Dornessiti (Hobbit Short Story)

Chapter 11

A months passed, and autumn passed into winter. Hazel and Thorin grew closer by the day, much to Dis' joy, and were rarely seen without one another. The tiny girl was slowly becoming more trusting, quicker to laugh and seemingly less afraid, although she always had her blue teddy bear nearby. A change had come over Thorin too. He frowned less, didn't hide away in the house and was generally less grouchy and distant. Dis would often smile to herself when she saw how much her brother had changed, glad he had listened to her in the end. Hazel had been the best thing that'd happened to him in years. Thorin still worked hard, as he had his small family to provide for, and was often seen with his hammer in hand at the forge.
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"Thorin?" Asked Dwalin, stepping inside the forge and kicking the snow from his boots. Thorin looked up from his work for a moment before plunging the heated metal into a bucket of cold water with a satisfying hiss. He met his friends gaze, frowning when he saw the troubled look upon it.
"What is it?"
Dwalin shook his head, breaking eye contact.
"Dwalin?" Thorin persisted.
"We can't find anything, Thorin. No birth records, no censuses, there's nothing. Her parents... they don't exist on any piece of paper can find."
The news hit Thorin like a hammer to the chest, turning his insides as cold as the snows outside. He felt breathless for a moment, his lungs crushed beneath the weight of such ill tidings. Anger, frustration, confusion and denial boiled in his stomach in a toxic cocktail of emotions.
"No, that can't be, we have to find them. You know what they did to her," he said, shaking his head in pure disbelief. Dwalin placed a hand on Thorin's shoulder comfortingly.
"We can't find them, they don't exist," he re-iterated. Thorin merely stood there for a moment, his mind racing. He knew there was one place that had a record of them, one place where he could find them and bring them to justice. But if he did, the carefully built trust Hazel had put in him would come toppling down like a house of cards. It had taken months to build such trust, trust which he wouldn't be able to recover if his plan failed.
"I... I think I know where I can find them," he said finally, after an uncomfortable silence.
"Where?" Dwalin asked.
Thorin looked up at him with pure dread in his eyes. They held each other's gaze for a moment, until Dwalin realised and they whispered in unison:
"The orphanage."
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With a heavy heart, Thorin shut the door of the house behind him. Barely hidden in his inside coat pocket was a file with "Hazel Marie Caradrin" written on the front in harsh black ink. He hated himself for what he'd done, for breaking his promise to his daughter in such a way. But he had to do it. He had to bring his daughter's abusers to justice, they couldn't get away with leaving her so physically and mentally scarred. Thorin just hung his coat on the peg, unable to bear reading the file just yet.
"D-Daddy!" Hazel squealed, running from the living room and hugging Thorin's leg. The dwarf forced a smile and picked her up, kissing her forehead tenderly as always.
"Hello dornessiti," he said. Dis came out of the living room too, bidding her farewells before going home to her boys. After she'd left, Hazel turned studied her fathers face for a moment. Something was amiss, something was troubling him.
"Wh-What's wrong d-daddy?" She asked, frowning adorably.
"Nothing princess," Thorin lied, forcing another smile that he knew didn't reach his eyes. Hazel's minute scowl deepened.
"T-Tell me," she said stubbornly.
"I'm okay," he replied with equal stubbornness. Hazel just narrowed her eyes at him, convinced he was lying. Thorin put her down gently.
"Go play princess, I'll bring in hot chocolate in a minute," he said, not giving her the option as he headed straight to the kitchen. Hazel just stood in the hallway, looking around for what could've upset her daddy. It was something new, she knew it was, if it was something he'd talked to her about before he would've said. Her eyes fell on his coat on the peg. Glancing to the kitchen first, Hazel crept over and slid the file from his coat pocket. On the front was some writing, it was more difficult for her to read because it was handwriting, and Dis had only just begun to teach her. But she knew her own name when she saw it. Her little heart began to break as she saw that it was her old last name on the file, the last name she'd had... before. Tears filling her eyes, Hazel slid on her boots in silence and pulled on the winter coat Thorin had bought her the week before. He couldn't see what was in the file, she wouldn't let him see. He couldn't know about her old life or her old family. He would hate her if he knew. He would take her back to the orphanage. Clutching the file and her blue teddy tight to her chest, the tiny girl opened the front door and ran outside. Into the snow.
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"Here we are princess," said Thorin as he came into the living room with a tray containing two hot chocolates and a plate of Dis' gingerbread biscuits. Upon getting no reply, he glanced up to see that the armchair was empty. He smiled, thinking that Hazel was hiding from him.
"Hazel, come out, come out, wherever you are," he growled playfully, echoing his words from many games of hide and seek. Usually, giggling would have been heard from behind the armchair, or under the sofa, or behind the curtains. Silence was all that he heard this time.
"Hazel?" He asked, beginning to worry. Still silence. Thorin all but dropped the tray onto the table, beginning to look in all her usual hiding places. Under the sofa, no. Behind the curtain, no. Under the stairs, not there either. Thorin scoured the house, becoming gradually more panicked as each room was found empty. He began to search in the most ridiculous of places, places he knew she wouldn't be able to reach or even physically fit into. He called and called for her until his voice grew hoarse, praying he would be answered by his daughter's soft, stuttering tone. Rushing back downstairs, he grabbed his coat to see if she'd gone out to the barn. If she wasn't there, he'd go to Dis. As he pulled it over his shoulders, his stomach dropped in dread when he didn't feel a certain something in his pocket. The file was gone.
"Oh Mahal," he whispered.
Panicking, he yanked his boots onto his feet and shakily did up the straps. She'd found it. She knew. This was all his fault. He never should've gone back to the orphanage. This was all his fault. She'd run away because of him. Grabbing his keys, the dwarf hurried from the house and towards his sister's, snow swirling around him.
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A loud rapping sounded on Dis' front door, loud and constant.
"Fee, can you get that please!" Dis called, going to the sink and rinsing the bread dough from between her fingers. Her eldest son went to answer the door, grumbling under his breath. When he opened it, he was immediately interrupted by a familiar gruff voice, tainted with panic.
"Fili. Where's your mother?" It asked.
"In the kitchen Thorin!" Dis yelled. Thorin came hurrying in, snow stuck in his hair and on his coat, leaving wet bootprints behind him. His eyes were full of worry, the type only a parent could have, and he seemed jumpy and nervous.
"Nadad, what's happened?" Dis asked, turning off the tap and drying her hands. Thorin began to ramble in Khùzdul, so quickly and with so thick an accent that Dis couldn't understand a word he was saying.
"Hush, nadad," Dis cooed "Menu gronit nai skilam lieb, lieb rem do alabrin" (I do not understand you, you speak too quickly).
Thorin stood for a moment, breathing heavily and refusing to let Dis see the tears in his eyes. His hands were shaking, and it wasn't from the cold.
"Vass ana aiss? (What is wrong?)" Dis asked softly, going over and taking one of her brothers trembling hands. He met his sister's gaze, his face distraught and his eyes flooded with worry and tears. His voice was still heavily accented as he said shakily:
"E ana inithe... It's Hazel... she's gone."