A Single Dream is More Powerful Than a Thousand Realities

Things to Feel

It was like stepping into a dream.

The further Thorin walked into the mountain, upwards into the halls above the treasure room, the more surreal everything felt.

The treasure room had elicited a giddy swelling in his heart and made a smile creep on his face as he peered at pile after pile of gold and gems.

But stepping into the old apartments, the old homes of his people, left him staggering with memories that the gold could never conjure to his mind.

It was heartless, devoid of any substantial association to his childhood or his relationships (other than some unpleasant ones). But these halls, these homes?

They brought things to mind, memories, ideas, thoughts.

All tucked away in his brain until the moment he'd returned.

A thick layer of dust covered every crevice of the hallway. The once shining wood of the long table that adorned one wall, sat muted, dilapidated and worn.

He hadn't been here since he was young.

He ran a hand along one of the walls, skimming over tapestries and smoothed stone, kicking up small puffs of dust as he rustled the fabric. But, even with age and neglect, the fade blue material still bore the family insignia and it still shone proudly, woven into the fabrics with fine golden thread.

He headed up a second flight of steps, gazing around quietly, reverently.

He hadn't seen these things since he'd been forced out by the fire breathing demon.

Years.

Decades.

He'd been away so long.

And in that time he'd experienced so much.

Been forced to grown up. Hardened and battle-weary.

Frerin and Dis' faces flashed through his mind.

Moria.

Thror and Thrain

Death and destruction

Constantly running, searching.

Displaced.

Crownless.

Thorin narrowed his eyes and frowned, his anger rising.

They'd been away so long. And now they stood, so close to victory, so close to redemption.

So close.

And he wouldn't let that dragon best him again. This time he was going to catch him by surprise. This time he would prove that this mountain was his home.

That treasure was his birthright.

This time he would prove he was a king.

The dwarf jerked violently when a hand came to rest on his arm.

He turned to find Lyla gazing up at him with her wide, innocent hazel eyes. Her brows were furrowed and a small frown splayed on her lips.

Next to her stood Balin. His gaze just a curious and worried, though a small smile of understanding filtered across his face.

"Are you alright?" the hobbit murmured lowly, kindly as she gazed up at him through her long lashes.

Thorin swallowed.

The innocence of her question, the sincerity shining in her gaze brought a gentle warmth to his chest, easing (slightly) the tension rolling through his muscles. Tempering his fury for the moment.