The King of Carven Stone

Chapter 6.

Friendship. Sharing what you love. Voicing your most intimate thoughts, knowing you will not be laughed at. Getting access to other thoughts, other feelings, and knowing you are not alone.

There are so many ways to trust and to open your heart. Who said it was only real love that makes you feel a life is worth living? For me friendship deserves about as much prize. For a true friend will always be at your side, no matter how low you are. Won't look for the shiny, polished side of yours – knows some of your blackest thoughts and won't judge you for them, or for the mistakes you make.

I have been blessed in my friendships, I know that. There are few I can call my friends, but those who found their way to my heart I hold as dear as my own blood.

And Dwalin is one among them.

Mahal knows I do not deserve him, but he never let me down. Never ever, when he was able to do something good for me, has he left my side, and he never failed me, not even in my blackest days. Not even the three times I failed him, in those doomed places where I lost everything.

Azanulbizar.

Here, in the very walls of Erebor, drowning in piles of gold, my mind consumed by the vain promises of the cursed White Gem.

And today, in the icy tower of Ravenhill – I don't know what became of Dwalin after I looked at the Pale Orc, after my heart was ripped open when I saw him thrust Fíli down the tower... There were so many of them, and surely he must be dead too, my friend with the fierce brown eyes and the strong, broad axe...

My breath is wheezing, I feel the taste of blood in my mouth and I close my eyes briefly. I am dying, I know I am, but it is taking so long and I am tired – thinking hurts, and the memories will not stop, images passing before my eyes like falling stars.

When I open my eyes I see the dying light of the sun – a few seconds have passed at the utmost since I fell and I can hardly believe that I have been racing through years and long-forgotten days in a few eye blinks... I remember another sunset, near Erebor, another time where I have felt the hot, metallic taste of blood on my lips.

A day where I did not fail.

My cousins had stayed for a week now, and I had got used to their loud and cheerful presence, to the point where I wondered how we had managed without them.

I had taken them to Dale, had introduced them to the Men I used to meet, and they had looked at the beautiful City in wonder – there were no such houses, archways, and places close to the Iron Hills. They had seen the market, the carrousel, and the harbour, and were still talking about it for days after.

But they also went down to the forge with me and it was my turn to watch in silent respect, for both were skilled. They were not used to the precious metals and gems we used here in Erebor, but they learned quickly. And the weapons they made were both light and solid – they knew iron as I knew silver, and my teachers praised their work.

"This is beautiful..."

Dwalin had picked up a silver bracelet and was looking at the delicate carving upon it – flower blossoms and leaves, I had spent hours trying to fix them upon the shiny metal.

"You really think so?"

My cheeks had blushed slightly; I was still not used to being with him and not being pushed away. He looked at me, his brown eyes mocking me gently.

"No. I just wasted my breath and lied."

He rolled his eyes.

"Of course I think so. It's not easy, carving such a tiny pattern. And they really look like flowers."

He grinned and I smiled back, holding out my hand to get the bracelet back.

"You made it for your sweetheart, right?"

I choked and my cheeks turned to crimson.

"I don't... I'm not in love with anyone here."

He laughed, quietly, pushing me affectionately in the chest, and I put the bracelet away, shaking my head.

"Are you?", I whispered, curious to know if there really was such a soft side in him – and if there was, what it was like to love...

"'Course not", Dwalin grinned. "Would not know what to do with her, right? Talking and holding hands, do you fancy me doing that?!"

I truly did not, and the thought made me laugh so hard that the elder Dwarves waved us out of the forge, exasperated, calling us a nuisance – which only made us laugh more.

But that evening, we heard of tidings that made us become serious and listen eagerly. There had been rumours about bands of Orcs that had been spotted, ten miles away from Erebor, and the night before they had become so bold as to attack a village.

Though it was a village of Men, it was on Dwarven lands, and Thrór's reaction was swift. We would hunt them down, and kill them all – and by 'we' he meant my father and his warriors, who were to set out at dawn's break. Fundin and Náin asked to accompany them and were granted the request.

But when Dáin asked to come too, the roaring laughter of the other Dwarves was as good as the firmest of 'no', and for the first time since the beginning of his stay, I saw my cousin sulk.

"Never mind all these old farts...", he grumbled, as we were going up to our rooms with Dwalin.

Frerin had gone to bed earlier, he was tired from all the late evenings we had spent together – after all he still was young, and that day his eyelids had become heavy and heavier, despite the exciting talking about Orcs.

Dáin stopped at the top of the staircase and looked at both Dwalin and me, his brow creased and his gaze intent.

"I say we grab our weapons and follow them. See if we can help them with that filthy band of Orcs."

I looked at him, unsure, and then at Dwalin, whose face had brightened with excitement.

"We are too young. We can't."

Dáin snorted contemptuously.

"You might be too young. I'm not, and neither is Dwalin."

I clenched my fists, pride and anger getting the better of me – as usual.

"If you go, I go too. I know the lands better than you do, and I know where they will be going."

I gazed at him, my eyes a challenge, and he smiled then – for I was giving him exactly what he wanted.

"I knew you could be relied upon."

He grabbed my arm and I shook him off, both pleased and uneasy. And then we went down, quietly, to the armoury where we used to keep our weapons between our training sessions. No one was there – they were still busy discussing their plans, and we took our chainmail, our axes, our swords and our shields.

"You think we need those?"

Dwalin pointed to the helmets, and I shook my head – I did not like to fight in those, it made me feel as if I was locked in, making my vision shrink and lessening my hearing.

"No. They are too heavy – and we won't let them come as close."

We went back to our rooms, then, and I stayed awake the main part of the night, too excited to sleep. A part of me couldn't wait to taste battle, to see what it was like to fight for real – and the other hoped fervently that Dáin and Dwalin would sleep in, and forget about that hotheaded scheme.

When I saw the moon turn pale, I rose from the windowsill where I had sat and started to dress – I had given my word, after all, and would not let them say I was a coward. I put on breeches and the heavy, thick tunic I used to wear for trainings, and then I pulled on my chainmail, my leather jerkin, fastened my belt and put on my boots. I was just fastening my arm guards when I heard the knock at my door.

"Come in..." – I whispered, and there they stood, my cousins, already dressed in full battle gear.

Dáin handed me axe and sword with a grin, and I smiled back.

"Let's not make a noise. We have to get out before them, and then we'll just have to follow. Quietly."

I looked hard at him, and he shrugged his shoulders.

"'Course. What do you think I am, a brainless oliphaunt?"

I shook my head – making a mental note to ask Balin what in Durin's name an oliphaunt was – and then we just sneaked out of Erebor, through the kitchen door, like thieves. We hid in the nearby rocks, and then we waited.

And with the first rays of the sun, we saw them depart – my father and his company, thirty strong, quiet, and well-trained Dwarves, who lost no time and started marching east in a swift, easy pace.

"We stick to the rocks" – I whispered. "We let them go ahead of us, 'til the last of them can't hear us, and then we follow."

They nodded – they had become quiet, all of a sudden, and I wondered if they could not be persuaded to go back, after all.

"Right", Dáin whispered then, shattering my hopes. "Off we go."

Dwalin nodded again, and I sighed inwardly, and started leading them, carefully, across rock and stone. Sweat soon bathed my forehead, for my weapons and clothes were heavy, and I had to be careful not to make a sound.

But we followed, quietly, our eyes fixed on the small, grim company that was marching through the mountains, to reach the valley where the village had been attacked, and the pass where the Orc band was said to be hiding, ready for another raid.

Noon was long behind us when I saw the company halt, and I held out my hand to make Dwalin and Dáin stop behind me.

"They will send two of them scouting, seeing where the Orcs are and how many they are", I breathed, my voice not above a whisper. "And then they'll decide how they will attack."

I turned to them, and saw respect in their eyes – it did not please me, though, because I was the youngest, I was not supposed to lead, it was their scheme, I had just followed.

"And how will they attack?"

Dáin had asked almost shyly, and I shook my head.

"I have no idea... Did you not say you had already seen many Orc fights, around the Iron Hills?!

- Well..." – he cleared his voice and looked awkward, and I felt my heart sink, seeing that Dwalin seemed hardly more comfortable.

"You have not been to any fight, right?"

I sighed and rolled my eyes, and then I clenched my fists and pressed my body against the rocks again, determined at least to look brave.

"Well then I suppose we wait, and then, when the scouts come back, we follow, and we cover their backs."

They both nodded, their eyes fixed on me, and I uttered a silent prayer to Mahal that we would not need to cover anything – my father and his Dwarves were strong, after all, and I had some hope we would only have to watch.

The scouts came back quickly, and though I tried to catch what they were whispering, I could not make out what my father's plan would be. Soon, I saw his company split – they were climbing the high rocks circling the pass, and we soon were left alone, our hurried breathing being the only sound between the high, cold rocks.

"And now... Should we follow?"

Dwalin's voice was unsure, and I shook my head.

"No. We'd be exposed. We just stay here and wait."

The shrieking and screaming started minutes after. Suddenly we heard a terrible noise, echoing through the high stones – Dwarven battle cries, the Khuzdûl words loud and clear; and Orc screeches and curses, as well as the clanging of weapons.

I stood there, my body rigid and drenched in cold sweat, not daring to move, thinking that my father was out there, facing... Facing...

"I'm going there!", Dáin said, and he left the rocks, shouldering his axe, his face pale but determined.

"Don't move!"

I had wanted to scream, but only managed to whisper, because I had caught sight of what was storming right towards us – Orcs trying to flee and escape the wrath of Dwarves, running out of the pass and coming to a halt when they saw Dáin.

They let out a scream then, and my heart leaped when I saw my cousin tighten his grip around his axe, looking terribly small and tiny, facing those God-forsaken beasts.

"Just come and try to get me!", he let out, in a shaky voice, and when the first Orc hurled itself at him, he struck it in the belly, making it hit the ground with a squeal.

I stopped thinking then, and so did Dwalin. We just ran to Dáin's aid, leaving shelter for battle, and I remember the clanging of my sword against Orc's daggers, the stench of their blood as it soaked my jerkin, and always, always the hard and faithful shoulders of my cousin, because we fought close to each other, never leaving each other's side.

It was a never ending nightmare, because the more we struck down the more they seemed to be – my father's Dwarves causing them to run for their lives.

Mahal, their faces... Yellowed teeth, swollen features full of hatred, even their blood was black and foul... I guess we only managed to strike them down because my father's company had already weakened and hurt them, but to us they were a mighty foe, very different from the masters who had taught us how to fight...

Dáin let out a scream and I saw one of the Orcs draw back its dagger with a devilish smile, eying the wound in Dáin's arm with shiny, yellow eyes. He let go of his shield, his legs shaky and his face pale and sweaty, and Dwalin jumped in front of him, sliding his knife in the Orc's throat with a grim face.

"It'll teach you to draw Dwarf blood..."

He smiled at me as I just pushed another Orc away, my sword thrust deep into its belly, and it was then I saw it.

A terrible beast, taller than the biggest dog and fierce as a wolf. It had managed to climb the rocks above us, not caring that under its heavy claws, stones were thrown on Orcs, striking them down.

"Dwalin!"

My scream echoed between the stones, and he just had the time to look up and stare wide-eyed to the Warg before it hurled itself on him, baring its fangs.

I don't remember the next seconds, I just remember the maddening fear that pulsed through my body, quicker and hotter that blood. But I recall the foul stench of the beast's breathing, as I hurled myself at it, striking it with both sword and axe.

I was screaming too, doing everything to turn the beast from Dwalin, and I struck and hit and drew blood from its flanks, making it howl. It let go of Dwalin and took some steps back, its flanks quivering, and then it leapt again. Reaching for my body this time.

I watched its jump – it seemed to take ages, and my body tensed, ready for the terrible impact and the searing pain of claws deep down in my flesh. And it came swiftly enough – its paws pinning me to the ground, taking my breath away.

I clenched my fingers round my sword, and suddenly wondered where my axe was, for my left hand was bare and motionless. And it was then I saw the beast sway and fall to the side inside of tearing me to pieces. It was then I saw my axe, embedded deep down in its skull, and realized I must have thrown it right before it jumped.

I got to my feet, my legs shaking and my breath still short, and realized we were not facing the beasts alone anymore. My father's company had come to our aid, and were just finishing the Orcs off – it was a matter of minutes before they all lay down on the ground, dead and not able to harm anymore.

Dwalin had got up too, one hand pressed against his chest, his face deadly pale as he eyed the Warg I had struck down. And Dáin was still on his knees, trying to staunch the wound in his arm.

His father had run to him and I saw Balin and Fundin walk up to Dwalin, their faces grey and aghast.

All the Dwarves were gathering around us now, and I watched my father as he made his way towards me, his face grim and hard. For some moments he just stared at me, as if he didn't recognize me, as if he had forgotten how to speak.

And then he struck me in the face, and the silver ring on his finger cut my lip open. He grabbed me by the shoulders as I staggered and shook me, pinning me against the rocks as if I had weighed nothing, and the back of my head hit it painfully with every word he uttered.

"What – do you think – you were doing?!"

His voice was low, but there was a fire in his eyes that frightened me – Thráin had been cold and indifferent for so many years now, and I had never faced his anger or any other of his feelings for ages...

"You think it is a game?!"

He slammed me against the rock again and my breath choked, but I did not resist him – he was my father, I could not fight him, I was not supposed to fight him. Yet when he reached out to me again, I tried to raise a hand to protect my face, and it infuriated him even more. He let go of my shoulder and grabbed my wrist, twisting it painfully.

"If I had known you would be such a fool, putting yourself at risk like that, I would have broken your bones long ago."

He glared at me, his grey eye shining, his face pale with anger. He was still pinning me against the stone with one hand and I – I could just look at him, my eyes wide with fear and pain.

"What would your mother say?!"

He hissed that sentence like a curse, letting go of my wrist, and I don't know which pain was greater, the one unleashed in my hand or the one in his words.

"She's dead." – the words came out of my mouth with blood, and I raised a shaky hand to wipe my lips.

"She's dead. How could she care?!"

He took a step back then, his face as white as mine – I was breathing fast, still covered with black Orc blood, every inch of my body hurting, but it was nothing compared to the pain I felt inside.

And I did not defend myself when he struck me again, hitting my jaw, making my head slam again against the rock.

"Thráin!"

My father let out a deep breath when Fundin grabbed his arm, pulling him away from me. And I just let myself slide on the ground, slowly. I was shaking now, with the aftermath of the battle and what had just happened between us, and I raised my knees and pressed my face upon them, trying to control my breathing once more.

I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder, and when I lifted my head Fundin was looking at me, his eyes full of sorrow. He gently brushed my cheekbone, and I turned my face from him – pain and pride making his touch unbearable.

"Thank you for saving my boy."

He whispered those words as he pulled me up, handing me back my sword and my shield. My axe was still stuck deep in the beast's skull, and I shuddered at the mere thought of pulling it free.

The other Dwarves had already gathered – the Orcs were defeated, left on the field to rot, just like their beasts. Náin had Dáin close to him, his grip on his arm strong as iron, and Balin and Dwalin were standing side by side, their faces both white as the clouds above us.

"I suppose you would just walk away, right?"

The icy voice of my father stopped me dead, as I was walking up to them with heavy, tired steps.

"We do not leave our weapons like that, for anyone to steal."

I looked up at him, almost beseechingly, but this was not a day where Thráin could be softened.

"I hoped I had at least taught you that."

The contempt in his words gave me the strength to move, and walk back to the Warg I had struck down, slowly. The beast's scent was foul, and my axe was inches deep in his skull, covered with a disgusting and sickening substance.

They all watched me approach it, and I felt sweat cover my palms as I clutched my axe once more and tried to pull. It did not stir, and as I pulled again I felt my stomach heave. I let go of the axe for a moment, praying Mahal and all the Gods not to be sick – not today, not before anyone here. And I managed to fight my nausea back, closing my eyes, grabbing the axe and putting my foot as a counterweight on the beast's head.

I pulled – with a sudden, terrible rage against my father who understood nothing, who knew nothing about me and most of all, who did not care – and the axe broke free with a sickening sound.

I turned from the beast then, my face grey and my fingers clammy and rigid around the axe. I pulled at the hem of my shirt, ripped it, with a quick, angry move, and cleaned the blade, carefully, slowly, as if nothing else on earth mattered.

And then I faced them all, my teeth gritted and my eyes shining. I put my sword back in my belt, grabbed my shield with my left arm and shouldered my axe.

Just dare to utter one word.

My whole body was screaming out the challenge, and they all understood it. They turned away, silently, some of them with a slight bow of their head, and my father let his cold gaze hang down on me for what seemed an age, before he too eventually turned his back on me and started walking home.

I let out a few shaky breaths, embracing the battlefield once more, the crimson rays of the sun, like blood on the mountains, and the dark piles of the corpses below.

And then I walked away myself – the last of our company, my arms hurting and heavy with weapons I had imagined I could wield. Something hot fell on my lips and I thought it was blood, but then I tasted salt and realized I was crying.

No one turned, no one said a word to me, no one heard and no one saw. I had not wept since my mother's death, since that terrible night where Frerin had laid against me and where I had tried to keep my grief from him.

But that day – when I should have felt proud and excited, after all it was my first shot and I was barely twenty, still almost a child for a Dwarf – that day my tears ran freely down my cheeks, clearing dust and blood away. Silent sobs shook me, and I did not repress them, because it hardly mattered.

Nobody cared – no one cared.

And so I walked far behind the company, my eyes blinded by soundless tears. I wept for my mother, for my father who had died away with her, and for the terrible fear I had felt, seeing the beast jump on Dwalin, baring its claws. I wept for my own foolishness, for my shattered dreams of glory, for the terrible loneliness I felt in my heart, for the throbbing pain Thráin's blow had left in my jaw, and for Fundin's kindness I did not deserve.

And when I had no more tears I looked up, and saw we were almost at the walls of Erebor, and that night was closing in. I put my shield down and wiped my face then, catching up with the company, determined to hide away my pain once more.

Since no one cared.

We passed the gates and the guards cheered first, and then gazed at us with surprise, taking in my battered face, the wound in Dáin's arm and Dwalin's bruised body.

"You just come with me."

My father had spoken between his gritted teeth, grabbing me by the arm and dragging me towards the staircase leading to our rooms. I was struggling to keep on my feet back then, and when he pushed me in my own room I just stood there, my arms heavy as lead, my fingers loose around my axe and shield.

He snatched them from me, tossed them on the ground, and then he stripped me from my belt, my sword, my chainmail and my jerkin, with deft and angry moves.

Until I stood in shirt and breeches before him, my face grey and my eyes empty. He grabbed me by the shoulders then, and searched my whole body with his hands – feeling for my arms, my chest, my back, my stomach, even my legs, and I just let him.

"I have no more weapons, Father."

I had spoken in a low voice; I was feeling so tired and cold then I had given up all my pride, and I was swaying between his hands. His eye widened then and he looked hard at me.

"So you think that is what I am looking for? Weapons?!

- I don't know, Father. I am..."

He caught me around the waist as my legs gave way and held me against him, with the same force he had used to pin me against the rock.

"Mahal knows what might be going on in your head...", he sighed, drawing in a painful breath, and then he let himself down on the ground, still holding me close.

"I was looking for injuries, Thorin. Those Orcs could have killed you, I could have seen you torn between the fangs of their beasts, and then how could I live on, tell me?"

He pressed a kiss on my head – he who had hit me hours ago – and then he just held me, his arms around me and his eyes closed. I wept again then, my face pressed into his chest, and this time it was loud and heartbreaking, for I wept like a child.

And he did not ask me to act like a warrior and to stop. He rocked me and he kissed me, and every once in a while he ran a hand through my hair and whispered:

"You foolish boy. You foolish, stupid, beloved boy of mine."

It was long before my tears finally stopped, and by then I was utterly done for. I had closed my eyes, my face still pressed in my father's chest, and tried to resist when he pulled slightly back to take a look at me, pushing back one of my locks.

"I have hurt you."

My father's voice was sad, and I opened my eyes, shaking my head.

"I deserved it. I am sorry, Father."

My voice was hoarse and broken, and I felt a familiar fear tighten my chest. I could not let him find his way back to brooding thoughts; he was not to lock himself again in grief and sadness.

"I should never have said such things. I should never have disobeyed you. I promise I will never disappoint you again.

- Disappoint...?"

Thráin repeated the word in a whisper, shaking his head, and I felt my fear grow – I took his hand between mine and held it against my heart, my throat too tight to speak.

"You never disappointed me, Thorin. Not even today, I am afraid to say." – he smiled briefly at me at these words, before adding softly : "I fear I am the one that let you down."

I shook my head and drew my arms around him, realizing only then he was still wearing his full battle-gear. He cleared his throat, awkwardly, and then he said:

"Nonetheless, Thorin, I cannot let things stand as they are. If I allow you to sit at tonight's banquet, where everyone is going to praise you to the moon – as you well know they will – Mahal only knows what silly thoughts might grow in your brother's head.

- They won't praise me. They think I'm a nobody."

He laughed then, freely, for the first time in years.

"You? A nobody?! I'd like to see a nobody doing what you achieved today... Wait until your grandfather hears of it..."

He shook his head, becoming serious again.

"But I won't let you witness that. I don't want you to wield axe, sword or shield in any other way than in training, at least for five more years, do you understand me? You are too young, and you don't know the wild yet – even though I know you think otherwise."

He eyed me sternly, and then he gently broke away from my embrace.

"Take a bath. Rinse that filthy blood of them away, and try to get some rest. I don't want to part from you tonight, but for yours and Frerin's sake I must be firm. You are not to get to the banquet, and not to leave this room until tomorrow."

I nodded, tiredly. I knew he was right, and besides I did not want to talk to anyone right now – too much emotions, too many thoughts and feelings in my mind.

He left me, then, and I bathed, feeling my bruised and exhausted body relax in the hot water. I washed my hair carefully, rinsing away the smell of Orc blood, and then I put on a clean shirt and breeches and stretched myself on my bed, barefoot, my hair still damp and unbraided. I could hear sounds of the ongoing feast below and realized then how hungry I was, but the mere thought of getting up and asking for some food was too much – I closed my eyes and fell asleep almost at once.

A soft touch on my cheek woke me up after what seemed only minutes to me – but when I looked around me it was dark and late, and the bellowing laughter I could hear even through the thick walls bore clear proof that the feast must have been going on for long.

"Are you ill?"

Dís was kneeling on my bed at my side and I winced when she brushed my cheekbone. She had a worried look on her small face that made her look older, and I sat up to take her in my arms.

"No. I just fell asleep.

- Dwalin said you have been very brave today, he said you have saved his life."

I looked up and saw him standing close to my bed then, awkwardly, not knowing where to look. He cleared his voice and said, briskly:

"We both thought you might be hungry."

My eyes brightened when I saw what he had brought with him: hot bread, cheese, salted meat and some small, tasty fruitcakes that were among my favourite treats.

"Bless you...", I whispered, jumping out of the bed.

I hugged him, briefly, and he hugged me back, almost squeezing me against his broad chest.

"Thank you...", he said, and I just shook my head.

"No. Thank you."

I beamed and took a big mouthful of bread, and for some minutes I was too busy eating and chewing to talk.

"I could have starved to death in here...", I finally uttered, with a delighted sigh, before I put again some cheese in my mouth.

"We would not have let you."

Dwalin grinned at me, and then he took one of the fruitcakes and stuffed it in his mouth, just like this.

It was then the door opened and I saw Frerin peep inside, and then get in with confident and angry steps, closely followed by Dáin.

"Well, this is so like you. Typical. I was literally dying with worry – and anger too, what were you thinking, going there without me?! – knowing you were all alone up there, without food or company, and here I find you, quite contented, eating your fill! You don't deserve me, Thorin, you know that?!"

He slammed what he was carrying on the table with an angry move – dear, faithful Frerin, how he managed to snatch away an entire mince pie, and fried sausages, and a loaf of hot bread I do not know – and got the more angrier when we started to laugh, Dwalin and me.

"I think we should just leave them, Dáin."

But Dáin was laughing too, adding to Frerin's pile of food a bottle of cider and two jugs of ale. I rose to my feet and hugged my brother, taking in the bandages around my cousin's arm, and knowing he would not want me to say a word about them.

"You are right. I just don't deserve you."

Frerin's anger deflated as quickly as it had risen and he squeezed my arm, briefly.

"Well. Since it appears you are quite the hero, I'll try to be noble and forget about it. Let's eat. I'm hungry."

Dwalin stared at him in disbelief.

"You have done nothing but eating for the past five hours!

- I know", Frerin said quietly. "Still. This pie is a straight way to heaven, believe me.

- And so is the ale...", Dáin grinned.

So we all ended up on the floor, sitting on the carpet in my room with all the candles on, food and drinks at everyone's reach, and Dáin and Dwalin were just telling Frerin for the twentieth time how the Warg had appeared right before us and how I struck him down when the handle of my door moved again.

"Oh. I am sorry to interrupt."

Balin's face was grave but his eyes were warm and smiling, as always. He carried a basket full of fruits, and warmth spread in my chest when I realized it was mostly peaches and cherries, my favourites. I rose to my feet as he laid the basket on the floor, carefully, and threw myself in his arms.

"Oh lad...", Balin sighed, holding me close. "The three of you, you'll definitely be the death of me...

- The three?!", Frerin asked indignantly, and Balin let out a watery laugh, quickly brushing his eyes, letting go of me.

"Pardon me. The four of you, of course, and you first of all."

He sat down with us, after that, and we made a hearty banquet of all the supplies they had gathered. I was soon full but went on eating small bites of cake or fruit, listening to the stories Balin had begun to tell at Dís' request – she was bored by our battle talk, and to be honest, so was I.

I was holding her in my lap, grateful to be alive and happy – the bruise on my cheekbone reminding me clearly that I had almost lost all this. She fell asleep soon but I did not put her down, and we sat there, my friends and I – my kin and I – until dawn, talking, laughing and eating. Grateful to be alive and together still.

It was my first battle banquet, and definitely one of my best. That day I struck my first blow, and saved my friend, and yet decided I did not want to grow up too fast.

And right I was. Right I was.


A/N: Yeah sure. Right you are, Thorin, right you are because this is so completely what I think too :). Thrain is such a double-edged character, it's a pleasure... A coin for your thoughts about him! And just one thing more: despite the two last chapters, I do not support child beating, I promise...