(50 years earlier)

Óin remembered walking down this passage before, watching on as Fari's grandfather had been laid to rest; but though Sulki was to be buried in the same chamber-in the coffin that had been carved for him when the vault had been constructed-his funeral was a much smaller affair. Despite the high reputation his family had enjoyed in Erebor, Sulki had chosen a miner's life for himself in the Blue Mountains, and as such, he had felt it would be wrong to let the fame of his forebears dictate how he would be interred.

So, as per his will, there had been few songs, few words, few mourners, and a simple bier borne by four. Those four included three of his closest friends, as well as Fari, who had been like a son to Sulki since Smaug had killed the boy's parents. And though there were not many others in attendance, Thorin had also come - as it was the prince's custom to attend all the funerals of his people, whether he had known them well, slightly, or not at all.

To Óin, however, this was an uncommon thing. Sulki's father's funeral six years ago had actually been the last he had attended, and he remembered thinking at the time that it was really a rather dull affair. He knew even then that he should have been somber and respectful; but at that time, he was just restless.

It was at that point, in fact, that he and Fari had struck up their friendship; as Óin had fallen into conversation with him after the burial had ended and the ale was flowing, and Óin had inadvertently brought up how boring it had been. To his credit, Fari had kept his humor; and since then, the two had been inseparable.

But now that someone was being laid to rest that Óin not only knew, but had been very fond of, he felt a sinking ache in his chest. Most of that aching was for Fari, and the knowledge that the too-young Dwarf had suddenly been thrust into the position of being the last of his family line; and Óin wished that there was some way to help his friend beyond just standing by at the funeral and offering up his condolences. But even as he was thinking about what else he could do or say, the bearers set the bier down in front of the great stone door that blocked the entrance to Fari's family vault.

...

"Heggi was Fari's grandfather, wasn't he?" asked Kíli, breaking Óin out of his thoughts.

Though Óin was at first inclined to scold the boy for interrupting again, he answered the question without so much as a glance in Kíli's direction.

"Aye. Though I thought that would be obvious."

"Why was he called Silvereye?" asked Fíli.

"It was an interesting thing, that," said Óin. He drew in on his pipe, then blew out a smoke-ring that was lost in the flames of the campfire. "See, Heggi was a jeweler of no small renown when he lived in Erebor, and he had a number of folks that worked under him in his shop in the foothills..."

"Why was his shop in the hills, and not in the Mountain?" Kíli broke in.

"For the sake of his apprentices," answered Óin. "Many of them were young Men of Dale and could not well handle the heat, so it was a help to have the fresher air." He paused, waiting for more questions; but the boys stayed quiet, and Óin continued. "Now, one night, there was a goblin raid..."

Kíli gasped; and from the corner of his eye, Óin saw him move a little closer to his brother.

"Heggi and his workers took refuge in the kiln-room," the older Dwarf went on, looking at the boys. "But there was no way out the back, and no way to make their escape through the crafting-room. So Heggi had his workers gather the hot crucibles near the door... then he threw it open and let the goblins rush in. They fell over the pots, spilling out the molten gold and silver and burning themselves; then Heggi and the others managed to rout them, but Heggi's eye and the whole of the left side of his face was burned by a splash of silver."

"Were you there?" asked Fíli, his mouth agape.

"No," said Óin with a slight shake of his head. "But everybody learned the story in short time, and let me tell you that Heggi was not displeased with the name that was given to him for it."

Kíli relaxed his tensed shoulders. "Oh. I thought you were going to say that was how Heggi died."

"You know that Dwarves to not burn so easily," said Óin with a wink. "Though, his face was forever after twisted and scarred on the left."

"What did kill him, then?" asked Fíli.

"A fever," said Óin, tapping the bowl of his pipe with his fingertip. "Or, so it had been believed at the time..."

...

The mourners all looked to Fari, who withdrew a key from his trouser pocket; then he folded his hand around it and and pressed it to his chest. Óin waited patiently, wanting to give Fari his moment, but when the people around them began to shift uncomfortably, he stepped up and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

Fari jumped and the key fell to the floor; but before the young Dwarf even seemed to realize he had lost it, Thorin had scooped it up and was now holding it out in his opened palm. Fari swallowed hard, then nodded at the prince and accepted the key back hesitantly before looking to Óin. In the flickering light from the mourners' torches, it was easy to see the welling-up of tears in Fari's eyes as he glanced around at the gathered group, then down at his shrouded uncle. He turned again to the door; and after letting out a weary breath, he slid the key into the lock and turned.

There was a loud "crack", and as dust fell from the lintel, Fari tilted his head down and closed his eyes against it. Óin moved back; but when Fari began to push against the door and it did not open, he stepped forward and, with the hand that was not holding his torch, began to press against it, as well. Still, the door did not budge, and so Thorin came up beside Óin and set his shoulder to the stone.

All together, they heaved against the door; and slowly it began to move inwards with a screeching that echoed up and down the bare tunnel walls. The door was only opened slightly, though, when it stopped with a jolt and held fast; and the three Dwarves lurched into it from the unexpected halt.

Shaking off the surprise of impact, Fari turned to Óin and gave him a weak shrug; then Thorin spoke up, telling them that there must be some fragments of stone blocking the door from opening. That was not so uncommon a thing, really; as earthquakes happened every year in the Blue Mountains, and they tended to send bits of rock falling from even the most well-constructed ceilings - it was likely that one such shake may have chipped a bit of the stone from the inner lintel, and that it was now wedged under the door.

Each mourner looked at the others in turn, as they tried to determine who should go inside and clear the obstruction. In the end it was size that was the deciding factor, as there were only three among the mourners who were slim enough to fit through the gap - one being a young girl, who was already frightened enough with just being in the tunnel; and the other two being Thorin and Óin, himself.

...

"You must have been a lot smaller back then," said Kíli. "I mean, if you're the one they picked to go in."

Óin laughed despite himself. "Well, the years do add on," he said, patting his stomach. "But to be honest, I was quite a bit more active in those days."

"Uncle Thorin never told us about any of this," said Fíli, giving his brother a sidelong glance.

"Well, and why would he?" asked Óin. "It isn't exactly the kind of thing you'd bring up in idle conversation at the dinner table, is it?"

Fíli shook his head; and Óin cleared his throat and went on.

...

Thorin, for his part, did not hesitate in entering. He first thrust his torch into the chamber, then pressed his back to the jamb and eased inside. Óin, on the other hand, was rooted in place by trepidation. But at last he handed his torch off to Fari and removed his coat so that it would not wedge him in the opening. He took back the torch and steeled his nerve, then sucked in his stomach as he squeezed himself into the room behind Thorin.

As Óin got into the dark space, he felt a tight grip on his shoulder. He fell back against the wall next to the door, pressing his hand to his chest and holding his breath, then he swung the torch out in front of himself. Thorin's agitated face appeared in the flickering light, and Óin tightened his jaw and opened his mouth as he prepared to tell the prince how he had frightened him. But Thorin held up a finger and shook his head, silencing him; and while his want for quiet in such a place was not unusual, seeing the prince's knitted brows and shaking hand was disturbing in a way that Óin could not quite comprehend.

Óin had never feared the dead, but the chamber was fairly large and stretched out beyond the reach of the torchlight; and it took him several long breaths before he could gather the will to move away from the wall. Still, he managed only one step before freezing in place from sheer apprehension. He swallowed hard and looked to Thorin, watching the prince's narrowed eyes as they reflected the small flames from the torch that he held in front of himself.

Thorin let out a long breath, then tilted his chin up and took Óin by the sleeve, leading him around to the other side of the partially-open door. Óin followed reluctantly, dragging his feet and gritting his teeth; and on the other side, Thorin stopped and held his torch down. After glancing back at the darkness behind him, Óin looked to the base of the door - but where he had expected to see a fall of stones, there instead lay the crumpled and petrified remains of a long-dead Dwarf.