Soul Marks Never Lie

Chapter Two Thorin's Pain

Thorin remembers and pines.

Thorin stands out on his balcony back straight, his shoulders stiff and his hands griping the rail so hard his knuckles are white. His blue eyes are troubled and distressed with deep dark black bags under them. He lifts one hand, placing it on his heart right over his Mark. The council is pressuring him to marry, to sire a true heir… that fool had been thrown out of the council meeting quicker than he could blink. His nephews are his true heirs; they deserve to be king more than he does and for marrying? Never, he will never marry, the only person he loved died in the Battle of Five Armies believing what they had was worth less than a stone.

He bows his head in grief, his Bilbo is gone from this world and the last words he said to his One were cruel and spiteful. It hurts him deeply to think he let the gold, the Arkenstone become more important than his lover. His mind spites him by making him remember the way hazel eyes had widen in fear, how the skin beneath his fingers had darkened, how his dear little hobbit’s breathing had picked up. A gentle hand on his shoulder brings him back from his dark memories, standing at his side his Fíli, darling Fíli whose throat bares a reminder how lucky Thorin is not to have lost him. His nephews blue eyes stare into his own eyes, sympathy and shared pain shining bright.

“Uncle, you can’t keep blaming yourself for Bilbo’s death. Even if you had made an alliance with the Elves and Men from the beginning there still would have been a battle with the Orcs and Goblins. You know as well as I do that Bilbo would have still fought at your side.”

“That’s just it Fíli, he would have been at my side. He would have known that I loved him, still love him.”

When he had woken up after the battle the first person he asked for was his hobbit. He wanted, needed his hobbit. Óin had given him a sad look that made his heart sink, had spoken words he hadn’t wanted to believe. His hobbit was missing, they were looking everywhere for him even Daín’s men were looking. Then two dwarrows stepped up after hours of searching and told Balin of the hobbit’s demise. A warg had gotten a hold of him and he is no longer recognizable. Thorin would have roared in pain had his throat not been practically closed due to days of being knocked out due to his wounds. Óin had then sat down looking even older than he was and told him of his boys. Fíli was nearly decapitated with other various wounds and Kíli had an infected lash down his left side which even if it healed would leave him with a limp.

Fíli shakes his uncle slightly dislodging Thorin from his dark thoughts. He missed his Uncle Boggins but he knew that Bilbo wouldn’t want Uncle to never be happy again. Thorin claps Fíli’s shoulder.

“It’s dinner time isn’t it?”

“Aye, it is. Bombur’s got a feast set out tonight.”

Together they set off toward the dining room, Fíli’s shoulder brushing his Uncle’s in silent support. The Elves had tried to tell Thorin that Bilbo lived but after three near beheading they stopped. Unlike Elves or Men, Dwarrow Marks never fade, they stay as fresh as the day they appeared. It is cruel of the Elves to rub Bilbo’s demise in Uncle’s face. All thirteen Dwarrows of the Company felt the hobbits death heavily; the burglar had snuck his way into their hearts. The ones closest to him after the Durin's, Bofur and Ori handled their grief by hiding away in their craft and the others take time to remember him. Bombur, in an attempt to get his big brother back to normal, suggested having Company dinners. Opening the double doors to the dining room they are met with the sight of an irritated Nori, the others are looking impatient.

“Oi, Thorin!! We need to talk!”