Title: Thoughts in the night chapter Two

Author: Dís Thráinsdotter

Disclaimer: I don't own Tolkien´s characters, I merely borrow them.

Rating: M

Summary: Glóin sits thinking about his life one night when he can't sleep. Post Hobbit but before LotR.

I envied my elder cousins and kinsmen who would meet the Orcs head-on, but when I told them so they said that they didn't doubt that there would be enough enemies for me when I became Battle ready. "In the meanwhile, the work you do together with your mother is most important to us" they said but I wasn't convinced about that. I aided her when she repaired the mail our warriors wore and to me it seemed as if it was of little worth. Now I understand what they meant, it takes a good deal of work to repair a chain mail practically ripped apart and those who do that work are as valuable to a host as any warrior. But then I didn't see it like that. I smile when I think about how eager I was to become Battle ready, and my brother was as eager as I was.

Still, nothing could have prepared me for the last battle. Our host had to fight an uphill battle, which is hard even at the best of times, but now we were facing Orcs who had nothing to loose and such an enemy is the hardest to face. The vanguard was pushed into a patch of forest and was able to hold it but many were lost. Frerin son of Thráin fell there, and my uncle Fundin, and many others. But finally the company from Iron Hills came and Náin son of Grór commanded it. I heard someone say that Grór had wanted to fight the murderer of his brother but they had been able to persuade him to remain at Iron Hills. It was when they came that we were able to win the battle but it came at a cost. Azog killed Náin as they fought each other before the Gates of Khazad-Dûm but Náins Company slew Azogs bodyguards and the rest of the host slew the remaining Orcs. Those few who escaped ran south through the valley. As Azog saw this he tried to get inside the Gates but Dáin Ironfoot went after him, slew him on the threshold and cut his head off. He was 32 when he did it, a stripling as we recon it so it was a great feat. But those who saw him said that he was grey in the face, as if he had felt great fear. All of us who could gathered to see when Nar put the bag of money that Azog had thrown at him into Azogs mouth and his head was put on a pole. When I saw it there I was most satisfied but I was also most saddened.

The most grievous thing was that we had to burn the fallen, but as someone said, we either burned them or left them to be eaten by birds and beasts that feed on carrion. "There are many Orcs here, we needn't feed them with our kinsmen" that person said so we burned our fallen on pyres. The memory of the pyres is still haunting me, the smell of their burning bodies and the sight of the flames but there was no other way. But whenever one of us says proudly about one of his (or her) sires "he was a Burned Dwarf" no more needs to be said.

When we left the valley each one of us carried a heavy burden of arms and mail taken from the dead so that the Orcs wouldn't be able to get them. Balin carried his father's axes and mail as part of his burden and Thórin those who had been his brothers. We went back to Dunland for a while but then we went to the Blue Mountains and made a home there. It wasn't Erebor, as mother and father said, but it was a good place and it was our own. We traded a bit and thus weren't so badly off and it felt good to journey from time to time with my father, mother and brother. It was mostly things made of Iron we traded; tools, knives, spades and such things but it was a decent living after all "and anything is better than begging bread at proud doors" Thráin said at times.

But suddenly disaster struck again. For some time Thráin had been pining and even if we didn't know why we all knew that something wasn't entirely right. Suddenly he rose and told a group of us, Balin among them, to come with him. We were away from home at the time, doing a bit of trade with the Elves in Lindon and when we came back they were already long gone. "Father told me to keep things for him here until he returns" Thórin told us "but I am worried for him. He seemed fey and reminded me of the vengeance my grandfather had bequeathed to me. I hope he isn't planning anything rash, like going back to Khazad-Dûm."

"I don't think so" father said, but he still looked worried and he didn't tell us what he suspected. We didn't hear anything about them for some time but when we did it was indeed grievous tidings. They had had to fight Orcs and other servants of the Necromancer but finally they had made it to Mirkwood. Then they had been forced to take shelter from a downpour under the trees in the eaves of the forest and the following day Thráin was missing from the camp. They had looked for him for many days until they had been forced to return to us. "It seems to me that I have to take the position of Durin´s Heir" Thórin said "at least until my father returns. But how he will return, if ever, I don't knowand I know nothing about what forced him to make this journey in the first place. Hopefully we will find out soon." But we didn't find out until many years later.

TBC