I
The Arkenstone was at first a symbol of the dwarven kingdom, its wealth, its glory, its splendour. Then, gradually, so slowly and quietly that no one noticed until it was too late, it was growing more and more important, until the symbol stole the glory of the kingdom. Thorin cannot see it yet, his eyes blinded by the memory of the light burning in the Arkenstone, but it was them – his grandfather, and his father after him, and even Thorin himself – that made it so. His thoughts are on reclaiming the lost realm, but each step closer to the Lonely Mountain all he can think of is the stone, its flames and flashes, the power it holds within, the power to make him king.
Yes, he could take up the stone and the old realm and the throne of his ancestors, and he could rule, and his people would follow, because he is hard like diamond and mithril, and sharp like the best of dwarven blades, and the fire in him flares like the lights of the Arkenstone itself. But he could never be king, because his pride would bring his downfall even if he would stay sitting on the throne.
Thorin does not know yet – he does not want to know, ignores the signs, does not listen to what others tell him, does not wish to judge his own actions fairly – that with Erebor, he lost much more than his kingdom, his home, his kin. He does not know that even though they will defeat the dragon, reclaim the mountain, he will never be king, there is another fate meant for him – and it will be a blessing for everyone.
He will only see it at the end, when in the face of death his pride will dim and let something of the Thorin he used to be to come to the surface – a homeless prince will return home in the end, finding some of what he had lost and some things he was not aware were lost. With Erebor, Thorin had lost his heart, and it took a long road and much fighting, and even that was not enough and it will take death – but he will see, he will know, he will understand. It will not be too late to make some things right, to take back some words and give others instead, and make peace, and Thorin will be grateful for that small mercy, which might be the biggest mercy of all. And maybe, he will think, maybe, in the end, the price was fair and it was all worth it.
II
The Arkenstone is at first a foreign legend, then a dream, as Bilbo likes to imagine how it might look like, and if the tales do it justice. Then – for a brief second – it becomes a desired treasure, a dream held at arm's length, it would only take silence and maybe no one would notice, and even thought the jewel might not bring him wealth he would treasure it beyond anything.
But it is Bilbo who notices it first – the hobbit that had never ventured out of Shire before, not until the strange company of dwarves visited him months ago – Bilbo, that hobbit who loves food and drink and song and rest, all those simple, everyday joys of life. It is Bilbo that first notices how the Arkenstone seems to kindle flames of discord in everyone, how it pulls everyone's thoughts to it, how it changes Thorin – it is like the ring, Bilbo thinks, puzzled at the comparison because the ring is not changing him, it is nothing but a handy trinket that would become a nice souvenir later, when – if – he returns home. Still, there is something in Thorin's death and the stone – some connection he is not able to consciously make, but deep inside that part of him that yearns for Rivendell, that was interested in elvish culture and stories, that had decided to go on an adventure – and Bilbo will put the ring away for many years, apparently for no reason, but there will be so many things to take care of – his return, home, his newly gained wealth, home – that he will put the ring away and forget.
Sometimes in the evening he will look at the envelope where the ring will be hidden, entertain the thought of going out for a walk unseen, then just sit before the fire instead, smoking his pipe, looking at the embers glowing from the inside like the Arkenstone, and think of the fate that befell Thorin. It will be Bilbo who – when he will recall how they buried the king beneath the mountain, the king who never became king – will think that maybe some things were never meant to be discovered, not until people of all races learn to tell the symbol from the values it represents. The world would be simpler, Bilbo will think, if everyone knew what is really important in life: friends and songs and food and drink and a pipe and a home to come back to.