"The Winter has come to hunt in your fields
As trees, old and leaden with time,
Bow their weary branches to his majesty
And throw their children at his feet, for the lord to tread
As threads of ice weave the curtain
For the sun to remove her crown and undress behind."
"Thorin Oakenshield. We meet again."
Thorin stood, chained and dirty, stiff and rigid. He did not allow the toils of the journey show in the regal posture. His eyes were burning.
"I cannot say I waited for the day, but, alas, we have to face the… inconveniences life tosses at our feet, must we not?" Her father smiled. He knew his way with words, and Thorin, proud and enraged, was unable to stop them from sneaking under his skin and armor. He tensed in anger.
"What brings you to my Woodland Realm, O son of Thrain?" mocked her father.
He sat on his throne, a large seat made of antlers and carved wood, and looked down at the chained man. The hall of the Duke was vast and spacious, round and dark of colors – dark burgundy and deep green, ivory and ebony. Her father had a love for riches, and his clothes of silver and blood stood out against the paleness of the throne. The shades, while prominent, did not overburden the eye or clash, and instead mirrored in fabric and carved wood and stone the wilderness of Mirkwood; the darkness of its shadows.
And Thranduil ruled over decadence and wilderness with cultured grace and perfect elegance.
Legolas stood next to him, a hand on one of his twin knives and a contemptuous look on his face. Two other guards stood next to the entrance, face impassive and dressed in Mirkwood green, while two more stood next to the Duke. One of them was a young girl, no more than eighteen if Ningalor had to guess, and they too had an expressionless look in their eyes.
Thorin glared challengingly at her father and said nothing, refusing to take an active part in Thranduil's interrogation.
She wondered when was the last time Thorin ate.
It took her a whole day to gather the courage to stand, and what motivated her was mostly the stench of the quick to decompose bodies. The forest was hasty to reclaim its own. She stood, shaking, and knew she could not go back. Logically speaking, she would not survive the journey back. Her supplies were too few.
But that was not what made her walk numbly on the well-treaded path toward the fortress where the company was held captive. Thorin…
She did not notice her surroundings until she stood, facing the gates of the Woodland Realm. Her father's dukedom. Sneaking in was easier than sneaking out, she found out over the years. All one had to do was wait for the gate to open – there was no other way – and the entering patrol, always regal on their trotting horses, paid little attention to the passing small beast that snuck between their ranks, as long as it did not interfere with the horses' graceful ride. Invisible now, she did not even have to bother with that part. All she had to do was stand close to the gate and not touch anyone or anything as she entered.
And now she stood, hiding in a niche behind a graceful statue, and looked on as Thranduil questioned Thorin. Made a show of it, as was his wont. But Thorin, the untrained actor, failed to please the audience.
Thranduil's lip curled.
Her father aged much since she last saw him, and the notion shocked her. For some reason, she thought her father was infallible, that even time could not touch him. He was in his early fifties; he was not supposed to look this… sick.
His once platinum-blond hair was now entirely white and brittle. His skin was still firm, but the wrinkles were many and deeply etched. He was thinner. The once muscular and graceful form looked hollow, full of craters and cavities, and his cheeks were as gaunt as his grim, boney fingers. Her heart was pinched, to see him like this. It was not love, nor regret, but there was something painful about him, the Duke she feared brought low.
The father she could not hate, but also failed to love.
The man who now played with Thorin's life, toyed with him, his tone changing from contemptuous to angry. She wondered how much blood had been spilled by the feud between their families.
"You would not answer? No matter. You are simple folk, and I know your quest. You wish to reclaim your lost dukedom, to rule one again over your Alliance. How noble," he sneered.
Thorin gritted his teeth.
"Perhaps, next time, you should not enter borders which are closed to you, like a thief in the night." He cocked an elegant brow. "Though I may have done you a service, Oakenshield. Thirteen men cannot overcome that which lies in your ruined halls. Especially your thirteen. Old, I am told, or too young. Even your kinsmen do not support your quest, I see."
Thorin's hands twitched.
"So you are thirteen? For a moment, I doubted my son's word. Surely, even the son of a madman would not be so suicidal… I see I overestimated you." He chuckled.
Thorin's knuckles turned white and he bared his teeth when Thranduil mentioned his father, but he still said nothing. Thranduil, apparently, was greatly amused to see how easily he could play with the man before him, but the failure to make him talk irritated him. She could see the anger simmering underneath the thin layer of amusement.
"He cried for someone, no doubt a woman, by the name of Lily," Legolas interjected suddenly, "looked for someone when we captured them."
"Is that so? Have you brought not only boys and grandfathers, but also a woman?" Thranduil's eyes narrowed dangerously.
Thorin stood rigid, sensing that the Duke's attention shifted.
"Savdh hirdaen nei taur?" He turned to the young girl.
"Penin, dorel," she replied curtly, "er lhingril yar."
"Was there a woman?" he hissed, slowly, dangerously, looking at Thorin. Legolas' hand tightened around his knife. "You will answer, son of Thrain, or I will resort to other means to get information out of you. And I, unlike you, have time. I can wait."
Thorin glowered, face full of contempt. He did not find Thranduil's threats too impressive, it would seem.
"Hmm, perhaps I will state it this way – answer my question, and I will offer you my help. A Duke to a Duke, we may see eye to eye." Thranduil's eyes were ablaze. "Do not, and I will send you to my dungeon and hold you there until you rot." He leaned forward. "What will it be, Duke of Erebor?"
Thorin was not impressed by the change in treatment, but it seems he was not going to let his wounded pride get in the way of negotiation. "There was no woman," he conceded.
Legolas scowled, and the disappointment that flashed for a moment of Thranduil's features was not lost on Ningalor, though she was not sure if Thorin noticed it.
"But the name you cried out –" Legolas protested.
"You must have misheard," Thorin cut through his words coolly. "I have two nephews by the names of Fili and Kili. I searched for them at the end of the battle."
"How did you navigate through the forest?" Legolas pressed, angered that Thorin interjected in this manner.
"We had a map. It was lost in the battle."
"Who provided you with such a map? We are the only ones in a possession of such knowledge," the heir declared.
Thorin scoffed. "Your secrets are not as well kept as you would like them to be, it would seem."
Legolas narrowed his eyes in rage, but his father raised his hand before he could speak again. "No one guided you?"
"No."
"Who gave you the map?"
"We acquired it from a kinsman," Thorin answered, "before the beginning of the journey."
"I find that unlikely."
"I care not as to how you find it," Thorin snarled.
"You should, if you want my aid," Thranduil threatened.
"I do not lie," Thorin growled. "The map was ancient, drawn before you closed your gates to the world and allowed cannibals and thieves to plague your gardens."
"And now, where is that ancient map?" Thranduil hissed, angered by Thorin's words.
"I already told you, it was lost. You are welcome to search for it amongst the bodies of the dead."
Thranduil's fingers tightened around the arms of his throne. "And there was no woman?"
"I will not repeat myself," Thorin growled, then narrowed his eyes. "Why should that concern you so?"
Thranduil was not quick to answer, and while he looked down on Thorin, Ningalor held her breath and prayed. He took his time to watch Thorin balefully, then replied, "A woman of Mirkwood was kidnapped from my lands, about five years ago. I seek to return her to her rightful place, in the name of her worried family and her own misery, which I doubt not to be wretched indeed. Have you seen such a woman in your travels?"
"I do not believe so," Thorin replied, as coldly as before. But Ningalor sensed the guarded edge, the suspicion. Was it directed at her or at Thranduil?
"She has blonde hair, blue eyes and beautiful features," Legolas said then, and despite the careful tone, the pain woven into his words broke her heart. "About this tall," he demonstrated with his hand, "lithe and fair skinned. She should be twenty-five years of age now." The almost hopeful look made her brother look younger than his thirty years of age. The years that withered her father were kinder to Legolas – the fair lord was as handsome as one would expect, a dangerous warrior and sharp minded. He was less dutiful than he was once, she noted, as her father looked at him with a touch of disdain for the outburst.
The sideway glance did not affect Legolas as it once did.
"I have seen many women who fit this description," Thorin snarled, "none come to mind or left an impression that made them memorable."
"I see," Thranduil replied silkily, threateningly. "Well, it matters not. I have other things to ask of you." The Duke took his time. "You might remember, a debt your people owe me? A necklace of pure starlight, paid for in full, never given to its rightful owner," Thranduil snarled. "Give me what is mine, and I shall aid you, Thorin Oakenshield."
Thorin said nothing, and for a long moment he glowered at Thranduil and Thranduil at him. She could see the rage burning and rising inside him, but her father either ignored it or did not notice the dangerous fury.
"Even if you did pay for it, Thranduil the Lie Weaver," Thorin spat, "that necklace is spoken for." His voice rose, louder and louder. "You expect me to trust you? We came to you – broken and homeless and starved, and you offered no help! Oath Breaker! Friend Stabber! You, who lacks all honor, dare to claim a part of my people's heirloom after you did nothing but insult me and my kin?" he roared, "You think me spineless, that you may step on me as you wish and have me obey your whims? May the sickness that eats through your dukedom eat through you as well, Thranduil Poison-Tongue!"
"Enough!" Thranduil jumped to his feet in raw rage. This action, however, was not in his favor, as now it was easier to note all the places where Thorin was broad and muscular, and he was hollow and failing. His eyes, though, were as cunning and infuriated as Thorin's were, and his voice as thunderous. "And may the fire that burned your people burn you as well, Thorin the fool, the thief, the liar," he cursed him. "I warned your grandfather, but my service was repaid with thievery. Go and rot, fool. You will not see again the light of day, and may the accursed line of Durin end here in my cells! Be gone!" he ordered.
Thorin snarled but could not fight the guards – not when three of them forced him into submission and dragged him from the hall.
Thranduil collapsed into his throne.
"Adar…."
The Duke raised his hand, and Legolas stopped in his tracks. "Question the others," he ordered. "I do not trust that man's words. We may discover more from the lowly than we would from the inflated ego of those barbaric lords." He looked tired. She had never seen him look this tired. "Question them about her, as well. They are unsavory folk, who knows what they have seen, where they have been." And her father buried his face in his hands, betraying his exhaustion. His weakness.
She fled.
Just as Thranduil ordered, Legolas questioned each man separately, thoroughly, mostly about their quest. It seemed he did believe Thorin when the man denied his knowledge of her, but did not fail to mention her to the rest of the men. Each was taken aback when questioned about her, but loyal to the bone as they were, none betrayed their leader's lover to the cocky lord.
And still she listened and took in the sight of them – bruised and angry and desperate – they did not see a way out, and her disappearance did not improve their state. Did they think her dead? Or worse, that she fled and betrayed them?
Last to be interrogated was Nori, and it was his interrogation that she feared the most.
The cunning thief was the least impressed by the questioning and the least offended by the accusations. He did not allow his ego to interfere with the examination and preferred to play the idiot when he could, if only so he could annoy the already irritated Lord.
In fact, Nori seemed to be having a great time, taking out his frustrations on the noble elf.
Tired and vexed by the hours he spent interrogating thirteen men, Legolas was less careful with his wording than he was before. "Did a woman accompany you on this quest?" he demanded.
"A woman?" Nori cocked a brow. "Whatever for?" His cunning eyes narrowed, but his voice was annoyingly foolish in its inflations. It maddened Legolas quite effectively.
"How should I know whatever for? Was there a woman? Blonde, beautiful, blue eyes? Have you seen someone like her?"
"I have seen many a woman, aye. Blonde and pretty. I knew plenty, if you catch my –"
"Watch your tongue, dwarf, or I will remove the miserable thing from your filthy mouth!"
"Couldn't answer your question then, now could I?" Nori replied with a cocky smile. "Why're you looking for a woman? Must be better ways for a lordling to find a missus, eh?"
"I am not looking for a wife," Legolas hissed through gritted teeth, "I am looking for my sister, you dimwit! Have you seen such a woman? Kidnapped, perhaps? Out of place? Did such a woman accompany you, guide you in the forest?"
Nori's deceivingly foolish expression faded as if never existed. "Your sister?" he wondered, then inquired, "Cunning and quick witted, cold and aloof, fluent in Sindarin, thin and pale, long, golden locks, ice blue eyes? About twenty something years of age? About this tall?"
Legolas froze. "Yes…" he said slowly, "Her features would be similar to mine, but more feminine and soft." His breath quickened. "Well?" he demanded, "Have you?"
Nori's narrowed eyes suddenly widened and the man began to, inexplicably, laugh.
"Your sister!" he sneered, chortling and guffawing, nearly folding in half, "Your sister! Thranduil's daughter!" he cried in merriment, "Your-ha!"
Legolas's hopeful expression turned sour and annoyed. "Be silent!" he ordered, moved forward and pulled Nori's hair back, exposing his neck. "Answer, Dwarf, have you seen her? My sister?"
"Ah, no, m'lord." the man chuckled, "I just imagined you in a dress, is all. You are very feminine, with your braids and-oomph!"
Legolas punched him forcefully, making him topple to the ground. "Take this joker back to his cell," he snarled. "The dimwitted fool knows nothing."
Nori was dragged, still laughing almost manically, to his cell. Ningalor followed.
His laughter died when the guards shut the door, and Ningalor watched the man's expression turn cold and angry. She looked at him, at the only man in the group who was not blinded by loyalty, and could see the wheels turning. Not in her favor.
She left him in his cell. She did not have the courage to face him yet.
Not empty handed, at least.
Thorin tried to force his way through his cell bars so many times his hands began to bleed.
He stopped, not because of the pain but because he refused to break his bones over this cursed elven jail, and instead roared his frustration.
The guards already knew to avoid his cell, which was the set in the deepest part of the cave they called a dungeon. He was separated from his men and was left in the dark entirely, figuratively and otherwise.
He did not know what happened to them or to Lily.
Thorin growled and tried, for the tenth time, to search for a weak link, a rusty part, a fragile spot. He was surrounded by stone and metal, and his cage was well maintained. As much as he hated to admit, it was not one he could possibly break by force.
Still, he tried. They served him a meal once a day – a slice of bread and a cut of meat. Not the finest quality, but also far better than what he would have expected, as well as a jar of water. They had no intention of letting him starve, it would seem, nor use any form of torture. Apparently, Thranduil was going to follow through with his plan. Leave him in the darkest part of the cave to rot.
Thorin sighed and collapsed against the wall, sliding down the cave's smooth stone.
He cursed his pride, cursed his fate, cursed Gandalf for leaving them. He cursed Thranduil and his arrogant heir, his insults and his haughtiness…
He did not count the days; could not, since there was no light but that of the torches, and tried not to think of her. Lily… his Lily, saving them once again, then disappearing entirely. Did she hide, or was she murdered? Left to die, wounded?
She did not lie; they were searching for her. The Duke himself was searching; his heir passionately so. Gandalf said that she was once a person of great importance. He never thought to inquire what he meant by that. Perhaps he should have, perhaps… perhaps he should have told them that yes, there was a woman, so they would search for her, find her, heal her, instead of… he bashed his head against the stone. His loyalty to her ensured that he could not betray her secrets and instead denied her existence, but now he wondered if it was indeed the right choice. Was it better for her to be dead, or alive, but captured?
He buried his face in his hands – what a choice for him to make! What right had he to choose either? What right had he to take her away from Gandalf? The old man was right; he could not protect her, and, therefore, he should not have taken her from those that could.
How cocky he was, how arrogant, how foolish…
"Thorin?"
He jumped and hit his head, again, and looked around wildly.
Had he gone mad? Summoned her in his mind to ease his suffering? Had Thranduil decided to play another trick on him? But no, a pale, small hand clasped the iron bars and he rushed forward, in the dim light… "Lily," he breathed.
The relief, the surprise, the pain… he felt entirely undone by the shadowed sight of her in the fickle torchlight.
So pale and white and fragile. His beacon of hope looked up at him with tender blue eyes, too surreal for him to take in with one glance.
He clasped her hand through the bars and with his other tried to touch her cheek. The spaces between the bars were narrow, however, and he could not reach her, but the woman stepped forward and leaned into his touch, pressing herself against the bars so she could stand closer to him. "Lily," he sighed again, bowing his head, "oh, Mahal, Lily… I thought I lost you." He shuddered.
The woman was thinner than he – thinner than he remembered – and managed to thrust her arm through the bars so she could cup his cheek and stroke his beard. How small she looked, and worried, and pained. But he drew so much comfort from her presence. He held her hand to him and leaned into her touch. Let her see how weak he was, let her see how much he needed her. He kissed her fingers and breathed raggedly. He did need her.
"Oh, Thorin, I'm here," she whispered, cupping his other cheek. "I am sorry it took me so long to find you. I had to follow the guards… Oh, Thorin…." Her voice shook.
"I thought –" He stopped short, refusing to once again imagine her dead or dying, left in the forest alone. "Are you wounded? Hurt in any way?" he demanded, whispered.
"No. No, I am quite well." She tried to smile. Oh, Mahal. She tried. "I will find a way to free you, Thorin. I swear, I will do all that I can – "
"Lily," he whispered, "they – they are searching for you. They asked me about you. They – even Thranduil…."
"Yes, I know." She must have sensed the urgency in his voice, what he was about to force himself to say. Nearly asked her to leave him for her own sake. But he could not force the words out when all he wanted was to beg her to stay. "I heard."
"Heard?"
"Yes… I was there when he interrogated you. And the rest of the company," she admitted.
"How –" He tried to think back. "I did not see you."
"I know." She looked down. "I was hiding."
He sighed, knowing what he must say, what he did not want to say. "Lily, you cannot put yourself in such a risk. I cannot allow this."
"Nor can you order me to leave," she interjected. "I told you, I am not yours for you to order as you please. I am not leaving you, Thorin, whatever the danger may be." Her touch was so tender. Her hands held him, supported him, saved him. "I am not leaving you, Thorin," she whispered. "I will find a way. I will. I must."
"Lily…." He bowed his head, leaned against the bars, but he could not get any closer to her. "Lily…" he whispered. Surely, he can do better than that, can he not? But at the moment, the only thing he managed was to whisper her name, like a prayer. "You are our only hope, now," he whispered. "My only hope."
She looked up at him, anguished and sorrowful, and her hands trembled. "Thorin," her voice was uneven and weak, "there is something I must tell you –"
Footsteps.
Lily gasped and removed her hands, though he tried, senselessly, to grab her.
"I must leave," she breathed.
"No, Lily –" The sound was getting closer and closer. "Lily –"
"I will return," she promised, utterly terrified, "I cannot stay!"
And within a blink of an eye she stepped into the shadows and disappeared. Thorin tried to reach for her in the dark in vain before he remembered the danger. He cursed the bars and the guards and moved to slink back against the wall, crashing into the floor of stone.
Not a moment later, a guard stopped by his bars.
"Is there anyone with you?" he demanded, "I heard voices."
Thorin looked at the floor, and his hand twitched. "You are young, a child of the forest. You don't belong here, underneath the rocks – know you not? A stone has a voice, and it may speak."
The guard indeed was young, and he took a step back, clearly affected by Thorin's low grumble. "Your place, perhaps! Jail fits you well, I see," the youth declared.
Thorin growled, and his voice was smooth and dangerous, "Then why are you terrified of a man locked behind bars?" Suddenly he rose. "Be gone, you son of weeds! Out of my sight, I said!"
And the guard, for all of his training and weapons and freedom, said nothing more and fled.
Thorin leaned against the rock, thought of his woman, and hoped.
The first thing she did was raid the pantries.
Not the ones the chief cook used as she knew he would notice any missing items immediately. The servants' pantries, however, were more accessible.
Thus, she revealed herself to the members of the company, with freshly baked bread and cold cuts. She knew they had no love of vegetables or fruits, but every once in a while, she snuck some of those too. The men at the beginning looked at her in mistrust, then in uncertainty when she promised she was going to do her best to free them, and then, with time, even Dwalin was happy to see her.
It was only Nori she did not know how to read, what to expect, how to approach.
He accepted her offer easily, but sniffed the food thoroughly before biting into it. "Putting your knowledge of the grounds to good use, I see," he remarked.
Too sharp for her, she thought, but refused to flinch. "Yes." She did not try to deny.
Nori's eyebrows rose, but the cunning eyes did not seem surprised. Narrowed, but not confused. "I thought it was hilarious when I found out," he commented. "If the cocky Duke knew Thorin was porking his daughter…." She did flinch at the sly comment, but the man seemed to enjoy riling her up. She guessed she deserved it. "They'd execute him for sure. Still, twas worth a good laugh." He lifted his jar, "Cheers to you! I am also the disappointment of my family." He smiled, but the gleeful twist of lips was sharp.
"Did you tell anyone?" she asked carefully.
"Na. It feels too good to keep ya on your toes. Maybe next time you could fetch me wine, instead of this horse-piss."
"Unlikely." She scowled.
Nori laughed. The sound was sharp and unsettling. "Well, yer ladyship. Methinks, if you want me mouth sewn shut, you might wanna explain a few things."
Ningalor's lip curled, but Nori's eyes were harsh and unforgiving, and she knew she needed him to be sure of her intentions, lest he betray her secret. Nori did as he wished; he did not care for the way things were supposed to be done. But he was fiercely loyal to his brothers, and he recognized Thorin as his leader. She was an outsider, a nobody, and if she would prove a hindrance or a menace to either Thorin or, most importantly, his brothers, he will get rid of her.
"No love lies between my father and me," she said carefully. "I left him five years ago. Gandalf helped me escape. Hid me in the Shire. There is little else to say."
The man cocked a brow at her. "Ah, lass, you make for a terrible story teller indeed!" He got up and joined her next to the bars. "What made you leave your daddy?"
She twisted her features at him, but obeyed, irritated. "My mother died in an orc raid when I was five years of age. She died protecting me. My father despises me. Is that not enough?"
What more could she say? How could she explain the hours of loneliness, locked in her room? How her father turned her away, day after day, and looked on with disgust when she dared burst into tears? How could she describe the longing for a touch – anyone's touch – and for love? She could not, so she did not. Not like it mattered, not to a man who was born and raised in a society where he had nothing, neither love nor wealth, only burdens. How pathetic he must find her.
"He still searches for you," the thief pointed out.
"Not out of love," she spat. "I am his lost property, and he wants that which was his retrieved."
Nori looked at her, his eyes hard as they judged her, but the cunningness in them saw that she was honest, and, therefore, accepted her words. "And the lordling?"
She scowled when he spoke of her brother like that, but did not protest. "My brother is the heir of Mirkwood. This is his place, not mine," she said shortly.
"So why'd you come back?" the man snapped, then cooed at her and mockingly declared in a high pitched voice, "Because I hate Mirkwood, but I love Thorin more?" He twisted his face at her.
Ningalor turned her hands into fists, knuckles white and eyes blazing with anger, but said nothing.
"Wait? Are you serious? Is that really? –" He laughed, barking in amusement, and when her face turned pinkish with shame and anger, his laughter died. "You are serious," he said, but the shock did not comfort her.
"Why is it such a surprise for you?" she sneered. "I had given him everything already, so why the fact that I entered my father's lair so strange in comparison?"
Nori scowled. "If he found out –"
"He will toss me aside without a second thought. I am aware of that." Her voice was cold. Her eyes were bright. She blinked and turned her face.
"You don't think him a man of his word?" Nori accused her. He did not care for her personal misery.
"Whatever promise he made will be forgotten the moment he learned of my origins. If he were a lesser man, I'd fear for my life," she said colorlessly. "I knew that it was not meant to last."
"So why…?" For the first time, Nori looked confused. He did not understand what made her act so foolishly. She smiled bitterly. Neither did she.
"You said it yourself," she whispered, "I love him." She took a deep breath to rein in the stray emotions in her voice. "I'd rather have a day with him and the rest spend jailed, than live the rest of my life free but wondering what… what could have been."
"Mahal, you are sickening," Nori said quietly. But the venom was gone from his voice, and for a long while he said nothing, merely stared at her.
And Ningalor bared her intentions, allowed him a glimpse of her emotions, and awaited his judgment.
He said nothing, though, and eventually, the silent staring managed to unnerve her enough to utter, "I nearly told him, not two days past."
Nori, surprisingly, nearly choked on his own musings. "Tell- are you daft?" he snapped, "or just a masochist?"
"A what?" She blinked.
"Oh, you –" He rolled his eyes. "Fuck it. You tell him, he gets pissed and doesn't trust you, and then what? You need to get us out. If you tell Thorin, we are all fucked. And you still need to talk to Smaug," he reminded her. "If you fail, I'm next on the list, and I sure don't wanna go down that path unless I really had to. Meaning, unless you were really dead." He did not dress up his words, and the bluntness made her flinch. "All ya gotta do is keep Thorin happy and find a way out. That's all, lass. If you find it hard to keep yer mouth shut, find a way to keep it busy."
She narrowed her eyes at the implication and glowered, but the man did not seem too affected by her glare. "That's the point of secrets, lass. Gotta keep them secret. Gotta be careful, not to let them run too wild." His grin was sharp.
"You are cruel to me," she said finally. "I don't understand why."
"Cause you are a Mirkwood, that's why!" he snapped. "And I don't buy that love bullshit! You better prove it to me that you are worthy of my trust, because once you finished your task, you'd want me to have a good reason to keep me tongue from waggling," he threatened. Ningalor glowered, but even the anger could not hide the fear. Nori sighed and looked away. "Find a way out, lass. Quickly."
She exhaled weakly. "There isn't," she muttered in defeat, "only the main gate –"
"Oh, for fuck's sake! Have you nothing inside yer pretty lil head?" Nori bit. "You think like a lady – that's what pisses me off the most. No fortress has only one exit. Where d'ya think servants come from? Let me tell ya, not through the main door!" he groaned. "Follow some folk around. Watch. Listen. There has got to be another way in. Servants, animals, exports, imports… only lords enter through the main gate. Lords and soldiers and prisoners. Nobody bothers to open the main gate for anyone else."
He looked away and Ningalor rose, sensing she was dismissed.
"And next time, bring wine!" he called after her.
Ningalor rolled her eyes.
Wine. Yes, of course. As if she'd risk touching her father's collection. Her father loved wine and consumed large quantities of it on a daily basis. He'd notice any missing drop. In fact, once a month he received large deliveries of wine, stored in extremely large barrels…
Ningalor blinked, put on the ring, and stalked down the cave and toward the wine pantry.
Barrels, and many of them, large enough for even Bombur to fit into.
For all of Nori's harsh words, he knew what he was talking about.
Thorin waited for her. He always waited.
He waited with his ears trained. Hope made him jump up and rush to the bars for real and imagined footsteps alike. Guards stomping and water dripping echoed within the cave's dreary halls, and the sounds had him sleeping for short intervals, awakening full of unease, dreaming about never ending fires. He snapped awake in the darkness, always darkness. Sometimes, the bleak loneliness made him question whether he was really awake or still trapped inside a dream.
He started to feel cold, at times. Was winter upon them? He shook uncontrollably, pain shooting through him, but he paid no attention to that. He thought only of Lily, cursed the passing hours, and waited.
When he heard his name whispered, he woke up and rushed to the bars as fast as he could, lest she disappear and be swallowed by the darkness – he fell on his knees before her, black dots dancing before his eyes, breathing hard when he clung to the bars for support.
"Thorin!" she cried, her hands warm against his cheeks.
He leaned against the bars, into her touch, the coolness of the metal and the warmth of her hands soothing. Her hands, oh, her hands. She was really there; this time, it was not his feverish mind supplying her gentle voice, as if in a dream.
"Oh, Thorin…." She caressed his face, touched his forehead. "You are cold!" she exclaimed, "How can you possibly – ? Thorin, can you hear me?"
"Aye," he breathed. It was difficult, at first, but now he managed to open his eyes and focus on the sight before him. He lifted his head slowly, carefully, and smiled weakly at her. "You came."
"Thorin…." Her eyes looked at him, pained and anguished. "When was the last time you ate?" she whispered.
He frowned at her. "I… I eat that which is offered." He hated that, feeling weak and desperate. He did not want her to see him like that, but he craved her presence too much for him to attempt any act of dignity. Lily looked at him, so worried with eyes full of pity. For over a month, he had allowed himself nothing but a slice of bread, and even that he sometimes denied himself and offered to his boys. The power of will, when he had hope, helped him push through. But in his cell, he had little hope left, one that came and went in the form of the woman crouching before him.
The woman who now withdrew her hands from him, though he tried to grab her quite desperately, and opened the bundle at her side. The scent immediately hit him, made him groan unwillingly, but Lily simply tore a small part of the chicken and offered it to him, through the bars.
"Eat slowly," she whispered, "I will nurse you back to health," she promised.
He did eat slowly.
His stomach contracted painfully when he swallowed, and he had to sip from the jar at his side, but Lily was gentle and understanding. He did not feel as ashamed of his state, now, when she sat by the bars, feeding him carefully. "I don't understand," she whispered, "I visited the rest of the men, and their… their state was better."
Thorin forced himself to chew. The chicken tasted so good, he wanted to tear into it and swallow it whole. It was probably for his own good, the fact that Lily gave him a few stripes of the meat, instead of offering him the entire bird.
He knew hunger; he knew what starvation did to people, as well as the sudden abundance of food.
"I scared the guard," he answered, sheepish all of a sudden. "My… meals arrive less often than before."
She sighed and cupped his face, and looked away. She blinked furiously, her eyes unnaturally bright, but her hold of him was unwavering. She fed him vegetables, scowling when he attempted to refuse, and made sure he finished his slice of orange, as well.
The meal was long, as the food was offered in small amounts and in short but frequent intervals. She gave him a small glass of milk, fresh and pure in color, and retied the bundle. "I will bring you more, but you must be fed slowly, Thorin," she whispered. "I'm sorry."
He wanted to tear his way through the bars and eat everything her bundle contained, but he knew she spoke the truth. He exhaled and wiped his fingers on his already dirty clothes, and then gently cupped her face. "Stay with me," he asked.
Her presence mattered to him more than the food she had given him. She mattered to him.
She shifted her position and leaned against the bars, holding his hand with one hand and with her other she caressed his cheek. "I am not leaving you," she whispered. "In a week's time, I will get us out of here," she promised.
Thorin sighed and held her hand. "This… food, Lily, where did you get it?"
"I stole it," she admitted, "I know my way around."
He felt so weak, like that. This was not how it was meant to be. This was not what he promised her. "Lily, you must be careful. If…." He cursed himself inwardly. "Don't take unnecessary –"
"Don't you dare to finish that sentence, Thorin Oakenshield." She glowered. "Don't you dare." Her voice shook. She squeezed his hand and bit her lip. He wondered how pathetic he must have looked, to have elicited such a reaction from his composed, aloof lover.
"Lily…." Just saying her name made him feels stronger. "I promised you I will protect you. I cannot have you place yourself at risk for my sake."
"Nor can I cower in the shadows while the guards allow you to starve, Thorin." The way she said his name, like it was an extension of her existence, an ending of her breath, made him close his eyes and hold on to her very presence. She took his hand through the bars and kissed his knuckles gently, holding him. He caressed her face and she leaned into his touch, pressing his hand against her cheek.
"Do not blame yourself for this. For any of this," she whispered.
She came back, day after day, and spent hours feeding him and sitting with him. She told him of his boys and passed on messages from the rest of the company. She gave him larger portions each time and started to, once again, smile at the sight of him.
He felt healthier, stronger, and slept better too.
She gave him hope.
They often found themselves sitting face to face, holding hands and hating the bars. He cupped her cheek, she caressed his jaw, and their mutual need for a touch replaced all the things that were left unsaid.
The hours without her allowed him to think, to remember, and so when they sat, facing each other in the deep belly of the cave, he wanted more from the woman. He wanted her memories, as well as her care. He wanted to truly know her, even though the woman took every precaution possible to hide her past. Still, he wanted to know her like no one else ever would.
"Tell me about yourself," he asked. The woman, as he expected, tensed immediately. "Anything, Lily. I won't press you for answers."
"Why, then?" she asked in a small voice.
"I want to know you," he answered honestly. "All I know is that you live now as Gandalf's ward in the Shire. That is precious little to know about a person."
She shifted uncomfortably. "I… I have little else to add. I do not know what to say."
She looked so small like that. He wanted to know, but he did not want to hurt her in the process. "Then may I ask? I will understand, should you refuse to answer." He did not want to scare her away.
She gulped uneasily. "Only if you return the favor," she challenged.
He smiled at her. "I will withhold nothing from you," he promised. She looked up at him, then away, and up again, as if unsure if the affection in his eyes was truly meant for her. "Where are you from?"
She scowled. "You know the answer to that."
"You spent your childhood here?" he refined his question.
She exhaled weakly and nodded. She really was a Mirkwood, then. He disliked the notion, but he knew, from the moment they met, that she was a former elf of sorts. He was comforted by the fact that she hated the place enough to leave.
"Have you a mother? Siblings?"
"My mother died long ago. My brother and I have not spoken for several years."
He wanted to ask her about her family, her mother, but sensed it would be too much for her. "Why did you leave?" he asked instead.
She said nothing for a long time, but eventually muttered, "My father was overprotective. He refused to let me out of his sight, but also refused to… to show me affection as a father should. When Gandalf came to visit, I… I begged him to take me away. It took me a while to convince him, but eventually he pitied me enough to smuggle me away from the forest."
He sighed, "Then I owe you an apology." She looked up, confused. "I… when we were in Rivendell, I accused you of knowing no hardship."
"I knew no hardship," she whispered. "My troubles are nothing, compared with what you had to endure." Her smile was bitter. "All I lacked was a father's love. I dare say you were denied more than that." She gulped uneasily, but his hand squeezed hers gently, and she dared, "What… what happened, after Erebor fell? To you?"
He groaned at the onslaught of memories even time did not manage to heal, but did not deny her. he promised her he would not.
"I was hunting," he started. "I was fifteen; you speak of hardship – of that I knew none, only the severity of the responsibilities my future held, but those were not meant to be mine until I was much older. My grandfather lived for a long time, my father was not yet duke. I had time." He paused, remembering the beauty of Erebor. "I was with my brother and my sister. That, perhaps, was the only grace that day had to offer." He closed his eyes. "The Usurper came with his machines of fire and smoke. We did not know until we saw the smoke rising from our home. Our home was… it was beautiful, Lily. Years of study and of practice of the arts were invested in the halls of stone, years of love and craftsmanship. It was truly magnificent, defying every expectation – vast, capacious chambers of green stone and pale marble, architected to resemble the mountain from which they were born… rivers of gold and gems and mithril… The heirloom of my people lies in our art, and our art transcends the passage of time and the toils of the years. It was meant to last, from generation to generation. All of that, gone and lost and burned.
"When we returned, the battle was already lost. I helped evacuate my people, my grandfather, my… my father." He clenched his jaw. "I had to tear my father away from the body of my mother, which was crushed underneath a great pillar and could not be moved." She cupped his face, her hand squeezing his. He kept his eyes closed. He did not want to look into her pools of blue and find pity. "That was when Thranduil betrayed us. We were homeless and wounded, but he closed his borders to us. No help came from the Elven Alliance that day, or any day since. We led the people – my grandfather and father, mostly. I protected my people, worked as a smith when I could. Whatever coin I earned was spent on food, on shoes, on medicine. And yet, my people starved, and a smith desperate for work cannot ask for much. I did what I could, sold all I had to offer, every jewel and bead I had given, all but the ring and beads of ruling. My sister too, and my brother, we gave up on all our fineries in our search for a home." He paused for a moment. Reliving his brother's death was always hard, even after all those years. "My grandfather decided to reclaim the lost dukedom of Moria. The Battle of Azanulbizar claimed his life, as well as the life of my brother and many others. My father left to try and seize Erebor and disappeared. Now I know he was murdered, too. After waiting and searching for over a year, my uncle, then the Duke of Ered Luin, where we finally found sanctuary, declared me duke. I already served as my people's leader. I was too young, they said, barely eighteen, but by law I was of age."
He took a deep breath. Telling her his story… it was not a pleasant tale; neither was hers. She found her place in exile, though. He did not. Perhaps hers was happier, her own pain personal and, therefore, smaller. But the eyes that looked up at him, full of compassion and understanding, supported him through the telling of his life – one unhappy chapter after the other.
"Dis, my sister, married. It was the first celebration since we were exiled, and the wedding was almost too… too joyful. Nine years later, her husband died in a mining accident. That's what the miners said. Kili was six, he does not remember much, but Fili… Fili was nine. He was too young to have to endure such a loss. I knew I could never, could not replace their father, be a father to them, but I… I tried. Still try. They did not deserve to be robbed of their father so early on, nor did my sister deserve to lose yet another man she loved. We are hard people, she said, we can endure everything." He sighed. "Living on the road, hungry, cold, grieving… we lost everything, everything we did not deserve to lose. We had no help, but nor did we ask for it. We endured." Lily looked at him with so much sorrow, he cleared his throat, trying to think of something more pleasant; he wanted her story and ended up sharing his instead. "That's why Gandalf's offer to support our quest was so… so surprising. Why I did not expect much when he said he knew of someone who could help." He chuckled. "Why I am always surprised to see you are still here." He was used to losing, yet Lily survived every attempt to separate them and stubbornly clung to his side. He smiled affectionately at her. "I dare say my men and I did not create the best first impression when we met."
Lily managed a smile, though he could clearly see she was still shaken by his story. "I was raised to always be well behaved, have perfect manners, act appropriately… yes, it was quite a shock." She stroked his beard, his now prominent cheekbone. Painfully prominent. "You were very impressive, however."
She chuckled when he smiled. "You insulted me, if I remember correctly."
"You stared, which was quite rude of you."
"Ah. Forgive me. You were not what I thought you'd be." He kissed her hand. "I thought Gandalf's suggestion would be a warrior of sorts. A beautiful woman was the last thing I expected."
She blushed. "I thought you were looking at me with contempt," she admitted.
"I admit I was suspicious, and skeptical. But still, I could not stop looking at you." He shared a confession of his own. "You were an enigma. Still are." He stroked her lips. "I do trust you now," he added.
She blushed so beautifully, so gently. "Thorin…" she whispered weakly.
"I wish we could have met under different circumstances, less perilous…."
"Do not wish that," she said suddenly, passionately, "Thorin, you are everything to me, and I am willing to risk…." She bit her lip when both of them noticed what she said. "Everything," she finished weakly, eyes wide and slightly horrified, her heart racing.
His own was beating rapidly as well, and he grabbed her hand when he sensed she was about to bolt. "Stay," he asked breathlessly. "Lily, please."
She was jumpy, pale and tense, but eventually his fingers in her hair, his fingers caressing hers made her bow her head, and remain. "Amrâlimê…" he whispered, "amrali zi, nûlukh furkhuhaz."
"Thorin…" she protested, her cheeks red, her eyes unsure.
He smiled at her. "One day I will tell you everything, I promise." He took her hand and kissed it. "I want you always at my side," he whispered.
And Lily held his hand and looked away.
"I will stay," she promised. And if her voice were uneven, he did not comment.
Notes:
Translation:
-Savdh hirdaen nei taur- Have you found a body in the forest?
-Penin, dorel- no, I haven't, your majesty.
-Er lhingril yar- only those of spiders.
-Amrâlimê- Love of mine.
-Amrali zi- I love you.
-nûlukh furkhuhaz- Moon of my life.
So... Thranduil. I actually really like his character, hope I did it justice. Proud, manipulative, protective, vindictive, aloof, grieving. And loving, yes. Ever loving and protective of his people, especially his children. I also hope that none of you would judge him as harshly as Ningalor did since misinterpretation is a theme in this fanfiction that I am rather fond of.
Dwarves are, luckily, more straightforward than the elves. Otherwise, I think I would be lost myself in the layers of meaning they spin =)
