My Heart Burns [ThorinxOC]

Chapter 2

Nyrath walked out into the dreary drizzle of that late slumbering morning of December. Dwarves rarely had to face such weather if they lived in their own homes carved into the welcoming hearts of mountains. Nyrath remembered the way his mornings started in Erebor. When he left home, he walked out into the pleasant coolness of stone halls and into soft firelight. But Erebor was far away now, on the other side of the Misty Mountains, and on the other side of hope.

Nyrath gathered his coat closer about his throat and was about to set on towards the forge where he worked when he heard his name called from behind. The voice was familiar. He turned with a smile.

Frerin, Thorin's younger brother, was just walking out into the drizzle himself, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, and his dark, braided hair. The resemblance was clear, but not overwhelming.

"Morning," said Nyrath, "you're up early."

"Eh, since we were kids, Dis has this annoying habit of rising before everyone else and then waking either me or Thorin because she's bored."

"I suppose today it was your lucky turn," said Nyrath.

Frerin gave him a chagrined look. "Yeah." He shrugged. "Shall we go then?"

"Yes."

Frerin was still looking at him puzzled. "Aren't you going to cover your head? This weather is dreadful."

"Nah, it's invigorating."

"If you're dead, maybe."

Nyrath let out a satisfying roar of laughter. "I'm fine with it, really. That forge gets so stuffy by sunset, I find myself craving to be out in dreadful weather."

Frerin agreed. "I don't even know how they can call it a forge," he said, a clear glint of melancholy gracing his eyes.

Nyrath's mirth faded back to a soft smile. "They don't know any better."

They set out into the freezing rain and the ruined snow, Frerin bundled well in his thick cloak, and Nyrath carelessly allowing his face and hair to be drenched. They could never walk side by side in complete silence, however.

"So," said Frerin, "what do you really think about this Moria business?"

"I think I shall follow my king where he leads," Nyrath answered.

"No questioning that, but... well, Thorin doesn't think it's the greatest idea, even if we have the support of our kin."

"It may not be the greatest idea, but it's something."

"It's taking a great risk."

"What more do we stand to lose, really? We're drowning in mud here."

"Literally." Frerin thought to himself for a bit, glancing down at his worn boots, already stained with the muck of the street. He looked most like his brother when his brow descended in thought. "You're right, we have to try."

Nyrath nodded to him.

"Maybe Dis's habit isn't so bad," said Frerin, retrieving his brightness. "We'll have plenty of time to forge more weapons."

Nyrath smiled back, with determination, he hoped. He knew better than he liked what troubled Thorin about that battle. Their conversation was still very fresh in his mind, about those who would not return. He had felt very determined the night before to show Thorin that he was ready to die for him, and he was still determined now, but when he was not standing in Thorin's radiating presence and looking into his eyes, that determination was tinged with grief. He did not want to die. He wanted to live, and love, and not hide it. The rain poured on, cold and relentless, and only the rain knew that, as it did so, its icy tears fused with fiery ones as they slid down Nyrath's face.