The Dragons' Daughter (Thorin Oakenshield/OFC)

Father Dear

"The last light." Clarrei breathed.
"The last moon of Autumn." Bilbo elaborated, a grin spreading across his face. The little hobbit whooped, waving the map in the air triumphantly.
"And you," he said, pointing at Thorin, "would have given up!"
Thorin just stared at the door in amazement.
"Now," Bilbo said, looking around his feet. "Where's that key?"
Clarrei looked about herself, stepping carefully to avoid hitting the missing key, and it wasn't long before her sharp eyes picked it out against the sparse grass.
"Bilbo, don't!" She shrieked as the hobbit's large feet hit the key. She dove for it, and her slim fingers grasped the strings just as Thorin's did. They stared into each other's eyes, both understanding the enormity of this situation. This was it. They had travelled together for a year, and now it had finally come to this moment, and now each could face their final demons. For Thorin, it was reclaiming his home and honour after six decades, but for Clarrei, in that mountain was a greater terror than any army or war. What waited in there for her was a creature too pathetic to call 'father'. The two straightened up, and Thorin slowly approached the door. The key slid perfectly into the lock and turned with a smooth click. The dwarf prince placed his hands on the door, but first, he looked to Clarrei.
"Together?" He asked. A wide smile spread across Clarrei's face, and a warm feeling of affection flooded her chest. She joined her dwarf, and together they pushed open the door, arms trembling with the effort.

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Thorin looked about himself as he stepped into the small stone corridor.
"Erebor." He breathed.
"Thorin." Came an awed voice behind him. Thorin turned to see Balin struggling to control himself as he looked upon their home. He clapped a hand to his friends shoulder before making his way through the door. He could feel his own eyes grow wet with tears as he breathed in the long-familiar scent of his home.
"I know these walls. I know these halls." He whispered, laying his forehead against the worn walls. "I know this stone." He turned back to his Company, who stood looking about themselves in amazement, and in Balin's case, a shared feeling of being overwhelmed.
"Do you remember, Balin?" He asked, "Chambers filled with golden light."
"I remember." Choked the old dwarf, wiping the tears from his eyes. Dwalin clapped his brother on the shoulder, smiling widely. Clarrei held her wings into her back as she looked around the small space.
"What's that?" She asked, pointing to an inscription above the entrance to the Mountain.
"Herein lies the seventh kingdom of Durinsfolk." She muttered to herself, unaware the dwarves hung on every word.
"May the Heart of the Mountain unite all dwarves in defence of this home."
Bilbo looked at the inscription curiously, which seemed to depict a great chair with an oval shape hovering above it.
"The throne of the King." Balin explained to the hobbit.
"Ah. And what's that above it?" Asked Bilbo, though Clarrei could already greatly suspect the answer.
"The Arkenstone." Was the reply.
"That, Master burglar," said Thorin suddenly, "is why you are here."

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Something didn't feel right about letting Bilbo go in himself, thought Clarrei. Though the hobbit had become steadily braver and more worldly wise with time, she still felt protective over her friend. She paced the stone floor as the Company sat around the door. Every now and again, her eyes darted to Thorin, who stood at the edge of the outcrop, watching the rising sun with a blank, emotionless state. Something about Thorin wasn't right either, come to think of it. He had been slowly growing more distant as their journey had continued, and, quite frankly, she was not happy about it.
"We should be in there." She muttered to herself, Balin looking up at her words. "I should be in there."
A hand on her shoulder made her look around to see the white-haired dwarf watching her with sympathy in his eyes. She blinked away angry tears of frustration as she fumed quietly.
"I've waited sixty-one years for this, Balin. Sixty-one years for answers and revenge, and he-" she broke off, clenching her fists. For the first time since Rivendell, she felt true rage bubble up under her flesh. Rage at Thorin, rage at the unfairness of it all. Clarrei could feel flames licking her knuckles as her anger grew, and the dwarves closest to her started to back away slowly.
"WE SHOULD BE IN THERE!" She screeched, making Thorin snap from his trance. Clarrei pointed a clawed finger at the door to Erebor.
"You have just sent in the most harmless creature in Middle-Earth to battle a fully-grown dragon, have you finally lost your mind, Thorin?!"
The prince just stared at her, and Clarrei couldn't tell if he was shocked or not at her outburst.
"We must wait, retrieve the Arkenstone, unite the dwarf kingdoms, and then we retake the Mountain." He said simply, shrugging his shoulders and turning back to watch the sun. Clarrei was half tempted to seize the dwarf by his stubborn head and smash it on a rock, but a thunderous roar made her slip and fall on her behind. The dwarves looked about themselves, and Thorin turned the colour of parchment.
"Was that an earthquake?" Asked Dwalin, the tattooed dwarf clutching to the stone wall of the Mountain. His brother shook his head and turned solemnly to his companions.
"That, my lad," he said ominously, "was a dragon."