Warrior's Heart

Chapter One

The Iron Hills were much as Thorin remembered, only bleaker. It didn't have quite the same welcoming feel as the Blue Mountains, the heavy tang of the iron that gave the hills their name hung in the air like a haze. Everything was some shade of gray, as far as the eye could see, and as he reached the city gates, he squinted up at the gatekeeper, who was just as gray as his surroundings.

"Who goes there?" The gatekeeper thundered.

Thorin met his glare. "Thorin, son of Thraín. I seek a meeting with Dain."

"Does he expect you?"

Thorin shook his head. "No, but that shouldn't matter. Tell him I am here. He will see me."

The gatekeeper sniffed, then disappeared, leaving Thorin to resist the urge to pace as he stood there in the cold rain, waiting for his cousin to grace him with his presence. The rain soaked into his fur, into his hair, and at that moment, he just wanted to turn around and go straight to Mirkwood.

He missed his family, missed the nighttime routine with Tiriana, missed having Arielle snuggled up against him as he slept. This was a new loneliness unlike any he'd ever known and when Gandalf first suggested the time had come to make his way to the Shire, Thorin had no idea how much he would miss his wife and daughter. He counted the days until they would reach Mirkwood, which wasn't good. He had to focus on what needed be done. And if he could convince his cousin to commit to helping them in their quest, the easier said quest would be.

Water dripped into his eyes, from his nose and his chin as the day stretched and still he waited. If, after all of this, Dain refused to come to their aid, Thorin might honestly harm him.

Finally, the gates opened with a loud clang and the gatekeeper said, "Dain will see you."

"How big of him," Thorin muttered, walking through the gates to where Dain's guards were waiting. They led him into the Great Hall, where stone faces of of the Iron Hill's fathers looked down upon him.

He was led to a smaller room, where one of the guards said, "Wait here."

Thorin nodded, and when his escort left, sank onto one of the stone benches. He shook off his fur cloak, then proceeded to shake the rain from his hair as well. The cloak lay in a wet heap at his feet, and he grimaced as the rain had soaked into his tunic and leggings as well. It had been raining for nearly four weeks, the length of time it took him to make his way from the Blue Mountains to the Iron Hills, and that only served to worsen his mood.

He leaned back against the stone wall, letting his eyes close. He wondered how Arielle was holding up, wondered how much bigger Tiriana had grown. He wondered what milestones she might have reached during his absence. He'd sent word to Mirkwood to let Arielle know he'd arrived, but it only went out yesterday at the earliest, so it would be days, possibly weeks, before she received it.

He missed her. More than he thought possible to miss We someone. And he missed Tiriana even more. When this is all over, I am never leaving either of them again.

"Cousin!"

He sat up as Dain Ironfoot came down the corridor toward him. He didn't smile, gave no indication that he was at all pleased to see Thorin in his great hall. "Dain, it's been a while."

"Aye, that is has." Dain stopped feet away from him, his eyes, the same gray as the stone all around them—narrow. "What brings you here?"

"I am need of your help."

"My help." Dain snorted. "I don't hear from you for ages, and when I do, it's because you need something from me. Why should I even hear you out?"

Thorin stepped closer. "Because you are my kin and if the situation was reversed, I would offer whatever aid I could."