Chapter Forty-Three: Thorin
T.A 2799 Near Dimrill Dale
"I'm trying to sleep," Frerin grumbles as Thorin paces. Their father and grandfather haven't yet returned to their tent, planning their strategy with their War Masters for the morrow. "Rest, nadad, nothing is served by wearing a trench in the ground."
"How can you be so calm?" Thorin demands. Frerin cracks one dark eye open and in the lamp light Thorin can see the barely hidden fear there.
"I'm not," he admits. "but nothing will be served by wasting my energy pacing." He sits up on his cot. "Fundin always told us that."
"I didn't think you ever listened," Thorin mutters. Frerin shrugs.
"I like people to believe that."
"You didn't need to come," Thorin whispers. "I have seen the battle plans, retaking Khazad-Dum will be costly. You should have stayed with our sister."
"No," Frerin shakes his head, "There's nothing for me in Ered Luin. I could no more stay than you could."
"You have a bride waiting," Thorin points out and Frerin snorts derisively. Ghruna is nearly fifteen years his junior and has already made it very clear she loathes the sight of him. "If I fall tomorrow-"
"We could both fall tomorrow," Frerin cuts in, "so how about we promise each other we won't? And if we do the fault isn't yours or mine, it's Thror's."
"Brother," Thorin breathes in warning. He understands his brother's resentment of their grandfather but one day he will go too far.
"Very well," Frerin sighs. "Don't die," he orders. "Mahal knows I'd be a useless king, even an exiled one and as disgusting as your face generally is, I'd much prefer to see it grow old than see it dead."
Thorin chuckles, though the sound is mirthless. Then he reaches for his brother and presses their foreheads together.
"Don't die," he breathes, "we cannot leave Dis on her own. We cannot leave all the responsibility for the future of our line with her."
T.A. 2941 Erebor
Thorin paces the throne room or Erebor. It's empty and dark, silent where it was once filled with noise, life and light. He stares at the throne, his throne, that was once connected to the mountain by a column of gold laced stone. Now it stands much as he does, broken from the stone of its birth and without so much of what once made it whole. True, Thorin has the mountain once more. He has his gold, but the Arkenstone is lost to him, as is his heir, stolen by a traitor brought among them by his own brother.
With the loss of the Heart of the Mountain the threat of the Men and elves at Erebor's gates is all the more urgent. If there are orcs coming Thorin doubts they want Erebor. When an orc leader falls in battle the one who replaces him can only be secure in his leadership by slaying the one who removed their predecessor and proving their strength. Frerin killed Azog, the orcs are here for him, and if sacrificing Frerin is what it takes to keep Erebor in his hands, to keep his gold, then that is exactly what he will do. Better, by far, to be rid of his treacherous brother. Better too, perhaps, to be rid of the heir Frerin has had so much influence over.
"I never thought I'd live long enough to see it," Dwalin's voice cuts through his thoughts. There is a hard edge to it but Thorin doesn't turn to look at him. If he wants the attention of his king, he should speak properly. "The great Thorin Oakenshield, cowering in his mountain, become the one thing he always feared above all others; his grandfather."
"I am nothing like Thror," he snarls.
"I may have been younger than you when we fled Erebor, but I remember well those final months. I remember your fear and frustration as our alliances began to decline. And here you stand, in Thror's crown and Thror's robes, at the foot of his throne wearing more gold than you have ever bothered with. Hiding behind Erebor's walls while the Men and Elves and our kin from the Iron Hills die to protect an empty shell of a home."
"Eloquent words from a traitor," he replies. "I did not bring the Men and Elves here, their own desire for that which is mine did that. As for Dain, had he only done his duty and helped us when I debased myself and begged perhaps this could have been avoided entirely. I have no need to explain myself to you or any other. I am your king!"
"Aye, Thorin," he bristles at being spoken to with such familiarity. "But you aren't my king because you have the gold or the mountain. You have always been my king, and until today I believed you always would be. You're as much a stranger to me now as Thror was."
Dwalin turns as though to leave, and part of Thorin calls out desperately for him to stay. The other part rages that Dwalin would treat him with such contempt. Before he can express his displeasure Dwalin halts.
"The others have no part in this. The words are mine alone. Frerin, I'm sure, would have come with me had he known of it, but he has rather larger concerns," he sighs. "The others follow your lead, for now, but our kin are out there fighting and dying. Eventually they will join them whether you allow it or not and I'll have no part in stopping them. You've already lost Fili," he looks over his shoulder, "will you lose Kili and everyone else as well?"
"Fili worked with the girl to steal the Arkenstone," he responds.
"Aye, he did," Dwalin allows, "but that lad has more Stone Sense than any dwarf we've ever known. If the two of them hid the Mahal damned thing perhaps they knew something we didn't. We'll be ready," he continues as he walks away, "just in case you decide to start acting more like a king and less like a gold-addled lunatic."
The words are delivered through a thinly veiled layer of disgust. Dwalin has never been subtle, never one to dance around an issue and his words lack even the basic respect one would give a new acquaintance, let alone that which is Thorin's due as his king.
He turns his contemplation back to the throne. This has been the throne of the kings of Erebor since the mountain was settled. That it has been broken is a travesty. Fili could have fixed it, he thinks, called the stone to move and shape until the throne of the King Under the Mountain was joined with Erebor once more using the same method that Algirk Stonesinger used to call it into being. But Fili is lost to him, to the line of Durin. Taken, not by any of the dangers they faced on the way here, not even by the hobbit girl, but by the Arkenstone in a flash of blinding light. It hits him like a physical blow, the realisation that the very thing he came to retrieve has taken his heir, his sister's son, and his brother's daughter. Gone in an argument over a jewel and sacrificed to his greed as the peoples outside the gates are being. As the soldiers at Azanulbizar were to Thror's desire, not for a home, but for the riches deep within the mines. A battle that his own brother might have been lost at if not for a hobbit.
Grief strikes him at the realisation that Fili is truly lost, that Dain could be dead outside and the mountain taken from them before it has truly been reclaimed. He stares down at himself in disgust, at the rings on every finger, the chains around his neck. The dusty robes that belonged to Thror and the heavy weight of the crown on his head. What kind of dwarf is he? To hide in this mountain while others die for him. Is this truly the king he wishes to become? As mad and uncaring as Thror, happy to cast aside even kin if it means another gold coin for his hoard.
He turns his back on the throne, casting the crown into darkness and stripping all wealth from him as he leaves. He came to the mountain with nothing, and nothing he will have until every orc is dead and peace is made with his allies. He owes Fili's memory that much, at least, and he should leave Kili with a stable kingdom instead of expecting him to clean up the mess left in the wake of madness.
Kili is the first to see him when he gets to the ramparts, the one who turns dark, furious eyes upon him. Who glares at him as though seeing a stranger and tightens his hands into fists, though he remains at his uncle's side. Frerin's eyes follow, his arms tight around his wife who has her face hidden in his broad chest. The resignation there is, perhaps, worse than Kili's anger. Thorin has long feared becoming like Thror and Frerin knows it, more than likely expected it even before Thorin made him promise to take the lads and his family and leave if it happened. Frerin is the one who knows from experience that it is almost impossible to break through and he must only have stayed as long as he has out of impossible hope. Stayed until it was far too late to prevent the damage Thorin's insanity has caused.
"My friends," he says, hoping they hear his contrition in his voice, apologies do not come easily to princes and kings. "I owe you more than I can ever say, more apologies than I can ever give. We don't have the time for them. Our kinsmen are fighting and dying to defend Erebor while I have mistakenly kept us within her halls. No more. It is time we fight for our home. Will you join me?" Most of the Company cheer, reaching for their weapons. Frerin and Belladonna don't, their grief all too clear. "You should remain with your wife, nadad. And you should stay too, Kili." With luck Belladonna will be able to use her magic to get them away from Erebor unharmed by the masses of orcs at her gates.
"No!" Kili cries. "I belong out there with you. I will fight with you, Uncle!"
"And you will likely die with me," he replies. "The mountain has already claimed your brother, do not ask me to risk losing you too, to deprive your mother of both of her sons."
"I will go," Frerin says softly. Belladonna doesn't make a sound although her expression says clearly that she doesn't like Frerin's decision. "You'll need someone to watch your back if Kili isn't beside you."
"I have Dwalin for that," Thorin says, although it warms him to know that his brother will stand beside him.
"And you will have me as well," Frerin assures him. "Kili shouldn't go out there with you. Dis has done well enough without me all these years, I will not send her only remaining son out into a slaughter in my place."
Thorin bows his head in acknowledgement, then departs with Kili to allow his brother a moment of privacy. In that time, he pushes Kili to promise him that he will not leave the mountain unless the battle is lost. In that situation he will need to try and get Belladonna and the child she carries somewhere safe. The Iron Hills until the babe is old enough to travel and then back to the Shire. He will need to declare Erebor lost to them, as so many of their other homes have been, and make the best of his life in the Blue Mountains. Kili agrees, grudgingly, and all too soon Thorin is charging out to the battle with Frerin on his right and Legolas, of all people, on his left.
He loses the elf quickly, although he fights as though he is dancing, and soon he is alone among orcs and goblins. It is too like Azanulbizar, the grinning faces of his opponents and the knowledge that they are outnumbered and under prepared. He has barely slept at all, hardly eaten in the last week, exhaustion drags at his limbs even as he forces himself to keep going. There is a flash of gold, Frerin against his back, but there are too many and some of their attacks are beginning to break through.
The spear finds his chest as the world falls apart.
A.N: I wanted it to be Dwalin who confronted Thorin, it was easily the best part of BOTFA and I think it has more impact from Dwalin who has always been at Thorin's side than from Frerin who has come and gone over the years