The Three Women Of Durin

Burned Out, Brighter Now

White.

Calm.

Green.

Leaf-shaped flecks of light.

Blue.

Is that the ocean?

Red.

Pain.

Thorin sat alone in what remained of his bedroom. It was the first time he had been in it since the day Smaug attacked Erebor, a day where he thought he had hit the rock bottom of agony, and whilst that still may be true, these past few days of formed an entirely new scale of pain. All around him stood crumbling stone, that should have collapsed years ago had it not been for the brilliant minds of his forefathers. There were no windows in this room, there were no windows anywhere. The only light that greeted Thorin's dull irises were those of passing lights that shimmered under the doorway. People wandering aimlessly throughout night and day, passing the morning king without ever realising it.

Thorin could feel the grief sitting in his lungs like a small bag of rice. But no matter its size, it weighed him down, dragging him to the limp, ghostly sheets of his bed, where every breath he managed to haul into his woeful lungs, felt like trying to inhale gritty rock. Had he laid there since the memorial service...when was that? Hours, days, weeks ago? It wasn't that Thorin had lost track of time, it was that Thorin had found time to be in abundance.

His life opened to him, a new chapter, a fresh chapter, a chapter he had been waiting for since he first set up camp in the blue mountains. The chapter of rebuilding Erebor, bringing life once more to its unresponsive walls. How many nights had he laid, strewn in still sheets as his mind whirred rapidly? Thinking of the day he would leave to reclaim his homeland, thinking of defeating that dragon, thinking of sending out a word of the victory and spend a week at least celebrating in the warm and bright halls of Erebor.

He had so much time to do that, the rest of his life in fact and yet had no time to be with the three girls who remained the people who he was going to celebrate with first. Pour them each a glass of wine from the cellars that were fit for kings, call on everyone to look on their young and bright faces and reveal just how much they had helped the company on this journey. As Thorin thought of bright tables, full of the sweetest food they could get their hands on, nights full of laughter and dance as the told strangers the story that they just embarked on, he was snapped right back to his little, black room. Laughter remained a million miles away.

After Rosie fell limp in his arms, Thorin and Bilbo alike broke down. In that agonising moment that felt timeless, Thorin gripped tightly on the motionless body, coughing out angry, raw sobs that reverberated right back to him, echoing in his ears as small and feeble. The battle had finished by the time Thorin's tears ran out, and at this moment he looked up to find the entire company paused at the side of the ice, drinking in the situation. As it turns out, Bilbo had managed to stumble to his feet, desperate to get away from what had just happened, and ended up rounding the company up, not able to tell them what he had just witnessed, only able to drag them to the body.

Slowly, they made their way to Thorin, who sat dazed, unable to speak. Some cried, sobbing in the silence, and some simply stood, confused. But there were two boys who crumpled right next to Thorin, peering down at the blank gaze of Rosie through blurred vision. Silence.

"Thorin," Fili somehow managed to cough out, the word getting stuck in his throat. Fili took a shaky breath, "Frankie and Cece...have also..." Fili tried getting out, trying so hard to appear strong in front of his uncle, even in a moment like Fili felt as though he needed to remain strong to impress his uncle. Thorin looked at his eldest nephew, then at his youngest. To be honest, I could not even begin to write down what Thorin felt were in this moment. I don't think there ever will be words for it.