I am back! Thanks so much for all the feedback, you guys are awesome! I hope you enjoy this next chapter, forgive the wait and any mistakes there may be.

This chapter is named after the song Demons by Imagine Dragons, because I felt it fit with Thorin's sickness in a way, mainly because of the following lyrics:

"No matter what we breed, We still are made of greed,

This is my kingdom come, this is my kingdom come,

When you feel my heat, look into my eyes,

It's where my demons hide, it's where my demons hide,

Don't get too close, it's dark inside,

I t's where my demons hide, it's where my demons hide." Imagine Dragons, Demon.

Read. Enjoy. Review.

Chapter Thirty Five # Demons #

Dwalin's loyalty to Thorin was many things. Unwavering, unconditional, undeniable.

It was not, however, unquestioning.

The warrior would follow his best friend anywhere, into any battle or on any quest, and he would do whatever Thorin needed him to do. However, he would always question Thorin (even if only in his head) because Thorin needed someone to question him. He needed someone to make sure that he was always on the right track, to make sure that he was making the right decisions.

Thorin was not on the right track, nor was he making the right decisions.

That afternoon, Dwalin had opened his eyes. Kíli's begging, Fíli's horror, Thorin's inhumane yells… It had opened his eyes and he had seen how very blind he had been over the past days with the lure of the gold lulling his senses to sleep. There was something very wrong with Thrór's gold, something very wrong. It was not normal for a company of thirteen to succumb so quickly to the gold sickness, and it was not normal for anyone to wake up so quickly either. It just did not happen.

But Dwalin's eyes had opened, and by the looks of guilt and sickness on his friends' faces he guessed that only their king was still entrapped by the allure of the gold. Seeing his young friends in such pain had somehow broken through the walls the sickness had erected in Dwalin's mind, and now that he could see and he longed to run to Thorin, to shake him by the shoulders and yell at him until he snapped out of this nightmare and saw reason.

However, as much as he wanted to snap Thorin out of it, Dwalin knew that he could not risk it. If he succeeded, Thorin's confidence would be shattered and if he did not succeed, the King would believe he had lost his most loyal follower. Dwalin knew as well as any that either of those things could be deadly so close to a battle.

If Thorin realised what he had done, he would doubt his abilities as well as his decisions, and Dwalin had seen that lead to death before...

If Thorin did not realise what he had done, he would feel betrayed by his truest companion, and that too would lead to doubt and anger.

Either way, the consequences were dire so close to battle and Dwalin would not risk his friend's life in that way, so all he could do was pretend to go along with Thorin's every word.

He loathed himself for staring so hatefully at Bilbo Baggins, especially when he saw the look of utter betrayal in Kíli's eyes when the young dwarf returned with his brother. Not that Kíli made eye contact with anyone – he went straight to the little corner he had occupied since their first days under the mountain and tucked himself up with his knees under his chin, staring forlornly at the floor like a pup that had been tied to a tree and abandoned. He had glanced up towards the company, allowing them to see his burning stare of tortured betrayal before lowering his gaze once more and losing himself in his own thoughts.

Fíli sat a little way in front of Kíli so their feet touched and formed a little right angle, and the menacing way he sharpened each of his infinite knives made it very clear that he would suffer no one to come and encroach on his baby brother's privacy. Though he knew he would be met harshly should he dare to approach the brothers, Dwalin could not help but be proud of Fíli's protectiveness. It should serve the brothers well in the coming battle…

Dwalin felt sick to his stomach thinking of the two innocent boys fighting in such a battle. Fíli had seen his fair share of orc raids, it was true, but Kíli…

Balin was right, he had always been right. They should have left Kíli alone in his safe little home in the ground with his safe little hobbit.

Though he remained at the king's side throughout the afternoon he kept an eye on the two brothers. He watched Fíli and Kíli don their armour with a heavy heart and he watched the princes lean against each other as they waited. He watched Fíli slipping concealed knives into his brother's armour and he watched Kíli tighten the straps on Fíli's breastplate.

He watched the panic flare in Kíli's eyes when the horns announced that the orcs had arrived and he watched Fíli put his arm around his brother and draw him closer as if he was trying to shield the younger lad from all the evil in the world. He watched anger burn in Fíli's eyes as Thorin ordered them to take their rightful places at his side, and he watched Kíli's fingers tighten around his brother's sleeve.

Dwalin wanted to act. He wanted to comfort the brothers but all he could do was watch as the company took their places behind Thorin so they could march out onto the slopes of Erebor to meet the advancing army.

He was a dwarf of action undoubtedly, but Dwalin could only watch.

Meanwhile, Thorin Oakenshield was burning.

The anger inside of him was hot and fierce and it sizzled in his veins and kept his mind as sharp as the edge of his sword. There was so much to be angry about, and the fury within his heart seemed to be feeding off of every move of everyone around him.

The latest source of his rage was Bilbo Baggins.

Betrayal was not something that Thorin Oakenshield took lightly, though he already had reason enough to be furious with the halfling. The hobbit had stolen his nephew and kept him locked away in a hole in the ground, and he had twisted Kíli's mind against his own kin. It was Bilbo Baggins' fault that Kíli and Fíli had returned to the hall with hatred burning in their eyes directed purely at him.

The hobbit had stolen from him, embarrassed him and threatened his precious gold. Thorin had half wanted to strangle the wretched creature then and there, but that would never do. He would have humiliated himself even more in front of Dain, and the chances were that it would alienate Kíli from him further – his young nephew was far too deeply under the hobbit's spell.

You're wrong! A voice deep inside his head bellowed angrily. Bilbo is your friend, Bilbo loves Kíli, he protected him. Look at what you are doing, Thorin, look at yourself, go and call Bilbo back before it is too late!

Thorin held back a growl and narrowed his eyes, silencing the voice the best he could. It had been plaguing him for days now, at first trying to command him to go and spend time with his nephews or to make sure that the company were well. It had tried to order him to listen to the advice of the wizard, but as soon as Gandalf had mentioned the possibility of Kíli dying, the voice had panicked and began to beg, pleading with Thorin to 'see sense'.

You can't let Kíli die, this is Kíli, it's Kíli, please just see sense, swallow your pride Thorin, this is a desperate time and it calls for desperate measures. The voice had begged, but the King refused to listen to the foreign voice. His grandfather had fallen to madness and Thorin would not fall victim to the voices in his head.

He ignored the pleading when he banished Bilbo – He meant only to help us, he may well have saved our lives, stop this insanity now, please!

He blocked out the horror when Kíli threatened to leave. You're going to lose Kíli, stop, please stop! You must stop now, please! You're going to lose Kíli, you'll lose him again!

He pretended that he could not hear the morose lamenting while he waited for the enemy to reach the mountain. What have you done? You've driven Kíli away, you've destroyed everything you love! Oh, what have you done, what have you done?

Now he stood outside the mountain in the cold, dry air, watching the hordes of orcs march closer and closer as the sun sank below the horizon.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up in anticipation as the charge grew nearer, and as soon as he could, Thorin thrust his sword into the air and bellowed as loudly as he could.

"Du bekar!"

The thunderous roar of his kin filled his ears as he led the charge down the hill, the blood surging through his veins and driving his adrenalin fuelled bloodlust. The first orc he reached was cut down in seconds, his sword cleaving through the foul creature with ease.

Thorin barely had to think as he threw himself into the battle, whirling around and annihilating any orc that was foolish enough to try and challenge him. The single minded focus with which he fought showed no mercy and he had beheaded, gutted and impaled countless orcs with his blade within minutes. The moon was yet to rise completely over the mountain and yet already his foes were falling around him like flies and Orcrist was caked in thick, black blood.

Thorin was indestructible and he knew it. He would suffer no injury in this fight – he was a King Under the Mountain, strong and true and he would win this battle single handed if it came down to it.

You are being arrogant!

Stubbornly ignoring the voice, Thorin plunged Orcrist into a goblin's stomach, recoiling in surprise when the squalling creature managed to rake his claws across the king's cheek. For a moment Thorin's head span and dizziness swam into his being, but then the moment was over and he kicked his foe aside, searching for another victim to crush.

Where are the company? Where is your family? The voice yelled in fear, and Thorin could not help but look around him as he swung his sword around in a wide arch.

Dwalin was fighting not four feet away from him, his thunderous roars audible even over the infernal din of the battle as he swung his left arm in a wide arc, beheading three orcs in one swoop with Grasper. As Thorin watched a goblin launched at Dwalin's back but the warrior deserved of his title and he embedded Keeper in the head of his would be attacker without sparing it a second glance.

Thorin smiled as he gutted his next victim. Dwalin could look after himself.

But Dwalin's not the only member of your family here, where are the others?

Growling at himself for obeying the voice, Thorin looked around, his eyes falling instantly on Dwalin's older brother. Balin was holding his own against three goblins, his sword slicing through their flesh as if it were no more than butter. The white bearded warrior fought without mercy, a fury in his eyes that Thorin had only ever seen before in battle. In a matter of seconds, Balin stabbed an orc through its stomach and then whirled around to behead a goblin lurching at Ori.

The younger dwarf was struggling to keep the enemies at bay, but he was succeeding, the sword he had retrieved from the mountain serving him well. Thorin watched the scribe as he beheaded two orcs at once, but even as he slaughtered another foe of his own, Thorin saw the orc bearing down on Ori from behind. He watched the knife plunge into the innocent dwarf's arm with a twinge of disappointment.

No! The voice in his head bellowed in fear, guilt and pain. Ori, no!

At that very moment Nori's body wrenched around in a violent, jerking movement and his eyes widened. Thorin watched the thief's face contort with utter horror as he darted forward to catch his staggering brother with an anguished cry.

"Ori!"

For a moment Thorin feared that the company's scribe had met his doom but then Ori shook off his brother's arms to gut a goblin advancing towards them and Nori turned around to protect his little brother's back. Thick red blood stained Nori's sleeves as he kept his arm behind him, shielding Ori as best he could from the swarming foes around them. For the moment, the two auburn haired brothers were surviving.

So where's Dori? The voice demanded. Why is he not protecting his brothers, where is Dori?

Thorin strained to ignore the voice but its allure was growing stronger and he could not help but seek out the oldest of the three brothers. His eyes first past over Bombur, who was impressively keeping a circle of five foes at bay, though one of his eyes was swollen shut and he was bleeding from his forehead – heavily. The largest dwarf of the company was isolated from his brother and cousin - Thorin could see neither of them –but as the dwarf king beheaded the goblin obstructing his view he noticed that Bombur was defending a writhing figure on the floor.

No! the voice in his head gasped, forcing Thorin's body to pause and recognise Dori, whose face was twisted into an expression of anguish as he held up one arm to protect his face from the battle around him. The other arm was pressed against his stomach as if he were trying to hold himself together, though his hand still clutched the knife in his hand.

A sudden stab of pain flashed across Thorin's cheek and he roared, cursing himself for allowing the voice to distract him. He stabbed the offending orc in the gut without blinking an eye, his heart racing as he felt warm blood dribble down his face. He wiped his chin on his sleeve and launched himself back into the fight, stabbing to the right and lunging to the left.

A cry of fear and pain tore his eyes to his right again and he saw Bofur fall to his knees, clutching a spear that had been driven right through his thigh. As the miner's head fell, a goblin stood over him with his sword raised and began the swoop that would severe Bofur's head from his body. A twinge of remorse pinched Thorin's heart ever so slightly and he turned away to fight his own enemies, but then the voice roared.

No! Bofur, don't let it kill him, he is your friend!

Very much against his will, the voice possessed Thorin's body and he whirled around as gracefully as a dancer, grabbing an axe from a falling goblin and throwing it into the face of Bofur's executioner. The goblin gurgled as he fell, his sword falling off course and hitting Bofur on the back of the head, knocking him to the ground.

You were too late, oh Mahal have mercy you were too late! The voice moaned in pain, but then Thorin saw the miner squirming on the floor, pulling himself into a foetal position and holding his injured leg with a hiss. Another orc fell beside him, the creature writhing furiously in the last few moments of its life and its eyes fell on Bofur, an easy victim to drag into the darkness of death with it. Thorin blinked as a blade seemed to appear from nowhere to severe the head of the squirming creature and save Bofur's life, but he put it down to a trick of his eyes in the midst of the battle.

Indeed, in moments Bifur was there to stand above his cousin's body, shielding him with all his strength and a ferocity that even the Gundabad wargs could not equal. In the two moments Thorin's eyes remained fixed on the toymaker, Bifur had impaled, beheaded, gutted and gored four orcs that dared come close to his wounded cousin, and it was clear that for the moment at least, Bifur was unstoppable.

Please Mahal, let Bofur live! The voice prayed. Let them all live, please let us get out of this alive!

A snarl of frustration escaped Thorin's lips and he spun around to face another foe, only to have the fiend smash his fists into his stomach and knock the air from his lungs. Thorin grunted in pain, making a move to stab the wretched orc but its head rolled from its shoulders before he could get there. Glóin nodded at him once and then moved on, an unrelenting force to be reckoned with. Thorin watched his cousin for a few seconds, the voice humming in satisfaction as the banker fought bravely and strongly. If he had to bet on it, Thorin would place Glóin among the survivors.

It appeared that the red headed dwarf was making his way slowly but surely through the throng to his brother, who was skilfully wielding his staff and keeping the goblins away from an injured young dwarf Thorin did not recognise. A goblin drew its knife and lunged at Óin from behind, but all of a sudden the goblin jerked his head and fell as if something had smashed into his skull, falling to the floor lifelessly.

Thorin blinked. Even on the battlefield, no one just dropped dead without cause.

With a growl, Thorin shook his head and shook away the curious thoughts. It was common to miss details in the heat of a fight like this. Besides, nothing mattered but protecting his gold and his beautiful Arkenstone. That was all that mattered.

No it isn't! the voice roared furiously, pain tainting its rage. Fíli and Kíli, where are Fíli and Kíli? You must protect them, they're too young for this, too unexperienced, too innocent!

Once again the voice managed to claim ownership of Thorin's body and he whirled around on the spot. A sharp pain burst from his hip as a spear collided with his body. Miraculously it was the blunt end, but it still knocked him to the ground and sent pain rocketing through his body.

"Thorin!" a familiar voice cried, and he noted his heir's voice with pride.

Fíli! The voice in his head was filled with both relief and fear.

The golden hair of his heir appeared before him, his brother behind him like a shadow, and Thorin looked up at the two of them as they began to ward off all attackers from his presence.

They should not be defending you, you should be defending them! Get up, get up!

Rolling over, Thorin obeyed the voice with a snarl, turning around to face the foes coming in from behind.

Are they alright? The voice demanded, taking control over his head and making him look at his two nephews. They both looked worse for the wear, but it was Fíli who was bleeding worryingly heavily from what appeared to be an arrow wound to his back. No, no, no, Fíli! Please be alright, Fíli, oh Mahal let it be a flesh wound! Defend them, look after them now, protect your nephews before it's too late!

Thorin forced himself to ignore the voice, hacking away at the goblins before him. He would protect his gold, his nephews could protect themselves. He turned and jabbed at a goblin coming into his right, slightly too late and the creature's sword sliced his arm. He hissed in pain but the wound was shallow and he threw himself back into the fight, the hacking and stabbing barely satisfying the bloodlust welling inside him.

He did not see the arrow flying straight towards his heart. Thorin did not see it, but Kíli did.

All of a sudden a body slammed into him, knocking him to the floor and Thorin roared, snarling beneath the dwarf that pinned him down. Then his vision cleared and he saw Kíli's face, his grimace of pain and the heart-breaking disappointment in his eyes. Thorin paused as the voice began to whisper.

Oh, Kíli, my little Kíli, what did you do, what did you do? The fear in the voice seemed to make Thorin's heart beat faster, but Kíli staggered to his feet, helped by his brother, who was breathing heavily.

"Kee, Kíli you're hurt-"

With a snarl, Kíli lifted his arm over his shoulder and wrenched an arrow out of his back with a loud cry.

"Kíli!" Fíli yelped, slashing at an advancing orc viciously.

"I'm fine," Kíli snapped, thrusting his sword into the chest of an orc above him. "It hit the shiny shirt."

For some reason, Fíli seemed to find this funny and he snorted as he flew back into the fight. Thorin growled. They should not be laughing in a battle, the insolent, naïve –

Stop, just stop! The voice yelled. You should look after them!

Thorin flew to his feet but his head began to spin and he staggered for a moment, his hand tightening around Orcrist. A sickening feeling swooped in his stomach and he swallowed, forcing himself to fall back into the fight, pushing the orcs back. He slashed, he hacked, he stabbed –

Fíli screamed.

Thorin stopped.

Kíli screamed.

Thorin turned.

Kíli caught his falling brother in his arms, letting his sword fall to the floor as his knees collapsed beneath him and he landed on the floor. The young dwarf was no warrior and he wailed in horror as he pulled Fíli into his lap, pressing his hands against Fíli's bleeding neck and ignoring the foes bearing down upon him.

"No!" Thorin roared as the nearest orc raised its scimitar to kill his sister-son. The voice screamed with him, terror and pain ringing in his mind. No, no, no!

Kíli's eyes flew up to the blade and he choked, cowering away without letting go of Fíli, a forlorn cry escaping his lips as his body started to shake. Thorin lunged towards them but he was too slow and his heart stopped beating as it became clear that he would never reach them in time to stop that blade from killing his nephews.

The most agonizing pain he had ever experienced seized his heart and he howled in anguish as the blade came down and he finally recognised the screaming voice that had haunted his mind as his own.

And there we have the Battle of Five Armies, part one. I hope Thorin's madness was not overly confusing and I hope it was effective, this is just my interpretation of the gold sickness. I wanted to show it through Thorin's perspective because that's not often done and because I wanted to establish some understanding of his actions.

Writing combat still isn't my area of expertise so I hope it's alright. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, leave a review if you fancy!