Chapter Text
It had been quite the peaceful day for Ador and his son, Toric, in their little cabin. They had gone to a nearby creek, Ador teaching the young boy about frogs and their life cycles. Hands-on lessons like these were the regular for the small family, partially because they were quite easy to put together, living in the woods as they did. But, they also had the advantage of keeping the child's energy focused on something more productive.
“But Papa! I don’t wanna go home and wash up! I want to stay with the frogs. One of them is even my friend now! He told me his name was Steve.” The young boy protests, sulking next to his father. His long, black waves glisten with water from a dip in the creek, his stout little legs almost tripping over a rock before he recovers his balance.
The taller man next to him gives him a small smile, looking down at his son adoringly. How could someone not love that adorable, fuzzy face?
Sadly, Ador knew the answer to that question all too well. He shook off the memories of ridicule from his mind, focusing solely on his son.
“I’m sorry, dear, but I have to get started on supper soon. Maybe we can go visit Steve another day.” That got a smile out of the child, who immediately stopped sulking and instead skipped merrily along to their little cabin in the woods.
Once home, the tired father kindly bid Toric to go wash up and play with some of his toys, to which the child gladly did. This gave Ador some time to sit down and rest before having to start on dinner for the two of them. He was just putting the kettle on the stove for some nice Earl Grey tea when there came a loud, strong knock at the door.
“Strange” Ador thinks, cautiously approaching the door. It was rare somebody came by, and never unannounced. “Drat whoever built this damn cabin with no windows to see out the front.”
Ador opens the door, and immediately his eyes widen, all of the blood rushing from his face and panic filling his mind. At the door of their little cabin stood thirteen dwarves, a hobbit and a tall wizard. But his eyes soon befall onto the face of the dwarf in the front, presumably the one who had knocked. Ador and him lock eyes, gazing in a shared feeling of shock. Black waves, a short beard, those sharp blue eyes. The same ones he watched turn away from him ten years ago. The ones he still sees every day, just attached to a much smaller body. He tries to compose himself, looking at the dwarf coldly.
“Thorin.” Ador says, looking him up and down with caution. Luckily, Thorin seems just as surprised as he does. Though of course, the stubborn dwarf would never truly show it, Ador could tell by the hesitation before he speaks.
“Ador. I am glad to see you are… well.” Thorin looks the man up and down in return, examining him. Ador was aware he had changed quite a bit since their last meeting. His formerly cropped short hair had grown out enough to tie back, brown eyes slightly more tired. He still wore the same soft, white cotton shirts and brown trousers he always preferred. Why change something if it's comfortable and practical?
The rest of the company stirs awkwardly. The tension in the air was palpable, and all could see it. The only one who seemed unphased was Gandalf, who Ador vaguely remembered had passed through his village as a child. The old wizard simply smiled softly as he watched the interaction.
“What are you doing here?” Ador immediately responds, taking up the defense. What was he doing here? Ten years… ten years and he just shows up out of the blue. How did Thorin even find them?
Did he know?
Before the darker haired man can answer the question, and before Ador can have a complete mental breakdown in front of fourteen strangers, Ador feels a small presence behind his legs. He looks down and around to see Toric, small and looking as panicked as Ador felt. The fathers heart ached as he saw his son look so scared, and was suddenly reminded of their past. They had not shaved Torics fuzzy little beard in some time, not seeing a need to with nobody else around.
“Papa, who are these people? Why are they here?” He asks his father, soft blue eyes- damn it they look so similar- wide with fear. Ador puts on a front, smiling reassuringly at his son.
“Everything's alright, darling, just some visitors for Papa. Why don’t you go and play, we’ll get you cleaned up shortly.” Ador tries to keep his tone calm and kind, even through the inner turmoil as he places a hand on the lad's shoulder and squeezes. It seems to work well enough as the still-scared child nods and walks back to the other room. He waited for him to exit into the small back bedroom before turning to the beings standing on his porch.
The Company at the door looked even more confused, though their sights softened at the small child, even with their purposely limited look. Thorin's eyes just widened, looking to where Toric had disappeared to and then back at Ador. He had an almost… heartbroken? Look in his ice blue, cold gaze. Finally, he asks “Who was that?”
Ador took a breath to regain control of his emotions, holding back from an outburst right then and there. He was angry. Thorin had left him. Ador had poured his heart out, opened up to him, told him that he loved him. And Thorin still left.
“My son. Why does it matter?” The man responds, raising his brows and tilting his head. “What about it?”
Thorin seems to ignore his question, instead continuing to stare at where the child had disappeared to. “How old is he?”
It was a lie Ador found too easy for his liking when he responded. “Six. Why are you here, Thorin?” He questions, wanting to change the subject focus from his son. He didn’t know most of these people, and while he knew Thorin was at least mildly trustworthy, he had no clue of the others.
The dwarrow leader clears his throat, eyes snapping back up to Ador's own earthy browns. “My companions and I were looking to seek shelter for the evening. There are no other secure spaces due to the topography of the land. This is the first house we’ve come across.” His tone is genuine, facial expressions giving off none of his true emotions.
Ador glances around, looking at the other dwarves before sighing. He couldn’t just leave the lot of them to sleep in the open, it would be unkind and borderline cruel. He eyes them all cautiously, opening the door wider to let them all in. Soon, a barrage of dwarves are flying past him, each taking the time to deeply bow and introduce themselves. Immediately, he notices the two brothers- Fili and Kili- had a mild resemblance to Thorin, especially the latter. He thinks he remembers Thorin mentioning nephews, memories fogged by his own thoughts from the time. “He would be such a good father.” is what he had thought, mind naively clouded by hopes and dreams of a future with the dwarven prince.
He knew better now. He wouldn’t, no, couldn’t, let his son be hurt like that. Not by his own father. It had nearly killed him, nearly broken him in every way possible. Toric couldn’t experience the same form of heartbreak. He’s been through so much already.
Thorin did not make eye contact with him when he passed, but Ador felt his hand graze against his own, a spark rushing through him. He remembered the exact feeling of those calloused, forge-working hands. The same ones that had held him close in the night and comforted him through their terrors.
“Valar,” thought Ador. “This is going to be a long night.”