Hey, guys! I'm back and on a different page, obviously. While I'm writing "The Lost Dunedain," which I hope you are all enjoying if you've read it so far, I decided to write a prequel about the Durin family. Of Thorin, Fili, and Kili's background that will connect with T.L.D. Also Dis, and her memories with her late husband, Vili, Fili and Kili's father.

I just wanted to explore a little bit of the Durins' past, their family members, meeting friends, and maybe some of the dwarf colony (I suck at politics, so don't expect too much, or maybe you can help me a little).

So this is the same universe as "The Lost Dunedain," before they met my OC characters, Maia, Kyle, and Lori Dainson (and Bilbo Baggins, of course), but I'll barely make any references because this is the dwarves' story.

Thanks, and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

Thorin looked on in horror at the nightmare before him. He froze in the midst of the heavy battle around him, as Azog the Defiler lifted the head of Thror, the King Under the Mountain, his grandfather, roaring in triumph for all to witness. The bellows of the large, pale orc sent ice in his veins. All other sounds faded, and the young Dwarf prince was numb.

Laughing cruelly, Azog tossed the head of their king. Not breathing, Thorin watched as it rolled down the hill, until stopping five feet away at his feet. Thror's blue eyes stared up at him, his face forever frozen with his shock and previous madness.

"NOOOOOO!" Thorin screamed, his agonized voice heard through the clashing of swords and cries of death. The air smelled of blood, ash, burnt flesh, and death. His numbness was instantly replaced by fire. A hot, blazing fire made of rage and pure malice. Blood lust.

Still roaring, Thorin began to charge at the orc, but a strong hand caught his chest. He fought it, but the hand was stronger. It had a jeweled ring with a rune on it. One of the seven. When the haze cleared, he recognize the one-eyed, roguish features of Thrain.

"Father!" gasped Thorin, fighting to get around him, unsuccessfully.

"Stay back!" snarled Thrain. Though one of the fiercest dwarves Thorin had ever known, the mad grief was clear as day in Thrain's eyes. He too wanted Azog's blood, probably more than Thorin did, but if he would have to choose between protecting his son and avenging his now-dead father, it would be Thorin. It would always be Thorin. And Frerin and Dis, his children and heirs. He just now wished, at the doorstep of death, that he would have told them that more often.

But Thorin, his eldest, could always read him better than the other two. His young blue eyes changed to grief and desperation. "No!" he said roughly, gripping his father's arm now. "I will fight with you! He killed Grandfather! He killed our king! That orc filth needs to die!" He spat.

Thrain felt surge of pride he always felt for Thorin, his young, brave son, who was always so strong and fierce as well as noble and compassionate, but he kept a hard grip on the young dwarf and hissed urgently, "Azog needs to kill us all!"

Thorin's eyes widened and now looked unsure, so Thrain continued, "One by one, he will destroy the line of Durin! But by my life, he will not take my son! He will take none of my children! Not while I still breathe!" he growled, now lifting his axe.

"Father-"

"You must find Frerin! Find your brother! Get as far away from here as you can!" Thrain ordered. "Find your sister and her son! Keep them safe!" He started to go, his tattooed features twisting in rage and despair. "We should never have come here! The battle is already lost!"

Thorin became angry. "Not while we still stand!" he shouted, gripping his sword and shield. "We are the sons of Durin! WE DO NOT FLEE FROM A FIGHT! YOU ALWAYS SAID-"

"YOU WILL OBEY ME!" roared Thrain, pointing his axe toward Thorin, making his son step back. He hated doing this, but Thorin can be just about as stubborn as he was and this was the only way. "YOU WILL STAY BACK AND FLEE WITH YOUR BROTHER!"

Thorin stared at him in shock, backing away slightly. Thrain hated himself at that moment, but he didn't back down. The grief for his father, Thror, and the need to protect his family drove him. "DON'T YOU DARE FOLLOW ME, BOY!"

Knowing now that Thorin will obey him, Thrain whipped around, shoving orcs and dwarves aside as he charged toward the pale orc with a vengeful cry. Azog smiled cruelly when Thrain swung his axe, but the pale orc blocked the blow. Somewhere, lost in the battle, he could hear Thorin cry out for his father. For a while they parried, until the Defiler knocked the grief-driven Thrain on his back.

Thrain reached over his axe, but a large boot stomped in his arm, snapping it. Thrain screamed in agony as the fire coursed through him. Looking up, meeting the wolfish features of his opponent, the creature that killed his father, Thrain knew he would meet the same fate. He slumped back and waited as Azog drew a cruel, jagged knife.

I am cursed. His father, Thror, truly was a mad fool for starting this fight, all for mithril, but he would soon meet his fathers in the Halls of Mandos. He thought of meeting Iris, his beloved wife. His brothers.

Then he thought of those who still lived. Thorin, the heir to the throne and his proud, stubborn, strong son. Frerin, his courageous and cheerful younger son, whose smile lift even the stoniest of hearts, his tongue the sharpest, and whose recklessness can exhaust many. Dis, a young princess of Erebor, his beautiful, witty, feisty, and only daughter. His adventurous and rebellious little girl, who adapted quickly to the life of the wilderness, who fell in love and married a common golden-haired miner when she barely grew up, who had her first child (his little golden grandson, Fili), and was now heavily pregnant with her second, having at least one more month to go. A grandson or granddaughter, whom he will now never meet.

Forgive me, my children.

"FATHER!" Thorin bellowed. But he was pushed back by another raid of orc. Growling curses, Thorin slashed them all down with the strokes of his sword, Deathless, and breaking necks with his shield. An orc had leapt on his shoulders, scratching his already blooded face, but Thorin thrust his sword upward, stabbing it in the face. Throwing the body off of him, trying to catch his breath, he realized that he had lost the point of where his father had charged Azog.

He couldn't find Azog. He couldn't find his father. It was hopeless. But he remembered his father's orders and gritted his teeth to keep tears of despair from escaping. He knew Thrain was right. This was all a hopeless cause from the very beginning. All for mithril. All for the desires of a king still trapped under dragon sickness.

Breathing heavily, still fighting through orcs, Thorin screamed out, "FRERIN! FRERIN! VILI!"

Thorin knew it was cowardly to run, but if it protected his little brother, his sister, his nephew-oh, his precious little nephew-and yes, even his brother-in-law, he would gladly live with the shame, knowing they would all live to fight another day. He would find Frerin, and then Thorin will call the dwarves for a retreat.

In a distance, he spotted Dwalin. Then he saw Balin. The brothers of Fundin fought side by side, taking down the deadly creatures with the valiant strokes of their blades, Dwalin kept roaring like madman as he swung his twin axes, Taker and Keeper, into the spine of a large, beastly orc.

Thorin was fighting his way to join them, ask them if they had seen either Frerin or Vili, his brothers (one by blood and one by marriage), when Balin saw him. His friend's eyes widened in horror and he pointed, shouting, "THORIN!"

When Thorin turned around, he gasped as a massive club hit his shield aside. The impact was strong enough to send him flying over a short slope, tumbling painfully over rocks and corpses. Gasping for air, hair in his face, he looked up to see his attacker.

Azog the Defiler was readying his massive club, walking toward him with cruel, predatory grin on his monstrous features. He was coming toward Thorin. Thrain was nowhere to be seen. He was most likely dead.

Filled with adrenaline, his side burning from perhaps cracked ribs, Thorin frantically looked around to find his sword and shield. He found his sword-and next to it, an oaken branch.

Azog the Defiler, roaring, had leapt off the cliff after him, raising his club to smash the young dwarf's head. Without thinking, Thorin grabbed the branch and raised it above his head, bracing himself for another bone-crushing impact. Should he die from the blow, he found himself thinking of...

Fili.

Fili. Dis. Vili cut down another orc. Then another. Red and black hazed his vision as he swung his twin swords, butchering body after body like swinging pick axes against the rocks from the mines. With each blow, he was determined to survive. To return to the two people he loved most in the word. Three people, he reminded himself. His beloved One, Dis, his five year-old son, Fili...and his nameless unborn child, whom he was determined to see and hold in his arms when the month passed. Even if he had to cut down another thousand orcs to do it.

The normally cheerful miner's face twisted with burdens and horrors of this bloody battle at the dark entrance of Moria. He bore many cuts and bruises, his braids now messed up from the struggle, his dark blond hair splattered with ash and blood (both red and black). He growled menacingly as he fought through more orcs, swing his swords expertly through flesh and bone.

He was not a warrior. Not really. Not like Thorin, who was one of the best Vili had ever met, even in his young age, not to mention one of the scariest, especially when he played the role of a protective older brother when it concerned his baby sister, Vili's wife, Dis. Vili could recall a few scary, life-threatening experiences in the past he had with Thorin when he still been courting the young dwarf maiden...but eventually, after he married Dis, Thorin warmed up to him a little.

Frerin had always liked Vili. He may share the same colors as Thorin, but he also shared Dis' colors and her playful, feisty nature. He was nowhere near as intimidating Thorin, or cunning as Dis, but Frerin was definitely a spitfire all on his own. One that usually got him into trouble.

Recklessness. Something he and Vili had in common, when they became friends. And now brothers.

Vili heard a heavy squelch behind him and he turned to see Frerin impale two orcs at once with his sword. When they dropped to the ground, Frerin was panting, but managed to gasp, "Thought you needed a hand!"

"No more than you do!" retorted Vili, returning a grim smile. A faint twinkle shown his now worn and haunted brown eyes.

The same for Frerin, but the young Heir of Durin looked worse. His normally cheerful blue eyes were flushed out with horror and devastation. Vili recognized grief when he saw it. Oh, Mahal! Who was it? Not Thorin! He may have not been close to Thorin like he was to Frerin, but he and Frerin were practically inseparable. If Thorin died, Frerin would break.

"I cannot find Thorin!" Frerin panted, answering Vili's thoughts. "Or my father! The pale orc...he...Grandda...he's..." He couldn't finished, too horrified to speak.

The king is dead! Vili knew, and he couldn't speak, but he did feel the plummeting dread in his stomach. The one that gave warning before you fall to your death in the results of defeat. The one that he felt two or three times per month when he developed that certain instinct that there was to be a mine collapse. It was over. They were defeated. If their leader was dead, the dwarves were doomed. There was no one to lead them. The purpose of this battle had died with the madness of King Thror, along with King Thror himself.

Frerin may have distanced himself from Thror, and then from Thrain, pretending to want nothing more to do with them for their ways of ruling and their imperfect treatment towards their children, but the love between a father and son does not break to easily, if at all. Vili should know; his little golden Fili was his treasure. His pride, and everything that now made him who he was. He was the child of the woman he loved. His little lionheart.

Fili was also the tie between Vili and Thorin. Vili knew Thorin loved Fili just as much as he did; the Dwarf Prince may not have expressed it as much, but he remembered that every time Thorin held, touched, or talked to Fili, he would just melt. Thorin had been through so many hardships since the fall of Erebor, trying to find work as a blacksmith, struggling to feed and protect his younger siblings, and also dealing with his duties as an heir and leading his people to different places...until Ered Luin, Vili's home. Ered Luin may not be Erebor, and was not without its own struggles and hardships, but it had been the closest to a home the dwarves could ever find. But even then, nothing had been enough for Thorin, least of all when he found out about Vili and Dis, two young adult dwarflings who were already in love...

Thorin had hated him. Dis had been the closest comfort to him, to their whole family (being the only female left in it), and some lowborn, common Dwarf miner of the Blue Mountains had stolen the Dwarf Princess' heart.

Yes, eventually Thorin had warmed up to Vili some years after they became brothers by marriage, mostly for love of Dis, sparring with Vili to practice a few moves with Frerin...but then when Fili was born...Vili knew he had finally impressed Thorin. If not for being a proper warrior, or highborn, or even a proper dwarf at times, then it was for having a hand in making such a sweet, wonderful, and beautiful little heir and sister-son with golden hair that shined like the sun (brighter than even Vili's) and deep blue eyes that twinkled like his mother's.

Fili was the light of Thorin's life. Of Dis' and of Vili's. Of the whole family's, even Thror, whom even in his gold-sickness was drawn to the rare glow of Fili's hair. There had probably been a few rare moments when Thror had actually looked sane whenever Fili was around, even when it caused the others to be wary, but Fili wasn't afraid of his twitchy great-grandfather. He would just smile.

The moment Fili was born, Vili had truly and finally been accepted into Dis' family. His little miracle.

A shadow moved behind Frerin, and Vili shouted, "FRERIN, BEHIND YOU!"

Thorin thought both his arms would break, if not for all his years of heavy blacksmithing, when Azog club crashed over the oaken branch. The wood split, but it didn't break, its sturdiness surprising him. Again the club came, and Thorin blocked the blow again. Again. And again.

His arms growing heavy and his chest still burning, Thorin felt himself trip backwards as he dodged the next swing. He was out breath. He was hurting. He was on fire, physically, mentally, and emotionally. As frightened as he was by this giant Gundabad orc, it was nowhere compared to the hatred Thorin felt. The blood lust. The need to rid of this filth that killed his grandfather, his father...his brother? The very idea that Azog may have already killed his baby brother sent Thorin in a fury that threatened to consume him.

The oaken branch still on his chest, his right arm outstretched...his fingers found the familiar iron hilt of Deathless...

"GURU!"* Azog roared, as he swung his club for a killing blow.

As though time had slowed, the world had slowed, Thorin rolled to his feet and swung Deathless with all his might, the vengeful club raining over his head.

Blood splashed the earth.

Black Speech translation:

*DIE!

Oh, no! The horror! J.K.:) I think you can already guess whose blood that is. Oh, I just love cliffhangers, don't you? False. I hate 'em, except when I'm the one who put them there! Muahahaha! Don't worry, I'll be fast;) Plus, I have another story to write.