Life in Exile

Chapter 7 - Exile and the War of Dwarves and Orcs (2770 - 2799)

Nár trembled before Thráin and Thorin, his eyes would not meet them, as they were filled with shame. Unlike his father, Thorin was livid to see Nár had returned alone and was impatient that Nár had not explained himself yet.

"What happened, Nár?" Thráin asked, his voice calm but concerned.

Nár slowly sat down in a chair, and slowly took out a small pouch of coins. After plopping the pouch on the table, he put in his trembling hands together on the tabletop and stared at his darkened and cut-ridden hands, "Thrór is dead," he said in a weak rasp, "The orc, called Azog, beheaded him."

The news shocked Thorin, so much that he felt a pain in his chest.

"I...I saw it myself. He carved his name in runes upon his brow."

Thorin turned away around Nár, almost staggering to the safety of the darkness of the room. His arms crossed firmly and protectively, but also in brewing anger.

"When he saw me, he struck me with this pouch of coins," Nár continued, pushing the pouch over to Thráin, "I-I could not retrieve his body, they guarded it like it was treasure...I had to flee..."

Thorin turned back sharply with the traumatized Dwarf, letting out a growl, "You left him there?!"

"Thorin," Thráin growled back.

"I want to know why he left grandad's body to those filthy—"

Thráin turned to his son sharply and snapped, "That is enough, Thorin!"

Nár looked at Thorin in fear and guilt. He looked down at his hands and pressed his forehead to his clasped hands. He said a prayer in Khuzdul, then lifted his head up. The torches in the room illuminated his tears, "When I looked back, they tore his body apart and fed the pieces to the ravens," he cried in agony. The pain in Thorin's chest had worsened, he was trying to imagine what Nár had depicted...but couldn't. His grandfather, who he had spent the majority of his Dwarfling years with, being hacked to pieces and tossed away like trash...he couldn't fathom it, but it had happened. There was no dignity in that sort of death, it was a message; a warning and a taunt to all those of Thrór's kin. Thorin could now hear his father cry, only one other time had he heard this. It was just as painful as the news itself. His father's weeping slowly turned to anger, as he began to curse in Khuzdul words that even Thorin had never heard or learned before. When this anger peaked, Thráin aggressively rose from his seat in a loud sorrowful cry, tore his beard into pieces and shreds, then fled the room in a rage. Thorin could sense the mass of anger and grief that surrounded his father as he nearly pushed him away. Now it was Thorin and Nár who were left. Nár had buried his face into his arms on the table and cried quietly. The more Thorin watched him, he angrier he became. He stormed over to Nár, grabbed him viciously by his worn collar, and pinned him against the wall behind his seat, "You were supposed to protect him!" Thorin roared, "You did this to him! His death is on you!" His eyes once again burned with the urge to cry, and this time he let the urge take over, "You did not even try to recover his body," he said in a broken voice.

"I couldn't!"

"That is no excuse," Thorin hissed through bared teeth, furiously wiping his tears before they could even roll down his cheeks. He released Nár in a hard throw against the wall, then left the room. "I will avenge him," he said under his breath. The pain of having parted from his grandfather on unhappy terms had resonated within him, but now it was throbbing. He wished that he could have taken back his anger towards him, that their parting words were not as cold as they had been on the day he left. He now felt that the only way to reconcile was to avenge his grandfather by killing his murderous and monstrous enemy.