No Regrets | Tyril

son-of-foili:

“You—… What?”

The dwarf fell silent at that, eyes narrowing, and heart suddenly pounding. No. No. This was way too familiar. “Y’can’t—-…” He begun. But he was not certain what he would say. He’d been here before, after all. ‘We’re marching to win back Erebor’, he’d said, the young dwarf brunette. ‘We’ll be back in no time’, he’d said. And Tyr never saw him again. War never changed, and the cost was always far too great.

Oh, how Turmio wished he’d stopped the child then. How he wished he’d taken his shoulder and told him he was too young - even though, he knew, his efforts might’ve mostly gone to waste. Why would’ve the nephew of Thorin Oakenshield listened?
Point was, he never had a chance to tell the boy how much he was appreciated and cherished. For all he’d done. So, with his hands curled into fists and chest aching, he spoke;

“Don’t go,” He begun, pleaded even, a tremble in his breath. “I can’t lose y’ too.” 

Rumil looked down at his lap and chewed on his bottom lip. He could hear the plead in Turmio’s voice, the slight tremble in his breathing. It hurt him more than he ever thought that it would. Never did he mean to upset his dear friend, but such things couldn’t be helped now. “I have to.” He replied, voice barely over a whisper. The young warden looked at the dwarf with sad eyes. “I have been given my orders by my Lord and Lady. I can’t disobey them, Tyr. I don’t want to go to war, but I must fulfill my duty as a marchwarden. I must march to Dol Gulfur with my fellow wardens, my Lord and my Lady.”

He reached out for Turmio and gently stroked his cheek. He wanted to smile reassuringly, but he didn’t want to give false hope. “I don’t…know if I’ll return. I hope I do. I want to come back to the forest, my family, my bunnies and…to you. That…is my goal. To come back home.”

(Source: rumiloflothlorien)