To Sow a Barren Land
Disclaimer: I only own the plot and the OFC. Nothing else.
AN: Esja is the name of the OFC. This name may possibly be related to Old Norse esja which is a kind of clay.
To everyone who've reviewed/faved/followed- I can't thank you enough. :)
Chapter 8
Thorin's eyes reflected confusion and unpreparedness as he stood stiffly at the great hall, where before him stood probably the kingdom's finest of dwarf maidens. Each of them was lavishly dressed and upon whom his gaze fell, Thorin took all his might not to roll his eyes as that lady blushed and looked away shyly.
"What is the meaning of this?" He asked when his curiosity became overbearing.
His grandfather, the probable grand architect of this whole scheme, smiled at the ones gathered and pointed out to one particular dainty maiden who had an air of personality about her.
"That my dear lad," he said in a hushed tone receiving a stare of growing annoyance from the other, "is Lady Esja of Moria. Born into one of the most esteemed families, she has been well trained and educated in all the finer points of etiquette." Thrór glanced once at his grandson and seeing the disapproving look still crossing his face, he decided to continue nevertheless, "And her way of thinking is quite radical. I'm sure she will become a fine wife for you, laddie."
All the while Thrór went on singing the dame's praise, Thorin resisted his urge to roll his eyes and give off any expressions that truly portrayed how annoyed he was at all of this. However, upon hearing the last part of his grandfather's speech, the protesting expression on his face returned as his eyes grew wide and narrowed a moment later with utter disapproval.
"What?" His voice was kept low, although the hiss that made its way out needed no amount of volume to convey the discontent. "Wife? My wife?"
Thrór look nonplussed as if he had been anticipating such response. He gave a simple nod. Thorin's eyes flashed with disbelief and shock as a sudden flare of anger overwhelmed his heart.
"And why would you think I'd want to marry?" His jaws clenched with the sudden twist he felt in his chest. His wounds would never heal but they hadn't faded yet and it took him all of his will power to keep a straight face while painful memories of his unfulfilled dreams began flooding his mind.
He took deep breaths and again focused on the king, as he spoke in a firm tone, "Why would you have me married so soon? You know I can't. You know to whom my heart belongs."
"And I also know that it has been six months since he released you from your bond." Thrór reprimanded, reeling Thorin's rage back. "And you know I wouldn't resort to this option had he not lacked."
"He lacked in one aspect!" Thorin pleaded exasperatedly.
He was about to say more when he saw the alarming look on the king's face. Straightening himself, he looked around. The chatter in the court suddenly died down and all eyes were upon the Prince or Erebor. Curiosity and concern exuberated from them and some even took the opportunity to murmur their thoughts about Thorin' 'sudden change' in demeanour.
It was then that he realized. He had raised his voice enough to draw attention and his rebelling stance didn't improve the situation any better.
Quickly, he gathered himself and swept a reassuring glance on the court. It took the guests a little time to get over the awkwardness but gradually, they were again lulled into their merriment and continued their conversation.
When the others were preoccupied once more, Thorin faced Thrór and resumed in a careful tone, "He lacked in one aspect. That could've been overlooked! There were other choices."
Thrór frowned. He was not used to be questioned about his decision and neither was he appreciative of it.
His eyes locked in a critical gaze, he replied slowly, "It is the most important aspect. It ensures our line and something like that cannot be overlooked."
He caught on the protesting vibe off from the other and hardened his gaze which prohibited Thorin from speaking.
"As for other options, do you realize the uproar it would cause when people found out their prince and his companion adopting a babe? It's no charity to them! They'd see it as incapability. They'd probably see it as you're incapability and I can't allow that. I shall not allow my bloodline to be smeared with such an accusation."
Thorin's eyes were filled with horror as shock churned his insides. While Thrór spoke, he felt so cold and so lost as his mind grasped the threads of comprehension.
It wasn't his grandfather speaking. It was now the King of Erebor.
All of a sudden his mouth felt dry as his voice died down in his throat. He shook his head, refusing to believe what his mind asked him to.
"You chose your people over me?" Finally, he choked out as pain and disbelief squeezed his heart.
At that, Thrór's eyes flickered momentarily towards his lap before they were set back on Thorin's face— this time with more sternness— stabbing Thorin's heart even further.
"You'll wed her." The king replied with a cold absolution, "And you shall have an heir. No matter where your heart belongs."
The sense of finality echoed clearly off Thrór's words, jabbing Thorin with its cold touch, taking away the shards of sensibility he still held in him.
Out of the corner of his hazed vision, he saw Thrór rising from his throne and guiding his limp form towards Lady Esja.
On his way, Thrór whispered into the ears of his grandson which left no room for further argument, "You'll thank me."
Thorin had none within him either.
The dwarf woman bowed courteously and shyly smiled at her prince, whose heart cried bitterly while images of another bright smile floated in his mind. The smile that captured Thorin's heart; the smile that belonged to his 'One': the one he'd now never have.
And at that moment, Thorin learned how to be insincere. Regardless of his actual feelings, he blocked them away in his heart.
He smiled at the lady and took her offered hand.
He did not care for the betrayal he had committed against Lady Esja. Nor did he care for the betrayal he'd now be committing against himself.
A gentle hand touched the soil, burying itself within before pulling out a fistful. Blue eyes scanned the sample held in his hand and a deep frown soon crossed the smooth forehead of its owner.
The soil was dry to the touch. It was granular and sand-like, which indicated how little it could retain water. A necessity when it came to the thriving of any crop.
The hand was tilted gently and aloof eyes followed the movement of the grains as the hit the ground with a harsh and arid sound.
"Prepare stocking for the winter." Thranduil spoke, using his fingers to flicker away the last of grains. The disappointed look crossing on the face of attending elf went unmissed and is heart went out to all those who had been toiling over that fruitless patch of land for the past six months.
However, the quality of soil was beyond sustenance of that particular crop. Unless, there had been supply of some others, Thranduil feared another rough season.
"Would you like to try the other sample of crops, Your Highness?" The attending elf had a little touch of hope in his voice as he looked expectantly up to his prince.
Letting out a huge sigh, Thranduil shook his head.
"They require plenty of water as well." He replied quietly, not daring to look at the other. He couldn't bear to see further hopelessness. "Prepare the stocks."
The other elf bowed slightly and with lethargy went towards the other workers to inform of the new plan. The others too had their hopes diminished. As they too wearily began leaving the clearing, Thranduil couldn't help but feel a sharp pang in his chest.
He had failed here as well.
A hesitant palm ghosted about his stomach before being placed on it as Thranduil stood there with utmost stillness. Thoughts raked in his mind and bounced off its walls with increasing accusation against Thranduil himself. Where one managed to pinch his heart with its cruel bearings, its echo openly cussed at him and his uselessness.
He couldn't be a provider. He was not fit to be a lover and was not fit to be a prince.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. The grasp of his torso became firmer and surer as a sense of resolve washed over Thranduil's entire frame.
He was not an entire failure. Yes, he couldn't fulfil his role towards Thorin. He was dwindling in the task handed on to him.
His jaws tightened with his growing sense of pride and willpower. The dimness covering his eyes was soon lifted, as a slow fire began to smoulder inside of them.
But he would fulfil his role as a bearer.
His eyes followed the elf who had been speaking with him previously and as they did, the smouldering flame held within them now flared up with a new found vigour.
He refused to believe in his complete futility. He refused to believe in his infertility.
AN: Do you think it's getting too complicated? I'm gonna relate them with a mega super strong thread but in the mean time, if you have any questions, feel free to ask! Please review! ^_^