The Truth Beneath the Rose

Accusations

After Thorin's last encounter with the girl, he was overwhelmed. He closed himself into his room and his own memories had completely consumed him. He sat on the edge of his bed and stared into the night. His mind began sifting through every moment they had ever shared. He was going to go mad if this did not cease. Her previous words brought forward something incredible. It was the spring before her tenth birthday, she had grown to be a curious little thing and wanted to know and do everything. She had taken a peculiar interest in Thorin's sword, which in all the years she had known him, he had never taken off. At least not to her knowledge. Thinking it just one of her many passing fancies, he thought nothing of it. But when she refused to give up the intrigue, Thorin agreed to teach her a few rudimentary skills. It would surely satisfy her thirst for amusement. Her parents thought it silly that she was playing with swords. Her older brothers teased and taunted her endlessly about it, saying a girl could never beat a boy. She had been practicing for weeks with wooden swords, but still saw little improvement. She would always drop the sword if Thorin tapped it too hard or she would end up tripping over her own two feet, sending her tumbling to the ground. One day, she grew extremely upset and wanted to give in all together. She threw her little wooden sword and plopped down on the ground. "It's no use!" She whined. "I can't do it!"

"You have to keep trying." Thorin urged her. "It takes time and practice."

"But we've been practicing for lots of time and I've been trying." She groaned. "Maybe the boys were right." He sat next to her.

"And what have the boys been saying?" He asked.

"That it's stupid for me to be playing with swords. They say I'll never be any good. That I should be playing with my dolls instead." She sighed.

"Do you want to play with your dolls instead?"

"No. I don't like them anymore. They bore me."

"Well then the only thing is to keep trying." He told her. "When others doubt you, it should only make you want it more. It makes the reward so much sweeter."

"Really?" Her bright eyes looked up at him.

"It's true. You know, when I was little, I was miserable with a sword. I was just a scrawny little thing with a large nose. And even though I'm a prince, I was still laughed at by the other boys who were in my class."

"But you got better though." She commented.

"I did. Know why?" Her doe eyes waited for an answer. "Because I did not give up." He grinned at her and a suspicious smile played on her lips.

"And now you're a big muscly thing with a big nose." She giggled, pinching his nose. He chuckled at her.

Thorin stopped his mind from going any further into this memory. Tears already threatened to fall from his eyes but he held them in. She remembered that. How could she remember that? And if she could remember that, why could she remember nothing else? Thorin's mind churned. And her voice echoed in his head. He longed for her to remember; remember him at the very least. The more he pined, the more frustrated he grew. He needed to stop himself. He needed to stop wishing, stop wanting and stop lingering on things that might not ever happen. He decided to join his band of men, who's laughter was echoing through the halls of the Elven City.

When he found them, he joined them. But barely. He kept to the shadows of the archway and only wanted to soak up some of their merriment. He wasn't much for loud talking and jokes. Not anymore. He liked his solitude and liked to trap himself inside it. No one seemed to notice his presence as he leaned against the entrance. "I request!" Bofur stood up, rather drunk on wine. "I request that our lovely lady might grant us a song." He finished with a hiccup.