𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅 , 𝒃𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒔 , 𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒔 . the air is warm with packed and dancing bodies , yet thorin feels none of it , hears nothing but a sharp and echoing ringing in his ears . grandfather murdered , father missing ⸻ most likely killed ⸻ and the entirety of his people depending on him . there is nothing to celebrate tonight , no reason to dance , no reason to drink .
standing abruptly from his seat , he leaves without excusing himself , steps out into the chill of the night where he can at last feel like he can breathe . makes his way to the side of the building and crumbles ⸻ heavy fist lashes out against the stone wall , the crack of knuckles almost as loud as thunder ; sob rips from his chest as forceful tears fall , unrestrained and broken . what a king you are , thorin oakenshield . at the sound of footsteps , he turns away , hiding his face ⸻ hiding his shame ⸻ and prays whoever it is will walk on by . when they don't , when the steps stop not even a stone's throw away from him , he balks in his assumption . ignores the vulnerable crack in his voice . ❛ not now , balin . please , just ⸻ i need a moment . ❜
