The Lonely Mountain-The Hobbit Oneshot

After long days of trekking, the dwarves finally reached the peak of the mountain. Looking over the land before them, they saw Erebor to the east. Their faces, wind-stung and red, burned as the few in the front slowly smiled, seeing their home once again. They dug their staffs and swords into the snow, sitting down on the snow that crunched beneath them. They passed around some of the food they had, watching the sun rise over their kingdom in the distance.

Hours passed as the dwarves moved on through the snowy hills as the sun began to set behind the mountain. The moon, full and bright, lit up the night sky, shedding light on the hopeful expressions of the older dwarves’ faces. They looked back and forth at each other, exchanging the same thought; they’d be there, home, soon. They youngest dwarves hummed an old tune under their breath, feeling the warmth of the resonance of their voices.

They thought of the people they had met on their journey, of the people that had given them solace after they were purged from their kingdom many years ago. They remembered those who stood and watched as they were attacked, motionless on their horse’s backs. Many of them told stories back and forth, of the heroic feats each of them had, clanging their blades and axes together, swearing to never become old and withered. “We will always fight and protect what was ours” they said. The youngest whispered amongst themselves whether they knew where the hidden door was; the oldest shook their heads, knowing all too well that the memory would never fade from their minds.

When the dwarves settled down once more, the moon was high above them, a sight they had far too often as of late. The men rolled out on the ground, looking up at the mountain peaks around them. As some faded into sleep, the glint of gold in their palms incited faint memories in them. The others lit more torches, illuminating the dark shadows that were cast by the rocks.

Memories of old lanterns and joyous feasts erupted in the minds of the dwarves as they walked on. Their stomachs grumbled, mimicking the aching feeling in their chests. They wondered about the stone, the catalyst to their expulsion. They cursed the beast that destroyed their kingdom, the beast with fire on its breath and scales, hiding in the caverns with its treasures. Often, one would have to shake another awake after hours of walking, pointing to the mountain, which grew closer, but never seemed to be within reach. Yet still, they marched on, the old song’s melody pushing them forth, reminding them of where they’re going.