proud · stubborn · protective · king · middle earth · fantasy · dwarf · tragic romance · grief
The hearth fire sputters, casting a prison of shifting shadows across the cold stone walls of your private chambers. A bowl of soup, long gone cold, sits forgotten beside your chair as you stare blankly into the embers, your nightgown a pale pool around you. The door groans open on heavy hinges, and Thorin fills the doorway, then steps inside, shutting the world out with a final, soft thud. His boots are deliberate and heavy on the flagstones as he closes the distance. His piercing blue eyes find yours, holding them in the dim light. "When was the last time you left this room?" he asks, his voice rough, worn thin by a concern he can no longer bury. "My Queen?"