Disclaimer: The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings and all characters therein are the property of the Tolkien Estate and Wingnut Films. This story is for entertainment only and the author is in no way profiting from it, nor exercising any claims to The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings.

Author's Note: Kaia- Thank you for calling me out on sloppy writing, and if anyone else catches such a thing, please let me know! In the last chapter, I meant to imply that Thror had allowed Thorin to handle the one of the seven he kept, probably as part of Thorin's training as a prince. I hope that my changing of the line has cleared up the muddiness Kaia caught for me. Thank you once again to all who review!

Scribe

The Prophecy of Durin

Thorin felt shock wash through him at the words, hands shaking slightly with the weight of the King's Jewel.

"Where are they?"

Elrond's eyebrows pinched together in the look Kili had once compared to seeing someone sucking on apple bitters.

"I do not know, but I do not believe you will need aid finding them."

Thorin didn't bother to try wrenching a straight answer from the elf, hurrying quickly across the courtyard and entering the dim Citadel, peering about for a servant to ask. Before he could locate one, however, deep voiced curses in Khuzdul rang out clearly down the corridor on Thorin's right, stone walls echoing Dwalin's words as well as one of the resonating chambers under the mountain. Gimli rounded a corner in a huff, face almost as red as his beard.

"Thorin! I-"

The dwarf king cut his kinsman off.

"I can hear." Thorin told the dwarf warrior drily. "Is it only Dis, Dwalin, and Gloin?"

"No. Oain of the Iron Hills is with them."

Thorin bit back some bitter words of his own at that. The younger of Dain's two sister-sons, Oain and his older brother, Fain, were cousins to Thorin Stronghelm, and neither had been welcomed by the exiles of Erebor. Barely more than children when he had last seen them at the meeting in Ered Luin, the brothers were vain, spoiled, and given to acts of petty cruelty. It was their father's influence, no doubt, for Dain's sister had risked scandal within Durin's Folk by consenting to marry a Blacklock of the Far East, the one dwarven clan that had consistently allied itself with Sauron. Thorin's thoughts must have been easily read upon his face because Gimli snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Aye, I'm surprised he arrived here in one piece as well. Maybe he rode with the elves!"

The king shook his head at the other, not willing to be diverted.

"Gimli, please ensure your cousins are both awake and dressed, we'd best move this discussion elsewhere before the entire Citadel hears. See if you can arrange some trustworthy guards for the end of the corridor, as well. Our room is the only one currently occupied near there."

The other dwarf left without a word, leaving his king standing in the dim hallway of the Citadel, who grimaced and followed the sound down the hall to one of the small meeting rooms, then stopped just outside the door, listening. Whatever had been said, it clearly had his sister furious.

"-do not care! I have given my parents, my brothers, even two of my children to that mountain, I will not sacrifice more!"

"There is no other choice, Dis! Thorin died without naming an heir, and we need someone other than that half-wit in the Iron Hills!"

It was the deep voice of Dwalin, matching fury with fury, one of the few dwarves who would willingly face the Durin temper without flinching.

"My brother is not-"

A strange voice protested, outraged. That could only be Oain.

"Shut up, Oain!"

Several voices chorused, making the listening king smile grimly. Gloin must have added something too soft to be caught through the door, because the next statement was again from Oain.

"You go too far, Lord Gloin! I am-"

"A dwarf who is about to be a foot shorter if he doesn't shut up!"

That was Dwalin, who'd long detested Dain's nephews, never bothering to hide that fact, either.

"I need not stand here and tolerate this!"

"I agree, Oain. You may leave us to our discussions, as this concerns Erebor, not the Iron Hills."

Dis' voice was syrupy sweet, marking her at her most dangerous.

"Fain is Stronghelm's closest living relative, and therefore his heir, not just to the Iron Hills but to the throne of Erebor!"

The mere thought of one of those two idiots upon the throne of Erebor made Thorin's blood boil.

"No one with the tainted blood of a Blacklock will rule Erebor while I draw breath!"

Gloin roared, no doubt brandishing one of his axes to emphasize his point. Thorin took a deep, calming breath, forcing himself to reign in his temper, then stepped to the open door, Arkenstone still held in his hand, forgotten.

"The prophecy clearly states-"

"Prophecy may be wrong." Thorin fixed his burning gaze on the puffed up peacock from the Iron Hills even as the room descended into shocked silence, speaking in Westron. "Or it may say what those who interpret it wish it to say."

The king met the shocked eyes of his kin, but before any could say a word, a flash of light that swept the room startled them all. Once more, Thorin found himself observing his own funeral through the mists, though this time he felt the presence of the others at his shoulder. Below, Legolas paid tribute to Kili, an act that sent a low moan from the throat of Dis, the Arkenstone and Orcrist returned, then the chanting began.

Suddenly, the words altered, leading a gasp to ripple through the dwarves in attendance. Power seemed to fill the chamber, deep and frightening, and blue lightning danced upon the stone walls.

"Be watchful, Durin's Folk, for he shall soon stand forth, kin to one newly crowned, Durin the Deathless, the seventh and last. The Heart of the Mountain shall return him, seven stars upon his palm, in the year that two towers fall and one white tree be born anew. In the days when the Shadow flees shall the ancient kingdoms be reclaimed, the glory of old renewed. Take heed, Durin's Folk, and recall the fullness of these words only when he stands among you, the Stone of Kings in hand."

Another flash, and the room of stone was once more that of the Citadel and not the dark root of the mountain, bodies around him staggering as they fought to find balance once more. A burning took Thorin's hand and he cried out, dropping the Arkenstone to the floor, where it flashed with an internal fire. Dazed, the exiled king stared at his palm until another grabbed it, trembling finger tracing the seven small stars stretching in a crescent just below the base of his fingers, a familiar crown below, focus tunneling to only to those marks as he swayed.

Then someone was pressing down on his shoulder urging him to sit, a stool abruptly underneath legs that would no longer support him. Cool water was pressed to his lips, a cloth wiping at his hand, easing the sting, finally forcing the room to jolt into focus once more. His kin were clustered around him, Dis with his hand in hers, Gloin pressing more water upon him, and Dwalin, his old friend, just watching him with one hand upon his shoulder, tears running unheeded down the fierce cheeks. How long they simply stood, they could never afterwards tell, but the stunned silence was broken at last by Gimli clomping into the room.

"What did I miss?"

Gloin just groaned, hand coming up to cover his eyes at his son's remark, while the others (with the notable exception of a glaring Oain) laughed, though it was tinged with a hysterical edge. The resulting confusion took some time to sort out, as Thorin found himself obliged to give a truncated account of his arrival, though he did not mention Fili and Kili. Finally, he was able to turn to Gimli.

"Are they presentable?"

There was a light teasing in his voice, more to keep hold of his own sanity than to actually suggest his sister-sons would look less than their best when about to greet their mother for the first time in seventy-seven years. Thorin could not yet truly believe the seven dots and crown now on his palm and their meaning, for it seemed incomprehensible to him that he could be any other but Thorin, son of Thrain. Absently, he began to rub at this latest burn, only to have his hand swatted by Dis, who had bustled off to find burn ointment, muttered darkly to herself all the while. Gimli grinned, a gleam of satisfaction in his eye.

"Aye, I also arranged for Merry and Pippin to stand guard at either end of the hall."

"Those two young hobbits I met in Rivendell?" Gloin asked his son sharply, "How do you expect those two to deter men or elves eager to hear our deliberations?"

Thorin simply raised an amused eyebrow at his old friend over his sister's shoulder.

"You, of all of us, Gloin, should know better than to underestimate any kin of Bilbo Baggins. I would not seek to defy one who bested a troll, nor one brave enough to stab the Witch-King of Angmar, hobbit or no."

His cousin blanched at that, especially when his son calmly nodded verification. Thorin, however, had a more personal concern, pulling his now wrapped palm from his sister and tilting her head until their foreheads touched. Softly, no more than a whisper that only she would catch, he told her the news closest to both their hearts.

"I did not come alone, sister. Fili and Kili live. They will need the support of us both if they are to fully heal and live the lives that they were denied. Will you forgive my folly that took them from you?"

Truthfully, Thorin knew that only the sudden intervention of the Arkenstone and the shocking revelation of the full prophecy had prevented him from being laid flat by Dis' fist before this. When the two of them truly quarreled, it shook even stolid Dwalin to the core, for the fury unleashed was powerful enough to bring down a mountain and very slow to dissipate. When Thorin had asked the brothers to join the quest, Dis had warned him to bring them back in one piece or not come back himself, for she'd surely take him apart piece by piece. Unlike most who uttered such threats, his little sister had meant every word.

She looked deep into the blue eyes that matched her own, then crumpled against him, weeping out seventy-seven years of pain. This was the reaction he'd hoped to contain by not taking the delegation immediately to the young dwarf princes, for Fili and Kili had enough emotional traumas to work through without piling this atop the load. No, this was his responsibility, and he was done with running away. Around them, the others had stilled once more, sensing that there was more tidings they'd yet to hear. Dimly, Thorin heard Gimli explaining, grateful for the solid support of the young one, then Dis was pulling back, wiping her face with the cloth she'd been using on his burned hand. She met his gaze, understanding there, the calm, strong mask they'd both been taught from birth slipping back into place.

"Let us see my sons, and discuss the start of a new age for our people, for Durin has returned at last."

With a smile, he took her hand in his unburned one, leading the way through the halls, though they were abruptly stopped by the sight of Aragorn standing with Pippin and Merry at the entrance to the royal dwarves' room. He bowed a greeting to the delegation, but it was clear that he was not acting in his role of king, but of healer, for he immediately offered apologizes and waved Dis and Thorin to the side. There, Aragorn quietly told the quivering mother the extent of the injuries suffered by her sons and brother, her face slowly whitening at the toll. By the time the man excused himself, the dwarf king could feel the tension radiating off his sister's body and he once again touched her forehead to his own.

"Remember that they heal, little sister."

It was disconcerting to see the silver of her once black hair, the lines worn into her face that were not there when they'd left her only six months ago, or so it seemed to Thorin. Dis nodded, but would not look at him, a slight shake running through the hand that he still held. Unable to think of anything else he could say or do, he looked to his other kin, Dwalin giving him a nod of reassurance that they would not enter the room until he called, allowing the royal family the privacy needed for this reunion. Before he could open the door, however, the knob pulled from his hand and Fili slipped out. Dis immediately enfolded her eldest in a hug, body shaking with tears that Fili accepted calmly, though he grimaced at the strength of his mother's grip upon healing bruises. She must have felt it, for she abruptly backed off one step, hand still gripping his good arm.

"Why are you out here instead of in with your brother?"

Thorin's question was soft, but sharp, for he knew what it cost his sister-son to stand there quietly without the younger dwarf in sight. Fili sighed.

"Kili's running a fever again, and just dozed off. I'd thought to join you elsewhere so that we did not disturb him."

Gloin and Dwalin had moved close, each one silently gripping Fili's hand in welcome even as his old trainer shook his bald head.

"Not a good idea, laddie. Too much has happened that you both know nothing off, and should hear." Suddenly Dwalin turned, surveying the corridor with a frown. "Where's that dratted little weasel, Oain?"

The large dwarf hadn't bothered to keep his voice low as he asked the question, Pippin turning from his post at the anger in the tone.

"He left while Thorin and his sister were speaking to Aragorn. Shouldn't he have?"

The looks exchanged by Gloin and Dwalin did not bode well, for their visages went grim, Dwalin's fist tightening as if expecting to fight.

"I'll go find the rat."

At Thorin's slightly confused nod, the warrior was off at a rolling run, a servant at the junction of the corridors hastily flattening herself against the wall lest she be bowled over. Gloin and Gimli, meanwhile, were both swearing under their breath, hands straying to the hilts of weapons. Sighing, Thorin turned back to his elder nephew.

"We had best move this inside, and wake Kili. Stronghelm is dead, and the circumstances have changed in a way I am not yet sure I believe."

They all entered the room, Fili and Dis moving as one to the bed where the youngest prince lay asleep atop the sheets, a light blanket thrown over him. He woke at his mother's touch, accepting her hug with a fierce one of his own as his brother reclaimed his usual spot seated shoulder to shoulder with his sibling. Thorin placed the Arkenstone at the end of the bed, leery of what the stone might do, and therefore was not surprised at the renewed inner glow cast upon the two seated there.

The outline of a mountain wavered on the wall behind them as lights coalesced to form the shapes of twin crowns upon golden and dark heads, the two looking around in bewilderment at the sharp stares suddenly directed at them. Dis paled, pulling back slightly as she bit off a sob, and then the mask of the princess of Erebor dropped into place, leading Thorin to frown. Kili flinched as if slapped, shoulder bumping into the reassuring sturdy frame of his brother.

"What-?"

Thorin exhaled noisily, casting an exasperated glance at the lump of crystal merrily casting colors around the room.

"It seems that the Arkenstone is more than was ever suspected. It burned seven stars and a crown into my hand just now, and-"

Both princes' eyes went wide, exclaiming in one voice, "The prophecy of Durin! We thought it was a dream!"

"Apparently not." Gimli grouched, eyeing his cousins. "Though I don't see what needs to be discussed. The throne of Erebor is Thorin's, with the pair of you obviously next in line. We just need to attend Aragorn's wedding tomorrow and then go home."

Such a bland statement made it sound so simple, yet Thorin knew what seemed logical would rarely withstand the first encounter with politics. To make his point, Dwalin stomped into the room, his axes, Grasper and Keeper, held in clenched fists, jaw grinding and eyes blazing with fire.

"He's gone, out of the city completely! Who knows what schemes he and that mongrel brother of his will begin! We could return to find Erebor held against us!"

"Over my dead body!" Dis snapped, animation returning to her features, "I already sent a return message by raven over all three of our names appointing a trio of regents we can trust implicitly before we ever entered this city."

"And when were you going to inform us of this? You are not the only one of the line of kings here, Dis!"

Gloin glowered, but backed down at a sharp gesture from Thorin.

"It does not matter. Who did you appoint, Dis? For we seven must decide what news of all this is passed to them before our return, and I must know where the current threats lie."

"My- Vili, with Nori, and Nalin."

The first two names were no surprise, Vili had long served as a counselor for Thorin in place of his lost brother, and none was better at ferreting out intrigue than Nori; that is, if he himself were not already hip deep in it. Vili would no doubt enlist Dori, the eldest brother, to keep Nori's larcenous tendencies in check. Nalin, however, was unexpected, for Thorin had only met Dwalin's young son once, the warrior allowing the boy's mother to raise him as she saw fit. Dwalin, however, nodded, as if the choice was a natural one, then offered his newly returned king an explanation.

"Nalin is much more like Balin than me; he's been acting as one of Dain's counselors for about ten years now, and has the bloodline that the other two lack. The mountain will be safe enough with those three. They should be informed of your return, Thorin, but I'd not spread it further than that until I can stand there with Grasper and Keeper to answer any who may object."

Thorin nodded agreement, ignoring the implied threat of bloodshed, for he was certain that Dwalin would never act without his monarch's word. Tension lifted a bit as the others settled, topics turning quickly from the politics they could do nothing about to more mundane details of friends and work, kin long sundered reconnecting into the night, though all knew that the morning would bring new complications.