The Hobbit - The Desolation of Smaug Edition (ON HOLD)

11. Barrels Out of Bond

Managed to publish again :) Hope you enjoy this extra long chapter 

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You see her through the cracks in your wall,

she's been tying up her hair for an hour;

There's an asteroid belt in the layers of her ringlets,

and orion in the center of her eyes.

You never understood why people considered wine sweet,

and yet, her lips trace the rim of the pomegranate stained glass,

And there is insouciance on her skin & cheeks. 

You want to poison & drown yourself with a whole bottle,

just to contort your aging face into a position like hers,

One that represents power,

peonies in a sea of dandelions,

And the scintilla of an electricity,

that could snare death between two palms.

- Pyramus and Thisbe -

“I'll wager the sun is on the rise!” Bofur's strained tune echoed amongst the cesspits of the kingdom of the king with pools of silver for hair. It was strained for he had not slept – along with the others they did not allow their eyelids to darken their eyes within this place. “Must be nearly dawn.”

“We're never going to reach the Mountain, are we?” sighed Ori, retrieving back into his cell, joining the shadows and the dark longing of revenge and freedom. And Aria gasped to the peril closing in. Fili's clenched back hit the wall of the rough cell, his lion eyes blazing bright, his mane of gold and royal expectations billowing bright along with his iris, and he panted – trapped and bitter. With his jaw clamped, nails dredging his blacksmith palms, he looked through the gaps of the marble bars to Aria and to Thorin, whom had her hands grasped in his own. Their anatomies undulating in calmness and beauty – standing straight such as warriors brave and resistant; Thorin's sapphires searching within her blue, yellow, green and grey for mercy. 

“It is almost time”, he whispered, granting his beloved's nails to dig within his skin, “He is coming.” 

Aria grabbed a hold of Thorin's raven hair at the back of his head and clenched with such force that he gritted his teeth, and she exhaled, “Please”, she begged, “Look aside this mist of hatred and betrayal. Let us leave!” Thorin let his great palms of blood and gold brush up her arms to cup her face, and he felt her unsteady breath upon his lips. My breath desires permission to caress thy skin; it desires to dance with thine.

“Here we will not remain, my love. This place shall not be our tomb, and folk will tell terrible tales about the things we did for love.” 

“But you won't get anywhere stuck in here.” 

A very familiar voice such as an echo within a shade sounded outside their cell – in gladness and in hope, it sounded, and to the heavy beat of their hearts, Thorin and Aria gasped, turning to the marble door. And indeed there he stood – a hobbit in red and green and brown, with chocolate locks and hazel brown iris. His hand wielded a great metal hoop of keys, rattling as he wiggled them back and forth, and within the grey failure of the dungeons, he grew attention to himself, and the mist stooped into the dark cesspit beneath.