How I Leave You

In Another Life

 The hardest part about sneaking back into Erebor is making sure no one knew I even left.

After climbing up the mountainside like Bilbo taught me, and once again finding myself in the great halls of stone, I conclude that it's nothing short of a wonder that no one caught me. I am like a fish on land, if you will.

When I get closer to the throne room, I realize that it was neither my skill nor my stealth that kept my nightly endeavors hidden from the eyes of any dwarves. It was simply my luck. All 13 of the dwarves are gathered in the grand room, though right as I arrive, Thorin dismisses most of them.

I press myself up against a pillar as they walk by me. When they have turned the corner, and I no longer hear their boots against the stone floors, I'm just about to enter the throne room.

Right until I hear the voices coming from in there.

"Someone is hiding it from me, Balin. I can feel it."

"No one's taken the Arkenstone, Thorin."

My stomach drops. Everything starts spinning.

"I have seen the way their eyes hunger at the sight of the treasure."

"Are ye doubting the loyalties of the company, lad?"

"I am no lad. I am a king."

"Perhaps. But ye will always be a lad to me."

"Is it Dwalin?" Thorin speculates. "Or Bombur, perhaps..."

Balin sighs. "Get some rest, Thorin."

"Maybe our burglar has finally stolen something."

"Spare me your conspiracies." Footsteps. "Good night, lad."

When Balin steps into the torch-lit hallway, he briefly halts, taking in a deep breath. I, on the other hand, do my best to stop breathing.

But apparently it is not enough.

His eyes meet my own in the dark, but he does not look upset at my hiding. Instead, he sends me a look of sympathy. No, pity. For me or for Thorin?

I enter the grand room after Balin has left. Thorin is sitting on his throne, his chest broad and proud, his shoulders covered in metal. Dark blue has always suited him. It would be an injustice to say that royalty is not in his nature.

"Where have you been all day?" is how he greets me.

Somehow, his voice seems deeper than usual. Darker, perhaps.

I pause in front of the stairs leading up to him. Around us, statues of Durin's sons stand tall, looming over the room in all their might. Did they, too, go mad with greed? How long did it take for the dragon-sickness to take hold of their hearts?

"I was angry."

It is not a lie. It's just not the whole truth.

"Are you still?"

"Yes," I say, no hesitation this time. "I am."

That I cannot lie about. Not to Thorin. Not to myself.

"Angry at what I said?"

"Angry at what you didn't say."

He lifts his chin. "I hope you did not come here expecting an apology, for I am not sorry."

"I did not think you would be."

"Then why are you here?"

"Would you rather I wasn't?"