The first they heard was a noise like a hurricane coming down from the north. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in the hot, dry wind.

It was unusual and unwelcome weather to Thorin, who had been taught since he was a young boy to learn the signs of danger.

The wind grew hotter and more fierce very quickly. Finally, Thorin called to Balin, "Sound the alarm. Call out the guard and do it now."

"What is it?" the warrior asked.

"Dragon," Thorin said.

The guards were called and Erebor was put on alert.

The last time Thorin looked out on the city of Dale was when a hulking shape barreled through in a burst of flames.

"DRAGON!" he bellowed to the dwarves.

Each dwarf sprung into action, moving to protect their city from the oncoming attack. The gates were quickly barred and the dwarves, armed for battle, stood their ground ready to fight to the death.

But even the heavy gates were no match for the claws of the dragon that soon burst through. The beast stomped through Erebor, killing and destroying with each step.

Thorin and a handful of the dwarves of Erebor barely escaped with their lives, some gravely injured.

As they fled the city, Thorin spotted an army of elves led by King Thranduil.

"Help us!" he called and waved to them.

After what seemed like a moment of hesitation, the elf king turned his back on the dwarves.

Thorin, betrayed and angry, could only continue to help his people however he could.

Just as quickly as it had begun, the attack on Erebor was over and the dwarves forced from their home by a monstrous dragon.

Far from the city, Thorin stopped to rest.

"Balin," he whispered hoarsely, "What became of the survivors from Dale?"

Balin sat beside him, weary and afraid. He put a hand on the prince's shoulder.

"My lord, I saw no survivors fleeing Dale," the older dwarf replied carefully, "If there were any, I did not see what became of them."

Thorin fell to his knees, and knelt there frozen and breathless for a long time.

"I'm sorry, lad," Balin whispered.

"I should never have let her out of my sight," Thorin sobbed, "She was so small, I should have been there. I could have saved her."

He pounded his fist heavily against the ground.

"There is nothing you could have done, Thorin," Frerin said, kneeling next to his brother, "the dragon wiped out the city in a matter of seconds. You would have been taken just as quickly as the rest."

"It would have been better," Thorin groaned, "that I had died with her."

"Thorin," Dís interjected.

Thorin looked up at his sister. She had a pained look on her face.

"Having been your messenger for these past weeks, I had begun to know Marryn well as a friend. As a sister," Dís declared, "If there is one thing I know, it is that she would not have wanted you to give up here. She would want you to be the king she knew you were born to be."

Without warning, Frerin began to sing in a low voice.

At autumn's feast, in Girion's hall, the Lady Marryn danced.The dwarvish prince, he saw her there, and asked her if perchance

She'd dance with him, into the night, beneath the grinning moon.The lady fair and prince of dwarves, they danced so long that soon,

We could not part the dwarf from her, nor keep her far from him.With dragon fire and homes laid low, the future now seems dim.She waits for him in lands beyond, described in tales of old.

And in due time, he'll join her there, to live in halls of gold.

Thorin looked up at his brother, surprised and comforted. Frerin smiled encouragingly at him.

Thorin stood and took the moon pebble from his pocket. He kissed it softly and held it to his heart.

"Until we meet again," he whispered.