Shortly after the Battle of the Five Armies, about a year, word reached the mountain that something terrible had happened. Thorin Oakenshield, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, had healed from his wounds and was sitting in the War Chamber, looking over maps to see what more had to be done between Erebor and Dale. The elves of Mirkwood and the dwarves of Erebor were now peaceful, finding common ground in aiding the people of Dale. Laketown and Dale had been rebuilt, both with different purposes. Both were good for travelers. Laketown was where travel came out of Mirkwood. Dale was where travel from the mountain and beyond came. Ferries constantly crossed the lake, keeping everyone in contact and commerce was good. All of the company was healthy again, which was good. At least, the company he kept an eye on. Gandalf had disappeared not long after the hobbit had left, only staying long enough to make sure Thorin was well. The hobbit left as soon as he knew the dwarf would survive. He left in the night, not wanting to anger those he thought hated him. Gandalf left shortly after Thorin had started walking again, with words of warning should any try to harm the hobbit. Gandalf sent word every so often, letting them know how the rest of the world faired. Only once did he mention Bilbo Baggins, the burglar. He only said that Bilbo was making due and that he didn't want any guests. Thorin read it as Bilbo was trying to be a normal hobbit and suffering the consequences of adventuring, something hobbits frowned upon.
On this fine spring day, Thorin was drawn from his pondering by the sounds of hooves, racing up to Erebor through the large doors that were thrown open at the end of the chamber that led out onto a balcony of sorts. He straightened his robes and walked outside, where Balin was smoking a pipe, Dwalin was sharpening his ax and his nephews were actually studying, thanks to Balin. The rest of the company was going about their duties, each now a proper member of Thorin's court regarding their own skill sets. Balin nodded to the horse coming up the road, easily dodging workers, "Stone echoes well now."
They had been working on the stone road between Erebor and Dale now that most of the rebuilding was complete. Smoother and easier to maintain in the worst of conditions.
Thorin nodded, leaning against the railing as he watched the rider, "Seems in a bit of a hurry."
"That elf king probably just announcing the marriage of his son," Dwalin scoffed, not looking up.
"Something's not right," Balin shook his head. "I feel it in my bones."
"Your bones never lie, brother," Dwalin sobered, looking up now, watching the rider as they drew near. It was a sturdy looking horse, one from Dale by the looks, with a human rider. He skidded to a stop by the gates, looking up at Thorin. It was Bard's son. The lad rarely ran errands anymore. Too much to do down in Dale.
"King Thorin, I bring horrible news!" The boy cried up to him. He was pale and shaking, his grip tight on the dancing horse's reins.
"What, boy? What's happened?" Thorin felt his heart tightening.
"Word from Gandalf, sir, about the Shire. Sir, the Shire is burning!" the boy's words were like a dagger to Thorin's heart.
"Come up, quickly," Thorin turned and strode back into the War Chamber, the others following as they heard the gates open.
"Tis not good," Balin broke the silence first as he slowly sat, watching Thorin as he came to stop in front of the giant map on the back wall, arms behind his back, shoulders tense.
"We shall hear the boy out and choose our action then and only then," Thorin's voice shook slightly. They all choose to ignore the source. All cared for the hobbit and missed him dearly, but none as much as the king. It broke their hearts when Gandalf told them Bilbo didn't want to see anyone, but it was understood since the last he had seen anyone, Thorin had just thrown him out of Erebor. If only the hobbit had known how much Thorin had really cared for him.
"Should we send riders to the Blue Mountains? See what Dain knows?" Fili spoke up from where he and Kili sat, eyes filled with worry.
"Yes, yes we should," Thorin nodded slowly, not turning towards them. At that moment the doors were flung open and the boy rushed in, followed by the rest of the company. Dwalin stood, giving the lad his chair as the others sat, watching Thorin. Kili stood and got the boy some water, seeing as he looked like he had worked himself hard to get here quickly. Finally, after several moments of silence, Thorin spoke, "Tell me everything."
The Shire was a peaceable place, rolling green hills giving way to farmland and the occasional town. Innocent inhabitants, the hobbits were. Never causing trouble with any strangers and making good trade with Bree and other such towns on their borders. They lived simple lives, never wishing to leave the confines of their hobbit holes. They never once imagined that would change.
Change came in the form of fire and blood and blackness. There were screams and cries of mercy, wails and the sounds of torture. An army of orcs, from Moria, marched on the Shire for only one reason and one reason only. Because they could. They came from the north and met no resistance, easily destroying all in their path. They left a trail of blood and fire in their wake. The hobbits to the south had warning as black smoke filled the skies and many were able to escape, but some choose to try and fight. They fought bravely to the end. The hobbits weren't the only ones warned by the smoke, though. Dain's people in the Blue Mountains saw the smoke and quickly sent aid to the hobbits in the form of warriors. The orcs weren't prepared for the attack and many were slaughtered, but it was too late for the Shire. In the final battle, the orcs destroyed Hobbitton as their final act of hate in the once peaceful country. Only a small fraction of the orcs escaped back to their mountain stronghold, but they were victorious that day. The Shire was destroyed, her people displaced and many dead. The dwarves aided the survivors in burying their dead and offered them sanctuary. It was only when Gandalf arrived that it was discovered. The darkest act by the orcs. Those who had fought back, sacrificing themselves so that their neighbors could get away, were not all dead. A small group of hobbits had been dragged into the dark of Moria.
"Gandalf sends word that Dain himself and the wizard are leading an attack on Moria to try to save those hobbits, but it might be too late already," the boy looked down at his hands. "He sends a request though. Erebor is closer to Moria than the Blue Mountains. If they do find anyone, Gandalf wishes to know if Erebor's doors will be open."
"We will take any and all they bring," Thorin's voice was soft, his back still to the room. "The Shire gone. Is there anything else Gandalf says?"
"What of the hobbit who was with us?" Balin's voice shook, eyes watery. "Bilbo, what does he say about Bilbo."
The boy could meet no one's eyes now, instead focusing on Thorin's back, "Gandalf says….he says Bilbo was not among the dead."
The dwarves breathed a sigh of relief, but Thorin turned, face stony, "Who is he among?"
The boy's voice shook now, unable to look away from Thorin, "He….he was among those who stood and fought. He…he was dragged into Moria."