Thorin honestly couldn't think of a better way for it all to end. He had just vanquished his oldest enemy, avenged his grandfather and sister-sons, and now was staring at the face of one of his most brave and loyal companions. The pain in his chest flared, even more thick blood spurting from the stab wound. Bilbo's face paled and his eyes widened as he frantically tried to push his dirty, worn blue jacket against the gash. His cheek had blood streaked on it too. That was wrong. Why was there always so much blood after a battle? Why was there always so much red? He weakly tried to bring his hand up to brush away the thickly clotting trail along the hobbit's hairline. Bilbo quickly grabbed it, expression of panic coming close to mania.
"No, Thorin, just stay still. The healers will be here soon. The healers are coming. They're going to save you. Just stay still. You'll be fine. They're coming. You'll survive. We're both getting out of this. Just hold on. Just hold on..." a gentle smile stole across Thorin's face as Bilbo rambled on, clutching onto his hand rather uncomfortably hard and focusing entirely on the wound. "Bilbo…" His face shot up, and Thorin could just spot lines through the grime on his cheeks that may have been caused by tears. With his blurring vision it was hard to tell. "... why are you crying?" Bilbo's expression hardened and his grip on Thorin's hand tightened even more. " You…" He adjusted the makeshift coat bandage, " Are the stupidest…" His voice choked slightly. " dwarf… that I have ever met! You are lying here, bleeding like a stuck pig, with Yavanna knows how many other injuries, and you can't understand why I'm crying?!" He leveled a glare at Thorin, as if this was all his fault. Thorin frowned. That didn't make any sense. Bilbo wouldn't cry for him. How could he? But, when he saw the halfling's face crumple slightly, looking closer to grief than he had ever seen him before, he decided that didn't really matter.
"I would take back my harsh words at the gate. You did what only a true friend would do. Forgive me..." He choked slightly, just barely managing to avoid coughing up blood. It wouldn't be fair to get any more on Bilbo's already ruined blue coat. "... I was too blind to see. I am so… so very sorry that I have led you into such perils." Bilbo's eyes were blue. It was easy to see when they were so wide. Blue coat. Blue eyes. Blue was his favorite colour. He wondered if Bilbo knew. "No, Thorin, I am glad to have shared in your perils, each and every one of them. It is far more…" Bilbo paused. "It is far more than any Baggins deserves." Thorin's breath hitched. He wouldn't be long for this world, but he knew he couldn't leave just yet. He may have been battered and broken, but he was a dwarf all the same, and he would stubbornly cling to life until he had said his piece.
"Farewell, Master Burglar. Go back to your books and your armchair. Plant your trees… and watch them grow." He smiled softly. "If more of us valued home above gold, then this world would be a merrier place." His smile broke as the struggle for breath grew increasingly more difficult, the slight mania he had seen earlier entering Bilbo's eyes again as Thorin could barely keep his own eyes open. A gasp broke through the blood sticking to the back of his throat. "But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell…" he stopped even trying to inhale. it was pointless. "... master burglar." His weighted eyelids closed just as he heard Bilbo begin to panickedly try and talk him into opening them again, small hands clutching his shoulders and droplets of something wet hitting his face. He let the halfling's voice wash over him as his soul left his body, unknown powers bearing him to the halls of his fathers.
The afterworld was murky and blurred, it's colours dulled and magnificence barely perceivable. However, as Thorin's soul was pulled farther and farther from Arda, the chamber slowly came into focus. For a moment, he wondered blearily whether there would be any gardens here. A smile crossed his now rather wispy lips. The idea of flowers and trees in between the stone pillars before him was almost comical. The smile faded as Thorin realized that it was very unlikely that there would be any sort of gardening space or soil here.
"Idmi d'dum, nidoy." He didn't bother turning around. There was only one being who could sound like that. "I am no dwarfling." He could sense the other's exasperated smile without having to see it. It reverberated through the very stone. "Ah, yes. But when you have lived for as many lives of dwarrows as I have, all of you begin to appear young in my eyes." Thorin tried to muster a scowl but couldn't. He felt more comfortable here, in the presence of his maker, than he could remember feeling for a long time. "Mahal," He muttered, more out of frustration than as an address, "I'm dead, aren't I?" The exasperation in the Valar's smile turned to sadness. "Do you really need to ask?" Thorin shrugged. "You can always hope."
He looked down, inspecting himself. He was wearing the same blue silver-lined tunic and silver belt, with a black velvet overcoat whose sleeves were edged with silver threaded patterns, that he had worn during audiences and negotiations as a prince of Erebor. "So, I take it that we are in your halls currently?" Mahal placed a wide, burned and scarred hand on one of the grand pillars. "No. We are currently in a place in between Arda and the realm of Mandos." His gaze shifted from the column to Thorin. "This is where I come to observe my children and their feats." Thorin winced at the thought of Aulë witnessing his descent into madness. And the… things... that he had done while under the influence of his own birthright. He hung his head, shorn beard brushing against the soft fabric of the tunic. Towards the end, he had stopped trimming it like he did normally, but it was still extremely short. Fili's would still be longer than his. A pang shot through him at the thought of his nephews, who would be meeting him when he finally entered the afterlife. "I am sorry that I behaved so disgracefully. I know that nothing can excuse my conduct in the last days I spent on Arda."
There was so much gold. Mountains of it. And it was all his. A sense of awed possessiveness coursed through him as he walked in between the giant hills of precious metals and stones. It felt so good to look at it, to feel that sense of power, every shift of coins re-affirming his standing as the wealthiest, most powerful dwarf in middle earth. Enough gold to have that smug elvenking on his knees, begging for those little trinkets of his. Enough gold to drown all doubt and unhappiness for the rest of his years.
Thorin finally turned round to face Mahal. "Is that why you have brought me here?"
Why should he ever leave this room? Why should he part with these things of beauty? They were his. All of them. And oh, such beauty. The soft, dull lustre of gold, the bright shine of diamonds. It was like the flames of a forge, that beauty, warm and comforting. He could stay here forever. He could never have to think of anything else. He was king. It was his right. And he would never part with any of this. Not a single coin. Not a single spark.
The great smith's eyes never wavered. "In a way, I suppose you could say yes." He began to chip at a pillar almost absentmindedly with his fingernails. "Fate is a strange thing, Thorin Oakenshield. It's paths are many and winding, all of them uncertain and vague. But if you are careful and discerning, they may lead you to greatness." Thorin suppressed the urge to snort. Now was not the time for mirth. "I daresay that I was the exact opposite of 'careful and discerning' in my lifetime." Mahal's lips twitched upward. "You would be surprised, if you knew how exactly your actions were viewed by The Valar. Yavannah, I believe, was especially interested in your treatment of her hobbit."
"THROW HIM FROM THE RAMPART!" The members of the company look shocked by his orders. Not that he cares. The Mahal-forsaken bastards could suffer the same fate if they did not do as he said. "DO YOU HEAR ME?!" The betrayal in their eyes was a sign of their weakness. They were probably in league with the halfling this entire time; he should have guessed that the lot of them were traitors. They were all conspiring against him. They all wanted his gold, jewels, things of beauty. Of course they did. How could they not lust after such things? He should have seen that they were no better than the men and thrice-damned elves. "THEN I WILL DO IT MYSELF!" In a single swift motion, he had the hobbit dangling over the side of the fortress. His nephews are screaming at him to stop, but he doesn't care. He can no longer hear them over the ocean of anger roaring in his ears.
"CURSE YOU!"
"By Durin's beard…" He turned away again. He could not bear for Mahal to see the shame on his face. "Tell her that I am sorry. The way I treated her child…" He winced, as the pain of the memory washed over him again. "It was truly unforgivable." Mahal sighed, bringing his hand down from the patterns he had been etching. "Do you truly believe that you made so many mistakes as to render your accomplishments worthless?" Thorin made another valiant attempt at scowling, but decided to settle for a simple glare instead. "One word, my maker. The Arkenstone." ..."That was two words." "You know what I meant! I succeeded in my task, got everything that my heart could ever desire; a home for myself and my people, the crown of Erebor, gold beyond measure, and what did I do?! I threw it all out the window with my lust for gold and obsession over a damn rock! I started a war because I was selfish and reckless,endangered the lives of my kin and subjects, and I hurt… I hurt…" Thorin's throat closed up, tears threatening to emerge as he took deep breaths to calm himself.
"If you could go back, would you?" His face shot up at the suggestion. "What are you offering?" He asked warily. Life was never this convenient. That was a lesson he had learned a long time ago. "You and Master Baggins are both… unique individuals. And I fear that a very dark shadow is passing over Arda." "What shadow? Why me?" Mahal sighed, leaning heavily on the column. "That is something that I dare not tell you. But if you return to Arda, or go on to my halls, know this; this chance will not be given again. Whatever your decision is, make it now, and let it stand." Thorin's gaze drifted to the beautiful architecture of the hallway, the numerous sturdy columns supporting a vast roof so high he could barely even see it. If he had ever been to Moria, he would have said that it bore a striking resemblance to the great halls of Khazad-dûm. The first time he had led the company on their journey through Middle Earth, the outcome had hardly been desirable. If he took this chance, then he ran the risk of damaging everything even more than he had the first time round. And if he didn't, then he would have to exist knowing that he had failed as a ruler, uncle, and friend to those that mattered most to him. Which was something that, if he decided to live again, he could change. His sister would not weep for her sons. His friends would not have cause to curse the name of Oakenshield for falling so easily to his family curse. And perhaps, he could even help to build a new life for his people. Thorin looked back to mahal. "I've made my choice." The Valar raised an eyebrow. "And what is it?" Thorin flashed an almost shark-like grin. "Do you really need to ask?"
Wow, thought Thorin, as he opened his eyes for what felt like the very first time. I don't remember The Prancing Ponie's beds ever being this comfortable before. Then again, for the past few weeks he had been sleeping on nothing more than a threadbare bedroll over hard stone. Erebor's mattresses and cushions had rotted long ago. With a sigh, Thorin got out of bed and shrugged on his dark blue tunic, dwarven mail, leather vambraces, and heavily furred overcoat. They were not yet as worn and stained as they had grown to be on the journey to Erebor, and he took a moment to simply enjoy the feel of them. He knew that by the end of the journey the edge of his left vambrace would bear a gash from some goblin's scimitar, and the fur of his coat would be matted and stained.
"Come on now Thorin, it's just a change of clothes." Bilbo was standing in that ridiculous stance with one hand on each hip that made him look like a mother hen strutting across the farmyard. "I didn't like having to part with my good dinner jacket very much either, and you do have to admit that the fur on your coat is all but ruined." Thorin simply glared at him. How could this little creature possibly understand just how much they were about to accomplish? There was no way he was wearing anything made by men on his very first trip back into Erebor.
"Besides, you can still wear your mail under it, so it's not like I'm asking you to go unprotected. Please, Thorin." Then he had given Thorin a wry smile. "At least do it for the sake of all of the poor souls who are having to treat a dwarf dressed like a mangy dog as the king under the mountain. I'm sure I've seen the master's assistant wash off his hands after patting you on the back at least a dozen times." Thorin scowled. "I do wish that man would stop doing that…" He grumbled as he slid on the new cloak. It was far to large, and he had to push up the sleeves so his hands and forearms were free. He missed his vambraces. "The back patting, or the hand washing after?" Bilbo's smile was now an ear splitting grin. "Both." with a final tug at the folds around his shoulders, Thorin belted the robe and gave himself a once-over in the mirror. "There, see. Now you have something decent to wear, and you're no less a dwarf for it."
He gave a sigh of contentment, taking a moment to just feel the familiar weight of the fabric resting over his shoulders. Now, he was ready to begin his adventure. As he stepped into the commons, he noted that, as before, Gandalf was nowhere in sight, despite the fact that he would want to talk to Thorin. Wizards. He was probably hoping to make a dramatic entrance when some of the people here started shooting him a few glares. Thorin almost had to stifle a chuckle. Some things would never change. He took a seat, deciding to let Gandalf have his bit of fun. When The Maiar did sit down, with mildly smug and expectant look on his face, Thorin did his best to level a glare at him, despite how much he wanted to simply roll his eyes at his dramatics.
"Mind if I join you?" Thorin gestured to the seat opposite him. "Go ahead. Though unless I am much mistaken, you care very little as to whether I 'mind' anything you do." A bushy eyebrow flew upward. "Do you know me, then?" "I know of you. You are Gandalf The Grey, unless I am very much mistaken." Gandalf took the seat offered to him, then gave Thorin his most critical look. Thorin did his best not to squirm under the wizard's gaze. "Well, now. This is a fine chance. What brings Thorin Oakenshield to Bree?" "I received word that my father had been seen wandering in the wilds near Dunland. I went looking, and found no sign of him." He could still remember just how much this conversation had stung the first time round. Time had done little to wear away the wish for his father to simply walk back into his life. But he knew now that such hopes were pointless. He would be walking towards the mouth of doom in a few weeks, whether his father knew it or not.
"Thorin, it's been a long time since anything but rumour was heard of Thrain." Thorin's glare deepened to a scowl. He did not need to be having this conversation. He knew what Gandalf wanted to talk about. There was no use lingering on old wounds. When he had his mountain back, then he could find Thrain. Perhaps he would prove more resistant to the legacy of gold-sickness that seemed to claim all of Durin's line. "I know why you are here." Gandalf looked up. "Before he disappeared, my father told me that you urged him to march on Erebor and take back the Lonely Mountain. I would be very surprised if your counsel for me was not much the same." Gandalf leaned forward slightly, expression unreadable."Indeed, this is no chance meeting. The Lonely Mountain troubles me, Thorin. That dragon has sat there long enough. Sooner or later, darker minds will turn toward Erebor. I ran into some unsavory characters whilst traveling along The Greenway. They mistook me for a vagabond."
A wry smile crossed Thorin's face. "I imagine they regretted that." "One of them was carrying a message." When Gandalf pushed the dirty, worn cloth towards Thorin, he made an effort to seem interested, even though he knew exactly what it said. "It is in the black speech." Thorin raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I had noticed. Those figures are the promise of payment, correct?" It was true that Gandalf looked solemn often, but his stare still sent shivers down Thorin's spine. "Yes. for your head. Someone wants you dead. Thorin, you can wait no longer. You are the heir to the throne of Durin. Unite the armies of the dwarves. Together you have the might and power to retake Erebor. Summon a meeting of the seven dwarf families. Demand they stand by their oaths." Those words hurt. Almost as much as the very first time he had heard them. The seven armies of the dwarves should stand by him. They should have aided him in his quest. But, dwarves are not the kind to act without need, and there was only one thing that would unite them. The one thing that had cost him so much. That he had once thought of as the height of perfection, the symbol of his power and right to rule. What had inspired him to fly so high, and then weighted him down until he was lower than the most decrepit, common dwarrow.
"Do not speak to me of such foolishness. There is only one thing that would unite those armies, and it sits at the feet of Smaug the Firedrake." As Gandalf leaned forward to argue, he held his hand up to silence the wizard's protests. "I will ask. but if I am to truly re-take the mountain, then I will find the most stalwart of my people to accompany me. And I would ask for your assistance, if you would give it." Gandalf slowly pulled out his pipe, placing a piece of pipeweed in the bowl. "Of course. I knew that I would be willing to accompany you once I had decided to recommend this course of action. Whatever comes of this, I will stay with you for as long as I may." Thorin nodded. this was very good. "However, I still think you should not give up the might of the seven armies so lightly. You will need The Arkenstone. And for that…" A tap of the pipe, somehow already finished, onto the ashtray in the center of the table. "We are going to need a burglar."