Their world, their hopes, their dreams, shattered in a moment. Their party had shattered with what had happened with Bilbo, but they were dwarves, and their hearts were strong. They could handle the betrayal. And then the word had came from Gandalf. The Goblins and Wargs were coming. The Companions of Thorin did not cower, they did not even think to run. Even Nori didn't. Something had changed. He had joined this expedition to run from trouble, to get away from it. Of course, he had also joined to watch his brother's, to make sure they were safe.
He had made his friends along the way. Bofur and he had shared many a laugh, and many a pipe. Even rough Dwalin, who mocked the lifestyle that Nori lived, but was still there when Nori needed help. And Thorin. Their King. Nori had started this expedition feeling indifferent to the man, and now, now he was ready to charge out into the midst of Goblin spears at his side. Thorin was a King. Not just in name, not just in blood. But because he had collected them, a rabble of Dwarves that no noble house would boast of, and brought them together, and they now followed him without question. He reflected on that as they dressed in the finest armour they could find, outfitting themselves with the best weapons the Erebor smiths of yesteryear had ever produced.
He tried to smile at Ori as he made sure his little brothers breastplate was cinched right. He worried. Ori was young, and more suited to his books and papers, creating things with ink and quill than marching out to the battledrums. Dori was capable, and he was older. He could always take care of himself. But Ori was the babe, and always would be. And this could be the last time he saw him. Done with Ori, the dwarf began his own battle rituals. His armour had been secured already, Bofur with a friendly pat telling him he was ready to go to war. The mace that he had found was far better quality than the one he had brought with him, but he missed the familiar weight and luck of the weapon that had saved his life many times. He slowly filled his pipe, lighting it with a burning stick.
"You worry about them?"
"Aye. I do. They're my brothers, and they're my friends. Who else would I worry about?"
Thorin Oakenshield crouched down next to him, resplendent in the armour of kings, crafted by the Master Smiths of Erebor long before the Dragon ever crawled from the egg that hatched it. Nori waited, silently puffing on his pipe. There had always been unspoken tension between the others and himself. Mainly because he was a criminal. Nori made no bones about it, no excuses, no lies. He stole things. Partly for the fun, some for the challenge, others because he was hungry. Ori would never starve, that was for certain, and if Nori had had to steal to make sure of that, then he had.
"One would think that you would worry more about yourself. There could be passage out of the mountains for one… well versed in light feet."
Nori felt he should have been angry. Instead, he just felt hurt. He hadn't seriously stolen anything from his companions, merely lifting things and moving them to other pouches, just for a bit of fun. But, once a thief, always a thief, no? That was all this company would ever see him as, and that was fine. He could not judge them for it, simply because he was a thief. He had been a thief for many years, that was what he was known as. Just as Thorin was known as Oakenshield, as Ori was known as a scribe, Nori was Nori the Thief. He had thought he was past being hurt over who he was, but Thorin had disproved that.
"I will not leave my brothers behind. I'll give my life for Ori to live a moment longer." His eyes pierced through the smoke cloud that grew around his face, and he blew it away after a moment. "Just like I will give my life to protect any other member of this company, and ensure they live."
Before Thorin could reply, Dwalin had come. Running to tell Thorin it was time. Their time to enter the battle, their time to fight, was now! They had collapsed the wall out onto their enemies, and Nori had grabbed Ori and told him.
"Stay with me!"
Bifur had went mad at the sight of the orcs and goblins, and with a great cry of "Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd aimênu! Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul!" The half mad dwarf had made to charge, but he had been beaten out by Thorin and his nephews. Nori looked at them as they cut into their enemies, their mail and weapons gleaming, and his heart swelled with pride. That was his King. The kind of King that he could follow, could live under, could stop being a thief under. Maybe that was why Nori followed. Was to have a new life after this was over.
Following, they spilled forth, their weapons flashing in the sun as Thorin called to his kindred. They rallied where they could, these Iron Hillers, many of them displaced from Erebor themselves. The great push came, but it went too far. The line collapsed, and Nori and Dori stood, back to back, fighting to protect Ori. He was brave, he was young. He did not belong on this field of killers and death dealers. They heard the great cry as Bolg took the field, and Thorin tried for another great push, like the Iron Hills warriors had at Moria. With cries of 'Bolg! Bolg! Bolg!' Thorin and the dwarves around him tried to push forward, trying to break the guard. Nori and his brothers were stuck where they were, all their efforts bent to keeping themselves alive. They could not fight to him. Bofur and Dwalin stood, hewing enemies and crushing their skulls in desperation to get to Thorin.
But he fell. Fili and Kili stood over him, their swords and armour gleaming, black blood of orcs mixing with the red that poured from their wounds. They too fell, and Ori cried out for his friends, his childhood playmates. Gloin shouted in rage as well, the two had been close friends to his young Gimli. There would be much to avenge this day. The Dwarves tried to fight through, the cut a line, but they were tired. They had fought much, while the bodyguard of Bolg had fought little, and they were many. Then a roaring had come, a great bear, giant in size, falling on Bolg and his elite like a landslide of flashing claws and rolling muscles. Another surprise as a shout came, a shout in the unmistakable voice of a young Hobbit burglar.
"The Eagles! The Eagles are coming!"
The dwarves fought harder, and they fought with great fury in their hearts as the bear carried their leader, their king, their commander, and most importantly, someone who felt like a brother to them, off the field. They won the day, but it felt like no victory. Dwarves of Dain's company lay dead on the field, and so did many an elf and Man who should have lived longer. The orc bodies were a carpet though, and Nori took heart from that. They had fought, and they had won. Even if the cost was so dear. He stood by his kneeling brother, his hand on his shoulder as he waited for him to be finished. Two of his friends were dead, fallen defending their kin, their king, with shield and body. From what Nori heard, Thorin did not have much longer for this world either. And with him, would go Nori's dreams.
They said that Dain Ironfoot would be king. A good man, aye. But not one of them. He had not braved what they had, had not held off the enemy with Thorin Oakenshield at his side. He was fair and just, but he was not a man that Nori could follow. Not a man who Nori could dream of living under without having to steal. As they took the bodies of young Fili and Kili away, Nori and Dori helped their youngest brother rise to his feet. They had been lightly wounded, all of the companions had, but they still stood strong. For Ori. For Thorin. They were his Companions, the Dwarves of the Long Trek. They would always be Thorin's dwarves.
As night crept upon them, and Thorin breathed his last to the world, laying in cold stone with his nephews, Nori sat on a ledge, a foot dangling over. He was enjoying a smoke, or at least enjoying as much as his grief would allow him. He had been robbed blind by the greatest thief of all, Master Death. He had stolen Nori's friends, and then he had stolen Nori's dreams. And the dwarf could honestly not say which hurt the most. He took a deep inhale, letting the smoke tendrils waft away into the sky. What hurt him the most? He couldn't stop thinking of it, trying to understand. Master Death had stolen from him, and it hurt in many ways. It hurt enough to not worry which hurt the most. His King was dead, and Nori would remain Nori.