How I Leave You

Dancing with the Wolves

"Wait."

But he does not wait.

Thorin, proud and arrogant, storms out of the meeting room, not even turning around at the sound of me calling his name.

"Thorin!"

To say he is upset is an understatement. It has been years since I have seen anger take hold of him like this. Even longer since it was directed towards me.

"Thorin."

Finally he turns around. I almost smack into his chest.

"What?" he bristles through his teeth.

"All I ask is that you listen to me."

"So now you wish to talk? Now you will have me listen?"

"Yes."

I try not to falter. Try not to let my fear show.

None of this was supposed to have happened. It was not supposed to have gone like this at all.

"Speak, then."

"I was going to tell you," I say, and even I can hear how pathetic it sounds.

He scoffs at my words.

"How very benevolent of you."

"Do not mock me, Thorin. You may be enraged, but you are still my husband. I am still your queen."

For now.

The two words echo against my mind. I will not let their implications get to me. Instead, I continue speaking, afraid of what might happen if I didn't.

"I only found out about this last night."

"Gandalf..." Thorin says, as if just now piecing together what I had been doing with the wizard.

"Yes," I nod. "Gandalf. And I would have told you, Thorin... I— I would have awoken you..."

"And you should have. You should have awoken me. Told me. Should have saved me the embarrassment of learning about this claim of yours to a throne I did not even know existed."

"I wanted to, Thorin. Believe me. Every part of me screamed to tell you, but..."

"But what?"

I jump at the resentment he speaks with, as though he drew a weapon to my throat. That is where my hand goes, faintly caressing the scar there that will never go away.

"But I needed time to process it. Process everything. Did you not expect this to be monumental for me?"

"I expected you to share it with me the moment you learned of it."

The scar tissue is soft beneath my fingers. We hold our tongues, withdraw our anger as a servant walks us by. Cordially, we nod at her, though she is afraid to as much as look up at us.

"In that case," I say, my voice lower now, "there is something else I must tell you. Something not even Freiya overheard."

Her name is like poison in my mouth. I want to spit.

One day, I am going to be her downfall. Pray on it.

"My people," I continue, looking out at River Running and towards the body of water it leads to, "they are no longer in Rhûn. After the attack of Azog, after having their existence discovered and their survival compromised, they decided to go back." I let my eyes meet his. They are as icy as the mountaintops around us. "They went back to Númenór. That is their new home."

I am conscious of how I do not include myself in the equation. My people and I are no longer a we. They have been separate from me ever since I lost them.