Heart Of Gold [Book 1]

Chapter 7 - Dark Times Ahead

Chapter 7 - Dark Times Ahead

There was no news from the King for months. He had left on the eve of winter, with a sole companion, Nár. No armies, as had been his wish.

His absence plagued Thorin, but he made no sign of it. He knew that, as the heir to the throne of Erebor, it was his responsibility, nay his duty, to appear strong in these hard times, especially in light of his father's apparent distress. Thráin was convinced that his father had been killed, and these dark thoughts angered him to no end. He had begun to talk of war and, worst of all, of going to Moria himself. Thorin hoped against all the odds that his grandfather was alive, but if he had fallen as his father claimed, Thorin knew he could not bear to lose his father as well.

Despite Thorin's predisposition to keep his feelings hidden at all costs, Dania could see that he was troubled, and she knew precisely by what. As ever, she did not press him, did not force him to share with her his worries, but she could not bear to see him so evidently in pain. Her growing feelings for him — feelings which she had long sought to ignore but that she now began to understand more clearly — did not help. She wished she was able to comfort him, hold him, kiss him until the smile she loved so dearly would come to light on his face once more, but she could not.

Her feelings brought her almost as much sorrow as seeing Thorin in such a state of despair. She cursed herself day and night for having let such a thing happen, for she had let herself become a prisoner of a ludicrous love. She felt whole when she was with him. He made her feel special, even appreciated, but she was forced to remind herself that these were objects of her feeble imagination. He was a prince, and she but a girl of conjectured outlandish decent. Even if he shared her love — a thought that tortured Dania's childish hopes — their love could not be. A prince, she reminded herself over and over again in hopes that her heart would come to reason, but it could not be swayed. Her love for him was a feather of lead; his presence enraptured her as much as it dismayed her. And so Dania hated to see Thorin in pain because she knew that whoever would one day have the privilege to hold him in their arms; they would not be her.

"You have to focus," Thorin told her for the hundredth time.

Dania sighed, trying to shake away her sombre thoughts. "Sorry," she muttered.

Prince Thráin was preoccupied with diplomatic matters with other clan chiefs, and his father had unceremoniously dismissed Thorin after a particularly heated debate. As a result, he and Dania had decided to go out in the woods near the village so that she could work on her archery skills, which, for reasons beyond her understanding, were still all too rudimentary.

"You do not have to be sorry," Thorin said in a soothing voice. "Just concentrate."

She inhaled deeply and adjusted the position of the bow in her hands, straightening her shoulders though her stance still felt off somehow. She heard Thorin chuckle softly and let her shoulders slump back down.

"What is it now?" she asked, slightly exasperated at her repeated failures.

"Your hold on the bow is wrong," he said, sounding much calmer than she did. "Here."

He moved in closer and flattened her palm before repositioning her fingers so that the string lay in the groove of the first joint of the three fingers holding it. Then he stepped back to study her position and nodded.

"Better," he remarked.

Dania huffed. "Only because you did it for me."

"Just try it," he said, ignoring her captiousness.

She took a deep breath and focused her gaze on the makeshift target they had placed on a tree ahead. She became one with the bow as every fibre in her body stood on the edge, measuring and assessing her surroundings. Then she released the arrow, which whistled through the air until it hit the bole of the tree with a thud, straight on the mark. Her aim was never the problem; in fact, the precision with which she hit the target amazed Thorin, but it was always the bloody positioning of her fingers that caused her trouble.