From the time they were old enough to have their first memories, the young princes of Erebor had heard the stories of their ancestors and the curse of their family. They had heard how the descendants of Durin were so susceptible to the dreaded mind-sickness, gold lust, that their forefathers had descended into madness craving more and more treasure, hording it away to the detriment of all else that they should have held dear.
So to counter the bad that the dwarflings had been told, the nights that Thorin was home was spent telling stories of his own. Before tucking his nephews in, Uncle Thorin told Fili and Kili of the mountains of gold, silver, mithril and precious gems that overflowed from the coffers in the treasury of Erebor. He told them how the dwarves beneath the mountain had never wanted for anything. He told them how they'd always had plenty to eat, including sweets. He told them that there had always been plenty to drink, especially ale, mead and wine. And he told them how the dwarves had only the finest silks and velvets to wear; always new with no holes in them at all.
The dwarflings had listened with eyes wide, holding their breath and nudging each other in amazement. "All traveled to the mountain to pay homage to the dwarves of Erebor and their king, your great-grandfather, Thror," Thorin said reverently, "even…the…elves," Thorin punctuated his last words with a few seconds between each one.
The tiny princelings ooo'd and ahhhh'd at their uncle's last statement, still in awe even as he told them the same story over and over each time he returned home to them. Even at their young age they knew that the elves kept to themselves. They had been taught from the beginning of their lives that elves were evil and cared only for themselves, that they had refused to give aid to the dwarves in need when Erebor was destroyed. And now to be told that the dreadful elves had once long ago bent the knee to those same dwarves, it was more than their little hearts could contain.
Because of Thorin's stories, their mother, Dis, had regaled them with stories of her own when he was away. She told them stories each night of the hunger for gold that plagued their kin. She told them how Thror's great greed had known no bounds, how it had even called down the great fire drake, Smaug, from the north. Thror, she told them, cared more for his treasury than he did for their people, even more than for his own family.
Thror had been pulled from the stacks of gold and mithril by their uncles Thorin and Frerin even as their kingdom was overtaken and their people, what remained after the purging of flame, were scattered to the four winds. Their own family, the royal family, led by their uncle and now king, since the deaths of Thror and the little princes' grandfather Thrain, had made their way across the whole of Middle-earth to settle in the Blue Mountains of Ered Luin before Fili and Kili were born.
Their home in the Blue Mountains was nothing like the great dwarf kingdom of Erebor. They lived in a tiny thatched-roof cottage with a dirt floor that was comprised of one great room where they gathered together, ate and cooked. There were also two tiny sleeping rooms, one for their mother and the other shared by Fili and Kili. The little family could only afford one bed which their uncle had made and their mother used. She even had to share it with their uncle whenever he was able to return to them. Fili and Kili had more than some though, a nice soft pallet of furs in their room and they were thankful for it. They snuggled together each night to ward off the cold that seemed ever present in a land so harsh that no one else besides the homeless dwarves settled there.
The safety, security and relative poverty of the Blue Mountains were all the young princes had ever known. Thorin was, for the most part, an absentee uncle and surrogate father to his nephews. He'd had to work like a slave in the forges of men from the time they were born and all through their youth, just to try to keep them fed. Even then he himself had gone hungry many nights to see what food he could supply on the plates of his sister, Dis and his nephews.
Dis, their mother and displaced princess, took in washing when she could and trapped along the rivers of their homeland for furs to trade and meat to eat. When she was very fortunate, predators left them a pelt that was salvageable and enough meat for a stew. When she was not, there would be no coin to buy what they needed and no meat in the stewpot. It was a hard life and certainly not one that she had been accustomed to, but she never complained and always tried hard for a better life for her boys.
Thorin's mind was, it seemed, ever on the wealth of his people that had been denied him. And it burned like a fire in his belly hotter than any forge fire where he worked. He longed to give his family the ease with which he had taken so for granted in his own youth. He ached to see his still-lovely sister robed in rich gowns sewn with gold and silver thread, embroidered with mithril. He wanted her draped with jewels, laughing and dancing as she had in her girlhood, surrounded by dozens of beaus doing all in their power to court her.
Still, he did what he could to wipe the careworn look from her face each time he came home. He would hold her and remind her how proud he was of her and tell her that he could never wish for a more long-suffering and diligent mother for his heirs. He promised her that one day he would see the glory of their home restored and see her crowned once again and they would rule over Erebor together. Dis would simply smile at her beloved brother and tell him that all of his grand plans were unnecessary, that she was happy here in the Blue Mountains and that she only wanted him to come home to them for good.
But no matter how Dis tried to convince him, Thorin could not see the happiness of the life they had wrought in Ered Luin. He was oblivious to the smiles that came quick to the lips of Fili and Kili. Nor did he recognize that the only care which marred his lovely sister's countenance, was concern for him and the desire she recognized all too well as the beginnings of the madness to come. So she hoped beyond hope that her stories to her young lads would knit within their hearts the love of other treasure besides precious metals and gemstones.
And, indeed, her hopes for her sons would prove to bear fine fruit. They had secretly sworn to themselves and to each other that they would be the ones to break the cycle of sickness. No more would it plague their family. Their descendants would hale them both as the heroes of Durin, and the dwarves who finally, at long last, allowed the line of Durin the Deathless to live without the fear that had consumed them for generations. They would be the ones remembered for their generosity, not their greed, for their charity, not their gluttony.
TBC