As the night descended upon the Erebor and most of the dwarves living withing The Lonely Mountain begun finding their way home after a long day of work, Thorin Oakenshield walked down the empty corridors, flanked by his guard, towards The Great hall of Mahal.

His pace was slow and steady, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed ahead of himself with stone expression. Although he carried himself proudly, he was tired. He longed for a rest, for a brief moment without the heavy load upon his shoulders but it seemed as such was not allowed as The King under the Mountain was busy with the renovation of Erebor.

It was an exhausting task, stressful yet sweet. He did not doubt that nothing in the world could bring him more joy than seeing Erebor becoming the grandiose - if not more - dwarven stronghold that is used to be.

But the task was hard, almost heartbreaking for everyone involved. Erebor had painful memories within its walls which were brought back to light with each room, hall, and corridor that was scared by the past. At the beginning of the renovation, when there was only a handful of dwarves, he always accompanied the group and helped with whatever needed to be done. However, it pained him as everyone else beside him when they had to move the skeletons of their brothers and sisters, who had no luck escaping the dragon's attack. Most of the furniture was rotten, unusable. All was destroyed. Even the forges and mines were bent and broken, needing much attention before full use would be allowed.

That changed as more dwarves poured into the halls of Erebor, turning his focus elsewhere.

Although Thorin usually did not need to visit The Great hall of Mahal, he hoped that it might lift his spirits on that long summer night.

As they approached his final destination, they were met with two other king's guards who stood on each side of the door which was as wide as tall.

"Your Majesty," said the one on the right - one of his closest friends and also a Head of King's guard, Dwalin. "All clear."

He grunted as an answer, raising his hand at the guards behind him to stay. He wished to be alone in peace for a moment, not to be followed on each step, even within The Great hall of Mahal.

"We will be right here, if you need us, your Majesty."

Thorin nodded. He still had his sword and dagger attached to his belt. Although he had guards and was within his kingdom, it would be foolish to let his guard down and allow anyone to find him without a weapon. As he walked into the hall, he stopped briefly to admire the work of his folk. He has seen many halls celebrating the gods, but looking around himself he felt his chest swell with pride. The hall was one of the first ones to be checked to make sure that the ceiling and floor are stable, before renewing the might statue of Mahal in the middle of the hall on, wholly made of gold, the same as the pedestal it stood on.

Thorin briefly overlooked the offers surrounding the pedestal, scattered between the candles. The small fires reflected in gems of different sizes, raw gold same as gold necklaces and rings, hairpins, and many more. It wasn't much, but he knew as the dwarfs find their way back into the mountain to begin anew, their offering for Mahal will only increase until there will be a massive pile surrounding the statue.

The hall had a circular shape, with a few benches in the middle of the hall, placed in a perfect circle around the statue. There was only one door which led into the hall and walls were covered in runes that spoke of the past long gone, about Mahal and creating of dwarves.

Thorin noted that a few things still needed mending and checking; his eyes noticed a strange looking crack close to the door on the right side, running to the floor and then finding it's space right between the wall and floor. Huffing softly, he walked towards the statue. It towered high above him, the King barely reaching its knees. He already came and donated his offerings a couple of times, not only once but even this time he had a big ruby in his pocket that belonged on the pile between the candles.

Suddenly he noticed steps; quiet enough to miss for the untrained ear but loud for him. He turned over his shoulder, expecting to see one of his guards approaching him and he already inhaled to reprimand them for interrupting him, but there was nobody behind him. Thorin frowned. He sidestepped the statue and a small figure almost collapsed with his chest.

They both gaped at each other, green clashing with blue.

"Oh, Your Majesty!" the dwarf-woman fell to her knee immediately after her realisation who she faced. "I beg your forgiveness if I knew you are here... I thought I am alone."

Thorin frowned a little. His guards haven't mentioned her, either because they saw her as no threat or simply because they overlooked her. How, that was beyond him. "No harm has been done, raise."

She slowly rose to her feet, keeping her face down. She wore a simple dress, nothing too fancy, nothing that would make him believe she was a noble dwarf-woman. Also, her hair had a lovely shade of blue, color which was very rare within the walls of Erebor. But her face was hidden in shadows, cast on her face by the candles surrounding the statue. "I will be on my way, Your Majesty. May Mahal bless you."

Thorin frowned slightly as he watched her sidestep him with her gaze down, quickly running out of the hall. Before he managed to say something, she was out of the door. Shaking his head Thorin released a long exhale. He was a stern leader, who always followed all his rules yet he cared for his subjects; he wished to see Erebor back to its former glory and with it too bring prosperity to all Khazâd under his rule.

He placed his offering between the candles, hoping Mahal will guard their days and nights along their hardship of restoring Erebor, and then he turned on the back of his heal.

"Dwalin," he motioned to his friend to fall into step with him as he marched through the door.

"Already done?" Dwalin asked quietly.

Thorin only made a short throaty noise. "Who was that?" he questioned him, slightly nodding to the corridor ahead of himself where the dwarf-woman disappeared.

"Never seen her," Dwalin frowned. "She must have arrived today."

Thorin huffed, touching his beard as they rounded the corner. He couldn't believe that she was that new to Erebor. As far as his mind went he could not remember blue hair among the new arrivals to the Lonely Mountain.

He knew one thing without a doubt; she managed to seize his attention with her deep blue eyes and he would drown in them without hesitation.

Khazâd - Dwarves

Oh dear, oh dear.

So here we are! Well, those, who managed to get through the first part of my story - thank you for your patience, hope you liked it and you will continue reading this story.

Right for the start, the following is what I wished to make clear:

1) English is my second language, I try my best... but some mistakes will appear

2) As you can see, Thorin has survived.

3) As you will see - just to be warned - also one of his nephews is alive

4) Simply, I wished to see one of the rare stories, which is different... from what? Well, from following Thorin and the rest of them on the path to Erebor. Thousands of those stories and although some might be good, some amazing and even breathtaking, it is just simply boring!

Thanks again and see you soon, love Kallia :)