Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Shell
Chapter 1
Summary: Thorin is losing his mind, one grain of sand at a time.
Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
Albert Einstein
Thorin shifts, eyes squeezed tight to stop his fears and firsts jammed into his cheeks to leave knuckle wide, red swells where rock and dirt would rub along the dips, when he hears the pattern of change.
Ears strain to pick past the sound of water and rats, he eats the thud of footsteps too heavy to be anyone except
"Azog," Thorin greets past the lump in his throat as he accepts the tray of food handed to him. Outside the rain pelts the window so the room's blue walls are colored gray and cool. "How is he?"
"Distraught," Azog grunts, his mouth forms words wrong, opening to wide with the tongue too heavy to compensate. "But I was able to get him to rest."
"Thank you," Thorin murmurs, head bowed.
"Thorin?" The Orc calls to him and Thorin blinks, dragging his head up to see him standing outside.
Groaning low, he lifts himself up, head lolling forward. The crack on the ceiling has grown.
"Azog," Thorin greets past the lump in his throat, crawling towards the bars of his cell where he accepts the tray of food with shaking hands. "How is he?"
"He cries," Azog says, taking his seat, "Every night he cries himself to sleep waiting for you."
Thorin swallows, dry, as shards of bread scrap along his throat and settle like lead in his stomach. He wonders if Fili's nose still scrunches up, red and runny, or if his nephew has finally mastered the art of silent tears.
"Eat," Azog urges, handing Thorin a tissue to wipe his tears. Outside, the rain has picked up, and Azog has lit the fire before kneeling before him, hands on his thighs as he urges Thorin to calm.
Thorin finally accepts the tissue gratefully, whipping his face before taking another spoonful of soup. It burns his tongue, "I hurt him."
"Aye, but you did not mean it," Azog insisted, taking Thorin's hand in his own, and Thorin is struck at how truly tiny he is. "You would never willingly hurt him."
"But I did!" Thorin hisses.
Azog sighs, rubbing his face and Thorin feels guilt color his cheeks as he peered up at the Orc through matted hair. "He asks for you every night," Azog says after a moment as Thorin turns to watch a rat scurry its way along the walls. He wonders where it is running and what it is running from. When Thorin does not respond, Azog says, "He needs you."
Thorin presses his hands to his ears as he attempts to shake the fog from his brain to make sure his brain would not fall out. "He is safer forgetting me."
Azog sighs, a full body shudder as he stares at what Thorin presumes to be the crack in the ceiling. "He will never forget you. No one could."
…
Thorin is watching a drop of water crawl down the wall, slowly growing bigger when Durin comes to him. Sometimes his footsteps are heavy like an orcs and sometimes soft and silent as a drop of water slithering down a cave wall.
That day he chose silence.
"Oh Thorin," he coos, ghost hands ruffling his hair, mourning the state of his braids.
"Please, stop," Thorin pleads, wishing to move, but unable to get his limbs to listen. It we spike the weight of the mountain pinned him to the ground. He could feel tears forming in the corner of his eyes.
For a moment, Durin neither moves nor speaks, and Thorin hopes that he has finally ride his mind of these hallucinations until he feels two hands move him, rolling him over until he looking up at Durin's face.
He is beautiful again, eyes gold and face so soft and smooth. He even has Dwalin's nose today. Thorin could feel the edge of his mouth trying to twist up into a smile at the thought of his love.
Comparatively, Thorin knows he looks terrible, pale and thin and weak with a wrist too small and hair matted with grime from the cell floor. He wishes he could just fall away, sink through the earth and stone and keep going until he burned away, soul lost to the darkness.
"What do you want with me?" Thorin croaks, lifting a hand to catch one of Durin's swinging braids - the First Braid.
Durin doesn't answer, gold eyes shifting, categorizing, swallowing Thorin whole in two liquid pits and, for the first time in a long time, Thorin feels true fear. Durin licks his lips and whispers, "Saving you."
Thorin feels his voice leave him as birds on winds as Durin claims his lips as his own. The kiss hurts in its coldness for he is kissing the tip of a mountain or the farthest reaches of the sea - either way he cannot breath - and he gasps, a low sensual sound, and tries to turn his head. But the weight of the earth is to heavy and Thorin feels his mind slipping away like grains of sand through fingers; he grasps empty air. For a moment, he thinks he hears Durin whisper, far away and too close all at once, "Mine…" but he isn't sure because the water is rushing down and the clang of metal on metal like two swords clashing again and again and again on the training grounds of Erebor - louder and louder and louder and louder and louder and
Silence.
Ears strain to pick past the sound of water and rats, he hears the sound of a heart beat under his fingers and soft, powerful breaths along his cheeks. Pulling back with wide eyes, he turns his head to see a drop of water crawling down the wall, slowly growing bigger before glancing down to see a tray of food lay fallen on the floor. Turning back, he felt the tears he'd been holding back finally begin to fall, "Azog...I-I don't know what's happening to me…"
A/N: Did that make sense?