To Sow a Barren Land
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Tolkien and New Line Cinema. I don't make any profit off this.
Warning: P.O.V shifts.
AN: So I realize that Thranduil might be...well, probably is a bit (or a lot) OOC. Yeah, he is young and given his situation, it's hard for him to be sassy. I'm trying my best not to overdo it but if you feel he's being a wimp, do let me know. :)
Chapter 4
Thorin rushed through the corridors and marched straight ahead, not bothering about anyone or anything that might get in his way. He took turns blindly and was thankful that no one was scoffed by his utter disregard of passageway.
If they were, he paid no heed. For in his mind, there was one chant and one chant alone: see Thranduil.
Doors burst open and in flew Thorin. His eyes were wide and breath rapid from the hurried steps he undertook to reach their room. No sooner had he taken two steps towards the elf, he found himself almost being run over by the other.
Thranduil swooped in and knelt on the floor, hugging Thorin's stout frame tightly and as his one buried his face at the crook of his neck, Thorin felt himself vibrating lightly from the shakes coming off from the elven prince.
"Thranduil, gather yourself." He said, soothingly placing a hand on his love's back. He had hoped that Thranduil would somewhat calm down; instead, all it did was increase the force on his lungs as Thranduil's embrace became comparable to hold on life itself.
"Calm down, my love. We must speak and for that you must be composed." He tried again, doing circling motions with his hand on the elf's back.
At that, Thranduil's tremors lessened and ever so slowly he released the grip on Thorin's self before coming to view the dwarf prince's face with widened eyes of his own.
"Adar's coming, Thorin." Thranduil spoke, his voice bearing every essence of foreboding and his eyes shimmering with unthinkable fear of the outcome. "He will be here soon."
Instinctively, Thorin placed a kiss on Thranduil's temples and cupped his cheeks.
"I know. I received word of his arrival." He replied, gently caressing Thranduil's cheeks with his thumbs. He proceeded to press his forehead against the other when Thranduil placed his own palms on top of his hands.
"You know what it means." Thranduil looked desperate. Even as he spoke, the helplessness and fraught were clearly audible as his tone shook with trepidation.
For his own part, a frown crossed Thorin's brows.
Yes. He did know what it all meant.
It wasn't about Oropher discovering their relationship. Thorin suspected that the king was well aware. Such diplomatic visits could be easily carried out by advisors.
What worried him was: Oropher never left Greenwood. For him to undertake such a journey—especially when his son was in Erebor himself—could conclude to one thing and it was such that neither Thorin nor Thranduil dared to acknowledge.
As if to confirm his fear, Thranduil shifted one of his palms and gently entwined their fingers. Thorin was unsure of what the elf wanted to do. He supposed his lover was extremely distressed that he sought some form of comfort. So he let his hand be taken but frowned in confusion the moment after when Thranduil lowered their clasped hands and gently placed them on the flat of his stomach.
"He must no longer hold patience." Thranduil spoke softly, lowering his eyes before closing them fully just as he pressed their hands on his womb. "If we have no answer, I fear we shall have no future."
Thorin's face contorted into a tight expression as a pressure was building up deep within his heart. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he feared a day such as this and now that he was having to face it, he did all but shatter in sorrow.
He nodded slowly and placed a tender kiss on Thranduil's temples. It was not much, but a small gesture of comfort and support. At their present state, even a miniscule amount of it seemed like a grateful quantity.
"We have two days. There's time. We will have an answer," he pointed out as factually as he could but Thranduil was no fool to be misguided by the sheer force of emotions powering through Thorin's throat.
Thorin bent down slightly and tipped the chin of his lover and stared at him for a while. The pressure in his chest grew manifolds as a pair of bright orbs looked up at him as well.
The intense emotions they portrayed...the deep infliction of grief they bore...it took all of his strength and will for Thorin not to breakdown in front of the other.
"And if we have none," He went on, tenderly claiming the other's lips in a reassuring kiss, "We shall find other means and we shall convince everyone."
Thranduil sighed out heavily and stroke Thorin's cheek with his free hand as a small ghost of a smile graced his lips. He lifted their clasped hands, placed a loving kiss on Thorin's knuckles and as he spoke, his eyes and voice were perceptible with unshed tears. "I love you."
"I love you too." Thorin replied back, his voice cracking with grief and uncertainty as he again claimed Thranduil's lips, showering him his entire love and affection.
He was no miser... especially now, when they both knew that perhaps this moment they shared could be their last.
In his chambers, King Thrór was pacing about.
Millions of questions bubbled in his foreseeing mind and millions of outcome showed themselves but not a single one of them provided him with what he needed.
Sancity.
With decades gone and still no signs of any heir, the halls of Erebor already started whispering rumours and fears of Erebor's fall after the last line of Durin. They were already growing weary of the elf. Already they started their quite disapproval of Thorin's choice of mate and his race. Some even dared to point fingers on Thorin's potency.
Thrór admittedly had some idea of Thorin's relationship with Thranduil. Though, he came to know the serious nature of it from Dís, later confirmed by Thorin as well. However, she wasn't the source who had provided him the news. Thrór's ears had picked up the ghost of words floating around his people long before she had burst in his room that one day and spoke of her findings in excitement.
Thrór knew. DÍs merely made it factual.
Now the situation was comparable to a tipping scale. No matter what decision he'd choose, it'd only satisfy one side and leave the other with gashes of disappointment. The question was: which side would he choose to weigh down?
His grandson or his people?
He paused in his gait as a careful knock was made at his door. Wondering who it could be, he frowned a little before commanding in a proper tone, "Enter."
Confusion graced him immediately after as his eyes caught a meek form peeking his head from the door, looking nervous and extremely out of place.
The chamber was dimly lit and from the light of a single lamp, the other's shadow fell on the wall adjacent to the door making the ambience all the more eerie.
"Show yourself." He straightened up, increasing the level of authority in his tone.
The figure took a few more moments before slowly stepping out of the shadows. As he approached the king in a rather polite and hesitant way, Thrór felt his eyebrows rising as he recognized his most unlikely visitor.
"My apologies for interrupting you, my king."
It was the royal healer.
Out of all, what could he want with him at that hour?
Unknowingly, Thrór's frown deepened. His mind suddenly raced to come up with every possible explanation of the healer's presence and with each one being replaced by the next, he found his heart growing more and more unsteady as an unknown fear began weaving threads in it.
"What do you require?" He asked, prompting the other to keep it short and precise.
The healer quickly bowed and stroked his beard thoughtfully as if he was contemplating whether or not he should deliver whatever there was to be delivered.
"Make it quick!" Thrór couldn't help but hiss at the other. The healer suddenly wincing to his tone also didn't go unnoticed; however Thrór was helpless.
With each fleeting moment, the anxiety in his heart grew larger and larger, as each of the rumours he had heard—especially those concerning his own blood—seemed to become more and more real.
The healer obeyed and with a final bit of hesitation painted on his face, he informed timidly, "This morning, I had been asked to examine His Highness and the elven prince, My Lord."
He paused, seemingly sighing out as Thrór's fully attentive eyes awaited him to continue.
"I have not conducted in any confirmatory tests." The healer spoke, now rubbing his hands as nervousness overtook him. "However, so far from what I've seen, it is not the prince's fault. He is in perfect shape."
With that, Thrór let out a breath which he unknowingly held as relief was showered all over him. He silently thanked Mahal for preserving his face and the prestige of his blood. Only Aüle knew what shame would befall on all of them if Thorin indeed was impotent!
However, his relief was short-lived. When his eyes caught the still fidgeting healer rubbing his hands harder and biting his lips, the feeling of uncertainty and the silent formation of dread crept slowly back into his heart and mind.
"Is there more?" He urged, swallowing thickly as unsteady eyes flickered all over the figure of the other dwarf.
At that, said other let out another sigh which was graver than the last one and closed his eyes.
Their shadows were flickering with the light as light brushes of breeze taunted the flame. The air seemingly grew thicker and the darkness in the room apparently enhanced much like the moods of its occupants.
Just when the silence was becoming unbearable, the healer finally spoke up, looking up hesitantly as unspoken words of apology covered his entire form.
"But...the elf is not."
Thrór's eyes became frigid with hopelessness while those words panged his heart.
He didn't like where this was going. He didn't like the option which he'd be forced to choose.
"I've told the prince that this is because of how incompatible we are. That my knowledge on elven anatomy is limited. However, I am certain that such is not the case here." The healer paused, taking his time as he delivered the final words, tasting bitterness as each rolled out of his tongue. "The elf is infertile. He shall never bear children."
Thrór closed his eyes and shook his head. Each breath he took became shuddered and each time he inhaled, he felt his lungs being crushed by the pressure he felt in his heart.
"And as long as His Highness is with him, he shall never have an heir."
The king took steps back and slumped heavily on a nearby chair. He sat there for a while and upon hearing the other's concerned voice, he waved his hand in dismissal before supporting his head on it.
It was now obvious to him which side he'd choose. This was what he was dreading. This was what he wanted to deny. However, with growing pressure of his people, Thrór found no other way of going around this problem.
If he went with his instincts, he'd be shamed. His kin and his grandson would be humiliated and it'd eventually lead to riots and protests and ultimately, their dynasty.
No. As much as he hated it, this was inevitable.
Thrór would have to choose his people.
AN: Please review!