The weakness and pain was centered in Thorin's chest. It was difficult to breathe, but he was hanging on.
His friends, the last surviving members of the brave company that helped him reclaim Erebor, had already visited him. They reminisced - spoke of the horrible, stupid trolls, Beorn's home, the Battle of the Five Armies, those who had been lost - gone but never forgotten.
It warmed his slowing heart to see old Bilbo, as fastidious as ever; Bofur, still singing and wearing his floppy hat; Gandalf semi-jokingly proposing one last adventure; and Thorin's cherished nephews, Kili and Fili, now older Dwarves with lives and royal responsibilities and families of their own.
King Thranduil, Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn had also traveled to pay him respect in his last days. The visits were amicable, and heartfelt, filled with peace and understanding.
Thorin's sister Dis had been brought in very briefly earlier that day, herself weakened by age and declining health. But she would not go before him, she joked. Thorin was older; she said she would "allow him to lead this time."
And that time had now come. Everyone knew that after his beloved queen died, he would soon join her - his love, his rock. They could not be so long apart.
His children surrounded him: Lillian; Thror, Thrain, Frerin, Rowan, Kieran and Leslie. They made a circle around his bed, in birth order, looking at him with pride, love and honor, each in their own way.
Lily ran her hand over Thorin's long gray, glorious hair and smiled tenderly, fixed on his cloudy eyes. Thror kept his head low, sneaking teary-eyed peeks at him from time to time. Thrain concentrated on his father's strong jaw and broad shoulders, features that had not changed since he was a young boy looking up at the impressive, brave ruler who was simply 'Adad' to them.
Frerin gently knocked shoulders with his twin, Rowan, both of them swaying ever-so-slightly to a mournful song only they could hear. Rowan let his tears run down his face, as he had so many other times throughout his life when he was overcome with emotion. He let the tears fall without wiping them, without apology.
Kieran's arms were crossed, his forehead wrinkled. He tried to look stoic. It was taking everything in him not to sob into his hands, but he would feign control as long as he needed to.
And then there was Leslie: the youngest, the one most like her father – stubborn, gruff, focused, sometimes downright impossible - and forever, fiercely devoted to her family.
"Adad, may we get you something?" Lily asked softly.
Thorin looked at Thror. "The decree." His voice was raspy and low.
Thror perked up, left the circle and returned a minute later with a large parchment from his father's study, where he'd helped Thorin write out the order in secret several months before. He placed it in his father's shaking hands.
"What is that, father?" Frerin asked.
Thorin handed the paper to Lily. "Changes."
Lily looked over the document, her eyes widening the more she read. After she reached the end, she turned to Thror, the second-born, the male who was to assume the throne after their father's passing. He took the decree and passed it along to his siblings.
"You agreed to this?" Lily asked in shock.
Thror nodded. "This is absolutely the right thing to do."
Around the circle of children the decree went, every eye popping, every mouth opening as they read.
"Not everyone will approve," Leslie warned.
"Thror would be a strong and wise king," Thorin said, his breathing heavy between each word. "But Lillian is firstborn, and also strong and wise."
"Stronger," Thror added, nudging his teary-eyed sister. "And wiser."
"Do our cousins know?" Frerin asked. He and his brothers and sisters were close to Fili and Kili and wanted no bitterness between them.
"They were present when Father wrote it," Thror said. "They gave it their blessing."
Thorin started to say something, but coughed violently instead, and the force of it felt like his chest was cracking open. Lily called Thrain to bring him some water, but Thorin waved off the request. The coughing fit ended within a few seconds. He leaned his head back against the robust pillows and let his eyes travel around the circle.
"Each of you has made me very, very proud," he said, exhausted. "Proud to watch you grow. Proud to be your father."
The children crowded closer to him and sat on the bed, their hands outstretched, caressing his hands, pushing the fabric of his shirt up to touch his arms, stroking the ends of his hair, reaching over to kiss his cheek.
Thorin decided to take deeper breaths. The pain was subsiding, because he was fading.
"I've seen many things in this world. Your whole lives, I've told you all about my adventures. But I've never seen anything as wonderful as my Queen and my children."
Frerin's body rocked as he wept; Rowan tried to steady his brother by putting one arm over his shoulder. Leslie buried her face into the silk comforter, both hands on her father's forearms. Lily continued to run one hand over his hair, while the other held tightly to Thror's wrist.
Thorin coughed a few times, then swallowed, and went on, though his voice was getting weaker.
"Your beautiful mother - she gave me each of you. My seven. My seven gifts."
Thorin closed his eyes, then exhaled slowly.
Leslie lifted her head and moved closer to her father, making sure he could hear her. "Go to her, Adad. We will continue to make you both proud. I promise."
"We love you."
"Father, we love you."
"We love you so much."
"Dakhatsu, Adad. Rest."
"Be at peace, father. We love you."
"Thank you, Adad."
On and on they repeated the words through their weeping, and when Thorin opened his eyes for the last time, he saw them all as precocious children again – pummeling him with questions, amazing him, cuddling with him during story time, driving their pretend Uncle Dwalin mad, confiding their fears to him.
He closed his eyes and let their words carry his spirit to the halls of his fathers, to his precious younger brother, to his love – away from the mountain he had fought so hard to reclaim, where his people prospered once more, where his family grew and flourished.
Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, had been King Under the Mountain, a kingdom that prospered under his rule and saw great glory. But his greatest title was father. And because of his legacy, he would live on.
It had been a long, remarkable life.