Disclaimer: Me still own nothing. Like I said, not even the house is mine.
Chapter IV: Curse of Arnthorr
Thorin's POV
After what seems like moments, though in reality is several hours, my eyes blearily drift open and I take in the sights once more: the panelled walls and polished tables laden with decoration and food, respectively; the richly carpeted floors and high-arched windows; and Haymitch poised to poke me with a fork…
"What are you doing?" I ask dangerously, narrowing my grey eyes.
"Just wanted to make sure you were still alive," he says with a shrug. He takes a seat next to me. "Enjoy your snooze? It's six in the morning, kid."
"Oh really? Past sunrise and you're still sober?" I joke, with much less venom behind it than there was yesterday. A smile tugs at my lips as I raise my head from the table, leaving behind a pool of… drool?
"It's hard to drink with all that drool there," he replies in a similar manner. "Here, you look thirsty," he grabs a crystal glass and slides it over to me, and a woman in a red robe fills it with some orange liquid. I sniff at it uncertainly, causing Haymitch to laugh slightly. "Haven't you ever seen orange juice before?" I shake my head slightly. "I didn't think so. Ever had an orange?" I nod. "It's basically like that in liquid form."
"Oh. Good to know," I say. Back at home in our mountain, our drink of choice is mostly various types of wines, water or milk. I sit up straight and wipe my mouth with my sleeve, then lift the glass cautiously to my lips, watching Haymitch cautiously.
"It's not poisoned if that's what you think." He says, his lips quirking upward slightly.
I take a sip and find myself taking another, gulping it down greedily like a drunkard at a keg—how ironic considering the person who passed the drink to me. Haymitch chuckles a little and says, "You look like you're a regular old Victor."
I set the glass down and wipe my face with my sleeve and return the smile, though somewhat half-heartedly. "This drink, I like it. ANOTHER!" I say, smashing it against the table just as Effie walks in with Katniss, the former eliciting a good old shriek whilst the latter has a ghost of a smile on her face.
"What was that?" Katniss asks, walking over and taking a seat beside me.
"It was delicious, I want another."
Effie, after overcoming her little panic attack, says immediately, "Well you could have just said so!"
"I just did." This earns a big sigh from Effie.
Katniss's POV
I can't stop myself; I have to laugh at the antics of Thorin, I mean Effie practically fainted from seeing him smash the glass like that. He brushes a bit of glass out of the way with his large, callused hands. Haymitch eyes him as he does so, and after a moment he seizes one of the hands.
"You. Hadrian. Those are some nice calluses you have there, kid." He says mysteriously. "Ever use an axe, or even a hammer?"
Thorin's eyes widen slightly at the mention of an axe, but he nods. "Aye." He says simply.
"I'd expect nothing less from a Marlowe. Strong much?"
"He can lift me clear over his head," I interject. Haymitch snorts.
"You don't look like you weigh all that much, sweetheart," he responds.
Thorin then says with a nod, "Aye. Strong enough."
Haymitch nods, then turns his sights on me, prodding the air with a fork. "How about you, Everdeen?"
I nod my head from side to side and then say modestly, "I'm a fair shot."
"Better than fair, I should say," Thorin says, turning his head and smiling at me; I have to blush a little at his praise. "Never seen a straighter shot."
Haymitch nods impatiently. "Alright, alright, but what about your survival skills? Fire-making, gathering, shelter-finding?"
"We can do all of those," I say immediately, "and we can track."
Haymitch grins. "Looks like District 12 might have a bit of a chance this year," he says, taking a swig from a wine bottle. "So I'll tell you what. You two listen to me, and get some culture training from Effie because you're going to need to impress people, and I'll do my best to help you out in the Games. Deal?"
Thorin and I nod as one and reply, "Deal."
As I retire to my bedroom later that night, I lay quietly atop the bed, too caught up in thought to move. No matter how hard I try to stray to other thoughts, my mind keeps returning to one thing…
"Thorin…" I whisper softly, turning onto my side and looking out the window, out at the stars streaming by the train at incredibly fast speeds. I quickly roll over and struggle to hold down my lunch. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to will sleep upon myself. But… suddenly I hear the sound of a flute drifting through the car. I push myself up and rub my eyes slightly, smoothing my pants down and walking across the carpeted floor to the door. I turn the nob slowly and poke my head out, looking up and down the hallway.
The sound of the flute stops, and a voice rings out loudly, sweet and clear:
"Nothing will grow here, icy fields blackened sorrow,
Legacy of a lost mind, feed my void, what you're waiting for…
I'm too late, it is more than a game, the river reveals now I'm in between these lines…
I cannot escape it seems, sail on my friend…"
Turning my head and craning my neck to search for the voice, I finally notice that it is coming from the door at the left end of the hallway which leads to a small platform. Taking slow, deliberate steps from my room I walk down to the door and open it up, slowly stepping out onto the platform. Leaning over the railing, eyes shut and flute in hand, is none other than Thorin.
"All I ever feel is, all I ever see is
Walls they fall when the march of the Others begins,
All I ever feel is, all I ever see is,
Rise and fall when the war of the thrones shall begin…"
As I slide the door shut slowly, Thorin's lips quirk upwards into a small smile. "Good evening, Katniss." He says, opening his eyes.
"What was that?" I ask, not accustomed to hearing him sing, let alone in such a beautiful voice. His voice is usually gruff and unrefined…
"A song of my people. My ancestors bore it from the Destruction and to the mountain, then to District 12. My brothers taught it to me when I was a child." He says, smile widening. I walk up to the railing beside him and place my hands on it, feeling the cold steel and watching as we speed away. "Couldn't sleep?"
"No. I've just been wondering… why did you volunteer?" I ask softly, leaning over the railing. "You know only one of us can win."
He sighs heavily and puts his hands behind his neck, smiling slightly. "The curse manifests itself again, I suppose." He laughs a little.
"The curse?" I press on, wanting to hear his reasoning.
"The Curse of Arnthorr. It runs in my family, you see," he explains, taking a deep breath, the smile still on his face. There's something going on, I know it—he never smiles this much. "It started with the fourth king, Arnthorr son of Ingolf. Before an established peace came between the Mountain Realms and the other survivors of the Destruction, there was an eighth mountain that preyed on survivors in the South. Arnthorr sacrificed his life to destroy that mountain and save hundreds, and now in every generation of my family… someone has given their life to save another." I look down at his hands and see that his knuckles are white, that he is gripping the railing tighter than he would his javelin. "Do you know what really happened to my father…?"
"He died in the mines," I say, but he cuts me off.
"Do you know why he was in the mines in the first place?" he says gruffly. I shake my head and he says, "He too fell to the curse. We felt the tremors from our home, heard the explosions. As my eldest brothers were out on an adventure, my father took it upon himself to try and save as many miners as he could. He got a few out, but…" his breath catches in his throat. "The last words he said to me… 'Hadrian… I would trade all the wealth in the mountain that you should not fall to this curse.' "
"Thorin you of all people should know that you have more of a chance to win than me," I say softly.
"But you will win. I have sworn an oath to protect you with body and shield," he responds, his voice shaky. "My family always fulfills their oaths, even if it should cost them their lives."
"You may be wiser than your brothers, but you're a fool, Thorin!" I say harshly. "I can protect myself; do you think I'm going to kill you if it comes down to it?!"
He looks down at the tracks speeding away like streaks of moonbeams. "Then I will finish it myself." I see tears streaming down his cheeks in small beads. He trembles slightly, and at first I believe it is from the chill of the outside, as he is wearing no coat or jacket, not even his vest.
"…Thorin?" I say softly, placing a hand on his forearm gently. His skin is cold to the touch. "You're cold…"
He looks up and opens his eyes, fear shining in the grey orbs. "I'm scared, Katniss," he says through a choked back sob. "All my life I've been told of the tales of bravery exhibited by my ancestors, and all my life I've wanted my own tale," he sniffs and takes a deep breath. "I've heard of how they all faced death head-on without fear, even Arnthorr who tapped into a volcano, and my father who leapt straight into the explosion…" he heaves out a sob and continues, "but it never prepares you to face death yourself… and I'm terrified."
I've never seen him this way, scared and vulnerable… he has always been like a rock, strong and unmovable, never betraying any negative emotions. Now his façade has fallen away and I see him for how he really is… as Prim has always seen him: a big teddy bear. As he stands there, tears streaming down his face, trembling, I feel something rising up inside of me.
Then out of instinct, I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his chest—which I only barely reach, might I add. He is surprised at first, though after a moment he gently puts his around me and returns the hug. I rub his back in slow circles and remember how my mother used to comfort Prim and I when we were upset. "Shh, shh… it's alright," I say softly. She told us what to say to ease someone's fears, but how can I tell him that we'll both be fine? One of us must die if the other is to survive… his skin is still cold. "Come on, Thorin, let's get you inside." I take his hand gently and lead him inside, to the room across from mine. I slide the door open and take him in there, coaxing him to lie down on the bed and I cover him with a blanket, then I kneel beside him and gently stroke his hair.
"Thank you," I hear him whisper to me.
I smile slightly in response. "It's the least I can do," I say softly, standing up and kissing his forehead gently before walking out of the room, taking one last glance at him.
And there you have it folks! I wanted this chapter to show a bit of a softer side to Thorin, and give insight to a bit of his family history. The song I used earlier was "War of the Thrones" by Blind Guardian. Anyway, some of you may think Thorin seems a bit out of character in this chapter, but as I said, I don't want him to be just that stoic, seeming confident young man; if you had sworn to sacrifice your life for someone, even a very close friend, would you not be terrified nonetheless?
Anyway, in response to CalebElBardo's questions, for the first one: Thorin is capable of wielding swords, axes and javelins, though he prefers the sword when at all possible, but if he must he will use an axe or a hammer if necessary. As for your second question, I do plan for Johanna to be a much more important character, and will be central for their first journey to the Lonely Mountain. I have been considering love interests for her, because I too feel like she was robbed by the author, and she deserves a happy ending, so it is very likely that one of Thorin's brothers will be her eventual love interest. I really do want to thank you, though, because you keep giving me ideas of things to elaborate on and think about, so thank you very much!
Lastly everyone, thanks for reading, and as always, if you liked, follow/favourite, maybe even leave a review. Hope you all had a Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays if you don't celebrate Christmas, and have a happy New Year!
~Jordan
