First of all I want to say thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, and made this story one of their favourites. It warms my little heart to know that people are enjoying this as much as I am. Now, on to Chapter 2!

Chapter 2-

Thorin wandered aimlessly through darkened halls and passageways. How long he had been walking he did not know. He wished that the halls were empty, but all around him rose fragements of his past. The coming of Smaug, the battle of Azanulbizar and the years of hardship afterwards. All of a sudden there was a light ahead of him, small and flickering. He headed towards it and saw that it was beside a door. Thorin opened the door and walked into a well lit room with a fireplace at one end and two chairs facing it. A figure rose out of one of the chairs and walked towards him.

"Father?" Thorin asked. Indeed, it was Thrain; but not the Thrain that he remembered. This Thrain was young and proud, as he had been before he had been king and before the gold lust had come upon him.

"Yes my son. I have waited here for you for many years. I thought that I would have many more years to wait but fate can be unkind to us."

"I don't understand father. Why have you been waiting for me?" Thrain looked at him gently and gave a little smile.

"One cannot come into the halls of our ancestors unaccompanied my son. I have waited to accompany you as my father waited for me." Thorin swallowed and sat in the nearby chair.

"So, I have failed then," he said. "All the effort and danger and I have failed. I will never be King under the Mountain." Thrain sat down next to him and gazed into the fire.

"You may never have been king son, but that does not mean that you have failed. Fili and Kili still live. The line is strong and the battle has been won. Erebor will continue on for many years and become a strong city again. Fili will make a fine king, you have trained him well." Thorin looked at his Father sadly.

"But I was meant to be there," he said in a grief stricken tone. All of a sudden, the door to the outer passageway was flung open and a cloaked figure walked in.

"Thorin son of Thrain, harken to me. The time for you to die has not yet come." The voice was cold and dark but held promises of light and warmth in it. Thorin looked to Thrain in confusion. Who was this figure that offered such hope?

"Thorin," the figure said again. "It is not yet time for you to die. There is much left for you to do." It extended its hand and grasped Thorins shoulder and began to guide him towards the door. Thorin looked back at Thrain, who had a smile on his face.

"Good-bye my son. I will see you again." The door closed and Thorin was left in darkness with the cloaked figure. In the distance, a pinprick of light appeared steadily grew larger until it burned as brightly as a flame. Thorin was guided towards the light by the figure. The closer they got, the hotter the air became until when they were standing before the flame it felt as if they were standing in a forge.

"Step into the light," the figure said. Thorin stepped into the flame and was consumed in a world of light and pain.

Illea gave a small smile as she removed her hand from Thorin's brow and stood from where she had been crouched next to him. It had been more of a fight then she had anticipated to wrest him away from death's grip, but she had done it. As long as her healing skills did not abandon her now, Thorin would live. She walked over to the fireplace and poured water from a basin into the cauldron that stood over the flames. As she began to place healing herbs into the now boiling water, she could hear the labored breathing and a small grunt of pain behind her. She turned to find Thorin standing before her, a small knife gripped in his right hand. She walked towards him with hands outstretched in a placating gesture.

"Peace my lord,I mean you no harm. I am nothing but a poor farm woman who found you wandering the woods. If you like I can heal your hurts and help you return to your family." Thorin made no reply, but continued to stare at her with feverish eyes. As he had made no move towards her, Illea took another step forward.

"Please my lord, you are unwell. At least let me tend to your wounds." Thorin still did not move, so she closed the distance between them and knocked the knife from his hands. This seemed to startle him and he took a step back.

"Where am I?" he asked, his voice laced with pain.

"You are at my home, my lord."

"Where is my father?" he asked.

"You're father?" asked Illea, attempting to sound confused. "My lord, I only found you in the woods, there was no one else." Thorin did not see her eyes flicker to the right, nor, in his confused state, did he sense the other person sneaking up behind him. All he saw was the small smile on the woman's face as something connected with his head and sent him back into darkness.