This chapter was inspired by honorste's comment, so thanks for the inspiration!
The clang of armor and weapons was loud in Thorin's ears. Far in the distance he thought he could see a glimpse of the dragon's bones, bleached by the sun and picked clean by fearless vultures until nothing but that skeleton remained. Who knew what curse lay upon it. And yet, Thrór had sent workmen to chip off dragon scales from the corpse, and now they featured in various works of armor owned by the royal family.
That armor they would need when they marched on Khazad-dûm, and it was being gathered at this very moment in the great halls of Erebor behind him.
The Mirkwood rose as a shadow to the west, and, as often, it weighed on Thorin. He remembered Legolas when he still bore the title Prince, but things were much changed now; where Thranduil had retreated to preserve his people, the War King attacked. Thorin did not doubt that Legolas loved his people any less fiercely, but perhaps because he lacked his father's experience of even darker days, he was less likely to yield. A bitter end to diplomacy and all ties between Erebor and the Great Greenwood he had promised, banning the dwarves from his realm entirely, and that promise he had kept. No dwarf had dared set foot into the forest since Thorin had been escorted out of it.
"What are you thinking of, my prince?"
Thorin glanced at the dwarf that now appeared on the battlements next to him.
"Things," he only said.
It looked as if Balin's eyes strayed to the same landmarks Thorin had taken in.
"The king has received news from the Iron Hills. Two hundred warriors they promised."
Thorin nodded. He had expected no more and no less.
"You still do not approve of Thrór plans?" Balin asked.
The Prince glanced about them, but no others were close enough to hear them. It would not do for the public, more importantly, for the warriors doomed to die – for at least some most certainly wood – to know that their Prince was against the campaign.
"The orcs have been gathering in the mountains ever since the elves chased their master out of Dol Guldur. It is said that their leader, a great pale orc, is particularly cunning. The campaign is far from easy, and, I think, unnecessary." Thorin grimaced. "We have Erebor!"
"And successfully defended it against the dragon," Balin agreed, taking up the king's words. "What better time to reclaim another great dwarven kingdom of old? King Thrór would have your father rule there, to later leave Erebor in Prince Frerin's hands and Kazad-dûm in yours. Does that thought not make you proud?"
Thorin glowered. "I do not need Kazad-dûm. Don't think I'm untouched by the knowledge that our ancient realm has fallen into the hands our most hated enemy. But even if we lay waste to the army of orcs that will doubtlessly defend it, none have mentioned yet the evil that is said to dwell deep in Kazad-dûm and killed Durin VI. It is there still, and what accounts there are of it make it clear that it is not easily defeated."
That silenced Balin for a while. Apparently, he had not thought of Durin's bane, or forgotten it like so many others appeared to have, caught up in Thrór's great promises.
"You think it's the gold, don't you?" There was fear in Balin's eyes, and his voice was barely a whisper.
Thorin only nodded mutely with another look around. Old legends told of gold sickness, but Thorin had not seen it, had not realized it, until decades ago when King Thranduil had come and his grandfather had taunted and refused him the promised necklace of mithril. The dragon had attacked not long after that, and he should have been a wake-up call; but he had not cleared their heads for long.
And perhaps the king was not the only one afflicted with delusions of grandeur. As the mountains of wealth grew and filled the treasure halls to bursting, the Ereborian dwarves' pride increased. But there was a point where that pride became too great, a point where it became madness.
The campaign to reclaim Kazad-dûm was, in Thorin's eyes, such madness.
If their campaign was victorious, great glory and treasures would go to the dwarves of Erebor (and their allies). And if not? Thorin feared few things, but the answer to that question he did.
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