Thorin

He would rather them leave. The constant chatter bothered him, ears twitching, he silently made his way to a secluded bench, seating himself.

He was grateful for the hood looming over his eyes, the world felt less intrusive that way, he was desperate to be gone from the cluttering murmur of life beyond him.

But something compelled him to stay.

Alone with his thoughts, though he favoured it, it felt alien and unwise to let himself have so much free reign over his topics. He’d linger on bitter, tiresome memories, of happier, kinder days. Though he was by no means a constant sadness, he still felt the pull of the darkness around his heart. He would try to be strong. But time was not a kind lover.

The sun had began to set, the oozing pinks across the sky dimmed into lazy purples, until the rich blues flooded the land, and the muttering finally simmered to a reasonable whisper. The winds felt cooler, his body prickled at the feeling, but he would not complain.

Though, he would yawn. Silent, as the rest of him, his mouth stretched before the rush of breath plumed from him, he shivered, and stretched. He wondered why he felt so compelled to leave the home, to wander, despite his distaste for crowds. Somehow, it felt better to have the escape. Much to the protest of Thera, he had offered her little comfort, his management of love was awkward at best, he struggled to convey his feelings properly, and it frustrated the pair of them at times.

He was not a speaker. Volumes could not convey what action could. What good was speaking, when the problem could be fixed with intervention? It was not his place to think lesser of others, his silence was often the subject of ironic conversation, he did not retaliate, even if he truly would have liked to. He would have liked to have snapped, and shown them they were wrong, but his heavy heart did not wish to bother.

He was too used to it. And he did not even care. His apathy had been born of tiredness, his hollow gaze upon others were devoid of feeling. But he knew there was one who saw it differently. She would smile at his gaze, and offer speech upon his silence. A fierce, loyal woman. And it burned him to see what loss could do to someone. They mourned, their love was still so close, but to look at each other dealt too much pain, eyes once so full and mesmerising, now reminded him too much of his losses.

“Forgive me.”

His voice was so soft, against the air it was almost lost, as the night crept on, he sat on the bench with his thoughts, staring at the ground. His heart was a pained twist in his stomach.

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