Book One: Little River | Thorin Oakenshield

Chapter Six

~ | Whispers in the Rain | ~

Outside Bilbo's cozy hobbit hole, Thorin and Narelle stood together in the soft glow of lanterns, the quiet evening air punctuated by distant murmurs and clinking mugs from inside. Thorin shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting occasionally toward the door. "It's been a long day," he said, attempting to start the conversation.

Narelle smiled reassuringly. "Indeed, it has. But it's been quite pleasant. The company's lively, and the food is good."

A sudden crash from within the house startled them both. They exchanged uncertain glances. "Shall we take a walk?" Thorin suggested, his voice tinged with tension.

They wandered down the path, the crunch of gravel underfoot breaking the silence. Thorin finally turned to Narelle, his voice strained. "Narelle, why did you decide to join us on this quest?"

Narelle's gaze met his with calmness. "Gandalf asked me to come. He thought my skills could be of use, and frankly, it's been a while since I've had an adventure. This seemed like a good opportunity."

Thorin's frustration was palpable. "But why agree to this? The quest is dangerous, and you could be safer elsewhere."

Narelle stopped walking, facing him with a mix of confusion and irritation. "Thorin, why are you so concerned about me? It's not just about Gandalf's request. What's really troubling you?"

Thorin's expression tightened as he struggled to articulate his feelings. "It's not just the danger. I don't want anything to happen to you. This quest is perilous, and I—"

He hesitated, struggling to find the right words. "I can't bear the thought of you being hurt or worse. It's more than just worrying, but I—"

Narelle's frustration grew. "You're obviously more troubled than you're letting on. Why do you care so much? What's your real concern?"

Thorin opened his mouth to speak but faltered. "It's not just about the danger. There's something more, but I can't quite—"

Their voices began to rise as they spoke over each other, their argument escalating. "You're not making sense!" Narelle's voice was sharp with anger.

Thorin's face flushed with exasperation. "You don't understand! I just want you to be safe, that's all!"

The conversation became a tangled mess of overlapping words and frustrated outbursts. Neither could fully express their feelings, and the argument left them both worn out. With a final, frustrated glance at each other, they turned and stormed off in opposite directions, their footsteps echoing through the quiet Shire night.

Thorin stopped abruptly, his feet rooted to the spot as he turned around. He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to shout after her, to pour out everything he had kept buried for so long. But no words came; his throat felt tight, and he stood there, paralysed by a storm of unspoken feelings. He watched helplessly as Narelle lifted her hood over her head, her silhouette becoming more distant with each passing second. The soft rustle of her cloak was the only sound as she disappeared into the night, leaving Thorin alone in the darkness, grappling with the emotions he couldn't find the courage to voice.

~

Thorin trudged back up the hill toward the Hobbit's home, his shoulders heavy with the weight of his unresolved feelings. He found Gandalf seated on a bench outside, the wizard's pipe emitting small, swirling puffs of smoke into the cool evening air. Thorin kept his gaze fixed downward, avoiding the wizard's eyes.

Gandalf spoke, his voice calm and observant, as the smoke from his pipe wove lazily through the air. "I gather that didn't go quite as you hoped," he said.