Dornessiti (Hobbit Short Story)

Chapter 12

It took the combined efforts of Dwalin, Balin and Gloin to drag their king inside out of the snowstorm.
"For mahal's sake, sit down," growled Dwalin, forcing Thorin into a chair by the fire. He'd been outside with the search party all night. They were meant to have rotated every two hours so the dwarves could go inside and warm up, but Thorin had refused every time. Their base of operations was the local pub, run by Gloin's wife, Demelza, and Bombur.
"It's a miracle he hasn't got frostbite," Balin muttered to his brother, glancing at their king at he sat silently with his hands around a mug of warm ale. Dwalin just nodded in agreement, glancing worriedly at his best friend. Thorin was stifling a hacking cough, which had begun to settle in his chest from the cold. He shivered continually, but didn't complain, constantly glancing to the door as if Hazel would walk through it any moment. The fur on his coat collar was encrusted with snow, along with his boots, eyebrows and hair; the melting flakes trickling down his neck and face, making his shudders worse.
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"Here laddie," Demelza said softly, setting down a hot bowl of stew in front of Thorin. He nodded his thanks but didn't touch it, staring blankly into the fire. His shaking hands went to his pockets, where his pipe and tobacco lay reasonably dry. He lit his pipe and took a deep draught of the smoke, hoping it would calm his nerves, but it only resulted in a worse coughing fit. A hand took the pipe from his hand and extinguished it.
"Thorin," Dwalin's usually gruff voice said surprisingly softly "You can't carry on like this."
"I-I have to find her," Thorin denied, his voice little more than a harsh whisper. His lips were cracked and tinted blue. Dwalin placed a hand on his shoulder. It pained him to see his best friend, his brother, his king, in such a state. Thorin could barely hold his gaze, his eyes so full of pain and regret and worry.
"Rest, Thorin, we'll find her," Dwalin comforted softly. Thorin shook his head again.
"I-I will go out with the next search party. I-I must find her," he said.
"Not happening laddie," Balin chimes in, sitting down opposite them with a mug of ale.
"I am your k-king," Thorin growled, his eyes narrowing "You will do as I say."
"We will find Hazel, Thorin, but you can't carry on like this. You can barely speak for Mahal's sake, and your cough will only get worse if you go back out there," Dwalin tried to reason.
"I-If I'm in such a state, what do you think she'll be like? I must find her," Thorin repeated fixedly. Dwalin fought the urge to slap him around the face.
"You can't go back out there," he refused. Thorin's eyes narrowed.
"You would deny your king?" He snarled. Dwalin stared his friend straight in the eyes with the same dwarvish stubbornness.
"I wouldn't care if you were Mahal himself, your majesty, you are not going back out into that snowstorm."
With that, Dwalin's chair scraped the floor and he followed the next search party out of the pub door.
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Moments later, Thorin rose too, intent on following his friend and apologising. He'd barely taken a step before Balin pulled him back into his seat.
"Let him be, laddie, he's as stubborn as you are," he said grimly "And with twice the temper."
Thorin just nodded in agreement, staring at the bottom of his mug solemnly. Balin forced a smile.
"We'll find her, laddie, don't you worry," he comforted, though his cheer was half-hearted at best.
"Th-This is all my fault," Thorin choked, feeling tears constricting his already sore throat. Shouting for her hadn't helped, his words were just lost in the winds, but it had given him comfort that she might answer. But no such answer had ever came. Balin had no words, no softly comfortingly lie to answer his king's lament with, and simply patted him on the shoulder and left him to think.
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Thorin simply stared into the fire, so exhausted and cold and sore that he could scarcely string two words together. His hands shook continually, but from the cold or shock he could not tell. His fingers crept into his tunic, finding the silver locket within and clutching it tight in his frozen fist. Tears blurred his vision and the fire just became a mass of swirling oranges and reds. He could hear softly whispered conversations between the other dwarves, occasionally hearing his own name or title. It seemed not only Dwalin was concerned for his king's health. The cough only made Thorin feel weaker, more powerless than ever to find his little girl. His tearful eyes dragged themselves to the window, where the swirling whiteness howled mercilessly.
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A tiny figure lay curled at the foot of a tree, barely sheltered beneath its snow laden branches. Pieces of torn paper lay in her lap, occasionally fluttering away with the wind or dancing around her like macabre confetti. A small blue teddy bear was clutched close to her chest, nestled softly against the fur collar of her winter coat. But even that did little to protect her, and the harsh wind blew through her skinny frame so bitterly it rattled her bones, making her shiver and twitch continually. The only warm part of her was her forehead, which was growing more hot and feverish by the hour. Her little eyes were tightly shut, snowflakes sticking to her eyelashes and freezing them closed. She was too cold to even cry out, despite hearing echoes of her name in the distance. She told herself it was just her imagination, that no one was coming to find her. He wouldn't have lied to her if he cared that much. He wouldn't have broken his promise. As the chilly dawn began to creep over the horizon, Hazel slumped against the tree and fell into a feverish sleep, her dreams filled with little but the howling of the wind. It would be another day before they found her.