Ori shook. His face was tilted towards the ground, tears coating his eyelashes. The air was dark and musty around him, pressing in. Pressing in. He could sense the fear of the other dwarves huddled around him, but made no move to comfort them. There was no comfort to give. No empty words about how it was "going to be okay" could wake their broken spirits once more. The evil outside of the cave was too great and powerful, writhing with lust for blood.

Ori had survived the horrors for so long. He didn't understand it, but somehow, running from cave to cave kept him one step ahead of the orcs. The orcs who had slaughtered his king, Balin. The orcs who hunted him with such a fiery passion.

Behind him, cold and solid, stood the grave of Balin. A grim reminder that hope was gone.

The doors shook on their hinges. The first of the Orcs had reached the cave. Ori clenched his eyes tight, forcing back the tears that sprung to his eyes. He had been running for so long. He had sang so many sorrows to empty caves, and wept so many hot tears. Blood trickled from scrapes in his arms. Scars lined his hands. But even deeper scars lined his heart.

For he had seen a man, deep in the caverns, wreathed with horrible flames. He had seen his friends torn limb from limb and devoured by raging orcs. It was all too much.

And now he was trapped. And this time, he knew he was not going to survive. And it hurt him. Hurt him deep to his core, as if a poisoned arrow had pierced his soul. So, this was how it was going to end? Not taken by the fires of Smaug, or murdered by the goblins, or the wolves who had circled his trees that one fateful night. No, it was to end here. Trapped and alone, cowering in a cave as the forces of evil pressed in on every side.

His book was heavy in his hands. His writing utensil had slipped from his fingers and clattered on the stone floor.

They are coming…

He hadn't meant for it to be his last written words, but it had gotten so dark. And nothing else needed to be said. Isn't this everything ended? Yes, beauty and righteousness will prevail in the beginning. But no one said at the end, after everything is over and done. Then, death will eventually take us all.

He wondered then, in his last moments, if Bilbo's acorn had ever grown.

And that is what broke him. Suddenly, feelings of love and despair washed over him. He shut his eyes, envisioning the faces of his company. Thorin, Dori, Bifur, Bofur, Nori, Kili, Fili, Bombur, Oin, Gloin, Dwalin, Balin, Gandalf, and… and good old Bilbo.

And he found remembering his adventure, and the things that he loved, took away the pain of the darkness for even a moment. And as he closed his eyes, he began to remember.

Slow, beautiful songs around the campfire. The sweet taste of the first berries and cream of the summer. The gurgling brook in the Shire, and the fateful party in the same place. He imagined the long nights of trekking with the company. He raised his head, and instead of the dark roof of a cave, he saw a night sky, dotted with a thousand beautiful stars.

He thought of his own son. His son named Bilbo. The glorious beauties of a summer night sky, and the twinkling gems deep within the Earth.

And so, Ori began to realize, maybe dying wasn't all bad. Maybe it was just the next adventure he was supposed to take.

The door burst open.