Author's Note:

Divinity is the word I find for Thorin's journey to Erebor, his duty and most importantly, himself.

I have always loved stories with reasons and good pace, and I think the first chapter is fairly important if the readers are able to think that well, this girl knows what she is writing. in the following chapters. So, the first chapter is mainly about history and, as I said, the start of Thorin's journey. Hope you enjoy it!

The story starts in the settings of the Blue Mountains, where the dwarves made their second home.

Disclaimer: Thorin and other characters are amazing creation of J.R.R Tolkien, while I'm just one of the followers eager to explore their full protential.


It seemed like a normal day from all aspects in the blue mountains. The dwarfs were minding their own business when a figure came forth from the plain below. It was a white horse so fair that its mane seemed to glow silver in the blazing sun light. It trotted forth from the woods which blended up into gray misty tree-lines. On the surface of their river, Veil, sunlight danced gaily, shimmering thousands pieces of gold and up the river, the rider came. Most dwarfs outside the mountain had gathered around the brink of the lookout, chattering to identify the uninvited rider while some others were already retreating into the doors.

Balin was on the platform when he heard the chaos underneath. The Blue Mountains had no visitors before, not that he knew of. He frowned and walked to the young dwarf on watch underneath the stone pillar. "Go and tell Thorin, lad," his voice was calm but alarming, "tell him that we have a white horse rider." The young dwarf bowed slightly towards this respectable old dwarf. Balin was few of those who lived through the ancient times which were now in the memory of old and folklores of most. The young one was now one of the watch. Their leader, their prince had ordered close watch around their residence even when no one attacked the mountains again and every watchman he trained and examined himself. The young dwarf, Loin, had seen the king for the first time when he became a guard of the blue mountains. He was young and naïve, thinking of his new obligation a new adventure, but his Prince's solemnity changed all that. He never, never forgot that majestic figure ever since.

Loin went instantly into the halls and directly rushed towards the king's chamber. It was situated at the top of the inner construction led up to by a stream of stairs. Loin ran along the intricate stair cases and rocky lanes, nodding towards dwarfs on track. Loin had always been proud of the mountains. He was of the generation after Erebor and had never seen the majestic halls of old, but he had heard enough tales to fully visualize the dusted glory. "ten times of this can't compare with what Erebor was." Balin had tole them proudly, pointing to the main hall while eyeing the east with eyes full of longing. The dwarfs arrived here with nothing literally after the refusal of the elves, their supposed ally. They had one hope, the survived Prince of dwarfs.

After securing the area( the west of the Blue Mountains), the Prince set out to find ways to feed his people. He led twenty dwarfs away to seek food and clothes. They took on work in the very first village that would show them some acceptance. Thorin himself worked as a blacksmith. In his days of labor, he established his reputation as a worthy workforce, but at first no one cared about his line and blood. They mocked him and stared at him. It wasn't until he wielded his own sword at them that they took him respectfully. Swords and knives, axes and daggers, he made blades stronger than any of the man had ever seen. The axes were too heavy for any Man to wield at first, but one blow would be enough to send any creäture straight to his death. His swords became brighter and sharper every time put to use as if the taste of blood unleashed its wrath. The Men treasured even the smallest of the exotic dwarf design. They trampled on him, yet they feared him.

The dwarfs brought back food and clothes enough for survivial and as soon as the dwarf maidens were able to gather fibers and weave, the younger ones capable of hunting and hammering, Thorin abruptly ordered the other twenty dwarfs stop working in the village. He was then all by himself, working harder than anyone could imagine. But the outside environment never agreed with dwarfs and many of them caught disease after exposed to rain and storm. That winter there was a snowstorm and the dwarfs staying still were buried waist-deep. The night was even worse. Dwarfs huddled together around the bonfire they managed, but the warmth was estranged with them. They stretched out their fingers, but all they felt was dumbness. Some ventured to touch the flames, but nothing. All their reflexes had been paralyzed by the severe coldness. Those strong enough and more enduring survived to see the sun again rising, but many could not as stones would never wake up. Thorin was not with his people then. He was putting the last touch to his latest piece, an axe ordered by a local wealthy family. It was supposed to be a gift for his warrior son and Thorin had held some respect to this Man fighter, and so he had put much of his skills into this piece of work. Thorin had casted a thin but heavy blade, bearing some resemblance to his own. He named it Dhazil, Axe of Broad Man. The Dhazil was just cooling off for the last round of hammering to make it resilient when a dwarf from the residence rushed to him. The messenger was so spent and horrified that he couldn't utter a word. Half-dragging him back, Thorin came to the field, with his unfinished armory at hand. They were already burning the bodies. The flames were of an ominous color, bright green framed with crimson. Thorin stood near the fire, feeling himself dead again.

From that day on, the dwarves started to construct their halls. And the Dhazil, which Thorin hewed with burning might, shattered with the breaking of the first stone. A new axe must be forged for the Man warrior, but Thorin would never again do this forgery with much of his heart. His heart lied now with his people. They made their new halls and took on several features of Erebor, but they never could or would surpass its splendor. They were few and weary, but the Blue Mountains were not as tough as the Lonely Mountain and their blades had the strength of their wrath. They collected up the shattered pieces of Dhazil and stowed them safely away as the remembrance of the once relationship between Men and Dwarves. They tolled hard, and at last every dwarf was once again safely inside the mountains.

Loin eyed every pillar he passed with proud and gladness. When he was built enough to labor for his own house, the Blue Mountains were no more than a coarse lair to bring a cold and hard shelter over dwarves' heads. The Mountains were plagued with coldness and dampness and at first fire couldn't drive those away. The less able ones were to stay in the main hall while dwarves strong enough to bear a stone picked up their tools to dig deep into the heart of the Mountains. Never, or hardly, had they seen the dwarf Prince again. He forbade all contact with Men. "keep away from the treachery and foulness." His near ones spread the word. The dwarf Prince was either at the Men village or at the end of every tunnel, or so they said. But the moment Loin saw him, he knew that all the tales about this dwarf was true.

As he thought, he had reached the king's chamber. He pushed open the heavy stone doors and entered the king's hall. It was no more embellished than any other chamber in the mountains. At the end of the chamber was a narrow lookout guarded with thick coarse pillars. The walls were hardly flat. Against the inner most wall set an iron bed. Near the door was a large stone carved table with tall-back chairs. Thorin Oakenshield was seated at the end of the table, studying whatever document he was holding. Loin felt himself uneasy under the solemn air of his king. Thorin looked up with a slight frown on his eye brows. He sighed and straightened himself to his full height. His head slightly tilted upwards.

"What is it, Loin." he asked, his voice deep and patient. Loin drew in a deep breath. He didn't know how or why, but he just couldn't help feeling nervous speaking to his king. "There is a rider approaching the mountains. Balin sent me as to tell you." Thorin's face dropped and a cold air drew around him. His eyes were again cautious and vigilant and he took a few strides towards his own lookout to see who was coming. The rider was now upon them and standing high in his chamber, Thorin could see clearly who the unpleasant visitor was. He frowned. He had heard tales about him, but he had never thought he could be right in front of his doors. He was a legend all over the land, but the tales about his might brought Thorin only more suspicion and vigilance. What business had he over here? Turning his head quickly towards the young dwarf, Thorin spoke fast, "I shall be down there in a moment. Tell the guards be aware and don't open the gate door until I command so. Send everyone inside the mountain." his order was curt but determined and full of the iron strength of the owner. Loin turned running away to the gates to carry our the orders.

After Loin left the room, Thorin focused once again on the figure on the horse coming towards them. Whatever he was after, he would not get it so easily now. Not this time. Thorin took a deep breath and looked one more time to the letter he was reading earlier. It was written in the ancient language of the dwarfs and few could understand the meaning now, but Thorin was one of the few and the content of the letter rendered him confusion. Why had they sent such letter now? At the bottom of the letter were the symbols that were long ago lost, symbols which themselves seemed to mock him. They were the dwarf emblem of Thorin's kindreds over the land. After that dreadful creäture had taken over Erebor, Thorin and his kindreds the direct descendents of Durin were no longer able to unite all the dwarvish lines. They seldom passed any correspondence now, as all were too ashamed and despaired to show their defeat. As for Thorin, he could no longer command his kindreds like he used to. Those glorious days were no more, and Thorin would do anything just to take that back.

He was so shocked when the messenger from the iron mountains knocked upon their gate to deliver the letter that he almost threw the weary dwarf into captivity, thinking he might be of ill intent to again shatter the dwellings of Durin. However, it was the ancient language and the markings that assured him of the authenticity. He had read the letter again and again, trying to decipher the seemingly plain sentences, but he couldn't understand. Specifically, he couldn't recall something that Dain, his closest kin claimed that Thorin had done. Because he didn't. He folded the letter and tucked it safely within his fur coat and went out, with his heavy sword at his side. It was the sword that he had never leave far or behind. It was the one that he wielded on the day the dragon of the north came. It had tasted the fire of Smaug and even today, still glowed with the sorrow and wrath unleashed that day. Thorin unconsciously touched the hilt of the sword to feel the solid leather and the metal beneath. Somehow, he felt that this unexpected visitor had something to do with the letter that troubled him so much.

Just after Loin alarmed the guards, Thorin appeared down from the great stairs. The king was just as he alway was, solemn and mighty, with his sword clasped close to his belt. He had his usual fur coat around his shoulders and his boots thumped heavily on the rock floor. The dwarfs at the gates eyed their king anxiously, not knowing what to do. Balin came forward at his side, his gray old eyes shadowed with anxiety. They exchanged a knowing glance and Thorin gripped Balin's shoulder firmly once. Then he demanded the gate keepers open the gate. The two dwarfs came forth and pulled on the thick stone doors. They were not as majestic as the front gates in Erebor once were, but they were mighty doors nonetheless. They took upon a simple design and the hard lines carved by the strong workers remained took silently of their determination and their hidden wish: they would not stay here forever.

The bright sun light spread from the line between the doors into the hall, dancing upon the ragged blue-gray stones and dimmed all the flaming torches. Outside, the dwarf warriors were clasping tightly at their weapons and hunched around the now dismounted horseman, their eyes fled quickly to their king standing in the middle of the gateway, ready to spring upon the enemy if necessary. Thorin slowly walked forward until he was out in the open with the guards behind him. He never once removed his gaze from his visitor, as he was told millions of times by his grandfather, who had always been able to scare his antagonists off with his fiery eyes. The nature of his visitor no one knew, but he was of the stature of a grown man or an Elf, but by the stairs in front of the gates, Thorin was still able to look down to the "stranger" with his countenance proud as he ever would be. His was of Durin's blood by his beard.

The figure moved slowly towards the ascending stairs, drawing his magnificent horse forward, but he never set a foot even on the lowest step. They stared into each other for a moment before the figure opened his mouth and said in a quiet but strong voice, "I came here for urgent business, Thorin Oakenshield." his eyes were expressionless, but just then Thorin seemed to detect a flash of humor within. Thorin was inwardly taken aback by this familiar address, as if the other person knew him well, but he showed no sign of such surprise on his face. Instead, he stepped forward until the stranger would sure be able to hear every word in Thorin's lowest voice. "What business have you here," he said with great emphasis on each word, "Gandalf the Gray."


Author: So, Gandalf has visited the Blue Mountains. This is neither mentioned in book nor in film, so I think I can call it something somewhat original. This is due to my own thinking about Thorin's start of his journey and I think it takes a lot for him to begin. The plot might differ from original work.

What do you think of it? Like it? Anyway I thank all of you immensely for patiently reading this long chapter. I hope I give you a complete story, not just a fraction. Please review if you have anything to tell me! All comments are extremely welcome!

Ali