Thorin Oakenshield stood alone on the balcony down the hall from his room, his eyes scanning the foothills of the main mountain settlement and searching the adjoining mountainsides to pick up the signs of their inhabitants. The main fortress in which they lived was grand enough, but there were many smaller groupings of dwarves which were springing up in the other mountainsides as Durin's Folk sought out whatever wealth could be found beneath the hard rock. The Blue Mountains stretched out for miles in both directions, and Thorin was pleased to see that the dwarves were expanding their settlements and exploring more of the mountain range – perhaps Ered Luin would become a great stronghold of the dwarves, in time. It was an idea which thrilled him, but even as he embraced it there was also that tugging, knowing warning which beleaguered him with a constancy he was now all too familiar with – Erebor. He could never forget Erebor. Now was not the time to go back, but that time would come. He was sure of it. He felt it in his very bones. Any success they made here at Ered Luin was just a prelude to the great triumph of taking back their true home, although he was sure the effects of their coming here would linger on even when many of them returned to Erebor. There would always be dwarves in the Blue Mountains, and the idea comforted him in an inexplicable way.
The wind danced along his skin, cutting in its coolness, but he ignored the sting it brought as an overture to night. The sun was just going down, casting light over the whole of Eriador in anticipation of the curtain of darkness which would soon follow. The brilliance of a sunset was akin to that of a dying light, of a star burning out – it always seemed brightest just before the darkness closed in. He worried for his people, feared that their growing prosperity was simply a ruse, a trick of the light, and that it would be snuffed out just as they were gaining a strong foothold in the mountains. The king was amazed by the safety of the area, by the lack of evil things living in the western regions of Middle Earth. There were no dragons here, no orcs, no trolls, nothing so great or fearsome as those creatures more common to the more easternly regions. Many had gone into hiding in years late, sneaking off into dark places to nurse their wounds and prepare for – well, for what, he could not know. Perhaps that was what he feared. Who knew what lurked in the darkness when the world felt safe. Smaug buried himself in their hard won wealth in Erebor, the orcs befouled Moria with their own sick settlements… The beautiful halls of old, the grand places of his childhood, they were all consumed and polluted by that darkness. The Iron Hills served as the last great bastion of the dwarves against it, and perhaps Ered Luin might someday be considered a similar safe haven for their kind. But that longing, that terrible, crushing, heart rending longing, would always remain. Erebor was yet only a dream, but a dream which would never lose its hold over the dwarf, who yearned to claim his grandfather's title King Under the Mountain more than he desired air to breathe. That wealth, the unimaginable wealth, the riches of the mountain and the safety of its halls, the grandeur of its legacy and the promise of regaining everything they had lost… It was all too much even to consider.
But that dream would wait until another day, as it must. The dragon was still too strong and too alert. The portents were not in their favor. Their numbers were too few, and their bravery to fight a foe who had so recently overcome them too lacking. But Thorin knew some would answer the call, and that when the time was right, he would one day see the glittering halls of his former home once again.
Erebor was yet a dream, but Ered Luin was a reality. He might not be King Under the Mountain, but he was a king. And his duty was to his people, here and presently. He hoped he was fulfilling it, and despite the unexpected tumult of Evie's visit and his attempt to make it a permanent one, he refused to let himself be distracted from his duty. Evangeline was one more way he was fighting for his people, whether they immediately accepted that truth or not. She would make a great queen; he was certain of the fact. She was caring and kind and willing to do whatever it took to improve the lives of others. She had no designs of grandness for herself and was unselfish in every act she performed. There was opposition, of course, but there would always be those who fought against change. He had brought the dwarves to Ered Luin, and if they wished to live there under his rule they would submit to what he thought best for them. They were a people in need of cheer, of care, and of healing… And Evangeline Took was the best salve he could imagine.
He supposed, as guilty as he felt for even considering such thoughts, he shared those needs with the rest of the outcast dwarves of Erebor. He would never admit it aloud, and was surprised by the reflection even to himself, but Thorin acknowledged that perhaps he needed to be cared for as well. His life had been one long, hard road pressed by pain and spurred by the search for a relief to it. To have someone to share that burden with, to share himself with… To know tenderness, kindness, the gentle touch of another person who put him first and foremost in her mind… It was like a child's fantasy, too wonderful to ever become real. But with Evie it felt more real every day, not just for him but for all his people. To see Dis' face light up when they talked, to watch the way even Dwalin warmed to her over time… All who knew her well delighted in Evangeline, and he could only pray that the rest of Durin's Folk would do the same as they became accustomed to her spirited nature.
And yet, for all these cheerful thoughts of her, she was gone. She had abandoned Ered Luin just before the great moment of their wedding, and it would be a lie to say Thorin was not anxious about her disappearance. She hardly said a word to him on the subject, except that she was going to the Shire to make final preparations for the shared market day and that she would return shortly. To have left him at such a time… Thorin swallowed, closing his eyes and feeling thankful for the cold breeze which ruffled his loose hair and tickled the bristles of his beard. It soothed the warmth from his cheeks and silenced his soul. Her seat beside him had remained empty at dinner, and the feeling of her absence was palpable for him. The lack of her cheery conversation, her encouraging glances when the topic of discussion threatened to turn sour, her indomitable spirit in the face of the adversity of those like Belinir and his disciples... But now Thorin faced the judgment of his adviser alone, he made wedding plans alone, he prepared his courage for the storm to come and the celebration alike on his own. She was gone, and had left in her wake turmoil and not the slightest hint of an apology. He understood that perhaps she needed time to think on her own, to face their future and commit to it, body and soul, but didn't he as well? Why couldn't they do such thinking together? Her choices were also his, and any decisions they made served them both, for better or worse. He acknowledged her needs but he wondered if she had considered his. Perhaps it was because he always seemed so sure of himself, that she did not doubt him. People rarely did. He was glad of it, but it was also his curse – as king he must seem confident in his every decision, but that did not guarantee his true feelings and fears were not just as alive as that façade of surety.
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It was then, in the midst of these forlorn thoughts, that Thorin heard the balcony door open behind him and turned to see who it was who thought fit to disturb him in his somber musings. It was none other than his sister, and his surprise at the intrusion diminished immediately – if there was something afoot, Dis was always the first to know of it, as if she could sense disquiet in those around her. It was a strange gift, and one she used brazenly. Although it was very rare that Thorin, son of Thrain, shared any of himself or his true thoughts with others, whenever he had it seemed to be with his sister, or with Evangeline. But Evie did not know, she could not know, how it was to live in Thrór's wake, to know what it truly meant to be Durin's Heir. Dis understood, she had been there all along – through the fall of Erebor, the loss of Thrór and Frerin, the absence of their father Thrain… Dis had been at Thorin's side his whole life, and she was the only family he had left now that their father had absented himself from Ered Luin. And so he loved her for her disquieting ability to know what he was thinking and guess at how he felt, even if it discomforted him as much as it calmed him. Thorin liked to think of himself as a solid, solitary peak, and it was only recently that he had begun to understand what it was to live not in Erebor, a singular force, but in Ered Luin, a range of mountains interconnected and interdependent with one another.
"Where is Fildur? Why was he not at dinner?"
He began, before she could ask him what was wrong. It was a question which had been on his mind, after all. She dismissed him casually, claiming,
"You know him… He has been out –"
"Dis."
She hated when he said her name like that. It was all harshness and it felt like a pinprick to her skin. Her blue eyes met his, which could have been a reflection in a mirror for how alike they were, and the dwarf could not bear to lie to him when she noticed the flicker of pain haunting those wary sapphires. She knew him too well for him to hide it from her.
"He went to the Shire, to go speak with Evie."
Thorin's eyebrows twisted on his face. She watched him thinking through this news, trying to decide what it meant…
"She did not need for him to go, no one thinks that… He simply…" Dis sighed, stepping closer to her brother and leaning against the railing beside him. "He wanted to talk with her about his own experiences. About our wedding and the struggles it took to be able to have it. He recognizes what she is going through and wanted to try and support her."
The king nodded, but she could see the hesitation behind his confidence.
"We will never think of them as less than us." She explained, searching for the right way to say it, "They are not less than us. And yet to the rest of the world, to the whole of our people… Fildur is a tailor, and Evangeline is a hobbit, for Durin's sake. It is easy for us to love them, to see the goodness in them, the faithfulness and the kindness… But for them to love us, for them to give up their lives so they can constantly stand to be judged on that altar of public will… We have always known what it was to be responsible for our people, but for them to take up that mantle… It is a heavy burden. You understand that more than anyone. But you never had a choice, Thorin. We were born into this world. But they must decide to enter it. And that cannot be an easy decision…"
Thorin's eyes flickered with the painful consideration of her words, and a deep acknowledgement of the truth in them. He had always been so concerned with whether or not Evangeline cared for him, he had not fully considered the depth of what he was asking her to do in becoming his queen. He worried for Belinir and his cronies, he worried for his people, he worried for the future of Ered Luin – but he had not thought to worry for Evie herself. She always seemed so sure of herself and what she wanted… But perhaps that was his own problem circling back onto himself. Surety in appearance did not confirm surety of the soul. He had forgotten her feelings just as, perchance, she had forgotten his. Perhaps they were so rightly matched for each other that they could even make the same mistakes.
"Do you think she would stay there? In the Shire?"
He asked quietly, wondering not for the first time if Evie might decide to leave him, to forget this world of hard steel and iron and return to the beauty and grace of her childhood home. The lives of the dwarves were never easy, and he would not wish their struggle upon anyone who was not already party to it. Evie had always claimed her own heritage within that history, and so he had never questioned her. Yet now, with Dis' words ringing in his ears, he wondered if she had simply taken up their cause as her own and that she had done something even greater than anyone else had – the dwarves of Erebor were forged in hardship, but she had sought that burden for herself in order to relieve its heaviness from the shoulders of others. Of those not even of her people. His respect for her grew every day, as did his awe at her bravery. He would not fault her should she decide not to return. Should that chair beside him remain always empty, hollow of her infectious cheerfulness and her charming pragmatism… It struck him like a blow to the chest to even consider, but he supposed it was her right, just as it was his to invite her into his life in the first place and ask her to be his bride.
"No…" Dis answered softly, and Thorin had almost forgotten his question. "I have seen her with our people, speaking with them and learning their stories… I think she would only abandon us if she thought it was for the best. But she cannot know what is best for Durin's Folk, not yet… and if she follows her heart, I am as sure as summer follows spring that she will return to you."
There was such a tragic mixture of pain and gratefulness shining in Thorin's eyes as he looked down at his sister that she could not resist making a small sound of sympathy and stepping forward to collect him into her arms. She wrapped herself around his chest, holding him close and closing her eyes. She sensed Thorin's hands move to pull her closer, squeezing more tightly than she had felt since Azanulbizar, when she had still seemed like a little girl hiding in the safety of his embrace.
"I love you."
She told him softly, sighing as she tried to wish some of his pain away. Let him be happy. Let him know the joys of love without that terrible struggle of trying to keep it. Let him know free, passionate, unbridled love, and let him for once revel in it and not question such liberation from his sacrifice.
Thorin had always planned on ruling alone, without a wife. Dis had constantly encouraged him to find a bride and to allow himself to be happy and to find enjoyment in the world, but her brave brother had always refused. He wanted to be a martyr for his people, to suffer for their wellness. But that did not have to happen; no one had asked him for such a ransom… And it had taken a hobbit, of all creatures, to prove to him that his happiness was also his people's, and that a great king was not an anguished one.
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Not long afterwards, Thorin had returned to his room, leaving his sister to find her own empty bed. He wondered at Evangeline and Fildur talking together – what would he say to her, and how would she respond? It was all dust to him, lighter than the wind which had blown so carelessly by him earlier that evening.
Thorin sighed softly, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on a hook near the door. He changed into his nightclothes, slowly undoing each tie and unfixing each strap. The king sunk into his bed, staring up at the stone ceiling in silence as he considered the fullness of his sister's words and everything they meant. Dis was right, as she often was (although he would not admit it to her; she did not need the encouragement). Evangeline had a great choice to make, and her affections for him were only a factor in that decision. It had always been his fate as a prince to become a king, but it was for her to take on that mantle, that heavy burden of responsibility, and join him on the throne of Ered Luin, and perhaps, someday – no, it was better not to think too far ahead. Perhaps that was another of his problems, he was thinking of tomorrow and forgetting today. In order to protect his people and ensure their survival he had always been forced to think one step ahead, to consider the evening and the quick closing in of darkness at night even when it was still morning. But Evie was much more practical, she worried about things as they came and did not struggle too greatly with the future. He had not considered the weight of the crown he had so selfishly asked her to take, he had not thought of what it meant for her, rather than just for his people… It was foolish of him. He had been so concerned with having her as a queen he had forgotten to make her one. Perhaps it was because that was how he had always seen her. A leader: brave and noble and kind. She only had to realize it for herself.
He was about to snuff out his candle when his eye caught the wooden raven she had given him at their introduction banquet. The king picked it up, the large, calloused pads of his fingertips skipping across the smooth carving of the neck and tripping off the beak. He noticed something odd about the carving as the dying light of the candle flickered over it – there was a strange line cutting across the bottom of the figure he had not noticed before. Thorin pulled at it and then pushed it with the edge of a finger, and finally his efforts were rewarded as a small panel slid open and something fell out onto his lap. He checked that the tiny compartment was, indeed, empty, and then searched in the semi-darkness for the fallen object. It was a small piece of curled paper, and he unfurled it with his forefingers against the top of the nightstand so he could see it in the candlelight.
The king's breath caught in his throat as he read what was written on the hidden paper. They were simple runes, and the Khuzdul was etched as if by a child's hands (forceful and unhesitant yet also lacking the confidence of a well-practiced adult). It was a simple phrase – 'I love you.' Next to it was a drawing of a raven, almost as if it was a signature. When they had been apart (it had not been so long ago, although so much had happened since she had come to Ered Luin), Evie had sometimes drawn images of ravens in the borders of her letters. Often they were likenesses of the birds themselves who he sent to collect her letters and who she had grown to care for over a time. She was not a great artist, but her sketches possessed a certain charm which had always pleased him; and all this before she had even known that the raven was his house's sigil.
Thorin's fingerprint dusted the top of the paper, and he closed his eyes. Evangeline. If he had doubted her before, he did not now. He trusted her and he trusted Dis' advice – yet whatever happened, as long as his hobbit found her fair share of peace and joy in this world, he would be content. She deserved nothing less than that, and certainly it was because of her that he had discovered the only true rush of happiness he had ever known for himself. He had felt joy for Dis at her wedding, for his people as he watched them grow and develop in the settlements of Ered Luin, but it had not been until Evangeline Took had stepped into his life that he had experienced that flush of personal contentment he had never anticipated finding in his lifetime. He had never expected to feel his heart pound with sentiment as he read her secret note, nor the fear of loss which coursed through him when he thought of her absence. Every emotion was new and fresh and terrifying, yet he savored them all because he knew their true value – there were many, particularly among the dwarves, who would never be offered such untempered happiness, and to think that he might have the great fortune of escaping that lonely fate was far beyond his own comprehension.
Thorin replaced the note in the base of the raven carving with a low sigh. The candle was finally blown out, and a darkness settled over the room. Yet it was not an unhappy darkness; instead it was a curtain of sleep, of repose, and of the promise of morning. Night came before morning just as winter before spring, and there was no fighting the fact. Sometimes suffering was necessary in order to prepare one for happiness, to make one ready for joy. Without pain there would be no gladness, and Thorin Oakenshield of all people knew pain well. He dared to hope, however, that all his sufferings would lead him and his people to that great moment in which all their toil, their fear, and their despair would be transformed into happiness, safety, and contentment. But for morning to come, one had to pass through the night. And so Thorin closed his eyes, lying back in bed and letting sleep carry him into a new, brighter day.
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Author's Note: Thank you for your lovely comments – many of you asked to know what Thorin might be thinking, and so here is my response to that! I hope you enjoyed reading it, and that perhaps it answered some of your questions. If you have any other thoughts or considerations, please let me know! The great moment of the wedding is coming very soon, and then many different things will be happening! I'm also planning on going back and editing some older chapters for consistency and to mix a little more of Tolkien's work in with the film plotline I've mostly been using… So expect a little more about Thrain and Frerin! Much love to you all, I look forward to hearing from those of you who are still reading! Thank you for sticking with me on this long, wonderful journey!