They buried Thorin deep beneath the Mountain, and Bard laid the Arkenstone upon his breast.
'There let it lie till the Mountain falls!' he said. 'May it bring good fortune to all his folk that dwell here after!'
Upon his tomb the Elvenking then laid Orcrist, the elvish sword that had been taken from Thorin in captivity.
(The Hobbit, Chapter XVIII: The Return Journey)
Bilbo sat on the ground withhis head slumped forward to his chest. His shoulders shook with endless sobs. It seemed too simple, a canvas door had slipped down behind him and Thorin, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain for too short a time was gone from this world forever.
Surely the death of a king, even one as short-lived as Thorin had been, warranted that the skies overflow with rain and even that the stars stop shining. The earth, however, rarely feels death in the manner of its inhabitants.
And so Bilbo cried in place of the rain. Around him the camp was being broken down for none wished to remain in a place where the black blood of goblins and the red blood of the Free People stained the bare soil.
It wasn't fair, thought Bilbo. What unjust being could cause someone to cross so far a distance and through so much toil as Thorin Oakensield had done, only to deny him his reward by cruel death.
After a very long time Bilbo sat up. His throat stung and was raw from crying and his head pounded relentless where he had been hit during the battle. No one seemed to be taking any notice of him so he wandered aimlessly between collapsed tents and lonely banners still stuck into the ground.
What good could he have done even if he had fought at Thorin's side instead of with the elves? Like as not he would have been killed. The fact that he wasn't did nothing to lift his guilt.
His feet took him near the place where many of the wounded were laid upon the ground. Warriors and healers moved between the bodies, offering comfort where it was needed. Bilbo stood apart, watching the elves as they tended to their kindred. Worry and sorrow clouded their fair features. Loss of any kind weighed heavily on the souls of immortals.
Something stirred nearby and Bilbo shrank back involuntarily at the sight of the Elvenking. Still clad in armour, his sword at his him, his boots crusted with blood and earth, he was fearsome to behold. Yet the battle had not left him unscathed. His skin was split above his eye, his golden hair was dull and caked with filth, and his pale, nimble hands were battered about the knuckles with many cuts on his fingers.
He walked with care between the rows of wounded soldiers, sparing a word and a touch wherever it was asked for. There was kindness in his eyes where before Bilbo had seen rage as the Elvenking had wielded his mighty sword against the enemy.
If only he could see Thorin taking the same care with those who had served him with such loyalty. For all his brazenness and thunder, Thorin had shown a fierce and unbending love for those dwarves who kept his company.
Some distance away the king was speaking closely with an attending healer. Bilbo stole closer, finding it difficult to shake the habits of a burglar even now when they were no longer needed.
He watched from behind a stack of spears as the king bent his knee and laid his hand upon a fallen warrior. Bilbo could see that the elf stirred and moved his own hand to cover the king's.
Curious at the exchange Bilbo moved to get a closer look and would have sent the spears clattering to the ground if a hand had not clamped down on his shoulder and stayed him.
'Now is not the time for your curiosity, my young friend.' The voice was Gandalf's.
'The cares of the Elvenking are great in number - ' Gandalf spoke as if to himself.
'If he has so many shouldn't he see to them?' asked Bilbo.
'You see them here before you,' answered Gandalf as he led Bilbo away to another part of the camp. 'Thranduil's love for his people is the only thing to exceed his desire for gems and fine wine. Long will he fight to keep them safe from the shadows that creep across this earth.'
Bilbo glanced back over his shoulder hoping for one more glimpse of the king.
'Why bring them all this way?' asked the hobbit when they were well away from the scene.
Gandalf sucked his teeth and gazed down at Bilbo with a curious expression. 'We are none of us perfect, Bilbo. And those who seem to have the greatest wisdom are often those whose faults weigh heaviest upon their souls.'
The wizard gathered his worn, grey robes around him and settled down at the side of a blackened and muddy fire pit.
'Thranduil fights because were he not to do so what remains of his father's realm would fall to ruin. A once great nation of elves reduced to nearly one third of their number, barricaded in a mountain hall when they once roamed all the land from here and further south, to the west back to the Misty Mountains and north into the mighty expanse of the Greenwood. And all that stands between them and the forces of evil is the power of their king.'
Bilbo breath caught in his throat. The Elvenking was also fighting for a home he had lost. Yet the injustice he felt could not be so easily shaken. Why should the Elvenking live when others fought alongside him to defend his realm? Thorin had returned alone to reclaim his kingdom which had long stood unguarded, save for a dragon.
He felt tears welling afresh and he shut his eyes against them. Strong arms drew him into an embrace and Bilbo gave into his grief while wrapped in the comforting scent of Gandalf.
