Chapter 15, everyone!

Yeah, I know, another late chapter... hopefully it will be worth the wait!

Thanks to all readers, followers, favourites and reviewers! I really appreciate all of your support!

I do not own any characters or places; J.R.R Tolkien or Peter Jackson and Co do.

Enjoy!

Chapter 15: Day 3 – Thorin

Thorin was now certain that he was going to die.

He had had this suspicion for a while now, but it had only become clearer. Such pain he felt, the shivers he got and the fire running through his veins, could not bode well. He had felt much pain during his life, but the pain he felt now was the worst of it all. It did not only affect his body, but also infected his heart and soul, resulting with the whole world fading around him.

A blurry mist clouded his sight and the voices speaking to him all blended together so that he could not grasp who it was that spoke. The voices called his name, spoke sweet nonsense in his ears. Sometimes he thought it was his brother speaking to him and he called out for Frerin. Frerin, with his auburn hair, bright eyes and quiet smiles. His little brother who was dead since many years ago. Thorin's heart ached to see him again. In his feverish delirium the ghosts of his mother and father were looking down at him. Their faces were ashen and appeared to be made of stone. They did not speak, only looked at him. Thorin blinked and tried to call out to them, but their names were stuck in his throat and did not pass his lips, not even when someone poured water down his throat. Then they disappeared in the grey clouds and Thorin found himself staring up at Balin and Óin, both of them looking devastated.

"How long do I have left?" he rasped and judging by Balin's expression, it looked as if his old friend's heart was pierced by the sound.

Balin choked back a sob and Óin said:

"Not very long. It is surprising that you are still with us, that you have held out for this long."

"I have come this far", said Thorin. "I can hold out for a little longer." He grimaced as pain shot up his stomach and chest. "Has there been any word from Gandalf?"

Balin and Óin exchanged a sad glance and Thorin felt his heart sink and his worries to grow. He shifted position and lay so that he was staring up at the roof. The fabric was red, though he believed he could glimpse rays of sun. He would miss the sky, he realized with an ache to his heart, as he would the safety of halls of stone, which he would never see again. The pain he felt now was not all caused by his wounds.

"Not a word", sighed Balin. "Nothing said at all about our esteemed Mister Baggins."

"He can't be dead", murmured Thorin lowly and closed his eyes, but opened them when the sudden darkness became too much for him to bear. "Not him as well."

His thoughts immediately went to his sister's sons, both of them dead and to be buried. The grief was still fresh and brought tears to his eyes. They left salty trails upon his cheek, slithered their way into his dark, unkempt beard. Fíli and Kíli. He had been there when they were born; though it was five years apart, and then he had spent many years of his life watching them grow and become fine Dwarves, worthy of the line of Durin. Now he had also watched them die for him.

Balin said something else, but Thorin did not hear it at first. A painful throbbing in his ears made him momentarily deaf to those around him. He tried to pull himself together.

"I spoke with Daín before", said Balin in a faraway voice. "It sounded as if they made some progress. He has offered some of his masons to help build up Dale. Bard the Dragonslayer has decided to try and rebuilt the city, as he is the heir of Girion it is his right. The Elvenking was not late with borrowing a couple of his woodworkers. Daín hoped they would sign a treaty soon."

"Good, good", mumbled Thorin vaguely, his conscious slipping further away.

Darkness was all he saw.

He stirred when someone dabbed his forehead with a wet cloth. It felt strange against his hot skin. Familiar voices were talking, though not with him. They mentioned his sister's name and Thorin became overwhelmed by guilt. Dís had not liked the idea of him going half a world away to face a dragon, not when their father had perished during a similar journey, but she had supported him in the end for he was family and Dís was a Dwarrowdam who was fiercely protective over hers. Therefore she had despised it when it had been arranged for her two sons to follow their uncle, but she had not been able to stop them. Thorin had made a promise that if he would not be able to make it, at least he would see to it that her sons did. Dís had believed him, because he had never failed her before.

"Dís!" he gasped and nearly sat up straight in the bed. Many blurred figures hurried to his side, trying to calm him down. "Dís…."

"Be still, Thorin or you wounds may reopen", said Óin soothingly, but not without sounding exhausted. "Easy now…."

Thorin did not pay him much attention, but allowed Óin and Balin to gently push him back down in bed. He had just realized what pain and sorrow he would cause Dís in his death. At the end of the bed stood Dwalin and Glóin, both looking grim and Thorin turned to the former with a pleading look.

"You have followed me through battle, famine and death, never straying from my side. I have no right to ask more of you, but heed the wish of a dying man; take care of Dís. Many wrongs have I done my sister and I do not want her to be alone until our paths cross again."

Dwalin nodded and his jaw was set. Thorin could not recall Dwalin ever having looked so serious and determined before.

"I will always follow the line of Durin", he said gruffly and then he said nothing more.

They exchanged looks of complete understanding. Thorin realized that Dwalin blamed himself of what had happened. He tried to make him see the truth.

"You are not to blame."

"Am I not?" wondered Dwalin bitterly. "I was too slow; I did not reach you or the lads in time."

"You are not to blame", repeated Thorin firmly. "Should anyone be held responsible, it is I. Fíli and Kíli's deaths…. are on my shoulders…."

Grief overwhelmed him and prevented him from speaking. Dwalin also looked as if he was close to tears.

"Do not speak of it", advised Óin as he was using a wet cloth cooling Thorin's face. "It will do you no good."

"I must speak, because soon there will be a time where I no longer can."

Balin let out what sounded like a sniff. Thorin turned his way. His old friend looked miserable.

"Oh, laddie…."

While Thorin had begun to come to terms with dying, it appeared that his friends had not. Balin and Dwalin stod close together, their shoulders nearly touching, drawing strength from one another. That was how Thorin knew the brothers would be fine.

"Could I speak to Daín? Is he near?" asked Thorin as he had quite a lot he wished to say to his distant cousin. He would be the one to be King under the Mountain after all.

Balin shook his white head.

"He has been having meetings almost the whole day", he explained. "Now I believe he is planning…." There was a short pause. "Your funeral."

"Hm." The answer left him momentarily speechless. Then he said: "Could you please bring the members of our Company? I wish to share words with those loyal Dwarves who have followed me to the end."

Again, it was Balin who nodded. Dwalin stood just as still as a pillar of stone. The oldest of Fundin's sons left the tent and at the same time, Óin put away the cloth. He sighed deeply, sounding tired.

"There is nothing more I can do. Now, all we can do is waiting."

Thorin thought Óin had done the best he could and he told the healer that as well. He smiled gratefully, but did not look at peace. Glóin placed a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder.

The flaps of the tent were cast aside and in came the rest of the Company, led by Balin. Automatically Thorin's eyes looked for Fíli and Kíli and his heart ached when he could not find them. Except for their deaths, the members of the Company had all gotten out of the Battle alive, if not a bit bruised. Some of them even sported bandages and a couple of broken limbs, but none of them were near death. It gladdened Thorin.

All of them moved to stand close to his bed and he was soon surrounded by familiar faces. They all looked down at him, some with worry, some with sadness and some with tears in their eyes. He felt his stony heart crack a bit. He took a deep breath before speaking:

"My friends. I have asked you here because I wanted to thank you for standing loyally beside me throughout our journey. You all did what nobody else dared to and for that, you have my eternal gratitude. Your names will never be forgotten and I will see to it that Daín gives you your share of the treasure. You have all earned it."

Murmurs of "thank you" sounded in a chorus. Thorin only nodded graciously. They would get what they deserved, as had been the plan all along. He let his eyes sweep over the remaining Dwarves of his Company and thought of how they would manage in the future; Balin and Dwalin with faces lined with grief; Óin and Glóin wearing grim expressions; Dori, Nori and Ori clinging to each other, thankful for their luck; Bifur, Bofur and Bombur all without their usual twinkle in their eyes. Thorin thought they would all do well. They had endured worse than what would come in the future.

They all stayed for a while longer and the silence was broken a couple of times. Thorin did not speak, just listened. He was feeling tired and numb. Óin noticed his dozed off expression and said lowly:

"It will soon be over."

Thorin barely heard him and he would not remember how he said goodbye to his Company as they left him on his deathbed to return to whatever duties they had. He watched them leave and go out into a world he would never see. His thoughts swirled around in his head and it was becoming more difficult to breathe. He wanted it to stop so he closed his eyes and waited, hoping for a miracle….

"Thorin!"

He blinked, thinking he was dreaming. It was a voice he knew, but had doubted he would hear again. Quick, silent footsteps approached his bed and Thorin turned his head so he could look at the short, curly-haired man that kneeled next to him. His face was gaunt and he looked terribly thin. Dried blood clung to a gash on his forehead and his eyes were frightened and sad. His voice was choked with what was almost a sob.

"Thorin."

Yet Thorin could not help but smile, despite the sorrow upon the Hobbit's face. He felt how a weight lifted off his heart and how his body relaxed, fell to sleep as it slowly became numb. It was a rather good feeling, feeling nothing. The smile on his face became one of the most genuine he had ever smiled.

"Master Burglar", he said in a breathy voice as his blue eyes shone with relief.

He was half gone already, but seeing Bilbo Baggins assured him that the gates to the Halls of his Fathers and Maker would be open when his time came to enter.

So, that was Thorin's final chapter... Any thoughts?

I know I said this would be the last chapter, but I have planned for an epilogue as well, which will be in a new p.o.v. It will be published on Sunday (and I mean it this time).

Thanks for reading! :)