Born from Stone (A Thorin Oakenshield story)

*Dreams or nightmares?

"While you sleep... dream of me,

I'll be keeping our memory,

Living in my heart and soul

Waiting for all the days...

When we will be together again,

Carry me to my love

All I see is the clouds above,

Where I know he is waiting for me..." *

-.-

A song, yes there was a song coming from afar, but he didn't know if it was inside his dreams or the real world, where songs were now laments for the fallen. Melodies full of despair and anguish that reminded him of the loss of his boy and of his own affliction. How useless his body was now as it lay there above sweaty sheets, being enveloped in dirty clothes that stuck upon his skin like leeches while his crusty and hard hair felt like dry weed on his face, poking the gaping wound on his forehead mercilessly each time he wanted to move about a bit. In the world of dreams he could be as strong and youthful as he chose. In the real world half his body felt like it belonged to someone else since it was painless, while the rest was burdened with a throbbing pain that tore his already confused mind, apart.

If he had to choose he'd stay in the worlds of dreams. No...scratch that, if he had a choice he wouldn't have ever returned to this world, in order to live inside a torn body that didn't have enough strength to make him open up his eyes, never mind function properly. He didn't know what kind of hell brought him back to life when he had almost touched the hand of his father, but he wanted to curse them to the underworld. No one asked him if he wanted to return...no one cared what he wished for. He had sacrificed himself for his family and for his people. He had reclaimed this land and his life ended. He wanted to move on, he wanted to rest, but they didn't allow him. They tore him away from that magical peaceful moment with his father and threw him back on earth violently. Now that he was here he had no choice but to face his sister about her loss and about how much he failed all of them. Here he would have to face himself for all his failures of the past. Reality was the place that would force him to fight the demons of his forefathers and the nightmarish reality he had created for himself by all his wrong choices. Why did he ever decide to reclaim his homeland perchance? Was it to soothe down the spirits of his forefathers or to satisfy his own needs?

He could have remained behind in the Blue Mountains, writing a requiem for his life and searching endlessly for his long lost father. Still everything else would have remained intact and prosperous in his Halls. Dis and her boys would have been safe and alive now. Thorin's company...The quest for Erebor...the mighty plans for revenge...everything got crushed under the immense grief he now felt for his nephew. Everything looked bleak and uncalled for after Kili's unnecessary sacrifice to Erebor's cause. His mighty plans for revenge now seemed so empty and he could only mock them with endless bitterness. He accused Thranduil of egotism as he merited the Gems of Lasgalen more than his family, but hadn't Thorin done the same thing for the Arkenstone? Were he and the Elven King as different as he had always hoped, or more alike than he'd ever like to admit?

Here in the world of reality awakening seemed terrifying, more so than dying by the sword of Azog, because here he had to face his sister, his brethren, the seven families, the immense fortune of the Lonely Mountain, the King's Gem, and above all himself...and that last part he dreaded the most. It wasn't as if all these years he hadn't been able to live with what he did in the past, but his focus was always pointed outwards. He was always concerned with the safety and the well being of his people, the protection of his family's most sacred secret, the ruling of his Halls, finding his father, lamenting his dead and finally the quest to reclaim a homeland.