The Truth Beneath the Rose

Impossible

How could he have forgotten her? How could she have survived the firestorm brought by Smaug? In truth, the Dwarf had suppressed his memories of the little girl. After assuming her to be dead, he couldn't bear thinking of her again. But she would always be there, lingering in the shadows of his mind. How could he have been so foolish? His hands scraped over his face.

"You hold the answer deep within your own mind. Consciously you've forgotten it. That's the way the mind works. Whenever something is too unpleasant, too shameful for us to entertain, we reject it, we erase it from our memory. But the imprint is always there." Lady Galadriel explained. "Nothing is ever really forgotten."

"And her memory?" Thorin questioned. "What of that?"

"I possess the power to help her, but without her trust, I can do nothing." She replied. "However, I do believe that her memories will return before this journey's end."

"How?" He asked. "If you can't help her, what else will?"

"I can only say that she is closer to finding her purpose than you think." Her eyes smiled.

Thorin had no inclination of what she was saying. He did not understand and he was growing more and more irritated at her round about answers. She knew something that he did not. This bothered Thorin. "Why can't you just tell me what to do?"

"Somethings, we are meant to discover for ourselves. But be cautious. Your decisions have greater effects than you realize." She warned. There was a long silence before Thorin turned to leave. When he reached the door, her voice stilled him. "She is strong. Stronger than she realizes. But she is not indestructible. Her fate will determine the fate of us all." He never turned to look at her. The words she spoke weighed heavily on his mind. The quest to reclaim the mountain was burden enough, but then to have this thrust upon him, he could hardly stand it all. They still needed to figure out the map. His mind was swimming. He could not focus.He passed by the company. They were all sitting round a fire, chatting and laughing. Bombur was most likely going to prepare the deer for tonight. Thorin had lost his appetite. He only wanted to be alone. He wanted to sleep, if only to escape his burdens for a few hours. His troubles did not go unnoticed. Nevaeh could tell by the tension in his shoulders and the heavy thumping in his veins that he was stressed. She thought to help, but how could she? She heard his door slam, but the others did not seem to notice. Once the door was shut, his emotions threatened to explode. He had a way of bottling them up and shutting people out. In truth, he did not know how to feel. He knew he had a new, deeper hatred toward the Elves of Mirkwood. He felt stupid for forgetting her. He felt angry at her circumstances. He loathed her past. His heart wretched at her having no memory of him at all. But all while feeling grateful that she had survived. He felt so many different things all at once that he didn't know how to act. So he acted out of the most familiar emotion he knew. He felt his heart thumping and the blood racing through his veins. He grew extremely warm and he finally unleashed his anger. Smashing vases, spilling the water on the floor, he flipped over a fair sized table and shattered to splinters against the wall. Once the room was bordering ruin and his temper satisfied, he threw himself on the bed. It was not long until his dream took him to the very thing he wished to escape.

A knock snatched him from his slumber. Only, when he awoke, he found he was no longer in Rivendell. He was home, with it's emerald walls and fur blankets. It was then that he realized that he was not in his body. He watching himself like a ghost in the shadows. He watched as he stood up from his bed and sleepily walked toward his chamber door. He opened it to find his chambermaid, a small woman with light hair and a plaited beard, called Brendel. "Yes?" He said gruffly, none too pleased to have been awoken from his dreams.

"A letter has just arrived for you." She answered, presenting the parchment.

"Thank you, Brendel." Taking it from her, he excused her and shut the door. He opened the letter and read it. Thorin knew what his body was reading. Nevaeh's father, Gyorg, was a travelling blacksmith; whenever he and his family came to Dale, his informants would notify him and he would always slip off to the little waterfall and find the little girl playing with her little doll. She had came into his life a little over a year ago and he had not missed a meeting yet.