Several Years Later:
If there was such a thing as Hell, His grey-blue eyes surveying the horrors that stretched out before him, this was what it was.
Thorin sighed and fought back the tears in his eyes; heading to his tent for some solitude and if possible, peace.
'Grandfather,' He thought sadly, 'I am so sorry I couldn't reach you in time. Forgive me.'
He'd sent a party shortly before taking his leave from the smell and look of death. His beloved father, Thrain, couldn't be found. Not even amongst the piles of their dead.
Suddenly, he recognized the weight in his hand and looked down; a startled smile danced upon his lips when he realized he was still clinging to the thick oak branch.
"A fine shield that is," Balin had mused as he'd escorted Thorin back to his tent, "Who would have ever guessed, eh?"
At first, he wanted to toss the branch away, but upon admiring it further Thorin set it safely in a corner and after removing his armor, sat upon his cot and allowed him self to bury his face in his dirty hands.
He longed for rest and most of all to be rid of this place; however, there was little time to react when an Orc plunged savagely through the flaps of his tent and in a flash the filthy creature was upon him.
It's bloody and stinking hands gripped his throat and Thorin gagged; desperate for breath.
Using his knee he plunged it as hard as he could into the monsters side to no avail even though the sound of cracking ribs couldn't be ignored.
Stars danced before his eyes and Thorin clawed savagely at the Orcs face and especially its hands that were like vices on his throat.
Just as the world seemed to blur around him, just as soon as he thought he would soon join his grandfather, Thorin heard it.
The orc yelped, its grip loosening. The creatures black eyes dilated and Thorin felt his strength return. He quickly and violently shoved the scum off of him with ease.
Hacking and rubbing his throat he looked at where the Orc lay taking its last breath; "Nice try," He said hoarsely, and spit on the dying orc.
The creature stiffened and released; finally dead, Thorin kicked at it savagely and spit on it again.
"Alright there, my prince?"
Jerking his head up and his eyes wild, Thorin looked at the dwarf who stood at the opening of his tent; in his hand he held what appeared to be a simple flute.
"Who…w-who are you?" Thorin rasped, trying to ignore the pain in his throat as he spoke, "I have never seen you before."
The dwarf, wearing a tunic of crimson red, fastened with a gold inlayed black belt, smiled and bowed low.
"Forgive me if I've startled you," the dwarf offered with a low bow, "there was no time to warn you of the creature I spied lurking toward you tent."
"I said who are you?!" Thorin demanded harshly, "Where have you come from? How…how did you do this?"
The dwarf smirked and entered swiftly. Kneeling, he pulled the thin needle from the base of the exposed creature's neck and held it up for Thorin to see.
"My flute serves as an excellent dart launcher from time to time," the dwarf explained as Thorin took the needle and looked at it with an amazed expression, "Lucky for you, there was nothing covering his neck. Had I no choice but to aim elsewhere, the poison would have taken slower to course through his veins and finish him; before he finished you."
"Poison?" Thorin said, and handed the needle back to the oddly smiling dwarf, "What poison?"
The dwarf rose, ignoring Thorin's gaze. He sauntered over to a candle set upon a table laden with maps and stuck the tip of the needle into its flame for a few seconds. Satisfied he bent it and tossed it into the dirt.
"That should kill what ever is left," He explained, turning and facing the prince, "A very unusual toxin. Coagulates the blood I'm told; slowly stops circulation."
Thorin snorted and demanded: "Your name? Who are you?"
The dwarf smiled and bowed again. "Bul," He offered, "though I'm told I'm called Bul 'the handsome,' by several of the women residing now in the Blue Mountains. My kinsmen and I descended from this place. But we relocated to Erebor some years ago and have traveled with Durin's folk ever since."
Thorin inclined his head. Even by appearance, this was no dwarf of Durin's line. What was he? Whether a Brodbeam or stiffbeard, Thorin could not tell.
"We believe we're Broad beams," The dwarf interrupted with a smile, "But we've no solid proof of it."
Thorin's eyes widened but he found he could say nothing.
Chuckling, the dwarf stuck his thumbs into his belt and shrugged. "you inclined your head," He explained, "your eyes looked me over a time or two and your lips are tight. You were studying me. Trying to figure it out for your self. If you thought I was a threat, but if I were, you would have long called for you guards. Or am I wrong?"
Thorin clicked his tongue and shook his head. The realization of whom this dwarf truly was finally becoming clear to him.
"Feyd," Thorin said quietly, "But I thought the last of your order had long died away; In Erebor."
Bul shook his head. "No," He confessed, "But after we grew in power…eh, certain others became concerned and ordered us to disperse. We've only been...in forced retirement. Well, those of us whom still wish to keep the order alive and thriving that is."
Thorin sat back down on his cot, looking the dwarf, barely older than himself, up and down again. "My grandfather," He replied, "Years ago. He ordered Feyd to disband. When he felt there was no further need of you or your kind."
Bul sighed, hesitated a moment, then said: "We both know what happened to the poor fellow. In the halls of Erebor. His gold fever became too great. He didn't disband us simply because he began to fear a coup-ridiculous as that would be for us to do-he ordered us finished because he no longer wanted to pay us for our services to the crown."
Offense grew inside of Thorin but still, he found he could make no argument.
After a moment he nodded his head. "I should call for someone to come and take this thing"-he kicked the dead orc again-"away. Thank you, for saving my life."
Bul bowed again and turned to go, a satisfactory smile dancing on his lips.
"Wait," Thorin said suddenly and rose, "Such a feat of loyalty and bravery can't be ignored. Is there anything, anything I might do to repay this act?"
'Good,' Bul thought, 'Very good.'
The dwarf turned and after a moment, slowly nodded. "I'm glad to say my kinsmen and I have survived this battle unscathed. Save one. He's been terribly wounded. We're actually surprised the blow to his head did not finish him. Would it be…offensive if I asked if you would kindly send your physicians to see what they could do for him?"
Though he dare not admit to it, the Prince was impressed.
Most dwarves would have instantly asked for some kind of financial reward. But all Bul wanted was to ensure the safety and survival of his kin.
Thorin offered a firm hand on Bul's shoulder and nodded, walking the dwarf outside of his tent.
"How many of you are there?" Thorin asked, not breathing through his nose as the stench of death had become stronger.
"Eh…Just me and my two cousins. We're distantly related but we are close; one is called Bifur the other Boheeka. There were others but…we lost many in Erebor."
Sighing, Thorin nodded in comprehension. "You there!" He called to a young dwarf solider who quickly hurried over and awaited Thorin's order.
"Find another solider, and remove the dead Orc from my tent," Thorin explained, ignoring the dwarf's wide-eyed and shocked expression. "Oh! And while you go to find someone to help you," Thorin added, "Find Balin and have him send my best physician to help him-he jutted a thumb at Bul-"Go! Now!"
The young solider bowed and made his way off in search of help.
"I should be going," Bul said, "To see about Bifur."
Thorin nodded and let the older dwarf bow once more. As he went to leave, Bul stopped and turned to admire the prince once more.
"Interesting choice," He remarked, "That shield of an oak branch. I've heard some of the younger enforcements referring to you now as Thorin Oakenshield."
Thorin could not help but chuckle. "Indeed!" He said, and headed back inside his tent without a word.
As he made his way through the hoard of wounded and helping dwarves, a thin but satisfied smile danced on Bul's lips.