Sophia: I'm not sure if I ever said where they were, my bad. They're in Enedwaith, specifically in the southernmost part of the Misty Mountains which is included in the region of Enedwaith; if you go by the lotro game then they're in Thror's comb. So, that's where they are.
The days drew on slowly, unbearably slow as Nora couldn't leave the room – and there wasn't much to do. She was used to televisions and internet, a phone; she was literally in the dark ages stuck in a room with a single desk and only a spare few parchments, and she was going stir crazy. Thorin saw this, he could see in her eyes and the fidgeting of her body that she was slowly coming unhinged; many days he came to find her pacing the length of the room.
"Just walking," she would answer with a shrug when he asked what she was doing. She spent much of each day absentmindedly moving about, pacing or standing without a need – anything to give her body something to do. As peaceful as yoga was it grew boring and tiresome very quickly, especially in a dress; the only peace she found was after supper when Thorin returned with a plate of food and they would talk, mostly of the life she had lived before she'd come here.
He had been saddened when she finally spoke of her family, the thought of her living without love swelling in him as he looked at her sweet face – and she'd turned to find him staring at her, the same look he had given her when he'd first discovered the life she had lived in Rivendell. There wasn't much else to tell him, she'd lived a dull life – she hadn't realized how pointless it had been until she found herself in a new land with so much excitement and purpose.
"You found yourself here," he said making sense of her words, finding that he was quite in awe of her strength of will – for he would never have settled so well into a new land, not as she had.
She thought on that a moment before nodding. "Yeah I guess I did," she said agreeing, she certainly discovered she was stronger than she'd ever thought, more selfless than was healthy, and completely stupid in love.
He sat beside her on the bed oblivious to the half smile curling his mouth as he looked at her, listening to her speak; and such a strange lovely lilt she had to her words, her accent thick and her manner of speech very lazy and relaxed – he was completely enraptured in her. "Do you miss anything?"
It was a moment before she answered, a moment she thought long and hard on whether she actually missed anything of her old life; the short answer was no, one she had almost given him immediately. But it wasn't entirely true, at least not in full; she didn't miss her mother, as terrible as it made her feel to say that she didn't, nor did she miss the hassle of having to work long hours to afford the place her mother lived. But when she thought about it, for the quest had consumed her thoughts and if not the quest then Thorin had, she found that she did miss the people she called friends. And she turned to him and told him all this. "Amy was loud and crass, very Scottish, but she had a good heart. And Donna, heaven forbid if she wasn't the most annoying woman but she was very nice. And Rory, he was the kindest man I'll ever know." A thought came to her at the thought of Rory, at his sweet gentleness, in truth he and Bilbo were the kindest people she thought she would ever know – but she didn't even try to say Bilbo's name, it would be best for them all if she didn't say anything about the quest Thorin would take in many years.
He paused at the fondness laced in her voice when she spoke of this man Rory, surprised by the burning in his chest at the thought of her loving another, at the thought of someone else loving her. "Were you close to Rory?" he asked feigning uncaring, though even to his own ears he could hear the jealousy in his voice.
It warmed her to hear it, to hear that even if he was only just starting to know her he was set in her staying, as though without even understanding it he felt as though she were his. "I knew him all my life," she answered without looking at him, knowing if he saw her smile he would turn in on himself and refuse to speak for the rest of the night. "I guess he was my best friend."
There it was again, that fondness, that familiarity; it burned in him to hear it and he found himself hating this man he had never met. "Did you," he trailed off unable to finish the question for in truth it was not his right to ask – it was not him she had been betrothed to, it was not him who had loved her, yet he felt as though it were; especially now when he could hardly look upon her face without thinking of her soft lips.
"Court him," she finished for him before nodding.
"You courted him?" he asked before he was able to stop himself, feeling his stomach drop as he turned to her shocked.
She turned at the softness of his voice to see his wide eyes as he quickly turned away from her realizing he had completely given himself away. "Well we call it dating but you don't know what that means," she said leaving it up to ask for more. And she waited for whether he would for if he did it meant he was already attached to her, she found herself wanting to so much for that to be true because she was quite attached to him.
And he sat beside her arguing back and forth in his mind whether it were wise to ask because he was very aware what it meant if he did and there still so much he did not know about her. But there was a need in him to know more of this Rory, to know more of her and him and if she still loved him. "Did you intend to marry him?" he finally asked in a rush of blind courage, and the moment he opened his mouth he regretted it; he was laying claim to her in the barest of forms, ensuring that her heart was free to take and that he wished to take it.
She sat quietly beside him not smiling or even looking at him, not wishing for him to pull away when it was the most honest she had ever seen him. "No," she answered, turning to him to see he was waiting for more. "I thought I loved him, I wanted to love him but,"
"But you did not," he finished for her. So in need of an answer was he gave no thought to what he asked, to what his questions truly said; that he did not wish to think of her loving anyone save him.
She shook her head with a sigh. "He was so nice and kind, he always agreed with me. Even when he didn't he still went along with whatever I wanted or said. It was all just," she raised a hand in surrender before letting it fall back to her lap, "boring."
He stared at her with raised brows. "Is that not what you want in a husband?" he asked.
"No," she said incredulous. "I want someone who'll challenge me and frustrate me, and fluster me. I want passion and," she sighed as she thought, "I want to love someone so much it literally hurts, you know?" she finished turning to him to find him staring at her wonderingly.
Of all the talk of love he had heard never had anyone speak such plainly honest words, of admitting that love was not easy, that it was not about bending to the will of the other person. "I don't believe love is supposed to hurt," he told her gently, the one place he stumbled in all she had said.
She stopped herself from saying 'your love does' for she didn't know if he knew of his stubborn unbending will, if he knew how cruel he could be. It would hurt him, she knew, to know that it was hard to love him, to know that it physically hurt; but she didn't know if she'd even be able to tell him it was the only pain worth receiving, and she so greatly did because it was why she was there now. But she didn't know if she would able to say any of that and she was unwilling to only admit it hurt to love him without being able to tell him why she had loved him anyway. And so she sat looking softly at his handsome face so young, not half so guarded and spiteful as it would be years from now, his eyes not so cold nor so broken with despair. She loved him, there was never a chance she wouldn't, and she reached a hand to his face – watching shock flare in his eyes at the feel of her fingertips on his cheek, as she traced his jaw now without the braided beard he had worn; his eyes closed after few moments, leaning into her soft touch.
It was several long moments of sitting quietly beside her doing no more than breathing as she took his face in her small hands, smoothed his hair, pressed a kiss to his cheek his forehead his lips; he could imagine living like this, comfortably in love with her, arguing loudly before ending it all in searing kiss. His eyes opened when he realized his thoughts and he pulled away, standing uncomfortably clearing his throat. "I believe it is time for bed," he said thickly before grabbing the blanket and pillow and laying near the wall, hoping to put as much distance between them as he was able in the small room; wishing he could look at her lovely face and not think of her sweet mouth. He laid in the corner holding the aged clip wondering what everything had been like when he'd given it to her; if he truly had reclaimed the Mountain from the dragon, whether he'd been sick with gold as his grandfather had been – whether he felt anything like he did in this moment now as he thought of her. With a sigh he returned the clip to his pocket and turned on his side, hoping to find peace in his sleep; but not even his dreams were free of her, and he dreamed of less appropriate things than her mouth, and he woke breathless and in need and hurried from the room in fear he was not strong enough to resist her; knowing if she reached for him he would be completely lost to her.