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Myríel led Thorin through the winding corridors of the palace, her heart pounding as they ascended the spiral staircase that led to the astronomy tower. The cold stone walls were lit by the occasional flickering torch, casting long shadows that seemed to dance around them as they climbed higher and higher. The air grew cooler the further they went, and the sounds of the chaotic palace below faded, leaving only the echo of their footsteps.
Myríel could feel Thorin's presence close behind her, his warmth a reassuring contrast to the chill of the tower. She did not speak, not yet, knowing that this place, this secret refuge, would explain itself when they reached the top. When they finally arrived at the small wooden door that led into the tower, Myríel paused, her hand resting on the latch.
"This place," she began, her voice soft and almost reverent, "was made by my father for my mother. It was their sanctuary, a place where they could escape the demands of the throne and be together, just the two of them. After she died, he forbade anyone from entering it. But I... I still come here sometimes. It's the one place where I can feel close to her."
She glanced back at Thorin, searching his eyes for understanding. He nodded, his expression solemn, and she felt a pang of relief that he seemed to grasp the significance of the moment. With a deep breath, she pushed the door open, and together they stepped inside.
The room was bathed in the silver light of the moon and stars, the domed ceiling of the tower made entirely of glass, allowing an unobstructed view of the night sky. The air was cool and crisp, filled with the faint scent of the jasmine that grew on the walls outside. Myríel's breath caught in her throat as she took in the familiar surroundings—the polished wooden floor, the delicate tapestries that hung on the walls, and the low, cushioned seats arranged near the edge of the tower, where one could sit and gaze up at the heavens.
She led Thorin to the seats, where they settled themselves, side by side, beneath the vast expanse of the night sky. For a moment, neither of them spoke, content to simply exist in this shared space, this quiet refuge from the world below.
"It's beautiful," Thorin murmured after a while, his voice filled with awe as he looked up at the stars. "A place like this... it must hold many memories."
Myríel nodded, her gaze lingering on a constellation her mother had once pointed out to her. "It does. My mother used to bring me here when I was a child. She would tell me stories about the stars—how they were the souls of our ancestors, watching over us. This was her favorite place in the world."
Thorin turned his gaze from the stars to Myríel, his expression softening. "Tell me more about her," he said gently. "If you're willing."
Myríel was surprised by the request, by the sincerity in his voice, but she found herself wanting to share. "She was kind," she began, her voice trembling slightly as she remembered. "So much kinder than my father. She had a way of making everyone feel important, of seeing the good in everyone, even when they could not see it in themselves. I miss her every day."
