Okay, this idea has been trotting in my head for a little while, and I've finally sat down and actually written something. I don't know if it will go anywhere yet, but I hope I'll be able to write more chapters.
Enjoy! :)
He'd fought. He'd fought until the end, until the cursed blade pierced his chest. At the sharp pain he felt, Thorin knew the wound would be fatal, he was going to die. The thought terrified him, and yet, he accepted it. At least, he knew he was taking Azog down with him, it was the least he could do after all that monster had done to him and the others. It didn't feel much of a victory though, Azog had taken away something of his more valuable than any jewel in Thror's treasure room, something Thorin knew he would never get back, right in front of his eyes.
It felt odd, strange even. Thorin had never experienced any of this, and now knowing he was leaving Middle Earth for good, he found that he did not want to. There was still so much more he could have done here, so much he wished to do, and so much he wished he had done differently. Had the Maker granted him a little more time, Thorin would have apologized to Bard, for not keeping his word. The grim bowman was honorable, his motives had been just, and yet Thorin had thrown his reasonable request aside, he hadn't kept his word. Then, there was his actions, oh he wished he could take it all back! How could he have let this obsession control him so much, to the point that he'd harm one of his own to throw Bilbo off the ramparts of Erebor? How could he even have thought the hobbit had betrayed him in the first place? The burglar had only been trying to mend errors he'd never been involved in, he had been trying to help him, despite how Thorin kept pushing the burglar away, repeating awful words conveying the idea that Bilbo had no place amongst them. Oh! How could he have been so blind? The dwarf king wished he could change the past, change himself so all this never would have happened. When he'd wanted Erebor, he'd wanted a home, some place where he could feel like he belonged. He'd never meant for it to cost the lives of so many, and certainly not the lives of his own kin. It was shameful, Despite his dying breaths, he could feel Bilbo beside him. It was comforting, and humbling, the hobbit still found it in himself to forgive Thorin for the horrible deeds he'd put him through, Bilbo was so much more that ne looked, he was ten times the dwarf he could ever claim to be. At least he wasn't alone, facing death alone was the last thing he'd wish upon anyone.
Fili was meeting his end alone, his brain reminded him. His eldest nephew had died in one of the most awful ways Thorin could ever imagine, being dangled like that, being shown a tiny glimpse hope just before experiencing despair, before being overcome by abject terror. If Thorin could have taken it all back, he would have. He should never have sent them scouting up there, who knew what had been done to his blonde nephew between the time he'd been caught and the moment that blade went through his chest?
And then there was Kili. What had become of him? So overwhelmed by what had been done to one nephew, Thorin realized he'd never spared a second thought about what had become of his favorite archer. Something deep down inside of him insisted that Kili had also met his end, that his little raven haired nephew no longer drew breath either. He who should have had so many years to look forward to, who'd even found someone who might have walked the same path as him in a red haired elf, now had nothing. Nothing but the loneliness that would be the after-world.
What had he done so bad that his family deserved to be cursed in such a way? What mistake had Thorin done, that it had to cost so much?
The ice beneath him was freezing right through the remains of his coat, chilling his bones. Dried blood cracked on the side of his face as he tried moving it, tried defying death by showing it that he was still in control of his movements. But Thorin knew he was fading, he knew he didn't have very long left here, and the thought was shattering. The dwarf had wanted to accomplish so much more. He'd envisioned himself countless times getting back Erebor, his lifetime quest, and he'd be occupying it's throne while his twelve companions would get their just repayment. He could see them all, even Bilbo, feasting, rebuilding the great kingdom, bringing out old vestiges and letting them see the light once more, give them back their splendor of old. Thorin had wanted to relive these glory days, the days in which Erebor had written its name down in History.
Alas, he accepted his time had come to an end, his life was over. His only wish would have been to be able to spend more time around those he loved, to have maybe have gotten more out of the family he had left. His kin, and his beloved sister, had been the only remains of their broken clan. The Durins were fading, his dear cousin being the only one left. Thorin knew Dain would live up to his name, he had faith in his relative, but it did not make parting with the world any easier. It was much more painful than he'd ever envisioned it.
The blinding light pained his eyes, and Thorin willed himself to shut them, accomplishing one last action while he still had a little power over his body. The sounds around him were dulling down, the piercing cold beneath his fingers was gradually becoming nothing, and his chest no longer found the strength to let him live any longer.
It was over.
As Thorin accepted death, eyes slowly seeing nothing but darkness, he thought he heard a distant sound, akin to somewhat of a roar. Whether it was genuine or his mind playing some last tricks on him, Thorin never knew as he felt himself go lax, his world going black.