Deathless (2/3)
Deathless
Fic for the @tolkienrsb event 2021.
Author:gwen-ever (tumblr) gwen-ever (ao3)
Artist: Lathalea (tumblr)Lathalea (ao3)
Fic Rating: M
Warning: Reincarnation - Angst - References to Illness
Relationships: ThorinxOc - DurinxOc - DurinVIIxOc
Characters: Thorin Oakenshield - Original Female Character - Durin the Deathless - Durin VII - Aule - Yavanna - Balin
Word count: 24458
Artwork rating: G
Artwork Link: Khazad-dûm Reclaimed.
Durin went over in his head every single market street he had walked the day before, taking in every intersection or tunnel that seemed familiar. His sense of direction was never fooled, even though the streets in the lower levels of the mountain were so different at night than they were during the day.
The hustle and bustle of the day before had vanished, the golden light that fluttered on the grey stone replaced by a weaker light from the few lit lanterns and the light coming from the windows of the houses set in the stone.
From time to time the sound of his heavy footsteps on the marble floor was interrupted by some distant laughter that echoed over and over again to his ears. He looked around alarmed that the palace had noticed his absence, but he had to sigh with relief every time, he was never the cause of the commotion that night.
As he walked there were no bows, greetings or reverences of any kind, everyone continued on their way ignoring his presence or true identity. It certainly wasn't difficult for anyone to assume, given his soot and coal stained clothes, that he was just a blacksmith returning home after a long day's work in the forges and that was partly the truth.
The shops were almost all closed, few dwarves came out of them and many of them were the owners busily barring the doors and windows carved into the stone: he hoped Ylva was doing the same. He hoped he had left the forges too late and that she was still busy among her tools and cloth and still criticising the faded labels in her shop.
He cast a glance towards the blue armguards he wore, smiling to himself as one of the pink stones glinted under the light of a torch: he had kept his word at last, though, he was coming back, though certainly not in the way she would have thought he would.
A part of him had been begging him all day to drop everything and go down to the markets to see her, to hear her voice, to pay her back, while his more controlled part kept him seated at council meetings, then mine inspections, then forges.
By the time he had finished his duties, however, nothing had stopped him from leaving the forges and walking over there. Ylva was coming back to him like the sweetest wine he had ever tasted, and in all probability it was the wine that was now guiding his steps to reach her.
He turned his head and walked into the corridors of the market, going deeper and deeper. He turned a corner towards the artisans' area and amidst the bluish half-light, a bright light in a window caught his attention and as fate would have it, it was the only light he wanted to see lit: she was indeed still in his shop.
Durin quickened his pace as he approached the window of the small shop, already anticipating the vision of the dwarf-woman busy behind it, but as he approached it, he immediately realised that the light he was seeing was nothing more than the flame of a forgotten candle lit at the back of the shop.
He clenched his jaw, trying to overcome his sense of disappointment: perhaps she was still inside and he had not noticed her yet. He cupped his hands and peered into the shop and to his disappointment his suspicions were true: she was already gone, he had come down too late. She was not standing on a stool arranging the boxes of gems that still lay stacked on top of each other, she was not scrubbing the dirty floor with pieces of cloth, nor was she sorting out the mountain of small sketches lying on top of the counter or in the back room near the unlit forge. With a sigh, he sat down on the front step of the shop, wearily running his hands over his face: what was wrong with him? What was he planning to do? To come all the way down there, to the markets without informing anyone, without leaving a missive, to do what? Chasing a craftswoman, chasing a feeling due to his overtiredness and increasingly confused dreams.
His Father would have laughed at him, his grandFather would have taken him for a fool or would have offered him a couple of rounds of pints to remind him that impulsive actions had never been his forte.
And he would have been right.
He'd never acted like that, never had the reason, and yet the thought of her kept coming back to him. What he had felt as soon as he had seen her was nothing he had ever felt before in his life, or in his lives for that matter. He'd already seen her, he'd touched her, she'd kissed him, he'd already smelled her, and she'd already wrapped those arm guards around his arms.
What he had felt the day before was a fictitious memory, he knew, she could not have been alive back then, she could not have been part of his past, and yet she was the truest and most real memory he had ever seen unfold before his eyes.
Yet he knew her, he had seen her before, but it could not be so, it could not, it was not possible.
His temples ached and he brought two fingers to them and began to press, trying to calm his nerves, to calm those doubts and stupid riddles he was asking himself. He had to calm down, regain his senses and stop that boyish madness and return to the palace. It would have passed, just as everything had always passed him by.
He was about to stand up, but in doing so he gave a little kick to a piece of an old broken mug, making it roll straight into the middle of the street.
That simple gesture stopped him instantly, a sentence she said came back to his mind and a doubt, or more a hope, came forward in his chest. It was a ridiculous sentence, taken out of context, but it began to dig into his mind like a woodworm until his brain bled.
Perhaps he knew where to find her.
He threw his convictions to the wind, what he had been telling himself for many minutes. With a push he got up from the cold step and started walking again along the immense tunnels of the market, passing every closed shop he came across.
He turned left and right trying to cross paths with the building he was interested in, but the more he walked the more there was no sign of it: she was right on one point, he was not from there. He arrived at the central market square, now emptied of every stall he would usually find there. The huge marble statue of the Royal Battle Ram reigned supreme in the middle of it, welcoming every passer-by, including him, and it was behind it that Durin finally found what he was looking for.
With great strides he approached the entrance to the central inn of the market, passing the small group of dwarves who, shakily, were coming out of it, holding each other's arms. From inside came shouts, songs, music and a bright orange light that made his eyes squint as Durin came through the doorway, cutting his breathing.
The main tavern was filled with a life and warmth that Durin thought the forges located several levels beneath their feet looked like an icy, inhospitable wasteland in comparison.
The music of the violins and flutes rang out loud, echoing throughout the tavern, barely able to overcome the high-pitched laughter or deep cackles that came from every single table. He heard footsteps on the floor, the clatter of metal cutlery banging against each other, the cheerful shrieks of a few little dwarves chasing each other around the tables, hiding under them for a few moments before being discovered. A sea of colourful fabrics moved from side to side, carrying barrels full of beer, tray after tray of every kind of food imaginable.
Around the tables dozens and dozens of dwarves clutched each other in long embraces as they sang stories, shouted ancient names and legends, while others ducked to dodge pieces of food being thrown across the room.
Cautiously, always hoping not to be recognised, Durin stepped forward in turn through the hubbub, dodging and ducking into every cove the tables or groups of warriors and smiths created to chat, searching his eyes for why he was there, scrutinising every single face.
He searched for a hank of fire-red hair, tried to hear her crystal-clear voice, even tried to inhale the air to smell her again, but the further he went between the tables, the more his hope of finding Ylva became a dream.
Suddenly, in the midst of the noise and laughter, an ethereal voice rose above all the others, attracting his attention and, if that was the case, that of a good part of the room as well. There, in the middle of the wooden tables, on top of one of them, he saw her: she was moving her feet from one side to the other in time with the music, dancing holding the arm of another dwarf who was singing a traditional song of the Blue Mountains out loud, holding a full mug of beer in his hand.
Durin watched her wide-eyed as she danced, the red dress she wore that evening moving in every crazy motion in which the dwarf next to her pushed her, as she spun around the table in pirouettes or small jumps at every high-pitched sound she had to make, the let go with her neck back singing.
The dwarves around the table clapped their hands and feet in time to the music, slammed their mugs down on the table and shouted at every higher word, watching the little scene as he did, but Durin did not join in. He watched her in silence, as if hypnotised. He couldn't take his eyes off her, and every time she returned a higher note, or laughed, or pirouetted on herself as she sang, he felt his heart stop in his chest.
His throat suddenly went dry as he watched her, as he watched how the dwarf held her waist, making her move from side to side, and unconsciously he felt a discomfort rise up to his neck.
He exhaled, letting his back go against the wooden pillar behind him, letting his blue gaze drift over her body, and the dress she wore, to the small but precious patches of white skin she showed with every movement, to the smile that marked her face, to the thick, unruly red hair that swayed from side to side making her golden beads flap in her braids: he would never have admitted it out loud, not at that moment but she was beautiful, too beautiful.
A smell of blueberries and wild flowers entered his nostrils again, invisible hands touched his face, ran their fingers along his thick beard, a pair of lips rested on his and a soft breast rested on his chest and the roar, Ylva's voice, was no longer loud, it was low, it was close to his ear, and then close to his neck and then mixed with his breath.
An immense grip on his heart forced him to let go with his head back, panting and shaken. A second one made him clench his jaw and close his fists in a spasm. His vision suddenly blurred as the sounds around him gradually became muffled until they disappeared completely, as did the taverns and the shouting, and the laughter and Ylva's voice.
Sparkling diamonds shone through the blue marble walls. Golden veins, like tree roots, dug into the stone, embracing and supporting their wide, endless relatives. A cloudless starry sky, infinite and eternal shone underground, so high and mighty are the halls in which they stand. Rain, wind, bad weather were only a vague thought in that place without time or memory, where one minute is a hundred lives and a hundred lives a minute, where day and night alternate like the flames burning in the middle of the large circular room.
Though the world grows darker every day
And hope seems all but a memory
An angelic voice rang out, lulling him to sleep, making him close his eyes and taking him back into the world that had been built for them. Sweat still covered his body, his muscles tensed under his skin, not being calmed by the gentle caresses of the pale, soft hands that caressed his skin, face, mouth, wiping away with a wet cloth every sign of the work he had dedicated himself to as he had been ordered to do hours before.
Nothing can dim or extinguish this flame
Ignited long ago deep within me
No-one can break my will, nothing can change
My path is laid before me
Her hands trembled with every caress, for every smear of soot she removed from his face her touch grew weaker, as if that simple gesture cost her all the strength she had in her body.
He would have liked to grab them, to block her, to beg her to stop, but he couldn't: she continued to take care of him, without ceasing to smile, even though Durin's breathing became heavier with every movement, as well as his voice became weaker and weaker, less and less alive.
A cough, a single cough brought him to the limit of his endurance.
He took her face in his hands and forced her to look at his face stopping her singing.
"You should rest, the dawn of the Trees is near. You need to rest and you need to let your eyes drift shut," he murmured, holding her face almost completely bare, like a withered autumn leaf, like a flower struggling through the snow to bloom.
She smiled weakly at him, laying a small hand on his larger one and leaving a sweet little kiss on his palm "Don't feel sorry for me my love, I still have the strength to take care of you."
"You didn't complete the work that was assigned to you by our Father," he told her, noticing the dark circles on her face lit by the flames beside them "I noticed your exhaustion as you worked to complete your task. Your hands were shaking, your eyes closed, I should have brought you help,"
She smiled weakly at him again, settling even more against his touch.
"Don't make me leave you," she said, smiling at him out of the side of her mouth, "I can't sleep if I don't have you by my side, my sleep is shaken by nightmares, and I don't want you to leave our Father's work unfinished," she explained gently but then another cough made her bend over and look away from his.
One, two, three, four, five times she coughed, bending over and bringing a hand in front of her mouth, which gradually turned red, a red that cost him a tear and a prayer to his Father.
He had to save her, if not him, their creator he had to do it, any way he knew how but he had to do it, he couldn't see her extinguish before his eyes before she was even born. He could not take her away from him.
As soon as she was calm he took her face in his hands and laid his forehead on hers, looking at her through a veil of unshed tears.
"I would take all your aches and pains if I could, I would go beyond time and space to make all your aches and pains vanish my sky, my sun, my treasure, my soul," he whispered leaving her a sweet kiss on her lips "I will take care of you, Frea I swear, I will take care of you."
Disoriented, Durin closed his eyes, feeling them moist again, feeling as if he had been crushed by a boulder that was impossible to lift. It had happened again, he had again had a dream about his past without it having dawned on him.
But no, that wasn't a dream, it wasn't a memory, it couldn't be, because Ylva was there.
And yet he had seen her, she looked just like that dwarf lady, whom he had just seen, whom he had just remembered. But it was not possible, what he had seen was not possible.
Frea, he had called her.
Just thinking about that name made a terrible lump in his throat and an urge to scream at the top of his lungs his frustration and pain, the pain he had felt in that memory.
"Will you ever accept my proposal of marriage, oh, shining gem from the deepest of caves in the Misty Mountains?"
A croaking voice, broken by several sobs and slurred, broke the vision that had appeared before his eyes, bringing him violently back to the reality of what was happening around him.
The dwarf with whom Ylva had been dancing just now was bending at her feet, his arms theatrically outstretched towards her, holding her hand between his.
Ylva laughed, patting him on the forehead with both fingers, "Only when you will propose it to me as you are sober, Farim," she shot back, making him and everyone around the table laugh.
It was at that moment, when a second dwarf held her hand to get her off the table, that their gazes met and the aftermath of that earlier memory disappeared from his mind, as did that anguish, that pain, that anxiety and everything seemed at peace again.
Her dark eyes widened with surprise when she saw him: surely she had never expected to meet him again in such a situation and if it had not been for his initiative this would not have happened at all.
She smiled at him in turn as she stepped down from the table and with a small gesture of her head she pointed to the counter at the end of the tavern inviting him to go in that direction.
He didn't know what what he had just seen meant: at other times he would have been worried about it, but not at this moment, he just wanted to... talk to her.
He followed her without thinking much about it, and after making his way through the small crowd in front of the bar he saw her sitting on a stool, carelessly brushing her red hair to one side of her neck and wiping the remains of dust from her bodice. From the fact that she didn't want to meet his gaze and how she had tactically left an empty seat next to her, he realised that she was deliberately ignoring him but absent-mindedly inviting him to sit by her side.
A small, amused laugh escaped him, glad that his embarrassment towards her had already vanished again. He sat down next to her, crossing both arms on the counter and watching her out of the corner of his eye as she absent-mindedly fastened the laces of her dress around her forearms again.
"Mor, I may need a lager for me and a double malt for the master blacksmith sitting next to me, would you mind?" she looked up at the long grey-bearded innkeeper behind the bar.
He nodded to her with a quick gesture of his head, stopped cleaning the jar in his hands and started to take two mugs and prepare them.
"How did you know that? The type of ale I drink?" he asked her pleasantly surprised.
He found it curious that she knew what kind of beer he drank and he wasn't even good at covering it up as he found himself staring at her in wonder and with his mouth slightly open.
"I didn't know, so call it luck if you prefer my lord," she replied to him absentmindedly, lowering again the sleeves of her dress that had been pulled up during the dance.
"You know this morning I also received a stroke of luck my lady, someone reached at my door and gave me these," he winked at her, extending his forearm towards her, showing her the blue arm guards she had made fastened over his shirt.
She absentmindedly lowered her gaze and grinned with the side of her mouth as she continued to adjust the creased sleeves of her dress. "Oh really my lord? I have no idea who it could be, I was late for work today you know, I overslept, so some dwarf lady may have snuck into my shop and may have taken them," she winked at him in turn continuing to play dumb.
He raised an amused eyebrow. "She must have been a very patient and cunning dwarf lady to have played you."
"I could almost say she's on the same level as me my lord," she retorted as she looked up slyly and darkly at him, widening the smile on her red lips.
Durin let out a soft laugh, especially as Ylva seemed more and more convinced to carry on with this charade, a charade that wasn't bothering him, on the contrary, he had missed it terribly. But when he was about to reply in kind, the innkeeper finally brought him their beers and placed them in front of them.
He reached into the pocket of his breeches looking for the few gold coins he carried with him every time he went down to the forges, but he wasn't quick enough to put them on the counter as Ylva's pale hand slammed down on the table leaving four bronze coins on it.
She noticed his disappointed look, shrugged and took a large swig from her pint, making any objections she might have had vain, just as she had the day before.
Although he didn't like the gesture at all, especially since he already knew what she had done for him, he took a swig of beer in turn, letting the golden liquid cool his palate.
"I'll pay you back, I promise," he reminded her in an ominous tone, glancing across the rim of the mug.
She did not seem intimidated, however, and shrugged her shoulders. "And I've already told you it's a gift," she retorted, wiping her lower lip with her fingertip, "so unless you want to take them off and throw them at me, it's a gift you've accepted.
"I didn't have a choice, it seems," he reminded her.
"If you had, you wouldn't have accepted them and I wanted to see them on you, so I had to take away your choice."
"I also told you that I would return for you, did I not, my lady?"
"You are not mistaken, my lord, in fact you did!" she began, pointing from head to toe with the beer glass, "You didn't tell me when though! I only speeded things up and then told you that I don't take no for an answer!" she winked, smiling at him.
Durin lowered his gaze, but this time he felt his cheeks flush, not from embarrassment but from the hilarity and simplicity of the situation. Perhaps the memory of what had happened earlier was still too vivid, perhaps he would have regretted his words and his proposal a little later, but at that moment he wanted nothing more than that.
He moved his arm lightly across the table towards Ylva's, drawing her attention. "May I also have this claim on you?" he asked, looking up at her.
She jerked slightly, looked at him in confusion, letting the cascade of fiery red curls fall to the side, "What do you mean? The one about not getting a no for an answer?"
He nodded, biting his lip nervously; he'd never been good at that sort of thing.
"I wanted to know if you'd like to have dinner with me one of these nights," he asked, trying to maintain eye contact, "I can have you picked up and escorted to the palace if you'd like," he said.
As soon as he asked her that question Ylva suddenly turned paler, her hand trembled and so did the glass she held close to her mouth: she looked at him surprised, perhaps too surprised.
She slowly lowered the cup and let it go on the table, blushing more and more and trying to mask her discomfort by smiling at him ironically, which made him feel terribly guilty even though his invitation was more than sincere.
"Y-you noticed we're in a tavern, right?" she asked, looking around as she continued to smile at him out of the side of her mouth nervously, "and it's just past dinnertime and... I don't need an escort, in that case, you know I'm already here with you." she explained, trying not to meet his eyes.
Suddenly he realised that it was not his proposal that had made her uncomfortable, but what followed and he had been a fool not to understand it: he had put her in an unpleasant situation and he was ashamed of it. He was like a king, she was an artisan. He was used to talking to women of his own rank, a little lower at most, but certainly his last words must not have been easy to understand, to swallow and to be heard.
"Are you proposing that I dine here with you Lady Ylva?" he asked her to be sure of what she was thinking.
She jolted again and smiled nervously at him, again adjusting her hair behind her ear with an impulsive gesture. "You said it, I just pointed out the current events and what they might entail," she chuckled softly.
"I made you uncomfortable, I'm sorry about that. My proposal-"
"I did not say your proposal made me uncomfortable," she interrupted him quickly, looking up at him.
Durin's eyes widened, taken aback by her answer: he had always prided himself on not being able to be taken by surprise, on always having the answer ready and always being the one to have the last word on any matter, but that dwarf-woman in two days had shattered all his certainties, every single reality he thought he was living, including his past ones.
He smiled to himself with a sneer and looked up at the tavern keeper. He forgot the lessons of etiquette he had been taught and settled into the fact that he was only Durin that night, nothing but Thrain, not a king, not Durin, just Thrain. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled so loudly that he drew the tavern keeper who had just been deep in conversation with a group of no less than five dwarves to a table and made him turn towards them.
"Prepare us two dishes of the day and don't worry about the portions or how many times you fill the mugs," he said in a deep voice and this time he was quick enough to put a single gold coin on the counter.
She looked at him in amazement, turning the mug over in her hands in satisfaction, "You are full of surprises, my lord," she grinned.
Durin rolled his eyes slightly but couldn't help but hide the fact that the statement struck him in a pleasant way.
"I always have a way to escape my life and I have enough practice doing it, whether it be in the suburbs of Erebor or in training camps or situations that put people around me under pressure," he explained and then smiled at her with the side of his mouth, becoming slightly more serious than before. "I'm a dwarf, no different than anyone else."
He didn't know if he said this to her or to himself to convince himself of what he was saying, to give himself some consolation that his role wasn't his world but either way she reached out her hand slightly towards his brushing the tips of his fingers with hers.
"Oh you are very much so actually, different, and you don't even realise it and different isn't always a bad thing."
With that single sentence Durin realised that he had made the right choice that night, that he had done well to go down to the markets to see her again that he had been risking the wrath of his brother, because in that moment he felt as he had felt in that memory moments before: adored.
He did not know how much time passed, perhaps even hours, and as far as he could know. It could have been dawn and he would not have noticed. They talked for so long, about everything and nothing at all, that Durin found himself immersed in a world he had touched with his own hands, a world where he was alone, where no one was forcing him to make choices or be someone else. In which a dwarf lady in front of him spoke first of the various types of weapons she had tried and failed to forge in her life, then of how she used to sew winter jackets for her goats when she was still in the Iron Hills, and then of how she had run away one night to see a blood moon from the hills.
He felt as if he had known her all his life, though he had only met her the day before, and he too had come to tell of his misadventures, how he was a terrible miner, how he nearly set fire to the throne room in Erebor when he was a child, or how once, after his brother's wedding, he had woken up asleep on top of the throne.
He was so engrossed in that moment that he hardly noticed that the tavern had emptied, leaving only silence and a few nearly consumed candles around them. A few dwarves were asleep on the benches, others were silently drinking their last mug of ale, while he and Ylva had barely touched what was in front of them, not even noticing how often their fingers were touching and brushing against each other, fiddling with each other.
"What were you doing at the market yesterday? You've never been there before from what people say, in fact you're not often seen there," she asked him, fiddling with the edge of his arm guard, tracing the seams with her fingertips.
"We need to build some new housing areas and a new wing for the markets on the floors above us," he replied as he watched her pale, shy fingers stop at one of the stones.
"Many will be delighted by this news, you know," she confessed, smiling softly at him. "Many still have no homes and live in their workshops, others have homes two hours' walk from here, in the old shelters..." she explained, lowering the tone of her voice almost to a whisper.
Durin sensed a veil of sadness in her words that made him turn his hand over and grasp her hand lightly, looking into her dark eyes.
"Like you?" he asked her, not at all pleased with the answer she might give him.
Ylva shook her head and chuckled, grabbing his hand in turn "I manage your majesty, old Mor makes me a good price for a room and food. It's small but it has a bed, a table, a bowl and even a tiny fireplace," he explained, gesturing with her free hand, forcing another smile.
Durin, however, was not convinced by what she told him: it was as he had suspected and she was not the only dwarf lady in that condition, in the precariousness of a kingdom that perhaps even after her death would continue to be rebuilt.
However, hearing that information from someone, especially her, and not reading it through reports written on old parchments hurt him more than he had expected and made him face the great responsibility he carried on his shoulders.
"When we arrived here, there wasn't much," he began to tell her over the barely audible sound of the candle burning between them in total silence, "the battle lasted for months, taking one room at a time and for a long time I lived on a blanket next to a bonfire, nothing more. I understand how you feel,"
Ylva looked at him wide-eyed, opening and closing her mouth ready to say something, perhaps to retort, but finally she only smiled at him, nodding and slowly crossing her fingers with his in an almost intimate gesture, but so innocent and sweet that Durin did not have the heart to stop it.
"I'm very well, don't let it bother you," she tried to reassure him, smiling, "when you build the new residential wing," she continued, raising both eyebrows, "I'll be the first to put my savings aside for one of those dwellings, in your majesty's name!" she giggled and raised her half-full goblet high in a toast to him.
An amused laugh escaped Durin, but she continued gesturing with the goblet in front of her.
"I'm going to buy me one with even a bathtub built into the floor, one of those where you can put bath salts, you'll see!" she continued proudly, laughing to herself.
"In the palace, every room has one, I think you might like them so..."
She shook her head laughing as her cheeks coloured again, "I don't think I can go back and forth from my room to the palace to take a bath if that is your intention, my lord.”
"It wouldn't be a problem if you wanted to do it once."
"Oh please don't make fun of me, I haven't had enough to drink yet!" she retorted laughing and taking another sip from her mug before wiping her lips with her fingertips, "Speaking of which, can I ask you a question, about the palace?"
Intrigued, Durin nodded, pulling himself up slightly to sit ready for any questions she might ask him.
"Ask me anything you like," he said again.
Ylva looked around, checking to see if anyone was listening to them and then stepped closer to him rolling up the sleeves of her elegant red dress. She moved closer to his face, almost touching his nose and placed a cupped hand to the side of his mouth so no one could hear them.
"Is it true that in the palace there is an adorned room with bas-reliefs of Mithril?" she asked him and Durin nearly jerked back in his chair "My mother told me that Durin IV, you, had ordered it to be built with a golden floor. That she had inscribed your family tree on the floor and that all around, on the walls, bas-reliefs of mithril and precious stones tell the story of... your lives, our lives. Is this true?"
Durin looked towards his armguard and then towards Ylva's eyes, which were dark and pleading, asking him to tell them the truth. It was difficult for him, not so much to explain the existence of that room, but so much because he had no memory of that room, not even the smallest one. Perhaps he had built it for that very reason, but he only knew of its existence and of what others knew about it. What was on the walls or on the floor was of no importance to him.
He nodded, not finding the heart to lie to her "It's the private room of the royal banquets, it's almost completely unused these days, but yes, it exists."
Her face suddenly lit up and her mouth at first contorted into an ecstatic expression. "Really? It exists!
Do you know that it is said to have taken fifty years to complete, and that it took more than three hundred goldsmiths and at least twenty thousand gems just for one wall?! It's the closest thing to a miracle a goldsmith has ever achieved!”
He bit his lip slightly and yet another madness rose in his chest and took possession of his words. A strange idea buzzed in his head, in perfect, too perfect an idea. "Would you like to see it?"
Ylva's eyes widened and she immediately stopped talking or even breathing if he didn't see her chest move under her low-cut dress. "W-would you... would you let me see it? But I, I am me..."
"Because it's you, I want you to see it, it's my payment."
The dark eyes lifted to the sky and rolled in on themselves "Oh again, I thought we'd worked it out? There is no need for any payment-"
"Get your things," he told her quickly, coming down from the stool in front of the counter with a small jump.
This time he didn't give her a chance to retort, he had well understood that reasoning with her was pointless the more he would let her talk the more she would object to any kind gesture he would make on her behalf. His only choice was to do the same thing he had done with him a short time before: not to leave her a choice.
Ylva in fact looked at him as if he had gone mad blinking over and over again gripping the edges of the table "You've gone mad it's the middle of the night, they'll cut our heads off if they see us!"
"They'll cut my head off? And who would order that?" he replied, grinning out of the side of his mouth.
Carefully, he reached out a hand towards her, inviting her to take it with a slight bow: if she couldn't take no for an answer, he wouldn't either.
She looked at him in bewilderment, first at him and then at his hand, and finally after a long time she reached out and took his hand with a smile on her lips.
"You are completely insane, your majesty."
In the silence of Khazad Dum's palace their heavy, laboured breathing was the only sound echoing through the deserted halls. Dawn was not far away and yet everyone was still in a heavy sleep, unaware of what the king was about to do and who was with him.
Not even the rays of the sun dared disturb them, remaining hidden behind the peaks of the misty mountains, giving themselves a few more minutes.
Thorin walked swiftly, holding Ylva's hand still inside his, their fingers intertwining more and more with each step they took. Her hand was warm, small, and smooth, the softest, most delicate thing he had ever touched in his life. Sometimes he was afraid of squeezing it too tightly and hurting her, but often it was she who held on tightly, making his heart beat faster in his chest.
He guided her through the other rooms, knowing every tunnel by heart, and for the first time in almost six years he did not get lost, arriving at the palace in less than a handful of minutes. They passed the huge hall, turning quickly between the gigantic columns of the palace's main hallway, which occupied metres and metres of surface. He heard her tug several times, entranced by the spectacle that surrounded them, for though he had seen it so many times he could not deny it, Khazad Dum's palace was a spectacle, the greatest work of his people... his work after all, though he had no clear memory of it.
They walked swiftly until they reached the centre of the palace, surrounded by grey marble and veins of priceless white metal, and stopped in front of a huge golden doorway. The engravings on it were faded, but Thorin could read every single letter on it, though many of the characters had vanished completely. Carefully he let go of her hand and went to one of the doors; he grabbed hold of the huge handle and gave a mighty push opening the doors wide. It was old, it was heavy, and it had been so long since he had entered that room that it was almost like opening the door to a world unknown to him.
"After you," he told her as he turned, gesturing with one of his hands for her to enter first.
Ylva's eyes moved quickly from side to side scanning every single part of the entrance hall nervously clutching the edges of the dress she was wearing.
Her dark eyes shone in the half-light becoming just as precious as the door behind her, if not more so.
"Th-thank you," she murmured as she looked away from him again, though it was not easy for him to notice as she shifted her gaze back to the door immediately afterwards, looking at it amazed.
Thorin smiled, feeling incredibly light-hearted, as if he had just made the best gesture in the world, and he partly felt it, as if he had just made Ylva extremely happy with his small effort.
He followed her silently into the room, watching her as she walked through the door, looking around. She gasped and put her hands in front of her mouth as Thorin slowly grabbed one of the torches outside and quickly ignited one of the torches at the entrance, creating a chain reaction that lit up the huge square brazier that ran the length of the room.
Gleams of gold, gems and metal overhung each other and little by little every single drawing or rune or bas-relief, warriors, goats and towers alternated, showing in the greatest idleness the great deeds of his House. His figure was always there, with sword, bow, axe, dead or alive, he was always there.
Thorin sighed heavily, unable to look beyond that work of art, and turned his gaze towards Ylva, who instead kept her eyes focused upwards, holding her chest with both hands in amazement.
She walked slowly, her red hair shining in the light of the torches, her dress of the same colour draped over the golden floor, barely covering her pale skin. The freckles on her body looked to him like tiny rubies set in a statue of white stone and her dark eyes like two shining flakes of black obsidian as strong as it was elegant.
She was the most important jewel in that room, and he was unable to stare at her uninterruptedly: she was a sight that would never be repeated to him, and he wanted her to remain imprinted in his mind forever, to remain at least that memory imprinted on him for all his lives to come.
"This is.... in the name of… I've never seen anything like it in my entire life...."
" Beautiful...." he replied preceding her, not talking about the room at all, but she couldn't know that.
Ylva looked at him smiling shyly and nodded quickly "It is, yes it is, magnificent," she answered him almost with tears in her eyes, "I don't even dare to imagine how much it cost and how much it's all worth."
"It's not calculable, or at least that's what it says in the books, it's worth more than the earthly value, I suppose," he replied walking back to the centre of the room leaving behind the torch he was holding earlier.
Slowly she approached one of the walls, looking curiously at it walking with slow steps along its length without ever taking her eyes off the figures created with the gemstone settings or the backgrounds made of pure silver mithril.
"Do you remember these things depicted on the walls?" she asked, staring at one effigy in particular.
Thorin looked at himself, holding a two-pronged axe, while on the slopes of Mount Doom, an orc's head flying in the air He was flanked by an elf and a man: The Battle of the Last Alliance.
That, he remembered. It was only a few scenes, but inside he could hear the clatter of spears and swords, the screams of pain, the heat of the ground, and the Dark Lord advancing towards them covered in smoke and flames. He could feel the fear, the agitation, his desire to take revenge for all the evil on the land that had been caused by him, but... nothing more.
He brought his hands behind his back as he moved closer to her side "Not entirely, no," he answered as he lowered his gaze to the ground, "just bits and pieces, nothing more. It's not like you just pick and choose, I only remember small fragments, nothing more, like smudges on a paper, an incomplete drawing," he concluded, lowering his voice more and more, unable to hide his pain or his sadness that caused him those empty spots, the not knowing.
Ylva did not answer him and remained silent, observing the carvings for a few moments, before walking in small steps towards one of them. Thorin's eyes widened as she lifted her hand slightly, brushing her fingertips over his face in the bas-relief, touching his beard set with black gems and then his chest covered with blue gems.
He squinted his eyes slightly as if he felt her fingers on his body, as if she was touching him and not a piece of stone, and slowly every single affliction seemed to disappear from his chest. "It must be awful, not remembering, not... knowing a part of your life, even if it's one you've already lived," she said turning her gaze to him "I'm so sorry my lord,"
"It's not as bad as you think, memories can always be rebuilt," he answered her forcing a smile "and my new ones won't drown out my old ones and my old ones won't drown out my new ones."
"You must be very lonely," her voice cracked, "to see the people you love leave and know that… that you'll be back and they won't," she whispered in a voice full of sadness and melancholy, erasing the last string holding him to reality.
Thorin felt a dagger pierce his stomach, opening a wound that still continued to bleed, day after day: she had told him the truth and he, after all, had no one, no one was like him. Everyone was leaving and he was staying.
He clenched his jaw and quickly lowered his head, not wanting to look further, feeling deeply hurt, feeling as if the whole truth of his existence had been thrown back in his face. And she had understood it, no one else.
He did not see her, but he felt her jolt and her breathing quicken.
"Oh no, I'm sorry, please, no, I... I didn't mean to..." she tried to justify in a trembling voice, broken by a soft croak.
But Thorin could not look at her, he was covered in shame at himself, at what he was.
"I'd better go, I've talked too much... I'm sorry, my lord, please forgive me..." she said, still in a broken voice.
He didn't answer, not knowing what to say to her, what lie he could tell her, what he could reveal to her about everything he felt every day, but it took him too long to think, because he saw her out of the corner of his eye starting to walk away from him.
No, he wanted anything but that, she had to stay, he couldn't lose her too, not her.
With quick steps he chased her and with a lightning gesture he grabbed her arm forcing her to stop and turn towards him.
"No...." he murmured looking up into his dark eyes "stay here, with me, please..."
Ylva's eyes widened as she looked at him, stunned by his sudden gesture, which she would never have dared to make if not in that situation.
"Stay with me Ylva," he repeated, leaving her speechless for the first time, leaving himself speechless. "You're the most real and alive thing that's happened to me in all these years of... memories," he murmured through his lips, gently raising his other hand and brushing a wisp of red hair with his fingertips, afraid that she might disappear from in front of his eyes. "Stay here," he begged her, "just stay until dawn, that's all I ask, just a few hours, let me feel like this for a little bit longer,."
Ylva opened and closed her mouth several times and then suddenly her gaze softened to the point of breaking his heart in his chest: she was so beautiful, so perfect, so... right for him.
Gently, she lifted her hand to his face and hesitantly placed it on his cheek, gently brushing his beard. Thorin held his breath and squinted his eyes, settling slowly into the palm of her hand and enjoying those few moments of warmth.
"You look older than you are when you close your eyes," she whispered half-heartedly, stroking his jaw.
A sad smile escaped his lips.
"I am," he nodded slowly opening his eyes "I have ages behind me, you on the other hand..." he stopped to speak taking a deep breath "You are radiant, you are, beautiful and spirited, and alive like a ray of sunshine in a too dark cave, like a jewel in the middle of a barren rock, like the brightest of stars reflected in the Kheled Zaram," he said.
Her cheeks turned red, her pupils widened and she tried again to mask her expression with one of her beautiful half-mouthed smiles, "Now you are exaggerating."
He shook his head anxiously "And I've never been so serious in my life... in my lives".
Durin's forehead went to rest gently on hers bringing her so close he could feel their noses brush against each other as their mouths drew closer uncontrolled and uncontested, because neither of them would be able to stop at that moment and neither of them wanted to. He slowly slid his thumb over her chin, gently cupping her cheek with his hand, watching her half-closed black eyes and the sparkle they gave off beyond her long black lashes, for him, just for him.
Ylva's hands went to move over his chest, resting both of them on it, for a moment she almost seemed to want to push him away, to stop him somehow becoming able to block that huge mistake, that huge and sweet mistake in which they were about to let go.
In that small corner of infinity, made of stars and flames, their mouths met, shaking the very roots of the mountain and untying the thread that had only been pulling them to each other day after day, and it was as if they were breathing for the first time.
All the stars in the universe froze and slowed their turn shattering the veil of day only to observe that moment branded under both their names long before they had uttered their first wail.
No, he knew she was right, they could not go back, not anymore, welded together by a bond as unbreakable and as eternal as Arda herself.
Durin felt small silent tears pass over his eyelashes, his whole existence going back, his whole life becoming clear before his eyes, her becoming living flesh before his eyes and under his hands.
He held her close, desperate, afraid she would slip from his hands again as the falling tears welded their kiss, their first kiss in hundreds of years.
Ylva. Sylvi. Frea.
He had found her again. His soul, his breath, his heart, his sun, his stars. He - Durin, Thorin, he... had her again, she was his again one more time.
