The Halls of Erebor

A Quest

An older dwarf stood over an anvil while swinging a heavy hammer. With each motion the hot iron was forced into submission to eventually become a useful tool. Small beads of sweat gathered just above the dwarf's brow. A long forked beard met with white hair to frame the soft face and gentle eyes.

He wasn't aware of the presence leaning against the doorframe watching him. A dwarf with long hair that had once been the colour of the night sky which now held prominent streaks of grey and silver. Two braids hung framing his face with small dwarven beads at the ends. Unlike most dwarves this one had only a short beard, just enough to cover the skin on his jaw. A kind smile graced the tired face as he watched the older dwarf work.

Eventually, the metal began to cool from under the hammer causing Balin to take a pause. Glancing up from his work he noticed the familiar figure waiting for him.

"Thorin!" He smiled broadly, discarding his tools. "Lad! It's good to see you!" He approached him, clasping the dwarven King's arm.

"Balin." The soft smile became a cheerful grin. "How have you been?"

"You know." Balin gestured over his shoulder, "working, but I doubt that is why you are here."

"No." Thorin chuckled.

"So what is it an old dwarf can do for his King?" Balin led him over to a small table which sat in the far corner, on it sat two cups and a jug of water.

"We are going to retake Erebor." Thorin's words were firm, certain.

"Are you sure?" Balin felt a twinge of fear catch in his chest.

"Ravens have been seen going back to the mountain." Thorin stated, leaning forward onto the table with a gleam in his eye. "I am gathering those who are willing, and I trust, to come with me."

"We need an army behind us." Balin pointed out. He could see the determination in his King's face.

"I will meet with our kin, they'll bring an army." Thorin leaned back. "Will you come?"

"Of course, lad." Balin gave a soft sigh and a chuckle. "One more adventure for this old dwarf?"

"You're not old." Thorin smiled, but Balin raised a sceptial eyebrow.

"When are we leaving?" He asked with a tilt of the head.

"Meet me in the Shire in three weeks," Thorin stated, pulling a piece of parchment from his pocket. "Look for this symbol." Without looking, Balin took the parchment and placed it in his pocket.

"Who will meet us there?"

"Dwalin," Thorin said. "Gloin, a few others, Fili and Kili are determined to come."

"Fili perhaps." Balin stated.

"We'll see." Thorin shrugged.

From what Balin knew of Thorin's nephews, they were just as determined as their uncle. He'd met the young princes once a few years prior and both reminded him of a younger Thorin, stubborn and brave.

There was a pause as Thorin's face suddenly grew somber. The smile faded and a slight crease formed in between his brows. "Balin," he started with an emotional edge to his voice. "Do you know where she is?"

Balin stared at him for a moment confused.

"Frin." Thorin said seeing his friend's expression. "We'll need her.

The older dwarf was immediately filled with sorrow at the memory of the young warrior. "Thorin," he said, the grief clear in his voice. "She cannot help us."