Dragon Fever

Summary : Thorin Oakenshield was sick with Dragon Fever way before he set foot in the Lonely Mountain's treasure hall.

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Throughout his life, Thorin had fought against dragon fire in more ways than just one. Still, nothing could have prepared him for the burning in his mind when his feet sunk into the piles of riches of Erebor. It was no sudden scorching like the actual real flame he had face on the day the mountain fell, it wasn't either the slowly growing flames spreading into the soul he had learned to live with while in exile. No. It was more like the heat of a forge blurring the edge of one's vision and making the focus stray. He felt himself become sluggish just by looking at the glittering gold and he cursed the dragon to Mordor and back. That was not why he had pushed himself and his companions through this journey.

Thorin refused to let the dirty beast and his lingering madness ruin all their work. They had made it this far, through pain, hunger, tears and blood. They deserved these halls back. Thorin didn't have to think hard to find something that he knew could help him fight away the Gold Sickness – he had had to help his grandfather take his mind off gold when he was younger after all, when the simple utterance of the word coin could send the old dwarf into a heated frenzy. Thorin knew he had to be fast, as his focus was already slipping and so, he picked his shield: the Arkenstone. He turned every single one of his thoughts to it, to the mesmerizing way he remembered it seemed to produce light, to its shape, its weight and threw himself in a careful and meticulous hunt for the jewel.

He grew more and more worried as hours passed without him catching sight of its glow. He had to find it. He had to, he sung heatedly in his mind, or their whole journey would have been pointless. It was their salvation. As soon as he had it in his hand, he would be able to clear his mind and the fire growing behind his eyes would lessen.

When people arrived in front of the gates informing them that Smaug had been defeated, he only gave curt congratulations. He knew that alive or not, the dragon was still a threat, there was a bed of gold in his treasure hall driving his loyal companions mad to prove it. As he feared, the messengers asked for compensation. The Dragon Sickness had spread even outside of Erebor. But he would not let it.

He refused to partake from any piece of gold and if the messengers' naivety made them think that it was because he wanted it for himself, it wasn't his problem. They would thank him later for his so call 'lack of generosity'. He quickly asked Balin to send a call for help to his cousin Dain before returning to his search which renewed determination. It quickly changed into a desperate and frantic one. His head was burning painfully. His nephews were watching him with big scared eyes like they did when they were nothing but dwarflings, doubtlessly pleading him to hurry and bring back their friends to reason but no matter how hard he searched, the stone eluded him.

Then the messengers got back and he learned that the Halfling had had it in his greedy hands all along, he could have given it to him and saved the others and still, he had chosen to offer it to the mad men. All-consuming rage boiled trough him. He would have thrown the little fool from the top of the gate had Gandalf not taken his defence. He owed the wizard too much to refuse him that one favour, no matter how undeserving the one benefiting from it was.

From then on, everything became a blur. The threats, the wait for Dain, a large part of the battle that took place at his gates, even their own charge to help the defending armies. However, the strange heated sort of confusion he had found himself in came to a brutal screeching stop when Kili fell, his side opened by a black twisted blade that he knew had been for him. He watched as his youngest the body of his nephew – almost his son – was quickly stepped upon by orcs and goblins trying to get to him.

There and then, he knew that he would not let himself live in the halls of Erebor again. He had told Kili too much about it for him to make a home there without the boy. He had lived too long, and had let the dragon's fire too deep into his soul for him to have deserved such a sacrifice. He started fighting again slowly, as though all his years and past mistakes were suddenly weighing down on his limbs. And then, Fili pushed him to the side and an arrow struck the boy in the neck.

This time, Thorin roared in anger. This time, he chose to dig deep into his broken soul and for the first time since Erebor had fallen, on his own volition, he pulled out the dragon's fire and let it scorch its way through his body.

It took a spear, right through his side for him to stop slaughtering orcs. And while there were still many more, he fell down knowing that the world was at least thirty child-killing monsters lighter.

Apologising to Bilbo after he woke up, unburdened his mind more than he thought possible but what unburdened his soul, were the little hobbit's tears. He probably didn't deserve such a gentle creature's cries but he accepted them nonetheless for the water drops extinguished the cursed fire that had burned in him for decades to the point that when he breathed out for the last time, Thorin Oakenshield knew he had just been healed from Dragon Fever.

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Aaaaand, that's it ! I know it's short but if you have time, I would really appreciate a comment or two, just to have your opinion (I really want to improve so don't hold back).

Thanks for reading !