A/N: I did it! I finally made Thorin leave that rock, and Mahal and Pericula Ludus know how hard it has been for me. It is so difficult to try and stick to his character, to make him credible and to write him slowly into the Dwarf we all know, when all you want as a writer is to fix it all... I'm not sure I managed it wholly, but among the five versions I wrote this at least seemed to hit it for me, so I just post it now. More little facts in the ending notes, but already thanking you for your support, especially my dear Oin-friend who endured so many of my grumblings... Enjoy I hope!
The King of Carven Stone
Chapter 25.
When I woke up it was night still, and for several moments I was unable to remember where I was. I could only remember what had happened: the wolf's fangs in my shoulder, his bite on my knee, but somehow it mingled with my grandfather's words.
A cave in the Grey Mountains, bats, wolf flesh and wolf furs, to survive... Kill so as not to be devoured, for the weakest were doomed...
I recovered slowly, resting my hand against the rock, my blanket sliding from my body. I felt crushed, like rubble smashed to pieces between sharper rocks, every movement hurt and my muscles were stiff and sore.
My hand felt for my shoulder, pain throbbing against my palm – the sling was still in place, and my fingers felt numb and cold, resting against my chest. I felt for my knee – bending the leg was painful and my trousers felt sticky, but I could move it and for a while I stayed like this, clutching my knee, staring at the dark night looming around, where not a single star could be seen. It seemed that the world stopped existing past the dying embers of our fires, and it felt as dark as my own mind and heart.
Don't let anybody see you are hurt. They will seek to break you, all of them. You promised, grandson.
His words of steel helped me so often in dark days, helped me when no kindness could reach me, when grief and hurt were so strong that I could only breathe in, and breathe out...
I thought of him every day – he was always there, somehow, his broad hand clutching my shoulder, his hard features shaped out in my mind, every time I was on the verge of being crushed, of becoming nothing more than rubble to be trod upon...
I have feared him, and what became of him. I have felt rage and despair because of him, I have opposed him again, and again – I have even promised myself never to become like him, I could see his faults, his weaknesses, his madness... And in the end I failed, because we were the same – we shared blood, and thoughts, but above all, we shared fates and there is no escaping this, is it...?
He is the only one I am not afraid to meet, in the Halls where I hope to be carried soon. He is the only one who will not judge me – he might have been hard and harsh alive, but I know he will understand, when I will tell him about each heartbreaking decision I made... He will understand, when I will tell him I tried, tried so desperately to make it better, to build something, and to reclaim what was ours so that our people would never have to deal with cold and poverty again...
But above all, he will understand my failures – the way my mind just broke, and even this, that wound in my chest killing me slowly, because I have gone there alone, by myself, not waiting for any support, determined to avenge them all...
I know exactly what I will say, as soon as I will meet his cold, blue gaze I missed so much, every day, without daring to breathe a word about it, not even daring to acknowledge it – and yet it was true...
I am sorry, grandfather. I should have loved you more, I should have told you, clung to you like Frerin did with 'adad, so that you would have known, at least... Known that you could have let your guard down, that it would not have changed anything, that I would have followed you nonetheless, and even more gladly... I know how hard you tried, I know now that you could not help it, that it was not your fault, that it was so hard to bear, that it was only a shield...
Don't look at me, just hold me, please – I don't want to see the others, I don't want them to tell me everything is fine, nothing is fine, and no one can understand, no one but you...
I yearn for your arms, for your crushing embrace, for your fierce glance – it is the only thing that still can mean home and kin to me now...
I am so sorry to have disavowed you – I am not my grandfather, I have said endless times, just as if it was a curse... Oh Mahal, are they going to say it as well, Dáin, Dís, and Dáin's son he was silly enough to name after me – are they going to say I am not Thorin Oakenshield, in the same contemptuous tone I used, thinking myself above you...?
It was only fear, grandfather. It was never contempt – how could it, you were strong, you had achieved so much and I never saw you break down the way I did...
I want you to know it was you, after Azanulbizar.
You who helped me to walk – Dwalin and Dís, and Balin, even Oín, they patched me up, helped me to stand again, but they persisted in telling me it was not my fault, that the blame was not to be placed upon my shoulders... They never understood what it felt like – they never understood it was their love and care that almost made me crumble, these dark hours where I remembered blood, and all these ashes in the crimson sky, making me choke...
But you – you would have yelled at me. Barked at me to stand up and do whatever I had to do, without delay. Death and losses were no excuses, we knew about them, we had faced it before, and tears were useless when there was work to do.
You who had watched your father and brother slain, who had picked up your smaller brother and taken up the mantle of leadership without a second thought...
It was you, you who helped me to walk – not to feel, not to love, but to keep functioning, because I had to. And I thank you for it – there might have been another way, but it was the only one that worked for me. You will understand. Perhaps you will even feel pride, but I only want you to hold me, and shield me, because I know you will not judge.
Yet that night... That night I was still a small boy, a child, terrified by the wilderness and its savage laws – and they were cruel, these words about strength, loneliness, hardness and leadership...
And should my older self have been there, next to the small Dwarfling huddled against that rock, desperately trying to pull himself together, I would have cradled him, pulled his head against my shoulder and whispered to him not to take every word as seriously – not every deeds were the same, and it was one thing not to bare every feeling so as to keep shielded, and another to shut yourself away from everyone because a King had to...
That day, I had only lack of experience to be blamed for... I was so soft still, so innocent – oh yes, I would have cradled that boy, be it only for everything that would come next... I am not feeling sorry for myself, I am not avoiding the blame or trying to find excuses for my behaviour – I know what I have become, and their words of hatred and contempt I truly deserve.
But not the boy I was, and that no one will remember. Not that small boy, always trying to achieve more, to be stronger, to make everyone proud – full of doubts and hurt I could not deal with alone...
I was not alone, though.
As I recovered, wiping my hand against the rock and stretching my injured leg, I realized I was not the only one awake.
Dwalin was sitting two steps away from me, draped in his fur coat, one knee raised and his hands resting against it – I have seen him keep watch like this so often, backed up against a rock, a tree or his saddle, his axes ready on the ground beneath him, yet always looking so relaxed, just like he was enjoying a quiet smoke...
That night he was only a boy as well – his hair was still long and thick, tied back with a heavy hair clasp, and there was no beard no tattoo on his face, it was still bare, almost bare, just like his hands. No blue patterns speaking of battle deeds, no fierce knuckledusters, no scars, just the bare hands of a boy resting against his knee...
His eyes never changed, though. These brown eyes he shared with his brother, but had expressions of their own, just like Balin's – I loved them both, I loved them both so dearly, Fundin's sons, I needed them both so dearly as well...
He was looking at me but did not say a word, did not make a gesture, and his silence hit me just as if he had slapped me – it spoke of anger, of contempt, of disappointment, and I could not blame him but it hurt, nonetheless. It hurt so much that I could not bring myself to speak for a while, I had to swallow first, ball my fist and then – then I looked up at him.
"Why don't you sleep?", I asked, and my voice was tiny, desperately trying to sound firm and collected.
"Same as you...", Dwalin answered, in that calm, even tone that always spoke of anger.
I looked up at him, my eyes searched his body, panic flaming up in my heart at the thought that he might be hurt – I had not even looked, had assumed he was fine, but what if he was not? I had not been with him the whole day...
"Are you hurt?", I asked, crawling closer to him.
He shrugged his shoulders and it prevented me from touching him. I just faced him, my heart beating loudly in my chest and my throat tight.
"Are you hurt?", I asked again, my voice quivering.
"'Course not."
His voice was fierce, despite of his even tone, and I had to swallow again. My nose was beginning to run, and I wiped it with the back of my hand. Once. And a second time, because he did not add anything.
"It was a mistake."
My voice was shaky but I was determined not to lower my gaze.
"What was a mistake?", Dwalin asked, and I wiped my nose again.
"What we did", I answered, and he arched his eyebrows, his face still hard.
"It is all right. It does not matter. Nobody knows. They think we are just cousins and friends...
- Are we?", he asked, and I could feel his anger rise, still I answered:
"Yes. You are my friend. You said... you said you were."
I took a deep breath, clenching my fist even harder.
"But it does not mean... It does not mean you have to be forever. It is all right. You can still...
- I can still what?", Dwalin growled, and I had to repress a sob, this time, but still I did not look away.
"You can still go back. Just like Dáin. It is better this way. It is just better this way... There is no point in you staying with me, it is just... It is just wasting your life away."
Dwalin balled his fists, and for a second I thought he would hit me, but he only glared at me.
"Do you know what you are asking? Do you realize what you are doing, when you are saying these words? Do you actually know what it means, when you say that it's fine, that it's alright? That it doesn't matter?!"
He reached out for my hale arm, grasped it fiercely, and then he shook me.
"Damn it, Thorin, it might not have mattered for you, but it did for me! I don't... I don't twist words like you do! I don't say yes when I mean no, fine when I mean terrible, go when I mean stay! I'm not pretending to be someone I'm not!
- I know..."
I let him shake me, I could not even wipe my nose, I just rubbed it against my sling.
"I know... I'm the one who pretended... I'm the one who lied...
- About what?"
He had stopped shaking me, he was gazing at me, his eyes bright – he was so strong, so tall, so full of heat and anger.
"About..."
I dragged my arm free and wiped my face.
"About... me... I... I... I don't... I am not... I am not what I... I don't manage... I am just not... They want... He said... I...
- Thorin..."
He had his hand on my forearm again, and I looked up at him, blinded by tears I still managed not to shed – that I would not shed, come what may.
"I don't understand a word of what you are saying, you idiot."
And his voice was soft, yet void of anger at last, as he added:
"And it is better this way. It does not matter. It is all fine."
He was grinning, the rascal, had used a high-pitched voice to mimic me, and his fingers gently pinched my forearm, but I could not pick up his jest, I could only back up against the rock, feeling so small.
"I left your side. I left your side. I just had to hold my ground, but I didn't, I didn't hold my ground, I...
- Thorin, did you look at that wolf? Truly looked at him? Do you realize just how big he was?"
I stiffened, by body getting rigid again despite my will. Of course I had looked at him. I had only been able to look at him...
"There was nothing you could do... Even if you had shifted, he would have come back, he would not have withdrawn, not that one..."
He was still clasping my forearm – he probably felt my shivers, for I was shaking again, my muscles hurting from trying to repress it.
"I was the one leaving your side. I did not manage to free you. I watched you being dragged away and all I could do was running after you... I was so scared, Thorin..."
His voice had grown even softer, and I looked up at him, still huddled against the rock. I met his earnest gaze, these features I knew by heart, they were so dear to me, and I knew he was not lying.
"I could not keep you safe... Is that why you want me away?
- I don't want you away."
The words had broken out like a cry of pain and it startled Dwalin, I felt it as I leant forward, desperately reaching out for him, not caring that my injured arm was pressed against his chest, that it hurt so much I could barely speak.
"I don't want you away. I don't want you away. I never want you away."
My fingers found the back of his tunic, balled themselves around the thick woolen fabric – I clenched my fist around it this time, so hard my knuckles turned white.
What my grandfather's words had not been able to cause, Dwalin's achieved in a few seconds – there I was, clinging to him, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder, because he was my friend, had promised to be, and that I could not bear to lose this treasure, one of the few things I still had and could not part with.
"Good", Dwalin said then, crossing his arms on my back and holding me close. "Because I didn't mean to go anyway. I have given you my word, remember?"
I nodded, my face still hidden in his shoulder, my fingers shifting slightly to tighten their grasp around his tunic.
"I won't let you carry that bag, mind. That thought you can thrust back where it belongs, among with other bright ideas – such as walking a whole day sweating in a light tunic, Mahal, what are fur coats for, I wonder?
- Hey, you are not my mum..."
I had mumbled the words straight into his shoulder, not bothering to lift my face, and it made him pinch my back.
"Nope. But I can be stubborn too... Speaking of mums, if you would please let go for a while..."
I shook my head, smiling at last, turning my face just enough to meet his gaze, and he pinched my back again, rolling his eyes.
"Mahal give me patience, strength and endeavour to bear that little plague, sticking to me like moss upon a rock...
- Did you just call me moss...?", I breathed out, hitting him, making him bend towards me – but then I winced, and let go indeed, for I had forgotten my arm, and the searing pain in my shoulder.
He backed me up against the rock, all teasing forgotten, and reached for his bag. I watched him empty a pinch of dried powder into his bowl, mixing it up with some water then handing it to me.
"What is it?", I asked, taking the bowl.
"Willow-bark. Have it from my mum – she must have guessed what we would be up to."
He grinned and I smiled back. The pain was sharp, and I was not against something to alleviate it, as long as it was not Oín's accursed fire-drink...
"Eat something with it. It's bitter."
He handed me some bread and salted cheese – it was only then I realized how hungry I felt. I had not eaten nor drunk the whole day, and I had been too exhausted to notice, but I was starving and ate gladly, nestled against Dwalin who had sat himself at my side.
"I have to train harder", I voiced in the end, once I had filled my stomach properly, looking at Frerin's and Dáin's stretched silhouettes.
They slept like rocks, both of them. My cousin, tired by the hour-long fight where he had not disgraced himself, holding his ground and pushing back wolves until they withdrew. And Frerin...
He had fallen asleep shortly after me, the day's terrible strain taking its toll – he had fought like the true warrior he was too, had carried his own bag and my heavy chainmail for hours. In the end he had just nestled against the rock close to me, making sure to cover me with my blanket – and now he was sleeping, his breath soft and even. Hopefully dreaming himself away from blood and violence.
Dwalin grunted and pulled me against him, his arm around my waist.
"I'm useless without my right arm", I added, frowning in the darkness. "I could not reach that wolf properly with the left. When we will get to Dunland, I'm going to make sure to become deadly with both arms, just like you.
- Going to train against Dís?", he teased me. "She's pretty deadly with her sticks, I promise you..."
I smiled, shaking my head.
"No. She'd beat me up. I had you in mind.
- Oh, I'll beat you up all the same...
- Can't wait..."
My voice was trailing off – I was feeling tired, suddenly, the pain in my joints and shoulder lessening slowly and my eyelids getting heavy. I yawned, and Dwalin put his palm against my mouth.
"Hey, that's awfully rude."
He was laughing silently, and he laughed even more when I pretended to bite him.
"Be nice, shift a bit...", I mumbled, pushing him in the chest so that he could lie down at last.
I settled my head on his shoulder, rested my injured arm against his chest, dragging my blanket upon our bodies. Dwalin's hand clasped my forearm gently, keeping it from sliding and hurting me, and I closed my eyes.
"Mahal, I'm the nicest Dwarf breathing under the skies...", he teased me, and I huffed into his neck, earning a soft nudge.
"I'm the nice one. Keeping you warm and all.."
I was drifting off actually, and my words were only half-articulated. I remember the warmth of his strong body against mine, the silent laughter shaking his chest. But I also recall soft words, seriously spoken once he was sure I could not answer, a heartbeat away from sleep, already drifting away.
"Don't let the wrong fires bend you, Thorin."
He kept his promise.
I did not carry my bag, not that day nor any other day, until Oín confirmed officially my shoulder had healed – oh, he threw a proper tantrum, Oín, that morning, once he had got me to remove my clothes so as to dress my arm again.
"What word in 'no strain at all' is too obscure to enter your wind-beaten head?! See how swollen it is? See how it hurts, when I bend it like this, and like that?"
And I winced indeed, biting my lip hard, facing his fury as bravely as I could, trying to soothe him, nodding at every proper moment.
"Oí, I am going to say that in front of everyone and everybody – if I say something has to be done, it's because it has a purpose, because there is a good reason, and if you want your son and grandson to be maimed and never to move his arm again, you just go on like this but don't ask me to watch and stand by! There's plenty of work among you thickheads, I can tell you, no need for me to stay!
- Now Oín, old chap...", Náin threw in, amusement twitching his lips while my father and grandfather just stood there, Thrór too surprised to speak, and my father too worried.
"Don't you old-chap me! I don't meddle with your furnaces, you don't meddle with the lad's sinews and bones, right? Now you all get away, get your things done, whatever that might be, I have work to do!"
I still have to smile when I remember him raging and fuming – grim-faced Oín, black-eyed and black-bearded, still perfectly able to hear every whisper, fiercer than the fiercest warrior...
"And don't you dare saying I overdo it!", he yelled, as they shuffled away, facing me grimly, huffing something like "overdoing it, me..." in his beard, applying ointment on my shoulder with rough moves.
"Don't hurt him, please, Oín..."
Dís was the only one who did not mind his outburst, she was standing behind him, peeping across his back, and at her words his anger seemed to deflate instantly, thank Mahal.
"I won't, lassie. I'm just making sure he mends, right?
- Can I help you? I can put it on his shoulder, Oín, you said I could...
- Did I now, lass?"
He was smiling, actually, tiny wrinkles showing around his eyes – and it made him look so young, not fearsome at all, almost like another Dwarf... She nodded, and I was grateful for the change, her tiny hands brushing my shoulder gently, trying to spare me unnecessary pain, rubbing the ointment in my skin with soft circles that sent down shivers into my spine.
"Better off for it like that, eh lad?"
Dís' eyes shone with pride and she smiled as I nodded, while Oín bent down to take care of my knee.
"Moonlight and moonshine, moon-shadows peeping
Moonlight and moonshine, brave little Dwarfling
Moonlight and moonshine, my sweet, dearest son
Moonlight and moonshine, pain will be gone."
She had sung the words as earnestly as a prayer, just like a spell – the same words my mother always made sure to whisper in my ear whenever I had come to her injured and crying... I had made sure she would hear it too, every time it was needed, twisting the words slightly so that it could fit her, and she had remembered...
I stared at her, smiling at me, her blue eyes so bright, so sure her words held magic, and they did, they did...
And then I moved my arm, gingerly, very slowly, yet making sure I could have her against me, closing my eyes, our cheeks touching without a word until Oín finished.
He did not speak either – he was all silent and soft, no doubt her words had reached him too, no doubt he was seeing her, the Dwarrowdam who had always been so caring, smiling and making sure there would always be love and light even in darkest halls...
He bandaged my shoulder with care, he even helped me with my clothes, and when he tied the sling around my chest and back, he actually brushed my cheek, once, with the back of his hand.
"Don't worry, lad. You'll move that arm again soon, I just had to frighten them a bit so that they let you be, for a while."
I looked up at him, puzzled, and he brushed my cheek again, roughly.
"I'm leaving him in your hands, Dís. Make sure he doesn't carry anything. No bag, only weapons if they are strapped on the left shoulder. If he does otherwise, you report, right, lass?
- Righty-right!", she let out, her silvery voice ringing clear against the rocks, making him laugh silently, as he gathered his bag, flasks and bandages, leaving us alone.
"Can I do your hair, Thorin?", Dís asked eagerly, but I refused, horror-struck at the thought of being caught with my hair being braided by my little sister.
"No. Leave it like that, the braids are still holding.
- But it looks messy.
- Then it will keep messy.
- You are so stubborn!
- And I will keep stubborn."
I was smiling, actually, because she was pouting, but she didn't insist, waiting for Dwalin to fasten my fur coat for me and strap my weapons on my shoulder. She was watching him closely, her eyes narrowed, and he smiled at her.
"Everything as it should, sarnûna? Anything bothering you?
- Nope", she grinned, and I sighed.
"It is no, Dís, as long as I am listening."
She mouthed the word 'grumpy' and I arched my eyebrows, until she looked down, simply holding out her hand for me. I clasped it, tenderly, dragging her against me.
"Grumpy yourself, mamarlûna."
And gone we were, leaving these desolate rocks behind us, Roäc leading on in the sky while we followed, his black eyes warming up as he saw us advance, Dwalin and Frerin sharing my belongings on their backs while Dís held my hand, and Dáin falling into a song when he was told the Anduin was only seven days ahead.
Fundin and Náin shaking their head at us – summoning a smile even on my father's lips, the worried furrow between his eyebrows vanishing as Náin reminded him of their own performances.
And Oín chuckling behind us, sharing his good mood with Balin whose eyes sparkled and laughed – they were ever close, both of them, they both had this superiority of knowledge, of seeing clearly through minds... Never using it to hurt or to harm, but enjoying these little moments where they had managed to wrap everyone around their finger – small victories that had nothing to do with battle.
Even my grandfather did not say a word, that day. His mood was changeable, and I am not sure he recalled everything he had told me – he had wanted these words to be passed on, but it had been the urge of a moment, he had already forgotten my shoulder, was not even searching for me at his side, kept his thoughts fixed on reaching the River...
It was our last week with Náin, and Dáin, Fundin and
the rest of the warriors. Seven days, and then we would part. Seven days, and then we would head into unknown lands, seeking for work and shelter, a new life beginning for us, among Men, away from halls and kin...
Seven days – and yet it still seemed long, among these hills we were treading, together still, walking, singing sometimes, laughing at each other... My sister's fingers in my hand, my brother's in my hair, on the second morning because my braids were messy... Dwalin's silent joy, lightening his eyes, when he saw me able to unlace my sling, using my arm again, not carrying anything of course, but moving it again.
And my father's hand on my neck, every now and then, quiet and loving, telling me silently not to worry, that it was all right to be happy and careless every now and then – that it had nothing to do with shutting my eyes, that it was just making the best of our last week together, that there would be enough worries afterwards but that we would still try to face them, that it would be all right...
I tried. That week at least, I have let other carry my burden, a tiny hand lead me on, nimble fingers help me to undress and to braid my hair, and my father stand guard against darker thoughts...
That week I was happy, and would I be able to face him, the small Dwarfling I was, clinging to those I loved, because they were everything to me, because I had still enough wisdom and softness to see what really mattered – I would take his face between my hands, softly touch foreheads with him and tell him he was right.
Tell him I should never have choked him, that I should have listened to him more closely, made sure to remember him as well, and not only my grandfather's words – that I did not have any choice but still regret it, and that I am glad he seized these seven days to claim them his, to be a boy still and let others love him.
For that boy, that small boy no one will remember and who had so many thoughts, and questions, and doubts...
That small boy was right where the warrior and King erred, and I still grieve for him.
A/N: Righty-right lads! First of all, I want to thank PerliculaLudus (again, for everything and especially for the knuckledusters), sorrellkaren, The Dwarfess and my two mysterious Guests who always leave me so kind rewiews - you have no idea how much it helps. The more you write, the more I yearn to write something truly good and worthy of your words. I want you to know I am determined to continue Dwalin's fic as well. I cannot promise you to update as fast as with that one, but you will get more of it - and yes, I will indeed use it also for the small moments I just cannot write into this story. So - thank you again, and as always, if you feel like telling me how you find what I do, you will make me the happiest Thorin-chronicle-writer in the world :). Take care till next post, Meysun.