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You remembered Thorin as he was - before the fire and the greed came.
Before you counted each individual grey strand on his head to remind you of your impending doom. Before you held him close, braided his hair, smelt burning and destruction in the air.
The warmly lit halls under the mountains would stretch out for an eternity, a lover’s hand never quite grasping. And a young king burdened by his crown, determined to reach the place of which he dreamed.
His face had flickered in the firelight, almost ghostly, aflame. The pressure that weathered his soul danced on his face as he stared into the open flame. The power, the desire, the admiration. Perhaps his eyes did not glance at you, he did not want you to see the sorrow.
And then he spoke. He whispered about the voices of his forefathers; they were singing the drinking songs of old, they were screaming his name, his birthright. They screamed of the fire that came.
But you held him in his arms, protecting him from the vicious flames that flared close to his eyes. Blue eyes that dreamed of rainstorms and floods, water to quell the fire. Still you saw a hopelessness, all you could do was pity him. He could never escape the weight of the crown or the footsteps leading to the lands that awaited him. And so you decided you loved him.
Deftly, your fingers would weave his hair, peaceful and serene. And he would smile, pure, untainted - the constant battle in his soul soothed for an instant. His cloak would surround your shoulders and you would huddle together, the only souls left wandering the world.
Nightfall would come, you would sit and stare far into the unknown, whispering to each other of a hidden desire that burned deep in Thorin’s heart. His arms would surround you, keep you warm, and you would dream that you too were facing the fire.
Now his raven hair shone with silver threads. But his demons were unleashed, manic, controlling. You had seen the sickness claim its hold, a mere ember quickly burning as if the whole of Middle Earth was on fire. Some days when you embraced him you could now smell the smoke.
“I cannot escape myself,” a brief murmur that reverberated like the first chill of winter in your heart.
His eyes were haunted, visions of death and destruction dancing on the surface. Flames flickered deep within the blue. He had reached the home of his ancestors - the inescapable voices had seemingly died. But a new voice, a new betrayal, a new flame now burned in his heart.
He had become cruel, tainted, feral. The dim firelight carved his features, treacherous and harsh. Concerned looks were cast in his direction - perhaps he noticed, perhaps he was too occupied staring at the fire within his soul.
Gold piled higher, glinting in the flames. Scorched by the greed, corrupted by Thorin’s touch. Outside, the winter frost took hold. You wished the cold would capture Thorin’s heart, seize his mind, freeze the sickness that controlled him.
“My love can be your escape,” your answer echoed throughout the mountain.
A weary smile crept upon his face, “My senses deceive me constantly.”
His fingertips touched your cheek, slow and warm. Perhaps they burnt. Burnt like the dragon fire that raged outside, enthralled like the sickness in his mind.
“You are mine, I am yours,” his words seemed clearer, the last frost of winter melting into the awaiting arms of spring.
You clasped his hand, an age old understanding between the two of you. The desire he had dreamed of, the words he had heard, the promises he had made.
His gaze caught yours, his eyes were loving but something hidden glinted maliciously beneath the surface.
“You are the only one here that does not deceive me.”
His words were clear and bright - sorrow filled your heart. Slowly you released his hand, the flames of his love, his greed searing your skin. You smelt death and smoke, the man he once was burning on a funeral pyre deep inside his soul, smothered by greed and sustained by deceit. You turned away, torchlight glinting behind you as you left.
The stone was cool, the battlements unguarded. Winter’s grasp tainted the outside of the mountain, whilst deep within the king burned as if he himself were the summer sun.
And you witnessed the dragon fire. The ashes of Laketown still glowing in the moonlight. You had believed the battle was over: Thorin would be at peace, Thorin would not yield to the demons that lurked in his shadows. You thought your love was strong enough, a guiding light to protect him from the fire.
Perhaps your love lingered in the dying embers of Laketown - slowly turning into ash. The wind blew softly, the smell of destruction stinging your senses. Death was upon you, war awaiting.
Your heart stung with a perfect ache, twisted and torturous - perhaps Thorin’s did too. Perhaps your love was the inferno that scorched Thorin’s soul. His mind had grown twisted, perhaps yours had too. Ashes scattered the surface - bodies, buildings, love. And you thought once more of the young king you once knew - the man you loved.
The flames in your heart had dimmed when they had once burned. You felt the ghost of his touch, the linger of his hot breath on your cheek, the echo of his eyes twinkling under the starlight.
And you hoped that Thorin would turn, ignore the fire that he could not draw his eyes away from all those years ago, and find you.