"Tomorrow we will only give them a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf which will fall on the earth like if it had been made by our lips like a kiss which falls from our invincible heights to show the fire and the tenderness of a true love."- And because Love battles, Pablo Neruda
Wearily and with low spirits, he put one foot in front of the other. His head felt as if it had been filled with cotton and through a haze he perceived the continuous moans and complaints of the company.
'I can't see the path before my eyes. This damned forest has turned me blind.' he heard one of the dwarves state from somewhere from his left. He normally would have looked in the direction or at least taken some efforts to discover who was complaining from temporary blindness, but he was too tired to do it.
'The path? Have we gone off the path?' He heard a frantic voice state and he vaguely recognized the pitch of it. He furrowed his brow in concentration, but any effort was wasted as he could not distinguish the voice in his head and with unfocused eyes he studied the dense forest growth above them. Studied the dark and indistinguishable leaves that formed an impenetrable dome above them, which prevented any escape and any outward intervention.
As a low moan was rising up in his throat, it was intercepted and interrupted by a low groan from his right. The pitch caused an instinctive response within him and he felt concern rise in his chest. Compelled by this penetrating feeling, when he had spent an indefinite amount of time in a numb haze, he looked towards the source of the sound and was met with the sight of his cousin.
Though his feelings for her had always been platonic in nature, Bilbo had always recognized the beauty of his cousin. It had caused a great impression in him when he had been a young fauntling and had first met her. He recalled that he had been startled and awed by the young red-haired girl that his mother had introduced to him as his cousin. Never had he seen such a vibrant shade of red as her hair and with the delicacy and etherealness of her features, Bilbo had not even thought her real but a blessed creation from his over-active mind. And as they had grown up together, he had always been keenly aware that his cousin grew lovelier by the day. Though he was sure that for as long as he lived, no matter how far he travelled and what he saw, he would find no other woman that was more beautiful in his regard than Laurel, he could not disregard her degeneration.
With a wide-eyed gaze he studied her, the red of her hair no longer shone in that vibrant red hue that had first intrigued him. It was washed-out and faded and as he looked into her blue eyes he feared that the colour of her hair was a reflection of her spirit. She looked weary and troubled and so, so tired. And she looked sad. It shouldn't have startled him for as long as he had known her, there had always been an undertone of melancholy in Laurel. But this... it was not the good kind of sadness, the sadness that had caused her to become the kind and remarkable woman Bilbo had been proud to call his best friend. It was a sort of destructive, jaded sadness. A sadness that caused the constant accompanying voice that he had experienced since his discovery in Gollum's cave to hiss out in distressed alarm and warn him of her, that cautioned him. And why should he doubt the voice, it had warned him of Laurel's change of nature, of her new wickedness and her calculating nature that he experienced. He knew she suspected him, suspected something. And with the allure of the ring and the changes in her due to her experiences, he did not doubt that she would eliminate him to get to the ring. And as the ring told him such things, he was more and more convinced. And more and more determined to prevent her.
He saw her eyelids flutter and her knees falter and he caught her as she stumbled on her next step. Her form felt cold and hard in his grasp and he vaguely recalled the times when he had held her during their sleep, as a little child who had come to him in fear of her nightly dreams, and he remembered that she had been warm and soft. He supported her as they reached a clearing and set her down on a fallen log they came across. He continued studying his cousin with dispassionate eyes, as he saw her bury her face in her hands and detected her sporadic breathing due to the unsteady rise and fall of her chest. With a sense of disconnect, he realized that the sickness that had infested Greenwood had transferred itself onto them. He should have felt more alarm, he had always been responsible and heeding of danger. Yet as his fingers ghosted over the cool metal in the pocket of his waistcoat, he could not bring himself to feel any alarm, any care other than for the object. He stood passively, as Thorin declared they would rest for a while.
He furrowed his brow. Something felt off to him, more than the effect of Mirkwood on the company was. Some sensation invoked a sense of alarm in him and he vaguely recalled a smoky voice he remembered as Gandalf's telling them they shouldn't come off the stone path. He remembered the cool texture of the stone beneath his feet. This was not the same, it was different. Softer, yet not an inch warmer. With his brows furrowed he looked down. His eyes widened as he saw not the grey stone path under his large hobbit feet, but the decayed leaves of autumn. His eyes fluttered across the forest floor wildly, frantically as he tried to search for the stone path. He whispered in disbelief: „We have come off the path."
He hadn't meant anyone to hear it, unsure whether it was not only something his frenzied mind had imagined, but Bofur, who stood right beside him had heard it and proceeded to declare loudly and frightfully in his accented voice an alert to all members of the company of Bilbo's discovery.
He supposed that mayhem had broken out amongst the dwarves as they realized with alarm that they were lost and that according to Gandalf they could not get back. But Bilbo took no notice of that as he was blinded by a ray of light and confused to its origin he looked up and saw a gap in the thick, impenetrable shield that was the canopy of the forest. Hypnotized by it, his feet moved on their own accord as he moved towards the tree and quickly climbed towards his escape, towards the light.
The air felt different as he penetrated through the dome and found himself looking out into glorious blue skies. Laughter bubbled in his chest and he started to chuckle in relief as his lungs filled with fresh air and for the first time in very long he felt as if he was able to breathe. The volume of his laughter increased as he threw his head back and closed his eyes in relish, allowing the sun to bathe his features. Soon, all too soon, he reminded himself of his responsibilities and started to search the horizon. His eyes fluttered across the skyscape of the forest and he found what he was looking for: about 10 miles to the east he could see an end to the forest. He knew where the company needed to go.
He screamed down and called out to his friends: „I found it. I found our way."He furrowed his brow as he received no answer. He had expected his friends to say something. He had expected relieved shouts of joy and euphoria. He had expected something- anything- other than the eery silence he was met with. Just as he was about to descend back to the ground and discover the reason for his friend's stubborn reticence, he spied something that made his eyes snap back violently towards the horizon. He saw the leafy crown of trees in the distance shaking, almost trembling unnaturally. He furrowed his brow in confusion at the unnatural phenomenon. Yet before he was able to ponder further on it, he felt a force shaking the tree he was standing on.
He'd always had terribly balance, ever since he had been a fauntling and taken his first steps. Laurel would have confirmed that fact to anyone interested with humorous and affectionate amusement. Bilbo recognized with frustration that while she moved with a grace that he had always been envious of and that was a consequence of her elven ancestry, he would stumble over his large feet whenever he had followed his friend in his childhood years as she ran into the forest abutting their home with such a speed that Bilbo would only be able to glimpse a fleeting swirl of red disappearing into the thick dark green forest growth. As the branch he stood on shook vehemently, Bilbo was unable to keep his balance. He felt his feet slipping from the wooden texture into nothingness. Then he fell, experiencing the same sinking feeling of having nothing beneath him as he had done that time he had almost fallen off the misty mountains and then when Laurel had pushed him off the cliff. Scrambling he grasped his hands in hope of grabbing something, anything to stop his fall and for a few terrifying moments, his search proved fruitless. But then his hand came around a thin branch and his fall was halted.
He didn't even have time to exhale in relief, as he looked in front of him and was met with the sight of an enormous spider web before him. His eyes widened as he looked at the silvery threads. Previously spiders had never caused him such alarm and he had always mocked Laurel for her irrational and utter fear of the small creatures. Yet he knew that he would never mock his cousin ever again, as a large beast emerged from the thin veil of thread that had been spun before him. In his shock and dread, he faintly realized that the beast was a spider and for a second the ridiculous thought and query arose within him as to how a spider had grown so large. But then he was roused to consciousness, when the beast hissed at him and bared its fangs that were the size of his face. He gave out a scream of fear and in his need to escape the beast that was stood before him, poised to attack, he let go off the branch and fell. Yet this time the sinking feeling was not met with discomfort on his part but with utter relief at his escape. From above, he heard the beast give out a high-pitched squeal of indignation and the rustling of the leaves, which sounded like a tornado to his ears, signalized the spider's pursuit of him.
He was caught by something elastic and insubstantial that stuck to his coat and to him and rendered him incapable of movement. It could not be the ground, he had gone too high up and his fall had been to short in its duration for him to have hit the ground. The substance beneath him was too soft and he doubted that the forest ground would hold onto him like a vice and would ensnare him into its grip, unrelentingly. With a dull sense of shock, he realised that he had been caught by spider's net and then the beast came upon him. He did not remember what happened next, only that darkness gradually entreated into his eyesight as he felt the spider turn him continuously with its thin and wispy claws.
When he become once more cognizant to reality, he felt himself being dragged across the ground and felt himself encased by a warm and sticky cocoon. He looked up to see that his view was obstructed by a thin, hazy sheen as he could only see the dark treetops of Mirkwood through a nebulosity it seemed. Then the spider's face came into his view. He had not realized that throughout the entire experience he had been clutching the sword Gandalf had given him with a grip that had turned his knuckles white. He only realized that fact when he raised his right hand and the creature give a shrill shriek as he impaled it onto the blade of his sword. He rose and pushed the creature's sagging body off him. As the creature toppled over the branch and fell to the depth of the forest, he proceeded to rip the web that encased him off. As he heard low snarls coming from his every direction, he looked up from his almost completed task to see that the landscape before him was filled with spider webs and cocooned creatures, with spiders as large as the one he had fought against crawling through their creation. He felt his jaw drop slightly while looking at the cocooned creature and barely making out the unconscious expression of Balin through the cocoon closest to his right.
Bilbo took a few steps back and hid himself behind the thick trunk of the tree, intent on shielding himself from the beady eyes of the monstrosities. He closed his eyes and held his breath as he heard a spider climbing up the trunk he had his back leaned against and he kept quiet so that the creature would not look to the side he stood on and discover him. With a feeling of fear, he questioned how he would escape and free his friends as the entirety of the company had been captured by the spiders. He heard a low snarl being emitted, but he recognized the pitch and realized that it was not the spiders' sound. He blinked his eyes at his forgetting of the ring and quickly taking it out of the pocket on his waistcoat, he slipped it onto his finger and felt himself once more be encased by the nebulous haze that had grown so comforting- so necessary- to him.
He looked towards one of the three spiders that was moving around the cocoon Bilbo knew contained Balin. With nimble feet, he moved towards a spider and studied its greedy and hungry looks toward his friend who struggled to defend himself encased in their web. The low muttering that always accompanied him while he wore the ring increased in volume as he moved closer and closer to the spiders and when he was so close to them that a simple thrust would have been enough to drive his sword through the monstrosity, a high-pitched voice screamed in his mind's ear: 'Kill it. Impale it. Drive your sword through it and twist it inside them to see them dance. Disembowel it. Kill... Kill... KILL!' Driven almost deranged by the voice and a need to follow its directions no matter how heinous and cruel and in an unconscious desperation to silence it, Bilbo thrust towards the spider. It gave a high-pitched shriek as the sword penetrated its furry skin and Bilbo smiled in satisfaction as he saw the monster's face contort with pain and a sticky substance trickle down his arm that he knew was the blood of the creature. The creature gave a few squeals that sounded like it was screaming 'sting'. As the creature fell, Bilbo smiled maliciously and thought that 'Sting' would indeed be an appropriate name for his weapon.
After that thought had travelled through his mind, determination seized him and the sensation of victory that had seized him due to his outsmarting the spider fuelled him and he proceeded to cut down the cocoons and the company of Thorin Oakenshield fell a small way to the ground. From his branch, he watched as the dwarves and his cousin freed themselves of the webs. As he heard the other company members calling out his name, he shouted down: "I'm here." He did not have time to see nor hear their response, as suddenly, another spider sprang upon him and he fell backwards at the strength of the impact. As he and the spider tumbled down the branch, he felt the ring slipping from his grasp and he was left to watch helplessly as the golden object fell away from him. When he had reached firm ground, he started to search for the ring, frantically amongst the fallen leaves, while in the distance he heard the clamour of the dwarves as they fought against the remaining spiders and feminine voice calling out his name.
But he gave no thought to the struggle of his friends as he looked around him to find the ring. He was just about to shout in his frustration and his desperation, when a golden glint caught his eyes. he turned towards it like it was the beckon of a siren and saw the ring lying a little distance before him on the ground. With relief and slight annoyance that the ring had almost escaped him, he started towards it with determination. But then he saw a crab-like being emerge from the ground and saw it crawl towards his ring. With possessiveness, he gave a loud cry and with sword drawn and ready he ran towards it. Had he been a spectator he would have been shocked at the violence of his actions, as he mercilessly cut down a figure and screamed wildly 'No' repeatedly in a delirious loop at the mere thought of the creature taking his possession. The creature went down with a pitiful cry as Bilbo penetrated the soft skin of its abdomen. He was face to face with the being that hissed in pain, and looked at him with the light retreating from its beady eyes. He withdrew his sword and without the support, the creature fell and lay motionlessly on the ground. Bilbo pushed its heavy and lifeless body away. Falling to his knee, he scrambled to pick up the ring and once more possess it. With a wild look in his eyes, he sat back and held the ring between his finger and thumb, looking at the golden metal greedily. Breathing heavily, he managed to hiss 'Mine'. In the deepest aeon of his consciousness, alarm rose as his claim resonated similarly to Gollum's wild shouts. Yet he was only roused from his deranged musings when his eyes caught a glint of red in their periphery. He looked up to see his cousin, to see Laurel looking at him with her eyes wide with disbelief at the violence on his part that she had witnessed and with... fear.
Recognizing the expression of dread on her features, Bilbo's grasp on the ring slackened and he felt it fall through his fingers to the floor. It was almost as if he had been awoken from a nightmare by a bucket of icy cold water. He realized the violence of his actions, his bloodthirsty behaviour, his murderous response to even the thought of the ring being taken from him. And he realized how absorbed he had been, realized that the voice of the ring had been guiding his actions and influencing his thoughts, causing him to kill without conscience.
'True courage is to know when to spare a life,' he recalled Gandalf's words when he had gifted him the sword. He shook his head and once more looked towards his shocked cousin. The face that had always looked at him with understanding and affection was looking at with disbelief and confusion, like she could not understand how the ring had ensnared him so. She looked at him as if he was a stranger, like she no longer knew him and he was compelled to cry out in his pain: 'It's still me, Rel. I'm still Bilbo." Yet he realised that he could not do so, not after he had betrayed her by even considering for a second the vicious words of the ring that had roused suspicion towards her within him.
"Rel..." He groaned out in his pain and he saw her features contort at the sound of her nickname. She shook her head wildly and ran from him. At the sight of the one person, whose constant company and support he had always been assured of, turning from him and wild pain took seat in his chest and he buried his head in his trembling hands. Then anger rose within him and he took up the ring to fling it into this cursed woods and into hell and oblivion if possible. Yet the sound of the dwarves' alarmed outcry roused him from his anger. Enclosing his hand around the ring, he ran in the direction he had seen Laurel ran off to. He arrived just in time to see the dwarves being captured by elves.
With shame from his capture still burning brightly and dangerously within him, he stood before the elven throne as he cringed while listening to Thandruil's words: "Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand. A quest to reclaim your homeland and slay a dragon." His held himself tall and proud, unwilling to back down before the man who had betrayed his grandfather. He loathed to stand alone before the elven king. His kin was imprisoned in the dungeons of the woodland realm below him and he longed for Balin's support and assurance and to feel the aversion he held for this elven king reflected within him. The king was stood behind him and he heard the man approach as he stated in his mellifluous voice: "I myself suspect a more prosaic motif."
Thorin tightened his jaw as he felt the gaze of the elves burn into him, willing him to reveal the true reason for his quest. He bristled in indignation as the elves suspected his motives to be less than honourable, that he undertook this quest not only for his people and to seek revenge against that odious fire drake. Yet he knew that he could not contradict the elf's words, not when he felt the call of the Arkenstone more strongly every day and his desire to possess the stone and hold it in his hand became stronger and stronger. The elf stood now before him and with his grey eyes glinting greedily he leaned down towards Thorin and stated: "You seek that which would bestow you the right to rule. The king's jewel. The Arkenstone." The mere sound of the elf enunciating his grandfather's most prized possession, left Thorin bristling in rage. He had to resist the urge to snarl that the stone belonged to him: He had always suspected Thandruil's desire for the stone. He had always known of the elves' greedy and avaricious nature.
He looked away as Thandruil stated: "It is precious to you beyond measure. I understand that." As he looked back at the elven king, he saw the elf's feature contort with a malicious and self-satisfied smirk and, cursing himself, he realized that Thandruil had discovered the truth behind his words. "There are gems in that mountain that I too desire." Thorin felt himself start forward but restraining himself, contented himself with simply fisting his hands. What right did that elf possess to lay any claim, express any wish for gold that belonged to his ancestors and to him alone.
"White gems of pure starlight." He saw the elf's features contort with a dazed and slightly deranged look as he described the gems and Thorin furrowed his brows as he was hit with a pang of familiarity at Thandruil's expression. It mirrored that of Thror...
He was brought back to reality when the elf stated with a bow of his head: "I offer you my help." Thorin scoffed and despite himself he muttered in a low voice: "I am listening," unable to contain his curiosity at the nature of the elf's proposal.
The elven king looked up through his lashes with solemnity and stated: "I will let you go, as long as you return what is mine." Thorin exhaled heavily and squaring his shoulders, he moved from the place he had been rooted to during Thandruil's speech. "A favour for a favour." Thorin stated and he once more recalled the pain and humiliation that he had experienced that while being expulsed from Erebor, he had called out to Thandruil and his troops only for the elf to turn his back to him.
"You have my word." he heard the elf state and indignation rose within him. With a bitter smirk, he studied Thandruil as he said: "One king to another." In a loud and booming voice he stated: "I would not trust Thandruil, the great elven king, to hold his word until the end of all days."
The elf's expression dropped, a Thorin accusingly shouted in his rage: "You lack all honour. I have seen how you treeat your friends. We came to you once, starving homeless and seeking your help. You turned your back." The last words he spat with bitter venom. "You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us." He exclaimed a curse in Khuzdul, damning Thandruil to a fiery death in hell. He barely got the words out when Thandruil hissed in his face: "Do not talk to me of dragon fire. I know it's rough and ruin." The elf king closed his eyes as if in pain and Thorin watched with surprise as the smooth skin on the elf's cheek transformed to reveal a hollow surrounded by burned and charred skin.
Stepping away from him and transforming the right side of his face once more to the impeccable appearance, the king stated: "I have faced the fire serpents of the north. I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon, but he would not listen." Thorin bristled that this underhanded and odious fellow would dare to mention his grandfather and sully his name with his words. The elf shook his head as he ascended to his throne: "You are just like him."
His words hit Thorin as he recalled the mad glint in his grandfather's eyes and his culpability in their downfall. A distinct feeling of premonition took a hold of him and just as he was about to respond, he felt himself being seized by guards. As they carried him down to the dungeons, he heard Thandruil's voice mockingly state after him: "Stay here if you will and rot. A hundred years is merely a blink in the life of an elf."
She sat on the wooden bench of her cell with her hands grasping the seat with a tight that was so tight her knuckles turned white. Her heart was beating furiously in her chest and her breathing was quick and shallow. She was once more imprisoned, was once in captivity and the walls of the prison seemed to close in on her. Periodically she would look up in fear to assure herself that indeed the cell had not become smaller and there were no Orcs lingering around before the bars, hungering for her flesh.
If she closed her eyes she could indeed believe that she was once more in the Pale Orc's clutches and the thought caused such all-consuming fear to be released like a wild tempest within her that she widened her eyes with intent not to close her eyes in fear that should she merely blink she would be in the Orcish prison once more. The only thing that managed to soothe her was the voices of the dwarves in the neighbouring cells and that reminded her that while she was indeed imprisoned her friends were close by.
Desperate for the outside and freedom, she had been studying the small gritted window that was on the wall west to her and had kept her eyes there. Her ears twitched when, suddenly, she heard the sound of a key being turned in its lock and she looked towards the prison door to see it being opened and Thorin being thrust into her cell by an elven guard. The door was closed behind him and without taking note of her presence, Thorin turned towards the retreating guard and spat a dwarfish curse at his back. She closed her eyes and shook her head. From beside them she heard Balin state: "They offer you a deal." In response his deep voice stated with indignation: "They did. I told them..." Then an expletive in Khuzdul followed and after a few moments of silence Balin answered: "Well that's that then."
She scoffed in indignation and averted her eyes from Thorin in disapproval. She knew that he despised Thandruil and that after his betrayal he would have never accepted any offer from the elven king, previously she would not have wanted him to. But now that she was in a prison and the thought of her capture by Azog was foremost in her mind, she could not help resent Thorin.
At the sound of her scoff, she felt his grey-blue eyes come to rest upon her for the first time taking note of her presence. She resolutely did not look at him, but she knew that he could see her expression and that her resentment for him, for his stubbornness causing her to be a captive once more was clear in her eyes. For a long moment he just studied her and she could feel that he wished to address her, to say something to her for the first time since their encounter in the clearing. The memory, the feel of his lips on her and his strong form embracing hers still burned brightly within her and she had to close her eyes as the sensations awoken by that kiss assailed her.
She heard heavy footsteps and then he sat beside her. She drew her knees to her chest and made herself as small as possible, dreading their proximity and at perceiving her discomfort he sighed inaudibly, regretfully. He began saying her name, but she pursed her lips and shook her head vehemently, silencing him. Other than that she gave no outward sign that she acknowledged his presence and they sat through their captivity in the elves' prison in utter silence.
Eventually, she heard Thorin's breath deepen and become more rhythmic signalling that he had fallen asleep. She exhaled deeply and her form slumped in relaxation after what seemed like hours remaining in her stiff posture. A feeling of restlessness came over her and she felt vibrations coursing through her bloodstream like beckons from mythical creatures that she could not remain deaf to. She was reminded how she had spent her time in Azog's cell catatonically laying on the ground and she could not remain still. She rose quickly and started pacing around the cell like a distressed and restless beast. She had her arms drawn around herself and her teeth gritted and her head was lowered so that she simply watched her feet taking step by step, almost as if she needed visual reassurance that she was indeed in movement because her mind and body felt disconnected.
She did not know how long she kept walking to and fro in a continuous loop when the silence of the cell was broken by his deep voice: "Laurel?" Her head snapped up and she looked at him wide-eyed. He was looking at her with his brows furrowed and an expression of concern contorting his features. She looked away from him and continued on her monotonous path, forgetting that he was studying her every move with growing concern.
"Laurel... darling... stop." She heard him mutter and he rose and started toward her but she exclaimed in a low and menacing voice: "No." He stopped in his track and she continued walking shaking her head and breathing heavily as she whispered: "Let me walk. I'll go mad if I stay still." He sat back down on to the bench and watched her as she walked, still concerned but respecting her wish.
Eventually her legs tired and she sat back onto the bench. She exhaled and tipped her head back. She realised that she was sick and feared that perhaps she would never recover, never heal. In the current situation and mind-set she found herself in now, her situation seemed utterly hopeless. she cursed Gandalf that he had come to Bag End and recruited her on this quest. She cursed herself for her adventurous spirit and her selfishness. She cursed herself because she had been unsatisfied with her utterly fortunate life in Bag End and she cursed herself because it had never been enough for her- would never be enough for her, the idyllic life in Hobbiton. She cursed destiny for she realised that it had been her fate to go on this quest, to leave home.
She smiled as she recalled Bag End. She had once told Bilbo that home was where the heart is and she realised now when she was so far from the Shire that Bag End was indeed her home. It did not matter that her first few years in her hobbit hole had been marked by sadness and melancholy due to her mother's abandonment of her; it did not matter that she would periodically grow chagrined and saddened that some inhabitants of Hobbiton had still not accepted and looked at her suspiciously due to her eccentricity, Bag End was her home. The hobbit hole she shared with her cousin was her home, along with her late aunt's garden that she would tend to with Hamfast. Because that is where her heart was with her best friend and with the legacy of her late aunt who had comforted her and loved her unconditionally.
As she reminisced longingly for her childhood and days where care-freeness and not fear and responsibility accompanied her, she could not help but to state in a low voice, as she remembered an occurrence in her childhood: "It was my first solstice festival in Hobbiton. I remember that the central square was decorated with bright garlands and long tables with all types of food one's heart could long for. The other Shirelings were chagrined because the sky was not clear and filled with stars, as they had wished for the night of festivities. Yet I had looked at the sky in an awe that Bilbo and Aunt Bella had been unable to understand. It was heavy with clouds, cloudy to such an extent that I could swear that the ground shone silver as it reflected the light of the clouds." With a longing smile, she looked out the tiny window in hopes of seeing the sky she had gazed upon during the solstice festival two decades ago. Disappointment flooded her as she saw nothing. With a low voice she confessed: "I always looked forward to that time of year in the hopes that I could once more walk on clouds."
As she finished her narrative, she felt Thorin lay his calloused hands over hers. At first she was tempted to pull her hands away because she still remembered her resentment towards him. Yet he laced her fingers with his and as she studied their entwined hands with a hooded gaze she felt that it provided her with too much effort which drowned out her fierce acrimony towards him. Exhaling, she gently dislodge their fingers and pulled her hand away but slowly so that her fingers trailed and lingered across his palm. She saw his fingers twitch once, twice, thrice as if in a silent promise to her. As she felt her eyes grow heavy and the warm blanket of sleep descend upon her, she turned to her side and closed her eyes.
Later, she would awake disoriented. Owlishly blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she looked at the tiny window to her right with a confused gaze but seeing the bars that gritted the window she soon remembered where she was and that she was captive to the woodland king. She looked over her shoulder to see Thorin standing at the door of the prison cell, his back turned towards her and his hands crossed behind his back. She studied his slumped form and a longing, that made her feel such chagrin at herself for still caring for a man who had hurt her so, filled her chest. Almost as if he sensed her gaze, she saw him look over his shoulders, yet before he lay eyes on her and could discover that she had been studying him with a wistful gaze, she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. Unwilling to let him know that he still held such power, such endless power, over her.
She heard him call out her name in a low voice, but she did not answer remaining and pretending to sleep. He sighed and then whispered tenderly: „No you are asleep, no more than two yards from where I stand now."She furrows her brows in confusion at his words, but continued to listen as he stated: „I cannot get to you, you are so farm from me."Her breathing quickened and unwelcome warmth flooded her chest as she heard him whisper: „You walk in the skies amongst clouds and silver light."She bit her lower lip, restraining herself from responding to his words. She was conflicted as she felt torn between her unmovable affection towards this man and her anger at him- at his abandonment at his decision to voice this now, now that she could never forgive him after what he had made her go through. Inwardly, she begged him to stop talking because she was not strong enough. Not when it came to him. Yet masochistically she continued listening to him as he stated: „You are my most favorite regret, Laurel Took."She balled her fists and the sting from her fingernails biting into the flesh of her palm was a welcome distraction from the lump that had formed in her throat.
She heard him ask in longing tone: „Could you have loved me? If things had been different and I had been kinder, could you have loved me?"Then he stopped and she did not hear from him for the rest of the night. She could not sleep thinking about his words.