This is my first official fanfic to be published on this site, so I appreciate any comments or feedback! It is not beta-ed, so there might be a few mistakes here or there.
The Hobbit is written by the great Tolkien. This fanfic is just a small drabble that took a life of its own.
In the halls of his forefathers, Thorin walked. His hands trailed over the treasure of his people; the long spears for warriors now long dead, inlaid with cunning gold, the golden cup of his father, carven with birds and flowers crafted out of precious stones, the grass-green gems of the necklace of Girion. His fingers traced the work and handicraft of his people hidden within every single gem and precious item, and it seemed to him that within every object he could see the strokes of the hammer and anvil used to forge the precious metal and gems into objects of even greater beauty. There was an unnameable joy at the realization that within his grasp there lay the innumerable hoard of his grandfather, and it was his.
As his feet guided him through the heaps of treasure, Thorin heard faintly the voices of his Companions from the halls beyond and above him. Though all had been befouled and blasted by the comings and goings of the Dragon, Thorin still recognized every balcony, every hall, for not in a thousand years would he forget his home. Beyond the great passageways and the dim beginnings of stairs, his Companions had found some respite in one of the old guardrooms dotted within the kingdom, and had begun to tuck into their rations of biscuit-like cram.
His eyes slid away, and returned to the glittering golden carpet beneath his feet. In his dwarven heart, he knew what he sought and desired – the Arkenstone. Thorin had bid his Companions to assist him in searching for the great jewel, but had conceded that attempting to search through the entire wealth of the mountain for one jewel, however marvellous, was folly. He could not speak fully of his desire for the great jewel, but it burned in him greater than the bliss gained from finally, after all the blood and suffering, to be once more home.
Thorin felt the surge of something at the thought- something indefinable, like the moment a raw piece of iron had been sculpted and drawn into something new, yet unnamed and fragile. He grasped, his hands clutching and clenching on the morsels of treasure around him, gaining strength against the weakness that assailed him.
"Thorin?" interrupted a soft voice.
Startled from his introspection, Thorin turned slightly, and felt the gold trickle from his fingers at the incongruent sight before him. A burgeoning smile tugged at his lips as he faced the intruder. Standing on one of the piles of gold was a creature, as tall one of the children of Men, gently looking at him. The look did more to heal him than any leech-craft could. Thorin allowed his smile grow at the sight of the friendly face framed under sun bleached curls.
"What do you think of my halls now, Burglar?" he asked, gesturing at the glistening expanse of the former Dragon's hoard set out before them.
"Will you not have some food, Thorin?" replied the creature instead. "You have been down here for hours."
"Long has the treasure and wealth of my people been befouled by the worm. Nor was that the only thing the foul beast destroyed and burnt." Seeing the Burglar's expression, Thorin pressed on. "I have not been brooding, Master Hobbit. I have merely been planning."
"Well, as any respectable Hobbit would tell you, you cannot be getting any 'planning' done with an empty stomach." With that pronouncement, the Burglar sat unceremoniously on the mound of treasure, and brought out of the depths of his fur-lined tunic a portion of cram, and began to chew on it with dodged determination.
Accepting a portion of the cram, Thorin grimaced as he bit into the hard biscuit, and not for the first time, wished for the honey-cakes made by Beorn. As his mouth worked around the cram, he pointed out in the distance one of the ruined stairs that worked its way down into the heart of the mounds of treasure.
"Before the dragon came, those stairs once lead to a balcony that overlooked these halls. If you stood and looked out before you, it appeared as if the gold assembled before you had transformed into the sunlit waters of the sea, myriad in colour and hue. If the leaf eaters had seen such a wonder, I have no doubt that they would have claimed the treasure as theirs, and stolen it, so the marvel would be theirs alone."
The Burglar continued munching industrially at his quickly vanishing portion of cram.
"The dragon did more than destroy our home, Master Hobbit. I am attempting to help you understand, what the treasure means to us Dwarves and the Company. It will restore my - our – home, and allow us to take back what is ours! We are tinkers and tailors and smiths no longer. We are restorers of a kingdom- a home. I will not have anything steal this away from me."
Thorin paused, and whispered, for the Burglar's ears alone; "I cannot, Bilbo." He pressed on. "No more will a stranger swindle of us of our pride, or plunder our names and replace them with 'Tinkerer' or 'Smith'."
Briefly, Thorin let his eyes rest on the Burglar's face, and the expression in the hobbit's bright eyes reinvigorated him more than any amount of gold. Illuminated by the flickering torchlight, the Hobbit's eyes had turned into honey-coloured shine of a precious taal lannd (*fire earth) and Thorin was suddenly enraptured by their lustre.
"Thorin!"
Mahal. For the second time that day, Thorin was pulled away from his thoughts. His eyes guiltily snapped away from the Burglar's and fought the urge to scowl at Dwalin, the burly dwarf who had so rudely stolen his precious time with the Burglar.
"The Lake-men fleeing from the defeated Dragon have come to Dale, and are taking shelter in the ruined city. What would you like us to do, Thorin?"
Abruptly, the world wrenched away from him, and surrounding him all sides, blanketing him in a comforting embrace was the gold and treasure. Bilbo's eyes were looking fearfully into his own, and Thorin had given his word to the Burglar and his Company that no one would take what was his from him again. No one would steal what he had rightfully regained.
"Seal the gate," commanded Thorin in a low voice.
"Thorin!" protested the Burglar.
"Seal the gate," repeated Thorin, louder this time over the Hobbit's continued protests. Turning away from their judgmental gazes, he faced the assembled treasure. The feeling from earlier resurged, and he was looking out on the sea of gold, beautiful beyond sorrow or grief.
"Do as I command!" Thorin instructed.
There was quiet susurrus of shifting gold and uncertain feet.
"DO AS I COMMAND!" Thorin roared, and he was left alone with the hoard of gold to keep him company.
