Author's Note: I know Thorin/OC is not the most popular pairing in the fandom, but this little plot bunny would not let go of my brain. Or my brain wouldn't let go of the plot bunny. Either way, here is a very Thorin-centric and rather long one-shot for you. Don't hesitate to send a review my way! Also, the title is taken from this quote by Ella Wheeler Wilcox: "There's no chance, no destiny, no fate that can circumvent or hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul."
Disclaimer: Anything recognizable from The Hobbit is not mine.
"Who is she?"
Dís looked up at her brother's low question. A brief visual search of the market later and she knew exactly who he was asking after. "That woman there, by the belts?"
"Yes." Thorin paused a moment, glanced at the woman in question. "She's no Dwarf woman."
"She is, actually," Dís said. "She's just not pure."
"Human blood?"
"Elven."
Thorin found himself speechless.
"Look at her," Dís nudged him with her elbow. "You know it's true."
Thorin crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the stand his sister had fixated on, and truly studied the woman three stalls down the row.
The clothes she wore were plain, rough even, and had seen much better days. They must serve to keep the winter's chill at bay, though, because the cold air did not seem to bother her. Her long black hair was bound into a single braid that curved from above one pointed ear to beneath the other. Average height for a Dwarf woman, she stood out from the crowd because of her build. Unlike Dwarf women, who are built solidly with short limbs, bountiful curves and robust bones, this woman had long limbs, small hands and feet, and her curves spoke more of the lithe elegance of the Elven race. She moved gracefully, smoothly, like a gentle breeze moving through long grasses. Even from a distance Thorin could see the long neck, the near-pixyish facial features, the absence of hair but for brows.
His sister was right. This woman had the blood of an Elf. He hadn't known it was possible.
"Where does she come from?" Thorin asked.
"No one knows," Dís said distractedly, examining an intricately woven scarf. "She won't speak of her past. All anyone knows is what you see: a woman who looks like an Elf but with the height of a Dwarf."
"What does she call herself?"
"Nellas."
An Elven name, Thorin noted.
"She comes around once, perhaps twice in a year. Never buys anything that is not essential. Often trades furs for goods." Dís stepped closer and placed a hand on her brother's arm. "She means us no harm, brother."
Thorin studied at the odd woman a few more seconds. She glanced up suddenly, looking around as if she could sense his gaze, and then her eyes met his.
They stared at each other.
Her eyes unabashedly roamed over his body before returning to his face. She gave a slight nod, a single inclination of the head, before turning away.
Thorin realized she knew who he was. So he followed her. True to his sister's word, Nellas stopped only at stalls that offered traveler's essential supplies. Not much later, she made her way out of the market and struck out down a street that would lead her directly out of town, out of the mountain, heading west. Still he followed her.
Once out in the open air, Nellas left the main road and followed a path that Thorin knew would end at the river. She never once acknowledged him. Until they reached the river.
"Why do you follow me, Thorin Oakenshield?" she asked in the Common Tongue, not even turning to face him. Her voice was rough and low, more like a Dwarf woman's voice than he had expected.
"I have a duty to protect my people," he said, "and I do not know you."
"You don't know half the people in that marketplace and yet you followed me."
He frowned at her back. She dropped her pack and crouched down to fill her water skin, completely disregarding his status as the Heir of Durin.
"The others do not have mixed blood."
"Where is my fault in that? I did not choose my parents any more than you, my lord."
Thorin suspected the last two words were not meant as a sign of respect. "That is true. But mingled blood does beg the question of loyalty."
A sigh, and then she rose to her feet. Finally turning to face him, she boldly met his gaze with an unreadable expression. "I have loyalty to no one, Thorin Oakenshield, for no one has shown any loyalty to me."
"That is a hard way to live."
"It is very easy, actually," she said. "Although it does get rather lonely."
Thorin found himself studying her once again. "Where do you hail from?"
One long-fingered hand waved in the air. "Here, there, everywhere. What about you, Dwarf Prince? What do you say when people ask that of you? Are you Thorin of Ered Luin or are you Thorin of Erebor?"
Anger sparked at her words, but he forced it down because he knew she meant to prod it into existence. "My people know me. None of the race of Man ask because they only care if I can work."
She appraised him for a moment and he realized that he could not discern the color of her eyes. They were dark, but green, brown, blue, gray? He could not say.
"What did you wish to gain by following me?" she asked.
"I wanted to know if your presence would harm our town."
Her head tilted to the side. Sunlight caught the tip of her pointed ear. "And what have you decided?"
"You will be welcome in the market," he said carefully. "Try not to extend your stays."
The Elven woman shouldered her pack and struck off, following the river instead of returning to the road. "I never do."
A year passed before Thorin saw the strange woman again. This time he approached her as she was making her way out of the marketplace.
"May I walk you to the river?" he asked, speaking in Khuzdul since he had overheard her using it with a merchant. It had only surprised him a little.
"You may do whatever you wish, Dwarf Prince," she said. But her tone was not unwelcoming.
So he fell into step beside her. They walked until they reached the river.
"Forgive me," Thorin broke the silence, "I never asked your name."
"Nellas."
He watched her drop her pack to the ground and crouch to fill her water skin. "Where are you headed, Nellas?"
Once again she waved a hand in a vague gesture. "Here, there, everywhere. Where are you headed?"
"Dunland," he said, surprised at how easily the words came. "My nephews and I have been hired as escorts for a group of merchants. How did you know I was leaving?"
"People talk. Will you be back in the spring?"
"Yes."
She stood and shouldered her pack again, strapping her water skin to her belt. "Then so will I."
If one were to ask Thorin afterward, he would not be able to say what made him do it. Curiosity, perhaps, or a basic urge. Or perhaps he did it simply because he wanted to.
As she turned to go, he caught her arm just above her elbow and pulled her to him. His other hand clasped the back of her head—not so tight that she could not escape—and he pressed against the base of her skull, tilting her head back just a bit. And then he kissed her.
She stood as if frozen.
He drew back, searching her eyes. "You've never been kissed before, have you?"
A slow shake of her head confirmed it.
So he kissed her again, slowly, as a lover would. This time she kissed him back.
When he withdrew once more, her dark eyes looked dazed. Then she blinked three times in rapid succession and he saw reason had returned.
"Until next spring," she whispered, stepping back.
He watched her leave. And wondered why in Mahal's name he had done that.
Spring found Thorin in the Blue Mountains once again, searching for that peculiar woman. He watched for her every day for a fortnight with no sign. The time was not wasted, however; merchants kept him more than busy with their complaints and offers of advice. After a particularly long day of dealing with angry merchants, Thorin went for a walk. He intended to clear his head by getting away from the chatter for a while. Not until he heard water gurgling cheerily over rock did he realize his feet had carried him to the river. As he rounded the last corner, he saw that he was not alone.
Nellas stood at the water's edge as if waiting for him. Her hair was dripping wet and hanging loose to the small of her back. Feet bare and wearing nothing more than trousers and tunic, she was obviously fresh from a bath in the river. Her tunic clung to her torso; there was some sort of binding on her chest that, judging by the way it bulged slightly under one arm, looked hastily donned.
"Thorin," she said by way of greeting, "what brings you here?"
"I was taking a walk to clear my head," he said, leaning against a tall rock not quite arm's length away from her, "and my feet seemed to know the destination."
"If you trusted your feet more often, we may meet more often than thrice in nearly two years."
Thorin kept his peace, watching as she retrieved a comb from her pack—full of furs ready to be traded—and sat on a rock to untangle her hair. She twisted slightly as she sat, allowing her feet to hang in the water while keeping him in her field of vision.
"May I ask you something, Nellas?"
"Would I be able to stop you by saying no?"
"Yes."
Her startled gaze met his. "Truly?"
He said nothing.
"Well," she said after a moment's pause, "you can ask me anything, Thorin, as long as you know I may not answer."
Thorin nodded. He could accept that. "Where do you come from?"
Her hands paused.
Perhaps this was one question she would not answer, he thought.
"Rivendell."
The word was whispered so quietly he almost did not hear it. "You were raised there?"
"Yes," she nodded, still speaking softly. "My mother was an elf in Master Elrond's service. She cooked, cleaned, washed clothes, sometimes fetched water from the river, and one day she met a traveler at that river. Some say he laid some sort of Dwarvish spell on her to seduce her, others say she was weak-willed because her own mother had been human, still others believe she had fallen in love with him over the course of a single afternoon. Either way, she did not return to the houses until the next morning and she never saw him again. She never told anyone his name, so I do not know who he was. Ten months later, she died giving birth to me. Master Elrond allowed me to live in his house out of respect for her. My duties were much the same as my mother's, I imagine. When I reached my hundredth year, he told me I had the right to choose whether I wanted to stay or go. Since I had never been truly welcomed by the elves, I left the next day and I have never returned. I have made my life in the wild, only dealing with other people when necessary."
Thorin allowed her story to sink in and mulled it over. It made sense, he had to admit, in a most unusual way. He'd never heard of Elven and Dwarvish blood mixing before—and according to her tale, her mother had had human blood as well. What kind of person would come of that? What blood would be dominant? He was forced to admit to himself he did not know.
"May I ask you something, Thorin?" Nellas broke the silence.
He nodded, still lost in thought.
"Your feelings toward Elves are not exactly secret. Why have you not banished me?" Her eyes never lifted from the river.
Thorin allowed himself to stare at her. Her hair looked nearly blue as she ran her fingers through it. It was curlier than he had expected. Sunlight glinted off the water, playing across the delicate bones of her face, and when she finally raised her eyes to his, he smiled a little at the charcoal grey depths.
"You seem more Dwarf than Elven," he said in a low tone.
She stood then and tucked her comb back into her pack. "Is that your only reason?"
"Yes."
"Then why did you kiss me?"
He opened his mouth but no words came. Nellas stood with that same unreadable expression that she always wore, as if nothing he could say would have any effect for good or ill. That's what she wanted him to believe, Thorin realized. She wanted to seem thick-skinned and tough as any Dwarf woman when in reality whatever he said next would stick in her head until her dying day. So instead of saying what he wanted to say, he told her the truth.
"I do not know."
She smiled then—not a full-blown one; it was just a slight upturning at the corners of her mouth, really. But suddenly he felt as if he could single-handedly defeat Smaug himself.
The next day he met her at the river as the sun reached its peak in the sky. Nellas had beat him there once again and her pack rested on the ground, devoid of furs and full of supplies. She sat on the same rock she had occupied the day before, allowing her bare feet to dangle in the water. Her hair was once again plaited.
"Your footsteps are heavy," she said. "Are you angry or sad?"
"Angry," he growled. "Every merchant in Ered Luin thinks I can solve their problems."
The muscles in her jaw worked. He suspected she was trying not to laugh.
"Is that not a good thing? They have faith in you."
He paused, caught by surprise at her insight. "You are correct, but I feel like being angry for a while."
Nellas chuckled. It was a husky sound from deep in her throat and he found himself enjoying it.
On impulse, he took his boots off and sat beside her. The cool river water felt heavenly, but he barely even noticed. He was too aware of the way she tensed at his proximity.
"May I ask you a question?"
"Let us make an agreement, Nellas," he said softly. "We can ask each other anything but are not required to answer."
She made a little huffing sound that was almost another chuckle. "I can agree to that." Pausing a moment, she turned to look at him. He returned her stare as her eyes roamed over his face. He wondered what she was looking for.
"You plan to return to Erebor one day, don't you?" she finally asked.
"Yes." His answer was immediate and firm.
"Why?"
Thorin frowned and resisted the urge to echo her question, knowing that if he kept his peace she would explain. When it became apparent he would not answer, she continued.
"Why do you want to return so badly, Thorin? You have built a home for your people here. They are not only safe, they are thriving. They are no longer refugees. You have done everything a leader is supposed to do for their people."
He considered refusing to answer but then remembered how she had answered him the day before, telling him something that she had likely never spoken aloud before. An answer in return is the least he could offer.
"Because of this," he said, rubbing his short beard with one hand. "I keep it short in remembrance of my father and grandfather, whose beards were burnt in Smaug's attack. They were raised in the mountain, as was I. That mountain is my home, Nellas. It is in my blood. I will never sleep peacefully unless it is within those halls."
They sat in silence for a while then. A slight breeze wafted through, rustling the newly formed leaves on the trees and sending ripples running downstream.
"Thank you for telling me," Nellas said. "I hope you succeed."
Thorin turned toward her only to find her staring at him again. His mouth opened, but the words that came out were not the ones he meant to say. "What do you search for when you look at me like that?"
She tilted her head to the side. "I do not know. When I find it, I will tell you."
A smile tugged at his lips. "Very well," he murmured. Lifting a hand to her face, he gently brushed his fingertips across her cheekbones, her forehead, her nose, her jawline, her lips.
"What are you doing?" her voice wavered slightly.
"I'm memorizing you," he said, just before capturing her lips with his own. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. "You are unlike anyone I have ever met, Nellas."
"Is that bad?"
He chuckled at her almost child-like question. "I will tell you when I know."
She smiled, but it faded quickly. "I need to get on the road if I'm to make any progress before nightfall."
"Where do you go?"
"Nowhere and everywhere."
A low growl rumbled in his chest. "That is not an answer."
"Yes, it is. It is merely not one you like to hear."
Thorin stood abruptly, pulling her up with him. He gripped her upper arms and held her so they were nose-to-nose, which forced her to meet his glare head-on. "You are infuriating."
"I know."
Her matter-of-fact response made him pause. She stared at him with those odd dark grey eyes of hers and, even though he was standing right in front of her, she looked lonely.
"I know I am infuriating, Thorin. I am a mixed-blood mongrel. I look and move like an Elf but act more like a Dwarf. I am cold and unfeeling, stuck in my ways, and hate dealing with people of any race. I am not appealing in any way, whether someone is looking for a friend or a lover. You don't need to tell me my flaws, Thorin, because I already know."
All this was said in a flat tone devoid of emotion. Thorin did not know how exactly he had expected her to react to his pronouncement, but this was not it. Now all he wanted to do was kiss her again.
But first he had to correct something.
"I do not believe you to be cold and unfeeling, Nellas. Cruel people have taught you to be that way in order to survive."
She lifted a brow dubiously. "You have gleaned that insight from four conversations?"
"Yes. You get lonely, you have told me as much as that. You have enough feeling to crave company but you do not even trust people enough to give them a small chance not to reject you. Your flaws are not your only traits. I believe you have a warmness within that is waiting for someone to let it out."
Nellas stepped back and he let her go. She put her boots back on and shouldered her pack, but then paused before leaving. "You may be right, Thorin. But you are also right in saying I do not trust people. You are the closest thing to friendship I have ever had and I am not sure I can trust you not to hurt me. Please do not be surprised if you never see me again."
Thorin knew, somehow, that if he tried to stop her she would disappear from his life forever. So he let her go. He let her go and hoped she would return.
Two years passed. Thorin no longer took work that required leaving Ered Luin, passing those jobs to others instead. He walked to the river every day at noon and then again in the evening. He saw to his duties as leader, settling disputes and making decisions and meeting with important merchants and discussing trade agreements. He trained Fíli and Kíli in swords, axes, and survival—both in the wilderness and in the wilds of politics. Well, truth be told Balin did most of the training in politics while Thorin was merely present.
He did all this without fail.
But always in the back of his mind was a Dwarf woman who looked like an Elf.
He should not be attracted to her, he told himself frequently during his trips to the river. She had far too little hair. She was too skinny, too fragile-looking. She was damaged, because she had seen how low people of all races can sink; she had seen how they can hate without cause and how that hate can make them do horrible things. She had never said as much, of course, but he had seen it in her eyes.
That was why, Thorin knew. His thoughts always came full circle and settled there. He was attracted to this odd woman because they had both seen the worst in people. Also, it was nice having something for himself. After spending days giving himself to his people, he found himself craving companionship that demanded nothing in return. In the late hours of the day he often thought of his brief conversations with Nellas and once or twice caught himself wishing she was there to talk to.
Then suddenly she was.
One evening on his trek to the river, he saw tracks on the path. Now, this path was not the easiest nor fastest way to reach the river and in the past two years Thorin had seen no tracks but for his own and those of the local wildlife. These tracks were far too small and far too fresh to be his from midday. His first reaction was to reach for the knife in his belt. His second reaction was wild hope that she had finally returned. As he rounded the final bend, he saw her pack, looking a bit worse for wear and full of furs waiting to be traded, and then her boots, her clothes hanging from tree branches, and then finally, finally he saw her.
With her hair curling loose over bare shoulders, Nellas was hidden behind the same rock she had sat on two years before. Her head and arms were all Thorin could see. She almost looked menacing, he had to admit, holding an obviously sharp long knife as if it were an old friend and glaring at whoever happened to be disturbing her bath.
Her glare did not relent much when she saw him.
They stared at each other for a few seconds, the chirping of evening birds and gurgling water the only sounds to be heard. Thorin simply could not think of anything to say or do. Seeing her, having her so close after waiting so long…he almost believed himself to be dreaming.
"What brought you back?" he asked. It was the only thing he could think to say.
Nellas finally relaxed her grip on the knife but did not leave the safety of her rock. "I went for a walk to clear my head. My feet seemed to know the destination."
He smiled at the words he had used not so long ago. Shrugging out of his cloak, he laid it on the rock and stepped back, turning away to offer her some privacy. "Wear that until your clothes dry, if you wish."
Water splashed, wet feet slapped lightly on rock, and he pictured her with hair clinging to wet skin and water running down her legs, across her stomach, between her breasts…
Thorin forcibly pushed the image from his mind before matters got out of hand.
"You can turn around," she said.
He did, and realized that the very real sight of her clutching his cloak to keep it closed was worse than his imagined sight of her naked body. Infinitely worse, as a matter of fact.
Mahal help me.
But not even Mahal could have stopped him from closing the distance between them, taking her face in his hands, leaning down until their noses nearly touched, and asking the only question that truly mattered.
"Why did you come back, Nellas?"
For the first time her charcoal eyes were unguarded. He felt as if he could see her very soul.
"Because I could not stop thinking of you," she whispered. "Because when I met you, my soul already knew you. I left because that scared me. I'm back because when I think of you, it feels like you are a piece of me that I never knew was missing."
Thorin kissed her then, because somehow he knew she would understand that he felt the same way even though he could never say it so eloquently. He felt her arms slide around his neck and did not think twice about it—at least, not until he pulled back for air and could not stop his eyes from flicking down to where his cloak had fall open.
Nellas blushed from her chest to the tips of her pointed ears.
He smiled, too male not to enjoy the view, and was not surprised when she removed her arms from his neck.
But she did not use the cloak to cover herself again. Instead, she dropped it to the ground. Boldly meeting his gaze, she said, "I trust you, Thorin. Do with me what you will."
His mouth went dry at her words. Flicking his gaze from her toes to the top of her head, he slid a hand down the curve of a hip. "You won't regret this come morning?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
She shook her head.
"Well, then," he pulled her body flush against his own, "what are we waiting for?"
"Where were you last night?" Dís calmly inquired.
Thorin cursed colorfully, abandoning his now-futile attempt to sneak into his own house without notice. He settled himself at the table and tried to remember the story he had concocted to account for his absence.
"Your hair is wet," his sister noted as she set a piece of toasted bread in front of him.
"I was at the river," he said.
"All night?"
"Yes. I needed to clear my head."
She kept her peace after that but lifted one disbelieving brow at him, as if to say You are my brother, Thorin, I know when you are keeping something from me.
They ate a hearty breakfast in silence. Thorin assumed his nephews were still asleep, which would certainly account for the silence.
"Where's your cloak?" Dís asked. There was no reproach in her voice, no I caught you! boast of victory, only a mild curiosity.
Thorin waited a beat too long to answer. "I must've forgotten it."
Once more the brow arched. Thorin ignored it. He spoke the truth; he had, in fact, forgotten it. He would have to go retrieve it before Nellas was forced to bring it into the mountain halls. That would get the gossip tongues wagging for sure.
"I was thinking," he said before his sister could speak up again, "of looking for smithy work in Dunland this summer."
Dís paused as she went to fetch the whistling kettle, frowning at him in confusion.
Thorin reached out and playfully tugged at a lock of her beard that had escaped its plait. "What's the matter, sister? Little dragon got your tongue tied in knots?"
Now she was staring at him with wide eyes and mouth hanging open.
Thorin realized he had not acted like this since they were children. He cleared his throat. "We need the money, you know that. There are many things I would rather do. But we need this. I should not have stayed here these past two years." Not that he regretted it, but he was not going to say that aloud.
Pushing back from the table, he went to wake his lazy nephews. As he passed through the kitchen doorway, he could hear his sister muttering.
"Give him one night with a woman and he can no longer think straight."
"Will you come with me?"
Nellas paused. "I should tell you something before I answer."
Thorin said nothing, merely waited for her to continue.
She took a few moments to think, adjusting the straps on her pack, while he waited patiently. He knew she hadn't forgotten or merely brushed it off. She would keep talking as soon as she had figured out exactly what she wanted to say.
"I have not dealt with humans in near fifty years, Thorin. The only contact I have had with any race has been trading here, in Ered Luin, and you. People do not receive me well, no matter their race. I fear my presence may cost you many jobs. If you are asking do I want to spend more time with you, the answer is yes. If you are asking will I accompany you to towns I know nothing about, the answer is no."
Thorin considered that, then said, "What if I were to work in town during the day and you stayed in the wilderness, where you are comfortable, and do your hunting and skinning and trapping and whatever else it is you do. We will meet at a designated spot every night."
Nellas looked over at him with raised brows. "You would allow me to do that?"
"If that is what I must do to spend time with you, yes."
She smiled. "Then yes, Thorin, I will go with you."
A full year passed before Thorin returned to Ered Luin. He had not seen Nellas for two months, because rumors had reached his ears of Thráin, his father, being spotted in the wilds. There had been no sign. But because of the failed search attempt he had met Gandalf the Grey in Bree and the wizard had set something wonderful in motion.
So he returned to his exiled people in Ered Luin and told them very little of his plan, only that he would likely be gone for another year or more and that Dís was to rule in his place. In private he told Dís everything Gandalf had told him.
"Very well, brother," she sighed once he had finished. "If you truly cannot be at peace here, then go reclaim Erebor or die trying."
"That is my intent, sister."
The next day he walked to the river. He hoped to see her, but if she was not there he would have to content himself with leaving a note somehow. But luck was on his side for once.
Nellas sat on her rock with her feet in the water, staring downstream as if willing herself all the way to the sea. Thorin removed his boots and sat beside her. He said nothing. One thing he had learned about her in the past year was how to tell when it would be best to let her break the silence. This was one such time.
"You are returning to Erebor."
It was a statement, not a question, and not something he had told many people. He confirmed it with a nod.
"It shows in your bearing," she explained. "You are walking lighter, with more hope in your eyes." She stood then, drying her feet and pulling her boots on. Her pack settled across her back as if it knew its home, and she turned to look at him before leaving. "Come back here when you return from your meeting in the Iron Hills. It may be my last chance to see you."
And with that she was gone.
Thorin smiled to himself. If he did not know her as well as he did, he would have been offended at that farewell.
He honored her request and made a detour to the river on his way from the Iron Hills to the Shire, even though he did not have time. At first he thought she was not there. Then she stepped out from behind a tree, and the fading evening light caressed her bare skin in a way he knew he never could.
"Nellas," he said as she walked toward him, "why do you wait for me?"
"Because you waited for me," she said simply.
About 10 months later
"Who are you?" the guard demanded. "You do not look like a Dwarf woman to me."
Dís, thoroughly irritated, stepped forward. "What about me, you great dunce? Do I look enough Dwarf to be admitted entrance? Or do you also have to know that I am Dís, sister of Thorin Oakenshield, daughter of Thráin son of Thrór? This woman is a trusted companion of mine. Is that good enough to gain her entrance, or do you wish to know her entire lineage as well?"
The guard actually stammered for a few seconds before disappearing to open the gate. "Forgive me, Lady Dís," he said, bowing low as they passed, "I did not know."
Dís lifted her chin in the way only royalty can and swept past him, dragging Nellas along in her wake. Then, thoughtful of Nellas, she slowed to a more comfortable pace. "Tell me," she said in her most imperious tone, "where can I find the king?"
"In the throne room, my lady," the guard said. "Do you know your way?"
Dís raked her eyes over him. "I was born and bred in these halls, boy."
He nodded nervously. "Of course, my lady. Now begging your pardon, I must return to my duties."
"You never should have left them," Dís sniffed.
The guard scampered back up to his post.
"Was that necessary?" Nellas asked quietly.
"Yes. Come, the throne room is this way."
Nellas followed obediently, trying not to gape at the splendor of Erebor. She had heard tales, of course, but the tales did not do it justice. Dís pointed things out here and there, explaining the history behind the architecture, and Nellas found herself enthralled. Once she even forgot and tilted her head back to look at an archway made of pure gemstone that changed color as they passed under it. But then she noticed the stares and whispers and quickly reached to put her hood back up. She ducked her head to hide her lack of facial hair, content to watch the floor until they reached the throne room.
Once there, she heard Dís suck in a sharp breath.
"What is it?" Nellas whispered. When there was no answer, she chanced a quick look around the room. Her gaze quickly found the throne—but the Dwarf occupying the seat was most definitely not Thorin.
"Dís!" the unknown Dwarf exclaimed. "Why did you not tell me you were coming?"
Dís stood stiffly. "Where is my brother, Dáin? And where are my sons?"
Ah, so this was Dáin. Nellas was not impressed thus far.
The Dwarf king faltered at Dís's blunt question. "I am sorry, Dís. They fell defending the mountain."
His words hit Nellas hard, knocking the breath from her lungs and all thought from her head. She could no longer hear her own voice in her mind; all she heard was an echo of Dáin saying they fell, they fell, they fell…
"All three of them?"
Dís seemed unnaturally calm, Nellas noticed. Personally, she felt like screaming.
"Yes."
"Show me their graves."
Dáin glanced at Nellas. "It is a fair ways."
Nellas lifted her chin, hating to appear weak in any way. "I walked here from Ered Luin, King Under the Mountain. Surely I can walk a little more."
"My mistake. Follow me."
This time Nellas did not notice her surroundings. She never again had the urge to gape and wonder at the beauty of the mountain. All she wanted was to leave. To run far away from this mountain that had claimed Thorin's life and never return. She did not know how long they walked, but it must have been a good distance before Dáin finally stopped at an intricately carved door.
"We must go down a lot of stairs to reach their graves, lady," he said with a pointed look at Nellas.
She once again lifted her chin and met his stare, silently challenging him to say what he was thinking.
To his credit, he did not.
But he was not lying. There was a lot of stairs. Nellas did not relish the thought of the return journey.
They passed several levels, each holding a king or two, Nellas assumed, along with immediate family. On the fifth level Dáin stepped onto a path that curved toward the center of the mountain. Not far down it was a slightly raised platform. On the platform was a stone coffin, masterfully carved and fit for the king it held.
Nellas choked back a sob. She refused to show the depth of her pain in front of this Dwarf she did not know.
Dís stepped up to the coffin, placing a hand on one end for a moment, and then moved on to the two slightly less ornate coffins. Only then did she break down and sob, letting lose a wail that made Nellas's hair stand on end.
Nellas turned to Dáin. "Will you not allow us time alone to grieve?"
He looked affronted at her tone. She found she did not care.
"For Dís," he said. "Not for you." Then he walked back the way they had come.
Nellas did not allow her tears to fall until she heard his steps on the stairs. Only then did she walk up to Thorin's grave and place her hands on it, aching to touch him one last time. She did not wail, like Dís, but that did not mean she grieved any less. Or perhaps she did. She grieved a lover. But Dís grieved a brother and two sons. But perhaps grief is grief, a universal language that binds people together, because the two women ended up sitting on the floor, holding each other and crying until they had spent all their tears.
Dís broke the silence. "Where do you wish to raise your child, Nellas?"
"Ered Luin." Nellas did not even have to think. She set a hand on her swollen belly and felt the child kick at it.
"Very well," Dís sighed. "We will wait until he is born and then—"
"No," Nellas interrupted. "No, I do not want my child born within these halls. I would rather deliver it in the wilderness."
Dís nodded and did not even attempt to argue as she rose to her feet, reaching down to help Nellas up. "It is your choice. We set out tomorrow."
Nellas almost felt numb as she stared at Thorin's grave. But still she stepped up to the head of the coffin and pressed a brief kiss to the cold stone.
"Sleep well, Thorin Oakenshield. Be at peace. Your child will be loved."
Author's Note
This is my timeline as far as I could figure it out from the book: the Dwarves met at Bag End in July. Durin's Day is roughly October 22. So it took them anywhere from a little over three months to almost four months to make it from Bag End to Erebor, depending on which end of July they met during. So for my story, I decided it was early July, which would have allowed Thorin to meet Nellas in late June.
I also adopted the idea that a Dwarf's gestation period is longer than a human's. For this story, it's around ten to ten and a half months. So Nellas got pregnant in June, probably introduced herself to Dís around August or September, and then made it to Erebor in late March or early April.
Finally, please, please review! Let me know what you liked and what you didn't; constructive criticism is always welcome!
P.S. There may or may not be an alternate ending (where everyone lives, of course). It is now up as chapter two, and can be skipped if you like the heartbreaking ending already in place :)
Thanks so much for reading!