Hiraeth - Thorin Oakenshield

𝐗𝐗 . 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭

Mylaela stood at the end of the hallway as the Dwarves prepared themselves for battle, Thorin grabbing her shoulder and pulling her down a separate hall with Bilbo.

"I have been blind but now I begin to see," Thorin growled, "I am betrayed."

"Betrayed?" Bilbo questioned, anxiety coursing through his body.

"The Arkenstone. One of them has taken it. One of them is false."

"Thorin," Bilbo sputtered out, "The quest is fulfilled. You've won the mountain. Is that not enough?"

"Betrayed by my own kin."

"Now, uh, you, you made a promise to the people of Lake-Town. Now, is this treasure truly worth more than your honor? Our honor, Thorin, we were also there. We gave our word." Bilbo once again attempted to reason.

"For that, I am grateful. It was nobly done," Thorin slightly smiled, which quickly faded to a scowl, "But the treasure in this mountain does not belong to the people of Lake-Town. This gold... is ours. And ours alone. By my life, I will not part with a s-s-s-single coin. Not one... piece of it."

A shiver crept up Mylaela's spine as his voice no longer sounded like his own, and instead like the foul serpent that had stolen the mountain originally.

A few hours passed, the Dwarves were resting before their final battle, though Mylaela could not dismiss the dreadful aura.

Walking into the throne room, Thorin sat in the chair, staring off into the distance.

"Thorin," she announced herself, approaching where he sat. The Dwarf King stood, taking two strides towards her.

"Is there any way for me to break you from this trance?" She mumbled, laying a hand on his cheek, his eyes softening, "I can not bear to watch the downfall of the Dwarves I have grown to care deeply for."

"We will not fall," he denied, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. She knew he was still not the Thorin she knew.

Mylaela took a step back, creating distance between them, "I am worried, Thorin."

"I told you we will not fall."

"Not about that," she confessed, "I am worried I may never meet Thorin Oakenshield again."

"I am Thorin," he countered in confusion.

"You are King under the mountain," she elaborated with a heavy sigh, "You are no longer Thorin Oakenshield. You are no longer the Dwarf I fell in love with."

Thorin's eyes changed, the light returning, "Repeat what you just said."

"I love you, Thorin," she reiterated, kneeling before him. Thorin genuinely smiled, a sight she was beginning to think she would never see again, "I love you, Mylaela."

"Thorin?" Mylaela croaked, holding back tears, "Please stay with me. Do not fall back into the darkness."

Without another word, Thorin pulled her into a deep kiss. One that was much different than their first. The first kiss was gentle, and affirmative, relaying to each other that their interest was genuine. This kiss was full of emotion, as if they were running out of time, as if it would be their last. It very well may have been, as Thorin pulled away, his eyes glazing over with darkness once more.

"No," she whimpered, knowing he was once again lost. Mylaela dismissed herself, holding herself from falling apart as she left the hall. She distanced herself from the throne room before collapsing onto a stairwell, allowing herself to succumb to her emotions.

The She-Elf let out a silent sob, worried someone would hear her. All hope she had left of bringing Thorin back was long gone. The gold had overcome him, and he had proven her assumptions correct.

"An Elf who has no ill feelings towards Dwarves? You are a rare find, My Lady."

"I did not say I have no ill feelings towards your kind," she interrupted, staring into his eyes for a moment, "Your ancestors took lives from many of my kin."

Mylaela's gaze dropped to the terrain below her feet, memories of her past flashing before her eyes. She had slight doubts about helping the company, but if Gandalf believed it was the right thing to do, she would follow.

"Oh," he hummed, rubbing his bald head awkwardly, "I apologize."

"No need," Mylaela looked up to the stars, "You are not responsible for your ancestor's actions. I agreed to help in hopes your company may prove me wrong."

"And what would proving your assumptions correct be?"

Mylaela looked at the old dwarf once more, "If you allow greed to overcome your judgment."

"I can not speak for the entire company," he patted her shoulder, standing up, "But I will make it my goal to prove you wrong."

"I surely hope you do," she muttered, staring at her hands.

The stone stairs beneath her began to accumulate dark blotches as the tears dripped off the edge of Mylaela's nose. Her eyes zoned in on the growing darkness between her feet, her body beginning to go numb.

Due to her oblivious state, she did not notice the footsteps approaching her.

"Are you alright, lass?" A raspy voice queried, Mylaela lacking the energy to simply raise her head. Instead, the She-Elf mumbled in a weak voice, "I'll survive."

"That was not the question," he sat down with a grunt, laying a comforting hand on her upper back, "You are under no obligation to tell me what happened."

Mylaela took a deep, shaky breath before sitting up to face Dwalin, "I, I can't stop it. I'm sorry."

"No worries, Lass," he softly spoked, slightly rubbing her back, "Just breathe. There is no need to be sorry."

Mylaela wiped her face, attempting to steady her breathing. Dwalin opened his arms, which Mylaela gladly accepted, hugging the Dwarf. He caressed the back of her head, "I've got you."

Once regaining her composure, she sat back upright, "Thorin, I, I tried to get through to him. I thought I did, but he just snapped back."

"I do not know if anything can get through to him," he sighed in defeat.