Chapter 3
Thorin's eyes glided around the circular room. What small wealth he possessed was clear from the furnishings that lay around him; comforts that many of his people have not known even after the years spent in exile. Near him, seated on a tall, crimson armchair, was an older dwarf, deep in thought. He had remained silent for quite some time; outwardly calm, but mind in great turmoil. Thorin was not oblivious to the chaos in his friend's mind. Rather, he had expected it.
"No sight of Smaug has been seen in over forty years." These were the words spoken by Thorin upon watching his friend, a dwarf Lord named Balin, enter the room. He was cautious not to seem desperate or impulsive, nor to show any sign of what may be perceived as greed or madness.
Thorin glanced at the dwarf sitting across him. The burning of the fireplace bathed him in an orange glow that outlined his aging features. His eyes were now fixed on the stone below his feet, hands supporting a forehead heavy with racing thoughts. "We cannot be sure the beast lies dead, despite the rumors," he answered gravely, but did not raise his eyes from the floor. He bore deep within his heart the realization that the young prince's mind was growing alike his father's in the worst possible way; tucked behind this realization Balin hid his disappointment. Memories of the late King's journey resurfaced. An old guilt crept back in, disguised as a pang of sadness.
"Your father grew mad lusting after the riches of the mountains." Balin raised his eyes to meet Thorin's. Closely, he judged every reaction to his words present in the prince's eyes. Presently, Balin continued, "He became but a shadow of his former self, as he pursued a task he knew was impossible. We have survived. You have earned the people's loyalty. You have no need to burden yourself with thoughts of the Worm."
Thorin offered some thought to Balin's words. Would the people be disappointed if he tried to reclaim the Mountain? Would they think him weak or valiant? If he were to succeed, the old Kingdom would be restored. But what if he should fail? Thorin dared to muse over this possibility. He had no heirs of his own. Fíli, his oldest nephew, was too young to lead, and he had not yet earned the people's trust as heir to Durin's line. Without Thorin's leadership, their new home under the Blue Mountains could crumble beneath the claws of anarchy; or it may be abandoned and its inhabitants scattered around settlements of dwarves and men. If he should fail, history would be repeated and the dwarves of Erebor would never know the pride of their homeland again; but, should he never try, his kin would be left knowing only the pain of defeat and their thirst for vengeance unquenched. In Thorin's mind, the only thing that seemed worse than failing was not trying at all.
"Do you not long to see your homeland restored?" Thorin hoped that he may light a spark of hope in Balin. If he could not convince his old friend, he had little hope of gathering enough support from others to be successful.
Over the years, Balin had resigned himself to the fact that Erebor would never be retaken; that he, along with his kin, would wither away in both body and memory, and still Smaug would sleep upon his bed of gold. Bitterly, he had grown to accept it. For years, he prayed that the young prince would similarly come to terms with their reality. He feared that the same shadow that engulfed the late Kings' minds would add another stain of early death to Durin's line. Still, deep within his heart, Balin knew that the prince's mind was decided.
"We may not have the riches we used to know, but we have rebuilt. We have survived. To risk shattering the people's hopes once again…" he finished only in thought, 'I believe it unjust.'
"We have survived, barely." Thorin argued as Balin rose from his chair to greet the fire. He bowed his head towards the twirling flames while his hands joined behind him. As his eyes were lost among the flames, Thorin's deep voice continued, "Our numbers thin as the seasons pass. No child has been born of our women for a generation. Only in memory is the sight of gold known. The people garner hope from loyalty, and loyalty diminishes as we strive to prosper and achieve nothing."
Balin turned to face his young friend. He raised his voice as he unintentionally released his frustration, "We do not have the strength to march against the might of Smaug; any company smaller than an army would perish before reaching the main gates and these were shut from the inside. Even if the Worm came out from the Mountain, not even a thousand axes would weaken him. It is hopeless."
"Defeating the Dragon can only be done with the strength of our brethren's armies. If the other dwarf clans answer our call, we could muster the strength we need."
"You have earned the people's loyalty." Balin repeated; "Do not repay them by sending them to their deaths." With these heavy words, and an inward sigh, Balin left the room in a few tired strides.
Author's Note: I apologize for the long wait. A large portion of the story's plot hung on this chapter, so it was very difficult to write for me. Since I'm still undecided on a few things, the chapter ended up being a short one while I figure it out. Also, a note on the time frame of this story: Dates, ages, and similar facts will be manipulated slightly to better fit my interpretation of the characters. For example, Thorin in this story is considerably younger than what he was in the book, and Balin is meant to be his elder by quite a few years. Therefore, the timeline changes a bit.