Bofur began to cry.