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Chapter Text

Thorin II Oakenshield, son of Thráin II, son of Thrór King under the Mountain of Erebor, thought that a fight for his life would begin in a dimly lit, dingy tavern in the middle of a dull, dreary town of Men. He had a brief moment to wonder how long it would take for the Men to run him out of town after he killed his would-be assassins when it was halted before it could start by a figure cloaked in gray seating itself across from him at the table. Thorin gave a quick glance at the potential attackers and watched them return to their previous activities before finally turning to grace the gray-cloaked figure with his attention. He opened his mouth to spout something suitable for the situation and instead merely groaned at the familiar silvery beard and blue pointed hat, the wide brim of which rested just above coal-like eyes set in a wrinkled face that steadily returned his gaze. Thorin's features twisted into a resigned scowl.

"Tharkûn."

"One would think you were not pleased to see me, Thorin." The old man replied, turning just in time to give a flirty smile and a wink to the tiny, cheerful barmaid that had arrived with a bowl of stew and a pint of ale in her hands.

The barmaid gave the old man a familiar, fond smile, a gentle swat to the shoulder, and departed with a cheerful, "Call if you need anything else, Gandalf."

"Thank you, Daisy!" Gandalf was quick to respond to the retreating figure. Then he turned his piercing gaze back to the resigned Thorin. Without a word, he pulled a scrap of worn leather covered in black markings from his cloak. He slid it to Thorin and picked up his spoon to toy with his bowl of stew.

Thorin pushed aside his own bowl and drew the leather scrap closer. It did not take him long to determine that whatever was on it was written in no language he understood, but the scrap somehow felt foul to him. Prompted by the foulness, he pushed it back toward the old man. "What does this have to do with me?"

Gandalf ate a few bites of his stew before responding. "It is an assassination order."

Thorin felt his stomach drop.

"On your head." Then, because Gandalf did not seem quite ready to allow Thorin to begin making plans to disappear, added, "and the heads of the entire line of Durin..." Apparently Gandalf was really trying to drive his point home because he continued. "Written in the black speech of the orcs and offering quite a large sum of gold in reward."

Thorin would have disappeared to save his family, but with the entire Durin family on the line he could not. "What would you have me do?"

Gandalf actually seemed sympathetic when he responded. "It is time to return to the mountain."

Thorin scowled. "How? An entire army of dwarves could not drive the beast from within."

"You know how, Thorin."

A brief flash of glowing eyes flickered into Thorin’s memory, hazy with age. "It... Is still there?"

The one known as the wizard Gandalf nodded. "Yes, within the mountain where it was left."

"How..."

"I cannot say here. Gather a company of those you most trust to keep you and your heirs safe and bring them to Rivendell, I know you are not fond of elves, but the house of Lord Elrond is the safest place for such discussions." Gandalf stood. Placing his hand on Thorin's shoulder, he gave a gentle squeeze, and then breezed out of the tavern... Leaving Thorin with the bill for his ale and stew.

Thorin grumbled as he paid and, not one to waste good food, he took the remaining stew in both bowls as well as both ales, Gandalf's untouched, to his room. He would need his energy and rest for the trip back to the Halls within the northern Blue Mountains.

Over the next few weeks, Thorin allowed himself to think on the creature Tharkûn had mentioned. He allowed himself to remember things he had not thought of in at least a hundred and seventy years. The more he thought back on that time, the more the hairs on the back of his neck prickled as if something were watching. Finding the sensation unpleasant, he shook the memories off and focused on returning to the Blue Mountains.

- - -

Arriving at the Halls of his people, Thorin barely had time to tend to his pony and heft his packs onto his shoulders before his cousin Óin crowded him.

"It's time, Thorin! The portents are screaming and the signs have aligned..."

- - -

Thorin ended up finding ten dwarves he felt he could trust to guard his heirs as they followed him on the journey to at least Rivendell. He made certain they were aware that once things became known to them in Rivendell he would not hold them to continue the rest of the way to Erebor. He would not hold any dwarf to follow on what was potentially a suicide mission. But that if they should continue on that neither them nor their families would ever want for anything for the rest of their lives.

Of the dwarves going, he had his nephews, his cousins - no matter how distant, and a loyal family that had sworn themselves to Thorin after an incident involving a battle that had nearly taken the eldest's life. All of them were loyal and honorable... In their own way, and Thorin felt confident that they would be worthy of the honors they would acquire. He could not imagine a single one leaving.

The trip to Rivendell was mostly clear and easy. They made short stops in both the Shire and Bree to restock their supplies and continued on. There was a bit of a bother with trolls in the Trollshaws, but the stupid creatures had tried to slow roast half the dwarves too close to dawn and Gandalf had arrived suddenly despite meaning to meet them in Rivendell and had been able to hasten the death of the trolls by breaking a rock to let in the sun. The wizard had then put out the flames as the dwarves that had been trapped in sacks finally cut free thanks to one of the youngest having a couple knives hidden in his drawers.

Gandalf and another wizard he had introduced as Radagast then helped the dwarves escape some orcs and make it the rest of the way to Rivendell. After politely thanking Elrond for allowing them the use of his house, Thorin and the dwarves were shown to rooms where they could rest and clean up from their travels.

- - -

The Company of Thorin Oakenshield was meeting in a private reading room within Rivendell. The room was just big enough for all thirteen dwarves and the wizard as well as a small stack of books. Gandalf was flipping through the pages of one of the books as he spoke. "Many times as I went through Erebor in the past I felt something, something I never actually saw. An energy moving through the mountain that was stronger than any I had ever felt before and have never felt since, though once I did feel it near Moria. When I was last near Erebor, not even a year ago, I felt that energy still there."

"And how can this energy help us?" One of the dwarves, Dwalin, wanted to know.

"The energy is not a thing. It feels alive. More so than any creature I have felt before. And if it is the creature I think it is... It is far stronger than the dragon." So saying, Gandalf turned the book around, showing them a page with an illustration of lightning and mist that looked vaguely humanoid in shape

"If it's stronger than the dragon," Thorin's heir Fíli said, "why has it not killed it already?" He reached out for the book that Gandalf let him take.

"That is what we must know." Gandalf picked up another book, finding another picture. The shape was mostly the same, but this time it was made out of tree roots and smoke. "Once we are close enough to Erebor, someone should be able to contact it so that we can speak with it and ask it to remove the dragon so that the dwarves may return."

"What do you know of the creature?" Balin, Dwalin's older brother, asked.

"As I have never personally seen the creature, I'm afraid all I know is that it is powerful and old. Very, very old."

Another dwarf a question. "What would stop it from killing us?"

"Master Glóin, every time I sensed the creature it was surrounded by dwarves." Gandalf shook his head. "I do not believe it is a danger to Aule's children."

The youngest dwarf spoke up. "But all of the stories of Erebor's loss say that the dragon destroyed the gates. How would we even get in?"

"Ah! A good question, Master Kíli." Gandalf pulled a map and a key from within his robes. "Before he died, Thráin gave these to me for safe keeping." He set the map and key down on the table that had held the books. "I believe they show a secret way into the mountain. Once inside, even just a step, I do not believe the creature will ignore us."

As the dwarves spoke to each other about the possibilities the creature represented, Gandalf looked around at him. Most of the dwarves seemed enthusiastic at the prospect, some were just curious about what the creature was. But one dwarf did not join in. In fact, it seemed as if the dwarf had been ignoring the entire conversation.

Thorin stood, facing away from the Company and looking out of the wide window that overlooked the gardens far below. He had one arm propped on the wall next to the window and seemed to be quite intentionally thinking about anything except what the rest were discussing.

Narrowing his eyes, Gandalf spoke up. "What do you think on this matter, Thorin?"

Everyone went silent, turning to look expectantly at Thorin.

For a while, Thorin remained quietly looking outside. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper. "I have tried not to think on this matter at all since you first brought it to my attention." He admitted.

"Oh?" Gandalf prompted.

"And why is that?" Balin questioned. "Do you not believe this plan could work?"

"I do believe it could work, should the creature agree... But unlike Tharkûn I have seen the creature." If possible the others got even more silent at the confession. "More than once. And the last time I saw it, the creature was standing atop the broken gate like living gold... It watched as we fled the dragon, never moving, never helping. I cannot but wonder if it would bother to help now... And yet I cannot wonder at all." Thorin turned, a wary look in his eyes. "Because every time I let my thoughts dwell on the creature too long, I can feel it."

Gandalf drew in his breath sharply.

"It feels as if it's eyes are upon me, even though we are hundreds of miles from Erebor. Even now, the more my thoughts linger the more I feel the eyes watching me."

"Does it feel malevolent?" Gandalf demanded.

Thorin shook his head. "No... It feels like it's... Waiting."

- - -

Hundreds of miles away, deep within Erebor, a pair of glowing blue eyes opened. The face they were in turned toward the west, a thoughtful look crossing the features, and then the eyes closed again and all was still.

Chapter Text

When he left Gandalf, Thorin headed back to the Blue Mountains. He had much to think on, mostly the information that what he sometimes thought of as the wild imaginations of a tween had in fact been real. He was so preoccupied that he almost got caught out by a small group of bandits along the road. Thankfully even a distracted dwarf was a deadly dwarf and in the end his own coin pouch was twenty gold and ten silver pieces heavier while there were several new graves on the side of the road. The money would be much appreciated among the people back in the Blue Mountains.

And there Thorin caught himself. Since when had it become the Blue Mountains? They had lived there for decades and, while the transition had been hard, he had started calling it 'home.' Apparently all it took was one conversation with a wizard to begin once more mentally aligning Erebor as the only home within his mind.

The day was full when he finally arrived back at the dwarf settlement he had been calling home for nearly the last century. His nephews were both bright eyed and full of joy at his return, accepting the little trinkets he had brought back for him with childish glee despite the fact that they were not fit for the princes the boys were. They gave him hugs and tried to tell him all about what he had missed before they fell asleep practically in his lap. While he idly brushed his fingers through Kíli's messy locks, Thorin turned his attention to his sister as she watched with a fond smile.

"What do you remember of Erebor, Dís?" He asked.

Dís looked taken aback by the question before giving a shrug. "Very little. I was hardly more than freshly mined ore at the time, Thorin." When this did not seem to do more than trouble her brother, Dís thought harder before adding, "Mother's perfume. I remember the scent she wore before we could no longer acquire it. And the glowing of the minestones on the silver fountains. And the soft warmth of an embrace... Which is odd, because no one in our family could be deemed soft." She trailed off, looking thoughtful. "What is this about, Thorin?"

"Tharkûn approached me." Thorin said. "He said that it still resided within Erebor, that we could reclaim our home."

There was confusion on the princesses face for a moment as she tried to puzzle out her brother's meaning. Then she remembered their mother's stories and her eyes grew wide.

"We will reclaim our home."

- - -

The first group that gathered to hear Thorin's call to reclaim Erebor was large. Easily five hundred dwarves showed up to listen to the king speak. His voice had always been compelling and he had a lot of passion to draw people to his way of thinking. Unfortunately for the king, he gave the people too much time to think before the second gathering. Only slightly more than half of the dwarves showed up to the second meeting. And a third of that number to the next. The king's voice was still compelling, but for all his passion and inspiration and heart, he never once uttered a firm plan and that seemed to throw the people off and allow fear and doubt to settle into the hearts of the people. By the last gathering, only a dozen remained.

"Thirteen is an unlucky number." Óin stated during one of the more private meetings of those who remained. "We cannot go with only thirteen!"

"The wizard said he would be with us!" Ori responded, his faith in the wizard both annoying and endearing.

"But not all of the time." Dwalin argued. "He's got wizard business that can pull him away without so much as a by your leave."

"So we just do nothing?" Fíli said, his brow furrowed.

"No," said Nori. "We don't have thirteen."

"Don't be daft!" Dori scowled at his brother. "Any one of us can count!"

"Ah ah!" Nori shook his head, even waggling a finger at Dori. "The contracts we've written up right here say it as it is. 'The Company of Thorin Oakenshield.'" He waved his contract, flapping the end dangerously close to giving Dori's nose a papercut.
"Thorin's the leader. The Company only number twelve!"

Everyone paused as they considered this and then they were leaning in to debate the merits of using such a fine line as a tenchnicality to avoid supersitions against the number thirteen...

- - -

That exact same debate would be had several times over the next seven months as they journeyed from the Blue Mountains to Erebor. Usually when they had a stroke of impressively bad luck. It seemed that the Company had been running from something or someone ever since they had left the residence of one of Gandalf's dear friends in the Shire starting with only the mild annoyance of a week of rain. Then the princes nearly drowned. Then there were trolls. Then they lost the ponies and were chased into Rivendell. Then there was the flight from Rivendell followed by the horror filled encounter inside the Misty Mountains that had lasted for several exhausting days.

But every time they felt their spirits falter, their minds thinking of taking the path back home, Thorin was there. He reassured them with each step, helping to carry their burdens if they were hurting too much, and quick to dredge up some faint memory of Erebor to rouse them toward the splenders that would one day be at their fingertips. There was a longing for home in his voice that picked their feet up and carried them forward.

It was within the darkness of Mirkwood that some started to think the madness of Durin's line might be taking over Thorin's mind. They quietly whispered that perhaps he was fading and had only a wish to once more touch the stone within which he had been born before he died. That was certainly why Fíli and Kíli were with them on such a dangerous task, after all. As the first and second in line for the throne it was their duty to step up the instant Thorin fell. It was why it took so long for Thorin himself to step up when Thráin disappeared, no one had seen him fall.

But the dungeons of Thranduil allowed those dark thoughts to clear and the soft thrumming through the stones as Thorin sang tales of old that not even Balin could remember once more woke within them the longings for Erebor. It was such that Thorin carried the entire Company from the Blue Mountains to the secret door of Erebor on nothing more than a king's belief that his people would finally be able to go home.

- - -

"We've followed you this far, Thorin." Balin said, rubbing a salve onto a fresh bruise he had attained in Lake Town by slipping on the damp wooden walkways. "Don't you think we've earned the right to know how you plan for us to take care of the dragon and rightfully reclaim the mountain?"

Thorin, his gaze upon the smooth stone hiding the secret door into Erebor, considered Balin's question. It had been a test of his people's faith. To see whom among them was willing to follow him with nothing more than the belief that they would succeed. Twelve dwarves had answered and, though the trip from the Blue Mountains to Erebor had been dangerous, none had wavered in their trust that their King had a plan that would see them to success. He allowed his gaze to slide from the invisible door to rest upon the eldest of his followers. The dwarf king gave the other a knowing smile before his gaze once more returned to the wall.

After a moment, in which the others sprawled out on the ledge waiting had settled down to wait, Thorin finally spoke. "Within Erebor there is something which only two others of those that remain have seen." He started. "Myself and my sister." The dwarf paused, considering what he would say. "It was known to the royal line and has been with us for as long as even my grandfather could remember."

"The Arkenstone." Fíli stated, knowing the lore that the king's jewel bestowed the right to rule upon the one who wielded it.

"No," Thorin disagreed to the surprise of all. "What lies within the mountain is something far more powerful than a sparkling stone, for all that it is beautiful."

There were startled gasps at the admission, the Company looking around warily before Dori ventured, "What could be more powerful than the symbol that calls forth and commands all the clans?"

But Thorin did not answer, watching instead as the wall grew dark with the setting sun. Some felt despair as the light faded, rising from their seats to depart. Thorin remained and, because he had not left, none felt as if they had the right to return to their camp down below. Then, just when the silence was starting to become unbearable, the light of the moon broke through the clouds and shone upon the wall. Like liquid silver the outline of the door became visible and Thorin's hand trembled slightly when he stepped forth and inserted the key into the lock. There was a heavy thunk when he turned it and then a slight push was all it took to cause the door to swing open.

No one moved. Hardly anyone dared to draw a breath. And then Thorin took a single step forth. He pitched his voice to carry without raising his volume and spoke into the dark tunnel.

"I am Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór. I have come to reclaim my birthright and renew the Covenant which binds us."

The words echoed oddly down the passageway before silence reigned once more.

For many minutes it seemed that nothing was going to happen and then there was a rush of warm air from out of the tunnel. A thrill of fear shot up the spines as the dwarves all rose to their feet, reaching for weapons that would do nothing to dragon scales. And then the soft tinkling sound of metal against metal could be heard. The sound grew louder as the one making it moved up the passageway and then, from the darkness of the tunnel, a pair of glowing blue eyes gleamed...

Chapter Text

Moving toward the dwarves was a being that set them all tense and alert. They could hear a metallic tinkling sound and see the glowing eyes approaching, but it was soon followed by a presence. There was no way else to describe it. The thing emanated such a powerful sense of self that it could be felt from a good thirty paces or more. And with that sense of self was an awareness. And suddenly the dwarves seemed to flinch as one as what felt like a giant hand swept over them and wiped away a fog they had not realized was there. With the sweeping of the fog came a fresh set of memories that none of them had recalled until that moment and they all looked at each other uncertainly before focusing once more as the eyes grew closer and closer.

While they all clearly remembered being swayed by Thorin's presence with no idea what was in store for them, now they also remembered being hand selected during the process by Thorin and Tharkûn as the most trustworthy and true of all of the dwarves. They were the ones being entrusted with secrets that only the elder line of Durin had known until they had sat down in Rivendell and listened to Tharkûn tell of a creature of immense power. A creature that was moving toward them, the sense of power growing as it neared. They remembered agreeing to have their minds fogged of this information so that no one who might capture them during the course of the journey would steal the knowledge. They remembered both Tharkûn and Elrond staggering with exhaustion after fogging their memories one at a time. A fog that the creature had wiped away from them all without so much as being within reach of them. And then it stepped out of the dark shadows within the tunnel, the moonlight spilling on the creature to reveal...

A hobbit!

But a hobbit unlike any the dwarves had seen before and a few of them felt their cheeks warm as they examined the newly revealed 'creature.' He was short, as hobbits tended to be, perhaps only three and a half feet in height and adorned all in gold. Quite literally in some cases! What clothing he wore, of which there was surprisingly little, was all in hues of gold and the shimmer of gold jewelry and diamonds adorned his body. The only actual clothing the hobbit seemed to wear was a pair of loose, dark gold trousers that billowed and shimmered when he walked. The trousers were slung low on his hips and held tight around his ankles by thick gold bands. Holding them up was a gold belt from which a delicate series of loose chainmail links that reached to his upper thighs like a short skirt. Each link held a tiny diamond.

The only thing on the hobbit's upper body was around his neck. It was a wide collar of what looked like delicate lace but sparkled with the unmistakable gleam of gold and was also decorated with tiny diamonds. Gold chains hung down from the collar, shorter at the middle with longer ones that looped around the sides and seemed to move up to the hobbit's back. There were thick golden bands on his upper arms and around his wrists that matched the ones on his ankles. The hobbit's waist long curls were also golden and held back by a series of braids that were decorated with gold beads. Both the curls on his head and those on his feet were decorated with tiny diamonds.

As he moved closer it was clear that the hobbit was soft, though not nearly as soft as the hobbits in the Shire had been. While there was a definite layer of soft fat, that layer of fat rippled with the elegant grace of lean muscle beneath smooth and clear skin that was free of any blemishes. The hobbit's features were also soft and delicate looking. His entire appearance seemed to give the impression that he was rich and spoiled and delicate, something to be cared for and kept safe...

But the power!

The almost overwhelming feel of energy that the hobbit gave was enough to prickle the skin and put one on edge. And the eyes! Those eyes that glowed so unnaturally... And it continued to draw closer and closer until it was right in front of Thorin.

Before anyone could move, the creature had reached delicate hands up to the sides of Thorin's face, tilting the king's gaze down to him before a beautiful smile graced his lips. "Thorin," the voice was like warm honey, "You've come home."

And then the creature that looked like a hobbit pulled the king down and placed a tender kiss upon his brow.