The Queen Under the Mountain (Thorin)

The Desolation of Smaug

     City of Dale. Its markets known far and wide, full of bounties vine and vale. Peaceful and prosperous. For this city lay before the doors of the greatest kingdom in Middle-Earth: Erebor. Stronghold of Thror, King Under The Mountain, mightiest of the Dwarf lords.

Thror ruled with utter surety, never doubting his house would endure, for his line lay secure in the lives of his son, grandson, and great-grandson.

Erebor; built deep within the mountain itself, the beauty of this fortress city was legend. Its wealth lay in the earth, in precious gems hewn from rock, and in great seams of gold, running like rivers through stone. The skill of the dwarves were unequaled, fashioning objects of great beauty out of diamond, emerald, ruby and sapphire. Ever they delved deeper, down in the dark. and that is where they found it. The heart of the mountain. The Arkenstone. Thror named it the King's Jewel. He took it as a sign, a sign that his right to rule was divine. All would pay homage to him, even the great Elvenking, Thranduil.

But the years of peace and plenty were not to last. Slowly, the days turned sour, and the watchful nights closed in. Thror's love of gold had grown too fierce. A sickness had begun to grow within him; it was a sickness of the mind. And where sickness thrives, bad things will follow.

"Dragon!" A man shouted, fear and worry in his eyes as he ran past people.

A woman, dressed in trousers, tunic and boots became alarmed. She had long brown hair, pale complexion and a beardless face. She was Lady Victoria, wife of Prince Thorin.

"Thorin! Thorin!" She shouted in desperation, wanting to see her husband safe.

She weaved herself through the town of Dale, pushing past injured and dead bodies, with burns beyond healing and death too excruciating. She cried as she saw the town of Dale burn to ashes before her eyes, and went inside the broken doors of Erebor. She ran and ran inside, twisting and turning through halls, worried for her loved ones and especially, the light of her life.

"Thorin!" She saw him and ran towards him, seeing Thror clinging to him, hurt and dirty. Thorin looked up and saw her, shock and desperation shown on his face.

"What are you doing here, love? You will get killed! Run!" Thorin said quickly, urgency in his voice and begging in his eyes.

"No, I can't and won't lose you because of a dragon." She said, grabbing and slinging Thror's other arm around her neck and helped Thorin get out, along with Thror and dwarves that survived.

She then gasped, their baby -only a few months old- was still inside the mountain. She looked at Thorin and kissed him fiercely, knowing that would be the last time she would see him.

"I love you Thorin." She looked into his eyes and ran back inside the mountain. Shouts of desperation and worry were heard, his deep and alluring voice pained her heart, knowing it was Thorin calling her, begging her to come out. She ignored his calls and ran faster, smoke and fire surrounding her. She found their baby's room and opened the door, looking towards the crib where their son laid crying and dying from the smoke. She quickly grabbed her son and ran towards a door, moving quickly to avoid further injury. She had made it out, but she could not hear her son. There was no crying, wailing or movement. He was dead. Pale and covered in ash, she grieved and cried until she cried no more.

Thorin, seeked helped from Elves, Thranduil, but no help came from the elves that day, or any day since. That was the day where everything went wrong.

Robbed of their homeland, the dwarves of Erebor wandered the wilderness, a once mighty people brought low.

The young dwarf prince took work where he could find it, laboring in the villages of men, but he always remembered the mountain smoke beneath the moon, the trees like torches blazing bright, for he has seen dragon fire in the sky, and his city turned to ash.

They never forgave, and they never forgot, for they lost themselves in grief.