So Sayeth the King

Chapter 1

60 years had passed since the day Arwen and Thora left Erebor. Elrond had been right about the dragon which now resided within the Lonely Mountain. Arwen and Thora had not seen Thorin since the day they left, there was a letter here and there, but Thorin's stubbornness and guilt kept him well away from Rivendell. Had Arwen not taken Thora when she did, his daughter could have died in the dragon fire, and that thought ruined him. What he did not know, was his daughter was possibly the greatest fighter in all of Imladris, and though her mother tried her hardest to keep her safe, Thora was drawn to adventure and danger. But what she longed for most, was to see her father again. Yes, she was furious at him for not showing his face for 60 years, but he was her father and she'd love him no matter what. And she knew deep down her mother still loved him, she'd give anything to see them happy again.

"What troubles you, Caladwel?" Arwen's voice was soft like velvet, which always seemed to sooth Thora's mind.

"Father." Thora felt her mother sigh beside her, "It has been 60 years since last I saw his face, I scarce remember it, or his voice. Why does he not come to us? I cannot help my heart feeling as though he does not love me."

"That is not true, Caladwel. Your father loves you with all his heart, and that is why he will not return to us. Your father did not believe that the dragon would take Erebor, he would have had us stay. His choice would have ended in your death, which would have killed both of us. I doubt he could look at you without thinking that if it were for him, you would have perished in the flames."

"I know, I just- I wish I could see him and tell him how much I miss him and that I do not blame him. All I want is my father." Thora placed her head in her hands, her black hair tumbled over her shoulders and curtained her pale face.

"I know, my star," Arwen kissed her hair. "As do I."

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"Haru!" (Grandfather) "Manke naa lle autien?" (Where are you going?) Thora followed behind her grandfather, Lord Elrond as he and a dozen soldiers prepared themselves in haste.

"Our scouts report a party of Orcs venturing from the south close to our borders, we intend to turn them away or slay them if we must." Elrond paused to face his beloved granddaughter, he knew her well enough to know what question would follow.

"Please, Haru, let me come with you." Thora paused and ducked her head, she gathered her confidence though she knew rejection was imminent, "I have proved myself countless times with blade and bow, but not you nor Naneth (mother) will let me beyond the city."

"Caladwel, I do not doubt you skills, but your mother only wishes for your safety so I cannot allow you to join us." Elrond smiled in sadness at his grandchild, he knew well enough the girl could fight, but the visions of her future were non to be ignored. If she was to live, then he would have to confine her to the kingdom, he would not lose her to the cold grips of death.

Thora let a frustrated breath from her nose, "As you wish, my lord." She turned on her heel and briskly walked off in search of some company that would not treat her like a helpless child. 

After a few minutes of searching and a small amount of self loathing, Thora found Aragorn by the gardens, nose deep in a book. The young Ranger was raised in Rivendell since he was a babe, and in that time, he and Thora had become close friends. Although the significant difference in their age with her at 66 and he only 27, but in comparison to Elves, Thora was no older than Aragorn. And the two found comfort and friendship in each other, and as they grew into maturity, together they found something a little more. 

"He said no again, did he not?" Aragorn guessed not looking up from the pages in his hands.

"Would I be here if he did not?" Thora drawled, she sat down on the stone bench beside him and folded her arms across her chest glaring at the ground in frustration. "I do not understand, he has seen my skills, he knows I can fight, but he and mother treat me as though I am an infant who can scarce raise a training sword."

Aragorn closed the book and set it down beside him and shuffled closer to Thora, their knees brushing. "No one doubts your skills, Cal. Your mother and grandfather are protective of you, you are the princess after all."

"What I would not give to be anything but." 

Aragorn sighed and brushed they stray strands of raven hair that fell beyond her slightly pointed ears. "Perhaps when your father comes, he will help them see reason?"

Thora scoffed, "My father does not care. It's been 60 years since last I or mother have seen him, he has made his point that he does not care for her or I. I have given up on hoping and waiting his return, he does not care for me, nor I him."

Aragorn smiled in sympathy and drew her head closer to rest their forehead against one another. "He is a fool for not caring for someone such as you. You are strong, and brave, and kind, and beautiful, and any man would be blind not to see it."

Thora smiled and brushed her nose against his, "I cannot be as strong as you say, for your silver tongue is truly my weakness. You speak such words that make my heart race, and whisper sweet nothings that made me fall under your spell."

"You need only look at me and I was lost to you."

Their lips met in a sweet, innocent kiss still shy and nervous like young love, but pure and full of love. The next hours were spent in each other's company discussing many things, trading secrets and dreams, and stealing kisses and whispering sweet nothings. The sun was an hour from setting when Thora was summoned away to greet these unexpected visitors in her grandfather's absence. By the time she arrive she heard her grandfather who must have only returned moments ago speak in their native tongue.

"Nartho i noer, toltho i viruvor. Boe i annam vann a nethail vin." [Light the fires, bring forth the wine. We must feed our guests.]

One of the visitor questioned his words in a gruff voice, thinking it to be insult. Then a familiar elderly voice eased his aggression.

"No, master Gloin, he's offering you food." 

Mithrandir.

"Ah well, in that case, lead on." The same voice spoke after a few moments of discussion with their companions.

Elrond turned to the stairs and walked up them with Gandalf at his side and the dwarves in tow, when they reached the top they were greeted by a sight that was shocking to many.

(Italics means spoken in Elvish)

"Mithrandir, I had wondered when you might visit us once more. But I had not expected you to be in such company." Thora greeted, her keen eyes finding the wizard first, not yet scanning the dwarves who moved around to see to whom the voice belonged.

"Ah, Caladwel you have grown into a beautiful young lady, you look just like your mother."  Gandalf's eyes glanced nervously to the leader of their company who stepped around him.

"But I am told I have my father's eyes. But I have not seen him in 60 years so who am I to say what colour his eyes are." As she spoke, her eyes met the matching sapphire blue ones given to her, "But looking at you now, father, I suppose we do have this one thing in common. After all, you were never around to find anything else."

"Caladwel!" Elrond scolded her.

Murmurs and gasp rumbled across the Company as Thorin stepped into the open space between the Company and his daughter.

"Thora." Thorin swallowed harshly, he'd been both waiting and dreading this meeting. He prepared himself for the realisation that she would most likely hate him, he left her for 60 years how could he blame her?

A look of expectation and disinterest masked her face.

"I-ah, forgive me-"

His apology was cut off by her scoff.

"You mistake me for someone who cares." Thora folded her arms lazily across her chest, "After 60 years you made your point of not caring for mother or I very clear. So I followed your example and stopped caring for you. After all, what good is false hope?"

She did not wait to see his expression, nor hear the scolding from her grandfather, instead she briskly walked away with her shoulders back and head high. She said she did not care, but a small part of her could not help but falter at the guilt, remorse, and sadness in his eyes, the eyes they shared. But she was stubborn and if he thought that it would be easy to mend everything he broke over 60 years in a few short words, he was sorely mistaken.