Heart of Embers (Thorin Oakenshield Love Story)

Epilogue -- Half A World Away

The year 2941, Third Age

Bree, on the borders of the Shire

The driving rain had already soaked Thorin Oakenshield's cloak until water streamed down it in rivulets, and his boots splashed through mud and what he hoped was water as he marched through the streets of Bree. It was worth it, though.

At least, that was what he kept telling himself. In truth, it had been a foolish and utterly useless venture, based on nothing but whisperings.

Since when do you believe rumours? he asked himself.

His father was gone, somewhere, but he was alive. He had to be.

Thorin forced himself to shake off those thoughts as he approached the sign of the Prancing Pony, its hinges creaking and swaying in the violent wind. The dwarf prince –– or king, depending on whether you believed you could be a king without a throne –– glanced behind him, his hood concealing his face in shadow.

He was hit with a wall of noise as he stepped inside the inn, unfastening his cloak and shoving through the crowd, not particularly caring if he hurt anyone in the process. There was an empty table toward the back of the room, the chair conveniently cast into shadows by the flickering firelight. Thorin made his way towards it, unbuckling his sword-belt as he went.

***

Thorin was pretty sure the barmaid hadn't stopped once since he'd entered the tavern, and he was beginning to pity her slightly as he realised she probably wouldn't stop until at least midnight. He took a bite of the bread she'd given him, not realising how hungry he was until he started eating. He reached for the mug of ale. And a prickling sensation went down his spine, one he'd learned not to ignore. Thorin put down his bread. Slowly, he turned his head to his left. Someone was watching him. A man sat in the corner, staring at him with a look of malice. The dwarf prince turned away, a distinct feeling of dread starting to build inside him. Were there other people spying on him? He looked to his right, and a chord of fear struck his chest as he saw another man watching him. Thorin reached for his sword hilt, though he wanted more than anything not to have a fight here of all places.

And looked up in surprise as a ragged, grey-clothed, bent old man sat down opposite him.

Thorin felt a flash of annoyance at the old man for just sitting there, but also relief when the two men backed down at the sight of him.

Thorin looked closer at him as the man said "Mind if I join you?"

Thorin leaned back in his seat. He knew who this was, and why the men hadn't wanted to fight him. It was a smart choice really, not to engage. The old man caught the barmaid's arm as she went past. "I'll have the same," he told her.

Turning back to Thorin and smiling, he placed both hands on the table. "I should introduce myself, my name is Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey."

"I know who you are," Thorin growled.

"Well now," said Gandalf. "This is a fine chance. What brings Thorin Oakenshield to Bree?"

Thorin looked down, not meeting his gaze. He knew how this would likely end. "I received word that my father had been seen wandering the wilds near Dunland. I went looking. I found no sign of him."

"Ah, Thrain," said Gandalf. Thorin could have torn his throat out for the tone he used, as if he was some child in need of comfort.

"You're like the others," he snarled. "You think he's dead."