Dragon Fever
Summary : Thorin Oakenshield was sick with Dragon Fever way before he set foot in the Lonely Mountain's treasure hall.
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Some said that the fever Thorin contracted after the fall of Erebor was due to the dragon. That when he went back to save his brother, he had come too close to the beast's fire, hence the strange blue flames that were present behind his eyes when he finally woke up.
Thorin didn't really care for the rumours and ignored them as graciously as he could at the time. Because he knew that it wasn't the truth. He hadn't just gotten close to it. He had felt it. Felt it licking his skin and burning his hair. He had smelled it on the torched bodies of his kin. He had heard it in their screams and tasted it in the ashes but mostly he had seen it in its eyes. Because when he had gone back for Frerin, the beast had been there and their gazes had locked. Thorin would remember until his last breath the fever in them: a dark mix of gold lust, fire and death. And then, the dragon had let him go. It had turned around and taken to the treasure hall, as though indifferent to his struggle to get his unconscious brother out of the burning infernal.
So, no, Thorin didn't think the rumours got it right but he didn't believe that they needed to be corrected either. As it was, some were already rather envious of the lack of loss within the Durin's line.
And it was true that they had escaped without losing as much as some and he thank Mahal every morning for his mercy, especially when his eyes crossed Balin's who had lost his wife and son to the dragon. The beast had spared them and he could not ask for more he convinced himself as he organised the caravans to the Iron Hills and the Blue Mountains with his grandfather and father.
Still when his grandfather and his brother got killed during the battle for the Moria, he found out that, against all logic, it was not the filthy orcs that had taken them, he hated the most – though the despite he held for them still kept bards singing for years. No. It was the dragon. Because, no matter what he had told himself, it was the dragon's fault. All of it. His golden brother would never have had to fight such battles had the vile thing not come. So when he rallied the last remains of their army and charged into the ranks of the orcs, it was thoughts of Smaug that made his eyes alive with blue fire and kept his arm striking down enemies and sent fleeing the ones that met his feverish gaze.
This was how his deep all-consuming hate for the dragon flickered to life.
He led what little dwarves had survived the battle to the Blue Mountains where his sister had taken the rest of their people and there his house built a new home for them. Still, not even the snows and ices of the Blue Mountains managed to cool down his anger toward Smaug.
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