Dornessiti (Hobbit Short Story)

Chapter 18

A/N: Just a quick trigger warning, some upsetting content ahead. Other than that this should be a semi-cheerful chapter. Shoutout to @DaughterofHalt for giving me the motivation to get a chapter out this week. Thanks for your patience and support as ever. Enjoy!
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"Happy Birthday, dornessiti."
Hazel rubbed her eyes and yawned, blinking in the light as her bedroom door was opened. A silhouette stepped softly into the room. The curtains were opened, allowing the morning sunshine to filter into the room. Thorin smiled down at her, cradling a childishly iced cupcake in one hand and a small wrapped package in the other. He sat on the end of her bed.
"G-good m-morning daddy," she murmured sleepily, fiddling with a tassel on the edge of the blanket.
"Good morning little princess."
Hazel looked up a little and regarded the package in his hand curiously. It wasn't wrapped in the same paper parcels normally came in, and there was no writing on it. Maybe they were sending someone a present.
"W-What's that?" She asked finally, unable to work out what the parcel could be for.
"This," he smiled "Is for you."
She frowned. Why would she get a present on her birthday? It wasn't a special day.
"W-Why?"
Thorin faltered a little. It was hardly a surprise that she'd never received a birthday present before, just a little heartbreaking. What was he supposed to say? Why did people receive presents on birthdays? He thought for a moment before answering:
"Because you deserve it."
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At those words, Hazel went deathly pale. Her breathing became rapid. She was still at first. Frozen. Then she started to shake. It began at her fingertips, then the rest of her hands, then her knees, creeping up her body in icy tendrils until it enveloped the whole of her tiny body. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream. A badly iced cupcake fell to the floor with a sticky sound, staining the sheepskin rug in a blob of garish pink.
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Thorin stared in horror. What had he done? What hideous memories had he unlocked by saying that? For a moment he just froze, staring as his daughter shivered and shook, seemingly catatonic. He couldn't just sit there. He couldn't just leave her to deal with... whatever this was... alone. Carefully, he scooped Hazel up and laid her on his lap. She was so tense, like a spring wound a hair's breadth from snapping. He put one arm around her loosely, somehow knowing she was likely going to panic the moment she came out of... this. She couldn't feel trapped in any way, he couldn't make it worse, he couldn't. Thorin watched her as her fit continued, close to weeping as she cried out in terror. He stroked her hair softly.
"S-shh," he hushed, his voice trembling "It's okay dornessiti, it's alright."
"P-p-please d-don't h-hurt me," came her half whispered, terrified reply, more tears spilling from her eyes. For a moment, Thorin believed her fit had stopped, breathing a sigh of relief. He held her head in his hands, then realised that her eyes were still sightless. In that moment he knew. He'd seen it before, after Erebor, after Azanulbizar, after the months of dragging themselves across barren land with little food and even less hope. She was seeing her past. A horrific memory playing before her eyes like some demonic puppet show. Sadly, his eyes followed the scarred lines on her bare arms, noticing for the first time she was wearing that nightdress Dis had made her. The sight of those scars made Thorin both sad and angry in turn, desperate for revenge on those who had dared to harm his princess. But he could not. Not without breaking the trust that already lay upon a knife edge.
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Slowly, Hazel's shaking became less violent, her breathing less harsh. Thorin loosened his grip a little.
"Shh, princess," he whispered tenderly "You're safe. It's alright."
Hazel burst into a fresh wave of tears. She curled against his chest, clinging to his shirt as she wept. Thorin merely held her, stroking her hair and speaking softly to her in a vain attempt to soothe her. His heart broke as she sobbed, hating himself for triggering her fit with his poor choice of words. It was his fault this had happened, just as last time had been.
"I'm so sorry dornessiti," came his hoarse, choked apology "I'm sorry for always doing the wrong things, for always saying the wrong things. It's my fault Hazel, all my fault."
Hazel sniffled softly.
"N-not your f-fault," she murmured "M-my f-fault for being s-scared a-all the t-time."
"No princess," Thorin cooed, cradling her gently "That's not your fault. You can't help being afraid, and you're certainly not scared all the time. You're so brave Hazel."
She sniffled again and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, seemingly not wanting to continue that line of conversation. Thorin relented, but made a mental note to ask about what she'd experienced in her fit later on. He shuffled forward, meaning to get up and take her downstairs, but his foot came into contact with something soft and sticky.
"Urgh," he groaned, inspecting his foot and discovering blue icing.
Hazel sniggered quietly. Thorin smiled.
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Hazel blew out the candles with a giggle.
"Happy birthday Hazel," Thorin, Dis and the boys chorused. She sat in the blue armchair, wearing a dress Dis had given her, white and patterned with embroidered horseshoes, over which was a light pink knitted cardigan. On her head, slightly askew, was a circlet that Dis herself had once worn as a child, gifted to the Lord of Ered Luin when his own daughter was born. She was much too old for it now, so it had been returned and passed onto Hazel. On the back of a chair was a dress, fit for a princess, that Thorin had traded a few small items for. It was lilac, with detachable sleeves, and a little gold embroidery about the hems. There was little need for such finery without a kingdom, but he wanted Hazel to feel like a princess nonetheless. The floor was littered with small wooden toys, mainly farm animals, that Fili and Kili had spent their time carefully carving. There was rumours that they had roped Dwalin into helping them construct a small wooden barn for them, all of which he vehemently denied of course. Two new teddy bears sat benignly in Thorin's armchair, their glass eyes glittering in the firelight; a pink pig with a striped coat and a small sad looking donkey with a pink bow on its tail. An idyllic scene, Thorin thought to himself.
"Well," Dis smiled, snapping him from his reverie "Are you going to help eat this cake or not."
"Plying me with cake now are we?" Thorin chuckled.
"Y-You've got to t-try it daddy," Hazel pouted, her mouth already surrounded by crumbs and pink icing.
"Yes, milady," Thorin replied with a mocking bow, eliciting a giggle from his daughter's lips. Each smile, each laugh, warmed Thorin's heart that little bit more, chipping away at his doubts a little more. Maybe, just maybe, he was doing okay. Maybe he was a reasonable parent, albeit a little flawed. He sat on the floor by Hazel's feet, tucking into the cake Dis had made. It was so sweet it almost made his teeth ache, covered in pink icing and flavoured sparingly with vanilla. Fili and Kili sat nearby, playing absent-mindedly with Hazel's wooden horses, though they wouldn't admit it. Dis shuffled closer to her brother, laying her head on his shoulder.
"Well done," she said quietly.
"What for?" Thorin asked, furrowing his brow a little. She smiled at his brother's ignorance.
"Today," she mused "You've outdone yourself."
Thorin shook his head, shifting a little and looking away.
"No," he sighed "This is nothing in comparison to what we had. What she could have if we stopped denying that our home can be reclaimed."
Dis placed a hand on her brothers arm in an attempt to comfort him. It seemed little could distract him from the shadow the lack of a kingdom cast upon him.
"She needs no kingly feasts, no grand parades in her honour. Look at her Thorin, this is the best birthday she's ever had."
Thorin cast his eyes to his daughter, seeing how she smiled as she played with her toys, making soft neighing noises as the wooden horses galloped along the arm of the chair. For a rare moment, Haze seemed like any child of her age, carefree and content.
"You're always right," he sighed finally, smiling in almost willing defeat. Dis had always been able to beat him in even the smallest of arguments, making him see reason or (more often) show him what was blatantly in front of his face. He leant back against the chair, allowing Dis to lay her head against his shoulder, wrapping an arm around her softly. An air of content settled on the room. For that moment, everything was perfect. For that moment, everyone was happy. If only it would stay this way, Thorin mused to himself. If only...