discomfort clung to him alike a shroud, fluttering out of sight despite the corners tucked over his shoulders, ever-draping. this elvish house in its spring-clad finery and fragments of ages long gone felt in tandem tranquil yet melancholy, the pair of feelings alike two birds perched upon the dwarf’s breast, talon-deep. this was a pretty dwelling, there was no denying it, despite how he wished to denounce it as no more than some trickery that lulled him into complacency. more lies. as fanciful as their word, came the panged thought, his shoulders bunching, and i will not give into it.
the steps of his boots on the smooth stone floors seemed over-loud; naught but the branches of trees groaning and the distantly emphatic shouting of the company could he hear. he puffed out of a soft breath through his nose. i have to wonder, he mused to himself, where they find their joviality. the quest was heavy on his mind, making bearded chin falter towards his chest. this was but a brief stop where they could not tarry long. thorin did not want to. the true end still lay ahead. sight’s corners tightened as he stared down without truly seeing. i cannot rest here — can’t find it. wind crept through the strands of his hair, cool, but he turned his wearied face from it and strode into a room apart from the hall.
he had been told many great books were kept in this place, and, tipping his head backwards, he gazed half-lidded up the tall shelves that lined the walls of the room as jewels embedded in rock. there’s a squint to his eyes, lining the corners, as he glanced with apprehensive scrutiny through the titles, arms drawing behind so that a wrist could be grasped at the back of his waist atop velvet and belt. some were too high for him to discern ... but, as brows furrowed and a pebble seemed to catch in his throat, what he sought seemed hopeless. fingers clenched. of course. nothing of it is here. nothing. “ lulkh, ” he scoffed sharply to himself, louder than a murmur, “ to think any of our texts would be saved here. ” nay, they were lost to the bowels of a dragon, tales of his past, and thorin’s broad shoulders sunk slightly, twisting sideward.
“ —! ” king-of-nothing is caught off-guard at the presence of an elf he had not marked before, and his entire posture stiffened, breath inhaled shortly. he did not like that, too akin to being snuck up on. so much for this place being empty. keeping to some sort of dignity, he stood taller, chin at a regal tilt. he must have heard me. tone even, he remarked, “ are you the keeper of these books? ”