Author's Note: Hi Dina! I'm happy about each and every comment I get, so I try to show that appreciation by replying :) Those two really need to remedy that tension ... with some more kissing, hopefully :P

Sorry to everyone who is reading my other WIP fics (meaning especially The Things I Would Do For You), but I'm caught up in uni stuff, plus I have the flu and personal issues are still unresolved. Since OME is fluffy, and I really need some fluff in my life, I mostly write on this one, but I just wanted to say that I haven't forgotten the others. Since I'm a 'quality before quantity' type, I'd rather wait with writing and updating or you might get cr*p instead of readable chapters.

Pluto by Emeli Sandé is cool to listen to. It's a new, yet unreleased song, but you can listen to live recordings from the Royal Albert Hall on YT for example. Very inspiring, can't wait to hear the finished version.

Enjoy!


"Anger". Oil on canvas – Dís' apartment, early morning

"Regret". Colour pencils – Dís' apartment, morning

What in seven hells' name had he been thinking? Well, he hadn't been thinking, that's right. How could have kissing his Arkenstone ever have sounded like a good idea? Oh, right, it hadn't. Had he just lost his only change of finding his purpose in life? Actually, yes.

Cursing, Thorin splashed the colour onto the perfect, white canvas, choosing the colours and shapes on pure instinct and emotions. So far there was an unsurprising amount of red, and angry, angular spikes and edges … Now he felt like adding black as well, so he haphazardly swished his pencil around. He didn't care that he was wasting paint and a perfectly good canvas with this tantrum, but it was the only option besides finding a suitable target and punching it until it was completely wrecked or his arms went numb.

"If you could at least keep down your swearing …"

Thorin twisted on his heels, nearly falling over. He felt his anger drain away – of course, it was always more effective to simply talk to Dís, but he hated weighing her down with his worries and problems. So he felt guilt wash over him, as he saw her standing there in her pyjamas, with bedhead and tired wrinkles around her eyes. But she smiled, and Thorin felt tears stinging in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Come here." She yawned and waved him over to the sofa. He carefully wiped some colour off his hands, though he would need to clean them later with some turpentine anyway.

"What's the matter?" she asked then.

"Something happened … with Thranduil," he admitted quietly.

"Did he reject you?"

"No. I mean, he might, after …" Thorin sighed and rubbed his eyes, forgetting that there was still colour on them, and he cursed again.

"Keep it down," Dís chided. "I won't let your language rub off on my boys. They'll grow into it soon enough, they don't need their uncle to do that just yet."

"Sorry."

She crossed her arms and gave him a 'look', but Thorin squirmed and scratched his re-growing beard, refusing to say anything.

"I can still look up his number or address and ask him, if that's easier for you," Dís said mercilessly. "You know I'd absolutely do something like that. If you make me."

"Very well," he grumbled and pulled a face. "I kissed him. There you have it."

Dís blinked a few times, assessing him.

"And then he threw you out or what?" she asked.

"No, I … It was wrong. I could see the disgust on his face, like …" Thorin hesitated. "I destroyed my only chance of keeping my Arkenstone. All my life I wanted to find it – him – and now that I even had him I screwed up."

"Oh come on, Thorin, I'm sure you're just exaggerating," Dís sighed.

"What's there to exaggerate about a kiss?"

"I didn't mean the kiss … Maybe you're overreacting and Thranduil is totally cool about this." She curved her lips into a small smile. "I bet you ran like a dog with its tail between its legs."

"I did not," Thorin proclaimed indignantly.

"Oh, yes, you did. And didn't even give him a chance to react, as well."

"Dís …"

"Don't, Thorin, I know you and yes you screwed up, but only because you made a fool of yourself. Tomorrow …" She looked at her wristwatch. "No, today. Today you go and see him again. Apologise, kiss him again, whatever, I don't care. Just sort things out, okay?"

"He said he was meeting someone today, but we agreed on meeting tomorrow."

"See? He can't be that disgusted if he wants to see you again." Dís yawned and clapped her hands together. "Now, it's still very early and I'm going to get a snatch of sleep before dawn."

"Right. Sorry."

"No problem, big brother." She ruffled his hair affectionately and shuffled back into her room, leaving Thorin alone with memories and thoughts that wouldn't let go of him. But he wasn't angry anymore – neither at himself nor at anything at all, really – so he fittingly titled the red-and-black painting "Anger", cleared his oil colours and pencils away and went to sit on the couch again. He was still restless though, so he unpacked his new colour pencils and started to draw in the dim light that seeped through the curtains. Since his thoughts still drifted around Thranduil, circling him and the bright memories he connected with him like starved wolves, it didn't surprise him that his hand managed to elicit his Arkenstone's elegant features from the blank paper. The blue and purplish colours he was using, together with the bright green and orange – leaves and blossoms, both withered and lush alike – for the background, gave the drawing a surreal touch. The Thranduil in his picture was looking over his right shoulder with a sorrowful expression, brushing his fingers against dried leaves on his right and yellow flowers to his left.

By the time he'd drawn the simple, dark blue robe he was wearing, the sun's first rays sent their hesitating fingers into the living room, caressing Thorin's colour-stained fingers.

"Uncle?"

He looked up from his drawing, realising that both of his nephews were standing right beside him.

"Hey, you two … Already up, wow," he murmured and held out his arms to draw them nearer. Kíli actually nestled into his side, though Fíli was content with sitting next to him and an arm around his shoulders.

"Is that the man who came to visit you last week?" the younger asked curiously.

"Mom says he's your Arkenstone," Fíli added in a questioning tone.

"Yes, and he is."

"Why does he look so sad?" Kíli's brown eyes blinked up at him.

"Do you see the … the plants?" What was, what is and what could have been between us, Thorin thought. He looks back and mourns the future. "Some of them are withered. And he's … sad about that."

"Wi-the-red?"

"Yes, withered. That's when plants dry up and don't grow any longer."

"Why won't they grow?"

"Someone else …" Me. "… did something. And took away their colour."

"Can't he do something to heal them?" Fíli asked, brow furrowed. "When our plants have dry leaves, mom gives them fertiliser, and then they bloom again. Can't he do that? And did he give them enough water and light? We were learning about plants in school, and the teacher said something about photosynthesis … I didn't understand that yet, but he said it's important for plants."

Thorin blinked a few times.

"Well … I suppose."

"The plants can be healed?" Kíli asked and sat up attentively.

"Then draw another picture, where he's happy and his garden is blooming," Fíli demanded and pulled at Thorin's hands. He smiled and gently kissed his temple.

"Thank you, I think that's a wonderful idea. But my fingers are tired now, and the plants need some more time to recover."

The boys quietly watched as he signed on the bottom right corner, put the date and a title – "Regret" – there as well.

"Are you going to make us pancakes now?" Kíli whispered into the fabric of Thorin's shirt, nuzzling his shoulder with his nose.

"Let's wait for your mom to wake up. She needs her sleep." He put a kiss on the top of both boys' heads. "But why don't you two help me with finding colours for my Arkenstone's garden in the meantime?"

The boys cheered quietly, considerate of their mother's sleep. And when Dís shuffled out of her room an hour or so later, they were still choosing from the large palette of colours, arguing about the different shades and sometimes whining about the impossibility to choose. All the colours were beautiful, and in the end they made Thorin promise to paint flowers in all the colours he had, so his Arkenstone was happy again.


Author's Note: What do you think? Next chapter Thranduil and his agent(s)! Guess who? :P