Dislcaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Again, sorry for the long wait, but the chapter was a killer. I hope you enjoy. Here's a khuzdul filler for y'all:
Melhekith: king who is young
Melhekhel: king of all kings
shomakh: guard-men
zabadkhel:lord of all lords (which would be Thrain)
inúdoy: son
furkh ubkun: life payment
inúdoyith: son that is young
amhgand: I promise
Mahathhôr shumûkh: gather the guards
Thank you to Antex-the Legendary Zoroark, Guest, Britt30, Final Syai Lunar Generation, Amazing-Thalia-Grace, Darcy, and randomplotbunny for all reviewing.
Chapter Three: Prologue III
The first thing Thorin noticed when he awoke was that he was incredibly sore. His head buzzed and throbbed while his body felt completely shattered. With an ached groan, he twisted on what felt like his bed. His fingers grabbed at the fur blanket that he felt covering him.
"Agh, why does everything hurt?" He rumbled in pain.
"That would be you refocusing." A feminine voice whispered.
"Dís?" Thorin groaned.
"No, melhekith, it is not Lady Dís." The voice replied.
He opened his eyes slowly, trying to avoid the pain that came with his eyelids cracking open. When he did finally pry his eyes open he found that a young Dwarrowdam was in his field of vision. She had dark brown hair that was braided in a series of intricate braids, almost like a cascading waterfall. Her violet and black robes given her tanned skin a worn look.
"A servant?" He choked.
She snorted. "For now."
"What…what happened?" Thorin moaned putting a hand to his forehead.
"Do you not remember?" She asked quietly.
Thorin laughed bitterly. "I wouldn't be asking you if I did."
"The melhekhel cognitively freed you." She said.
"W-w-what was your name?" Thorin rasped. "And what was that big word?"
The female chuckled. "My name is Solbrâ. And the big word? It's another word for that he took the dragon from his mind."
"Dragon?" The prince whispered, trying to remember.
"Aye," She nodded gravely. "The one that they captured yesterday."
"Y-y-yesterday?" Thorin demanded. "A dragon?"
"They must've hit you harder than they thought." Solbrâ observed.
"No," Thorin protested, "I remember. Bryngeir—"
"Who?"
"The dragon."
Solbrâ blinked. "It has a name?"
"There is much more than a name." Thorin whispered, trying to remember if the Dwarves had harmed the dragon in his last minutes of consciousness. "His name is Bryngeir of the Gilded Wings, he is a sky racer, and he is one hundred and fifty nine years old—which is young for a dragon."
"Melhekith, you are unwell." Solbrâ said shakily. "You must rest."
"I need to see him." Thorin pressed.
"King Thror would not approve if—"
"I command you to take me, Solbrâ." Thorin growled, shifting out of bed.
She dropped the tray she was carrying onto a table and rushed to his side. "Fine, fine—just, let me help you up."
"I can do it fine."
"Yeah, no." She snorted, grabbing his arm and pulling him up. "You were unconscious for a day. I'm going to help you."
"Have they treated him well?"
"Who?"
"Bryngeir,"
"The dragon?"
"Yes."
She shrugged. "Only the shomakh and the melhekhel and zabadkhel are allowed in the throne hall. No one has seen the dragon since. But we can hear him; he roars a lot."
"It is what I fear." Thorin said, as she pulled him up.
"So… the dragon didn't, possess your mind?" She asked nervously. "If you don't mind me asking, sire."
"Bryngeir is my friend." Thorin growled. "He saved both Balin and I from a fate at the hands of Orcs. I need to let my grandfather and father know."
"But—"
"I am not giving you a choice."
"They told me to tell them if you awoke."
"I will go to them."
"Very well, melhekith." Solbrâ nodded reluctantly.
Struggling, she managed to haul Thorin up to his feet. With a curt nod to him, she grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the room. She walked as quickly as she could down the hall towards the throne room. Thorin did his best to ward off the nausea that ran up his throat. Solbrâ led him quietly down the hall. There were seemingly no guards anywhere. Thorin shivered at the thought of them all being the throne hall with Bryngeir. He couldn't help but fear at the notions of what they were doing to the poor dragon.
He doesn't deserve any of this. This was all my fault. Thorin thought wearily.
As they neared the place where his grandfather held the dragon, they noted that the walls vibrated and shook. Thorin cast a worried glance towards Solbrâ and she only shook her head. He frowned.
"This is probably the calmest the creature has been." She murmured. "Normally the halls quake at the rage of this dragon."
"What have they done to him?" Thorin demanded.
"Torture is all I've heard rumor of." The servant responded. "Thror was very furious when he realized that a dragon had taken over the mind of his grandson."
"Bryngeir did no such thing!" The Dwarf prince growled.
Solbrâ blinked. "H-h-he really…really is your friend then?"
Thorin gave an exasperated sigh. "Yes! And if we do not hurry, he will face a fate that he is wrongfully accused of."
The Dwarrowdam nodded and picked up the pace. Thorin followed as agilely as he could but his limbs still mocked him with their buzzing feeling. The female noticed this and managed to tuck his arm over her shoulders. Before Thorin could make any undignified protest, she held up a halting hand.
"Melhekith, you suffer from a concussion. You will need the aid for a while."
With a glower and an irritable huff, Thorin inclined his head that he understood.
They continued down the hall until the tremors became unbearable and they stood in front of the throne hall's doors. Thorin slipped his arm off of the servant girl's shoulders. She looked at him confusedly.
"I must go alone. If anyone ever asks of you, tell them that you could not disobey my commands."
"Which I cannot." She pointed out.
Thorin gave a small smirk. "I like to think you helped me out of the goodness of your heart."
Solbrâ smiled slightly in return. "So do I."
The prince put a quick hand to her shoulder. "Now go, and thank you Lady Solbrâ for all your help."
With a quick nod of her head and a twirl of her skirts, she disappeared down the tunnel. Thorin exhaled nervously before bracing his hands up against the doors. With a shake of his head, he pushed the stone doors open.
He was bombarded with the sound of angry Dwarrow and his grandfather's bellows of disapproval. His father stood by Thror, watching as the soldiers carried what seemed to be black battering rams. The prince's heart shattered as he saw two teams of the royal guard alternating slamming the black rams into the sides of Bryngeir.
The dragon himself was in a horrific sight. His wounds that Thorin and Balin had so tediously tried to mend were brutally ripped open and freshly bleeding. His largest horn on the right sight of his head was broken in half, only the bottom piece remained. An entire gold plate scale on the tip of his nose was missing and the ones that ran along his back—the ones that had been sticking up—were either snapped or missing. On his chest were disgusting cracks on the gold plate armor that protected his breast. It stretched all the way from what would be the soft spot on his throat to the start of his torso. But that wasn't what disturbed Thorin. It was the fact that Bryngeir was tied down to a large slab of stone, his head and back covered and rankled by chains. The dragon's eyes were closed in pain, and menacing black smoke stormed from his nostrils.
Thorin's fists balled.
"Adâd! Adadûn!" He roared, storming towards his family.
Thror looked up in anger, but Thrain looked up in relief.
"Thorin! Thank Mahal, yer fine!" The father breathed, rushing towards the approaching Dwarf.
The dragon's eyes snapped open and he narrowed his vision on the youngest Dwarf. Thrain barely had time to push his son out of the way as a torrent of bright orange fire was blasted toward them. Thorin looked up in shook at Bryngeir. The emerald dragon's hazel eyes burned with betrayal and anger.
"You miserable Dwarf!" He yowled. "You traitor! I trusted yo—"
Both guard teams slammed into the dragon's side simultaneously. The dragon howled in pain, his claws clutching at the stone beneath him. Thror grunted before turning towards his son and grandson. He gestured his head towards Thrain.
"Leave us, inúdoy."
Thrain growled. "'E's my son, an' I will stay fer whatever ye 'ave to say to him, Adâd."
Thror glared at his son.
"Take your family's matters elsewhere! I have half the mind to incinerate the lot of you!" Bryngeir snarled, followed by a pained grunt of another hit.
Thorin turned his glance to his grandfather. "What are you doing?"
"I am getting the answers I need from this demon in the only way that I can." Thrain answered lowly.
"By torturing, Adadûn?" Thorin snapped. "This is more than just some wild beast. He has a consciousness and a name."
The Dwarf prince failed to notice the emerald dragon's ears prick up at that statement.
Thrain gripped his son's shoulder. "Thorin, hush, yer in enough trouble as it—"
The raven-haired Dwarf shook his father's hand off. "What Adadûn is doing is wrong and he knows it! All he cares about is his precious treasure! Well, understand that Bryngeir had no intentions of stealing your gold! He saved my life and I owe him a debt! A furkh ubkun!"
That silenced the two elders. Thrain stood there shocked and speechless. Thror stood, boiling and seething in rage. Although, Thorin couldn't say he was exactly surprised when Thror slapped him across the face. The prince took it with only a wince.
"I may be your Adadûn but I am also your melhekhel!" Thror thundered furiously. "And if I have to beat the dragon's presence from your mind again, then I will!"
Thorin made no move.
Thrain stepped away helplessly as his father reached for one of the guard's whips. He really didn't want to whip his own grandson, but he saw no other way. Thorin had to know that the dragon was not a friend but an enemy. Something who took over minds to get its way. Just as the King Under the Mountain raised his hand for the first lashing, there was a might roar.
"Enough!"
All three royals, and all the guards paused to look at the pained dragon. He shook. His eyes still narrowed, but glittered wetly. Thorin bit back a protest, whatever the dragon was going to do, it wasn't going to be good.
"I…release you from my service…" the dragon gasped. "I am no longer in need of your knowledge or your mind, Thorin son of Thrain, son of Thror—ruler of the Dwarrowkind under the mighty mountain of Erebor. Be gone from my sight before I burn your treacherous hide."
Thrain's eyes widened.
Thror's dark mood disappeared entirely. He looked at his grandson and grasped his shoulders. His blue eye penetrated Thorin's.
"Are you free?" He demanded hopefully.
"Free from what?" The prince asked dazedly.
He met the gaze of Bryngeir. The dragon's eyes were shaking with the rest of his body. His lips were pulled tight and pursed. He lifted his chin to the best of his abilities and raised it in a proud form. Then, even with as much trouble as he did, he gave a small nod.
Oh Bryngeir, what have you done? Thorin mourned before looking to his grandfather. "Yes…Adadûn"
Thror stared into Thorin's eyes for a while longer before nodding satisfied. He embraced his grandson. Tears seemed to spill from his eyes.
"You are no longer lost to us, inúdoyith."
Thorin barely leaned into his grandfather's hug. The man who had been about to lash him for befriending a dragon. It was then that it struck him. It really truly hit him.
Thror was gold sick.
He pulled away from his grandfather and tried to make a mask of awe to cover his facial expressions.
"Adadûn, how had you been able to rescue me?"
Thror sighed. "I feared your strange behavior about your hunt. It had me worried." He glanced nervously at the sea of gold on their right side.
He wasn't worried for me, he was worried about his treasure! Thorin mentally raged.
"So I sent a raven to follow you."
"A raven?" Thorin choked, he looked to his father.
Thrain nodded in confirmation.
"That is how were able to get to you be the late nightfall. With the raven's help we were able to track you and Balin quickly." Thror continued.
"Balin!" Thorin remember. "Mahal, is Balin alright? Is he safe?"
Thrain answered. "He's fine, son. Jus' recuperatin' from the bang to the head he got too."
"But let's not worry about that, aye?" Thror said, turning his grandson towards the large doors. "I'm sure you are hungry. Come, let us go get you some lunch."
Thorin reluctantly allowed Thror to lead him. He glanced one last glance at Bryngeir before he was gone from his sight. The dragon looked just as betrayed and just as forlorn.
~0oo0~
There were other ways into the throne hall. Ways that would bypass the guards at the front doors, or the guards that kept the treasures safe. Secret tunnels that led past the king's room, which was nestled safely next to the throne hall. There were unknown passages all throughout the hall, and few knew how to get to and through them.
Thorin was one of those few.
As quietly as he pleased, he snuck in while the guards were switching watches and crept to where Bryngeir was sleeping. The poor dragon rasped awfully, and his chest heaved with sudden spasms every now and then. Thorin couldn't help but feel rotten. This was quite the mess.
"I know you're there." The dragon growled as the Dwarf tiptoed over the bridge.
"I wasn't sure if you were asleep or not." Thorin whispered.
The dragon snarled, his hazel eyes snapping open. "You will have wished I was."
"Bryngeir! I have no quarrels with you!" The prince protested quickly.
The dragon let out a mirthless reverberating laugh. "Oh, how foolish of me. I trusted you. I really, truly did. I don't know why but it was something that I felt was right. And look where it got me! Chained to rock, stuck in this blasted mountain, not knowing if I will live to see the next day or if my cousin will live on his own."
"If I could reverse all of this I could!" Thorin stated remorsefully, trying to get closer.
Bryngeir glared at him. "And yet here you are, doing nothing. For a prince, you're a clot-pole."
Thorin's brows furrowed and his eyes darkened in offense.
"Yes, I said it." Bryngeir snapped. "I should've known better to trust a Dwarf."
"Do you think so little of me?" Thorin growled. "I've come to let you know that I have a plan to free you and here you are accusing me of not caring!"
The dragon blinked confusedly. "What?"
"Contrary to your belief," the Dwarf grunted as he jumped down from the low bridge to the rock where Bryngeir was tied to, "I consider you my friend. And my oath to you is still valid. I give you my service for I owe you a debt."
"Those words in…khuzdul… you said earlier to the king?"
The Dwarf nodded.
The dragon visibly sighed and deflated. "I must admit I feared I would be here until Thror killed me off. Or worse. I would be here until they found Draupneir and killed the both of us off."
"They won't find your cousin I promise. Because you're leaving tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"B-b-but how?" the dragon stammered, coughing a bit.
"I have a plan." Thorin admitted. "But it does involve you playing along."
"Let's hear it." Bryngeir grunted stiffly.
For about the next two hours, they argued the pros and cons of what should have been a very simple and easy plan. But as they talked more and more, they realized the heavy risks and consequences that would be entailed if they were caught. And as enlightening as the prospect of freedom was for Bryngeir, he really didn't want to gamble either one of their lives.
"I don't like it." Bryngeir voiced. "There's too much that could go wrong. We could be followed, or Thror would insist that you should do it here in the throne hall."
Thorin shook his head. "No. Dwarrow have a strong sense of justice."
At that the dragon rolled his eyes.
"If I demanded that it be done in the forest as a source of irony," The Dwarf continued, only slightly glaring at his friend. "Then it should be granted to me."
"Ah, 'should be' being the key words."
"You…are correct."
Bryngeir was silent for a while.
"It's not a good idea." He finally whispered. "There are so many ways it could go wrong."
Thorin sighed, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "I know it's not the best…but it's the only chance you've got right now Bryngeir."
"And if you were told to carry the deed out here in the throne hall…would you do it?"
"What?"
"If you grandfather told you to do it in front of everyone here in the throne hall, would you carry out?"
Thorin was quiet, collecting his thoughts before answering. "I was raised to following orders. I am trained in being not just a blacksmith but a warrior as well."
"I thought as much." Bryngeir nodded solemnly.
"I was not finished." Thorin lifted a brow. "But, if I have disobey an order to protect a friend from a harm they did not deserve, I will."
"You could be hurt." The dragon warned.
"He would not harm me." The Dwarf assured. "He could flog me, throw me in prison, or shave my beard and thrown from Erebor—but he would not have me killed."
"Do not give your home for someone who is not your own kind." Bryngeir murmured.
"You are my friend. More than just a dragon." Thorin growled. "You think, feel, and perceive as any Dwarf would and I would be more than glad to call you my nadadûn."
"All because I saved you from Orcs, Thorin?" The dragon rasped.
"You did more than that, you've done nothing but been kind to me. You protected me, told me the stories of your kin, and shared with your blood lines. You are honest, and willing of the heart. I could ask no more from you other than you let me call you my nadadûn."
"Brother-man?"
"Roughly. I'm basically calling a brother who is man enough among my kind."
Bryngeir didn't answer him. Thorin's nodded, understanding that the dragon was probably thinking of some way to refuse kindly. And he would accept that. He had brought upon the innocent dragon nothing but pain in this last day. He was bleeding and broken, with scales and horns missing, as well as being torn apart from his cousin.
"Væng bróðír." The emerald dragon whispered softly.
"What?" Thorin choked, hearing such seemingly beautiful words coming from the dragon's rumbling voice.
"Væng bróðír. It means 'wing brother' in our language."
"Your language?"
"No one knows that the dragons have a language." Bryngeir mused. "It is probably even more secretive than your precious khuzdul. It is never spoken in an outsider's presence and is never spoke without another dragon near."
Thorin reached forward and placed his hand on the dragon's snout.
"I will free you." Thorin swore. "Amhgand."
Bryngeir's eyes seemed confused.
"You know its meaning if you think hard enough." Thorin said, before giving the dragon's pink skin on his snout a soothing pat. "You will be back in the skies in no time, Master of the Gilded Wings."
"Against my better judgment, I am trusting you again, Thorin." Bryngeir informed warningly.
"I know."
And with that the Dwarf left. He disappeared back into his tunnel where he could sneak back into his room. Tomorrow he would set his plan into motion. He would free the dragon.
~0oo0~
"Adadûn." Thorin greeted, stepping into the throne room at the first light of day.
Thror turned around with a grin on his face, gold slipping through his fingers. "Ah, Thorin I am glad to see you are once again your prompt self."
"I live to please." Thorin nodded with a slight bow.
"So what is that you wanted?" Thror asked, moving close to his grandson.
Thorin was trying not to be aware of his father's guard continuing that ill treatment of Bryngeir down below them. He needed to be focused. And he needed to be sincere.
"I wished to apologize for my horrid…actions." Thorin began.
Thror waved his hands dismissively. "Everything has been fixed has it not? You are yourself again and the dragon will pay for his crimes."
"That is why I am here, Adadûn." Thorin rumbled, putting on his best serious face and lowering his voice. "I would ask you to allow me to kill the dragon, in the forest where he found me. I want justice, and I see no better way than ending it where it all began."
"I myself and my army will accompany you." Thror murmured.
"Understandable given the treachery of the beast." Thorin agreed.
Thror looked at his son with wide, proud eyes. "You are serious of this then, Thorin?"
"My word as melhekith." The younger nodded.
The King Under the Mountain placed a hand on his grandson's shoulder. "Then it will be. Mahathhôr shumûkh!"
The guards stopped their tormenting of Bryngeir and turned towards their king.
Thror grinned. "Grab the black arrow! We shall end this dragon's life once and for all!"
The soldiers roared in pleasure.
Thorin braced a false smile.
"Du bekar!" The Dwarrow shouted.
Then it was nothing but chaos. The Dwarrow kind rushed this way and that, gathering their armor and their weapons. Thorin was suddenly shoved into the fray as he was pushed toward Thror—who had almost magically appeared at the front gates of the mountain.
It took about a hundred strong Dwarrow to drag Bryngeir along the forest floor, but they prevailed. It took them all day to reach the spot that would've taken Balin and Thorin an hour or two to traverse. The sun was setting and darkness was beginning to settle. One of the soldiers shoved Thorin the ridiculously large black arrow. He clutched it in his hands as Thror clapped him on the shoulder.
"I wish your father were here with us to watch such an honor for you Thorin," Thror praised. "But alas, someone must lead the mountain in our absence."
"Yes." Thorin agreed shakily.
Thror gave him an encouraging push forward towards the dragon who lay limply on the ground. All fight had gone and the dragon looked at them with empty hazel eyes. Thorin shivered. Thankful that this was all a ruse. If Bryngeir had lost any of his fire, it would be a terrible sight. Thorin swallowed and straightened himself, dawning his princely air. With purposeful steps, he strode towards Bryngeir.
The dragon's eyes blink in acceptance.
With his loudest, sharpest war cry, Thorin thrust the arrow down like a spear. It pierced into the dragon's chest, past his scales. The Dwarf released the arrow and let it stick there like a skewer. The dragon raised its head in fury and roared terribly until suddenly it's neck went rigid. Slowly the head sank to the ground and dragon's eyes stared glassily into the nether.
The Dwarrow raised their weapons and shouted with blood thirsty glee.
"May you wither here, your body to shrivel, and may your rotting carcass be left for wolves, Wargs, Orcs and other follow beasts to tear apart!" Thorin growled before he turned to the others. "May I…may I have a moment?"
Thror grinned, clearly pleased that the dragon was dead. "Catch up when you are done."
The Prince waited until the army and his grandfather disappeared over the knoll. With a sigh, he turned back to Bryngeir. The dragon's eyes unglazed, a few oily tears slipping from the eye lids, and blinked angrily.
"You could've have been gentler with your stab?" He hissed.
Thorin rolled his eyes. "I couldn't find the spot where your scale stuck up."
"Well now it is really sticking up."
"Stop your mewling. I got you free, didn't I?"
"That remains to be seen, I still have a good deal of chains on me."
Thorin groaned, Yes, right. He set himself to work quickly, unlocking the chains that Bryngeir could not handle or break himself. He needed to be quick, otherwise who knows if Thror would come back or not. Once he was done, he pried the arrow out from underneath Bryngeir's gold plate scale.
The dragon looked down disdainfully at himself as he stretched. "Look what they've done. They've shattered my chest scales. If I get into the smallest scuffle, they'll break apart."
"I'm sorry." Thorin offered.
"Not your fault." Bryngeir said, standing up and flaring his wings. "I will wait for nightfall to leave. Then I will find Draupneir and we will be gone for good."
"Not so fast…er,"
Bryngeir cocked his brow and looked at Thorin curiously. "I was wondering…if you would visit. Once a year."
"Once a year? Surely you would be watched carefully after this incident."
"Perhaps, but there is one day that is safe."
"When?"
"Durin's Day, the last day of autumn."
Bryngeir looked at the Dwarf skeptically. "Would you not be watched carefully on that day?"
Thorin shook his head. "No. Everyone gets so hammered they remember next to nothing of the events that happened during the day. While everyone is in their stupor, I can sneak out and visit."
"Another risk, and more sneaking." Bryngeir snarled bitterly.
"A friend is not a friend if they do not talk." Thorin retorted coolly. "This would be our only chance to see one another."
"I will think about it." The dragon purred.
"You'd better come." Thorin growled playfully, and yet he was weary.
"And you best be leaving." Bryngeir said with a quick gesture of his head. "Go on."
Thorin turned around and began to walk away. But before he left he looked over her shoulder and gave a small inclination of his head.
"Nadadûn."
Bryngeir gave a small wry smile. "Væng bróðír."
Thorin bit his lip before fully turning around. "Just…one more thing."
"Yes?" Bryngeir inclined his head to show that he was listening.
The Dwarf prince gave a terribly, terribly nervous exhale before raising his sword. Bryngeir didn't even have the opportunity to shout a protest as Thorin severed the braid at the left side of his head. The dragon's eyes widened and a look of mortification crossed his face. The Dwarf prince walked up to the dragon, his chin held proudly, and outstretched the hand that carefully cradled the black plait.
"This is the braid that declare my family. It is one that is easy enough to rebraid and re-bead. Take it Bryngeir. This is the debt that I owed you, now it would be clear to all your kin; that I am here for you and should they ever have a quarrel with your heritage, you have a brother who is willing to come and defend you."
The dragon was speechless.
Thorin proffered the braid again. "I never want to see you hurt again like the way you were the day after your race. Now, you are not only part Fire Drake and part Great Dragon, but you are also part Dwarf too."
With a shaking claw, Bryngeir reached out and took the plait from Thorin hands. It was lost in the large expanse in the palm of the dragon's claw, but it was there. The Dwarf prince gave the dragon a reassuring smile, knowing that if Thror ever found out—he really would be shaved and cast out of Erebor. But, Bryngeir didn't need to know that.
"I will treasure it." The dragon swore.
Thorin nodded as he rebraided his hair and tied it off with a small piece of his shirt that he had torn. "I know you will."
With a solemn and satisfied nod, Thorin made a last farewell before leaving. This time he did not look back. Because if he did, he probably wouldn't leave the dragon's side. He told himself he didn't have to worry. He would see Bryngeir on Durin's Day.
~0oo0~
The years came and went as they pleased. In fact, half a decade went by without much happenings. But, every Durin's Day, a certain Dwarf prince would sneak out of the mountains to meet his Great Dragon friend.
It had been quiet the surprise—Thorin had just turned twenty one—when Bryngeir revealed that he had been made king of the Great Dragons. As fate would have it, Smaug did enter their boarders and began a conquest on the smaller race of dragon. No one was willing to step up to the huge Fire Drake of the North, so Bryngeir did. It had been a close battle, for both Smaug and the emerald dragon came out seriously injured for a good period of time, but it had been won. It had been won by a dragon who was both Great Dragon and Fire Drake of the North.
Thorin was very pleased with the news and made it a point to say that he and the dragon's cousin had predicted the battle between the two dragons. Bryngeir would only scoff and swat playfully at the Dwarf's head.
Thorin would tell Bryngeir of the growing wealth of Erebor and the discovery of the Arkenstone. The dragon was very curious at the mention of the Heart of the Mountain and could not picture such a magnificent jewel. But then the prince would grow bitter as he continued to speak of how his grandfather had become to succumb to the gold. How he bore a terrible greed that was waivered to practically nothing. The emerald dragon would always incline his head and offer whatever little comforts to his friend he could.
But then tragedy struck.
When Thorin turned twenty four, a great dragon, a Fire Drake of the North attacked Erebor. Having been outside of the mountain during the time of the initial attack, the raven-haired prince sought out the service that had once been offered to him by his friend the King of the Great Dragons.
No help came. Not from Bryngeir. Not from Draupneir. And certainly not the Elves of Greenwood who stood watching Smaug's rampage. Thorin learned that day, when dragon fire rained down upon his people, that few were trustworthy. And even fewer deserved to be called his brother.
A week past and Thorin had come to the conclusion that Bryngeir had failed him. That the dragon had fallen to some greed of his own as well—as Thror did, as Thranduil did—and would not help the Dwarrow. But at the end of the week when Thorin was brooding alone, a Raven appeared. Its black feathers scorched and tattered its voice raw.
"From where have you come?" Thorin growled.
The Raven squawked thirstily. "I have come from far lands, east of the Blue Mountains from the Icebay of Forochel."
"Who sends message for me from there?" Thorin demanded.
"A bronze dragon, he is known by his kin as Draupneir the DrakesBlood." The Raven answered.
But he is not yet, one hundred. The Dwarf thought before looking harshly at the Raven. "What did he want?"
"It seems that I am too late, for he bore warning of Smaug's tyrannical rampage. He claimed that the Fire Drake of the North would be heading for your kingdom."
"What is your name, Raven?"
"Thrïc, sir."
"Then tell me, Thrïc, what the dragon told you word-for-word." Thorin rumbled aggravated.
"I cannot do that." Thrïc apologized.
"Why not?" The prince demanded angrily.
"He was dying when he sent for me. Much of what he said was incomprehensible. His jaw had been broken, and it was almost completely unhinged if it were not for his skin." The raven explained.
Thorin looked at the creature with horror. "What?"
"This is essentially what the dragon said: 'my people are dead—Smaug's terrible army has swept through the lands of the Great Dragon without mercy. I am the last to die, we are all gone—'"
"No! That cannot be right!" Thorin yelled, thankful that he was alone.
"Hush I wasn't done." The Raven crowed irritably. "'My cousin, Bryngeir, went to strengthen your kind, Thorin. But he did not make it past Carn Dûm. Smaug challenged him one last time for the right of king. My cousin did not live through the fight. The great general of the Fire Drakes tore his shattered chest scales and pierced his heart. I went there to retrieve his body. Bryngeir of the Gilded Wings is dead. So I warn you now, Thorin—there is no aid from our kind because there is no race of Great Dragons. Gather your kin and flee.'"
Thorin stared at the raven mutely, his voice caught in his throat.
Thrïc cocked his head to the side. "It was awful to be there, in the Icebay of Forochel. So many dragon bodies. So many dead to freeze at claws the merciless ice. I am sorry I arrived too late...for both races."
The Dwarf nodded slowly. Bryngeir was dead?
"May I take my leave now?"
Thorin nodded again.
The Raven bowed his head solemnly before flying away.
From where he was sitting, Thorin sank to his knees, the ground hitting them hard. With a mournful cry he slammed his fists against the dirt. His blue eyes squeezed tight as he tried not to image the cracks scales that had been caused by him, to be torn apart by the monster dragon that destroyed his home. He couldn't help but feel the tears burn his skin, trailing down his cheeks. The dragon he had gotten to know the past five years, was all but wiped from the earth.
Gingerly, through his hiccupping, he reached under his layers of hair to feel the shorter strand of black locks. The ones where he had cut his braid and given to the dragon. His eyes shut closed again before he stood up stiffly, and began to walk away with his face grim set. He would lead his people as he knew Bryngeir had from his stories. He would work for them, and bring them what he could to help them through their exile. He would not let his friend's death be one that was forgotten.
They wandered their away from their homeland for years. Thorin, the exile prince of Erebor, took work wherever he could find it—to help provide for his people. For his father took care of Thror, and Thror did nothing but sulk at his loss of gold. Thorin worked hard in the smithies of Men, earning keep for food and to send to his younger siblings who had been staying in Ered Lûin at the time of Smaug's attack. And though many years were burned by in his mind, he could not stop and think about how things would be different if they had received aid. If the Great Dragons had lived. If Draupneir had lived. If Bryngeir had lived.
All too well did Smaug's attack haunt his memories and mind. It was the Fire Drake's fault. It was his fault that so many were dead. Including, the brother that was never his.
So the prince of Erebor, Great Dragon's brother, never forgave the deeds of the King of the Fire Drake.
And he never forgot them.
This chapter has been fixed! Sorry about the repeats guys!