Rue (A Thorin Oakenshield/Hobbit Fanfiction)

5

"Welcome back, my young warriors!" Thror laughed, opening his arms widely as the small group entered the gates. "A bloody success, I see." He grinned, examining Talia's stained attire.

"Very much so, my King." Talia bowed her head to him, hoping he wouldn't notice how her head was dyed a new vibrant red.

"The pack is vanquished. Though, they were far too close to our borders." Thorin warned slightly, despite his happiness of their success.

"Well, now they aren't." Thrain stated simply for their audience, wearing a small smile. However, Thorin knew that he understood his concern, seeing the look in his eyes.

"Get cleaned up, young lads and lasses! The feast will begin upon your arrival!" Thror boomed, dismissing his kin. As they dispersed, beginning to wander through Erebor to their respective homes, their King clapped them on their backs and shoulders, offering words of congratulations and addressing them by name. Talia and Thorin watched with eager grins. They had pleased the King.

Before the two of them could turn away, Thrain gripped both of their forearms. "Not you. We have something we need to discuss."

His father led Thorin and his friend through the halls away from Thror, who was now discussing the desserts to be served at the feast with the head chef. Thrain closed the door to the small conference room behind them once they entered, causing Thorin and Talia to exchange worried glances.

"My father has not been himself on this morn." Thrain began, running a hand through his hair as he took a seat before them. "Before you returned, his eyes were clouded, and he spent the whole morning eyeing the gold in the vaults. Talking to him, he appeared distant, lost in another world. I have never seen him in such a state."

"When did this begin?" Thorin asked, his brow furrowed.

"The week past. He snaps out of it every now and then, like when you returned, but I fear that whatever transfixes him tightens its hold every day."

The two absorbed this information. It was hard to believe that the great King Thror himself was sick, but of what did he suffer?

"There have been whispers in Dale of eyes watching over this mountain." Talia began, recounting her night in the pub a few moons ago. "I thought nothing of it, for this mountain has long been scouted for weakness every day which it has thrived. But the eyes have begun to narrow, and some others have seen this weakness. Weakness from inside our walls."

"How come you by this?" Thrain looked up to her, urging her on.

"A fellow was in the Crooked Chimney a few nights ago, though I quite forget his name. He was conversing with another, a tall, dark-haired man going by the name... Arag... Arath... I forget that name too. The one discussing the matter donned grey robes, a tall staff, and a large grey hat."

"A wizard." Thorin's eyes widened at the realization.

"What on earth was he doing in these parts? Never the matter." Thrain waved a hand away, leaning in towards his confidants. "Our lineage grows more susceptible by the day to this sickness. That is why I have included you, Talia. You watch over Thorin the closest, and so it shall remain." Talia nodded at his words, exchanging a dire glance with the prince. "We must find a way—"

Thror burst in the room, laughing as the chef waved him goodbye down the hall. "Thank you, dear, thank you." He paused, looking around the room. "Well, what were you talking about?" He nudged Thorin lightly, grinning at Talia. "I hope it is celebratory. I too heard of your conquests, Butcher of Beasts."

Talia nodded her thanks. "It seems as though I have finally earned myself a title, my King."

"Oh, that won't be your only title."