My Heart Burns [ThorinxOC]

Chapter 4

Despite the shabby gloom that still hung over King Thror's sitting room in Dunland, the King looked around him with a rare air of satisfaction. At his sides sat his royal relatives, his son, Thrain, Thorin's father, with his own two sons, and Nain, Lord in the Iron Hills, with his son, Dain. Some solid plans had been laid out for the battle to reclaim their ancient halls in Khazad-dûm. Strategies had been discussed and agreed upon, postings had been appointed.

Nyrath sat with Dwalin and Balin, close to the royal family. He sustained Thorin's gaze patiently whenever it fleeted, worried, to him. As always, Thorin's shred of happiness had been short-lived. But for once, Nyrath felt his heart as light as the purest mithril, and he knew that he could impart at least a little of that to Thorin.

Observing a subtle sign from the King, Nyrath got up, but stayed behind after everyone else had walked out of the room, not failing to catch another glance from Thorin.

The King stood up as well and came closer to him. The strong bones of his face had become more prominent in the past years, and deeper crevices had appeared on his forehead. His old look of confidence, which Nyrath remembered from their time in Erebor, had been replaced by dark uncertainty. But now there was something soft in the way he looked at Nyrath. "I know you understand the responsibility I am giving you," he said, "but I need to make sure. It is my grandson's life that I am placing in your hands."

Nyrath's gaze did not flinch. "Yes, My Lord, I understand."

"You do not leave Thorin's side for anyone, not for me or his father, not even for his brother. Is that clear?"

Nyrath remained steady before Thror. "It is, My Lord."

"Good," said the King. "Whatever happens, we cannot afford to lose him. Thorin has to live, whether we win or lose."

Nyrath smiled. "He will. I give you my word."

"And your word weighs much, Nyrath, so of Nyr," said Thror, finally shedding some of his tense shell. "May Durin watch over you."

Nyrath took his leave with a deep bow of his head, and walked out into the freezing early morning. As he'd expected, Thorin was waiting for him outside, lurking in a dark corner of the covered porch.

"I'll talk to grandfather," he said in a low voice, as Nyrath went over to him.

"Thorin -"

"You can change places with Dwalin."

"Thorin, the King is right, I belong with you."

"No, as the son of his guards' captain, you belong with him."

"But I am your age. You are my king."

"So is Dwalin."

"Thorin, I have no intention of dying in this battle. I want to come back alive just as much as you do."

"Do you?"

"Yes. And I also have my orders. Out there on the battlefield, we are warriors, nothing more. We fight together, and that's that."

Thorin continued to stare at him in complete disbelief.

Nyrath lay a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, Thorin, this is what I'm here for, after all. It always has been. Trust me. We're going to be fine."

Thorin still did not warm up to his newfound peace of mind.

"I'll see you later," said Nyrath, squeezing his shoulder, and walked off. He could feel the heaviness of Thorin's anxiety hanging behind him still. It was not unjustified, he knew. But he believed what he'd said to him. It really was as it was meant to be.