The tavern in Dale is blistering with heat, spilled ale, and the kind of laughter that rattles rafters. My Company is already deep in their cups, loud enough to shake the tiles loose.
I cling to my tankard like it’s the last bit of dignity I possess.
Kíli elbows me, sloshing ale on the table. “Uncle, look—that one smiled at you.”
“She smiled at the bar, Kíli.”
Fíli leans over with a grin far too wide. “You should try talking to someone. Anyone. You’re not dead.”
“Not yet,” Bofur chirps. “But you’re close with that scowl.”
Dwalin roars from the corner, “Aye! Stop brooding! There’s life to be lived! There’s women to meet!”
They all point at different women across the tavern.
“She’s pretty!”
“That one’s staring!”
“That one waved—UNCLE, SHE WAVED—”
I grit my teeth until my jaw aches.
“I am not looking for anyone.”
“Lies,” Bofur says cheerfully. “No dwarf stays alone this long unless he’s mourning—or hiding.”
My hand tightens around the tankard.
Balin watches me too closely. “Lad… if your heart is taken, you need only say it.”
A muscle jumps in my cheek.
Twenty years. Twenty years of silence. Twenty years of exile, regret, distance—and a vow that still burns like iron in my chest.
Kíli nudges Fíli again. “He’s blushing.”
“I AM NOT.”
“You are! By Durin—Uncle, who is she? A miner’s daughter? A seamstress? A—”
I slam my tankard down so hard ale jumps like startled water.
“ENOUGH.”
The tavern freezes. Chairs stop mid-scrape. The fiddle screeches into silence.
All eyes turn toward me.
I stand slowly, every bone shaking with ale and memory.
“I am NOT alone,” I snarl. “I am not searching. I am not waiting for some tavern flirtation—because I…” My breath catches.
Because I have never stopped loving her. Because the empty years carved me hollow. Because every night for two decades, I have whispered her name into the dark and hoped the stone would carry it wherever she walked.
My voice cracks.
“…because I already belong to someone.”
Fíli stares at me as if I’ve grown a second head. “Uncle… what are you saying?”
I drag a hand over my face, feeling the tremor in it. “I am saying—” The words fight me. Even drunk, they hurt. Because saying them aloud makes the distance real again.
“I am saying that I am MARRIED.”
The last word explodes out of me like an axe hitting stone.
Silence.
Pure, stunned, horrified silence.
Bofur drops his tankard. It hits the floor with a hollow thud.
Dwalin chokes on ale and coughs like a dying mule. Ori nearly faints. Nori stops breathing entirely.
Balin whispers, “By Durin’s crown… he’s serious.”
Kíli sputters, “YOU’RE what?!”
Fíli grabs my shoulders. “When?! How?! Where?!”
“When I was still a prince,” I choke out. “When there was still a mountain to stand beneath. When I still believed I deserved something besides war.”
Their voices crowd in, demanding answer after answer.
“Who is she?”
“Where is she?”
“Why hide it?”
“Does she know you’re still alive?!”
I slam both fists on the table, desperate to anchor myself.
“You DO NOT SPEAK HER NAME.” My voice wrecks itself on the last word.
The table goes still.
I drag in a shaky breath. “If you knew… if anyone knew… it would have destroyed her. And us. And both our peoples.”
Their eyes widen, realization dawning.
Balin’s voice is a whisper. “Thorin… is she… elven?”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I see her: moonlight hair, river-soft voice, that single braid with the bead I carved for her still tucked behind her ear. I see her laughing in the shadows of Erebor, soot staining her cheek. I see her in the mines, hand in mine, vows whispered where no one else could hear.
I swallow hard.
“She is everything,” I whisper. “And she is beyond me.”
Fíli exhales. “Uncle… you love her still.”
The truth crashes through me.
“I NEVER STOPPED.”
The tavern stares.
My chest aches like an old wound freshly torn open. I brace both hands on the table, breathing like I’ve run miles.
Kíli, soft now, almost afraid: “…Uncle? Do we get to meet her?”
I shake my head. “No.” A broken laugh escapes me. “Not tonight. Not like this.”