Born from Stone (A Thorin Oakenshield story)

On the bell's third strike

Four days later Thorin was walking thoughtfully towards the entrance. This afternoon the incoming immigration flow had taken a rather grim turn. Instead of families relocating, it was full of wounded people that carried their dead to be buried in the Lonely Mountain. Thorin ordered Eilin to go back to his rooms and rest, even though she insisted to remain and help him out. She looked too pale, too exhausted and too preoccupied for his tastes. In the end, when she realised that in the stead of her Thorin now stood the authoritative King, she relented and went to sleep in his rooms.

Thorin stood at the gates overlooking the grim parade of the dead. He was seething with nervousness which was caused not only from his worry about Eilin's health that seemed to be slowly deteriorating, but also from the bold declaration he made about their situation in front of his court. Everybody knew now that he intended to wed her. His courageous move that evening at the feast declared openly that there was no turning back for him. He has found his one. Such a formal announcement should have had some kind of a reaction. On the contrary none of the lords spoke to him about his formal conduct towards Eilin, so he was left alone in silent limbo. Something that was making him rather tense, bringing up the caustic monarch in him towards everyone except Eilin, his immediate family and close friends.

As a reaction to this deliberate -or not- limbo he also secluded himself. Brooding in his office, his grandfather's library, Eilin's rooms or his own, the vaults and the top most rampart. It was this afternoon's grim events that drew him out of his usual isolation and made him approach the entrance and his people that needed his presence to give them courage.

"Good evening my lord. You are a difficult man to talk to, which is ironic since you are the King of this golden city," Durar the lord of Linnar's folk came up next to him.

Thorin crossed his arms and observed the wounded families with a deep frown. "Good evening. It's difficult to be everywhere and for everyone all the time. Tell me what I can do for you my dear man."

"Maybe I should wait to address my issues until you've had your report. Dain is coming up and seems rather grim," Durar frowned and crossed his arms likewise, subconsciously mimicking the King.

Thorin shook his head at Dain, "Things look very bad."

His large cousin nodded, "there is a massacre going on at Ered Mithrin. The remaining underground cities are being ripped to threads. You see few survivors here. Most didn't make it. This is our comeuppance for reclaiming Erebor. We need to act fast, people are dying up there. They are the last of our kin. We need to support them."

Thorin's brow clouded. He looked at his nephew. "Fili take care of all your business in the city. You march with your uncle at break of dawn. We have enough men to gather a brigade, correct?"

Dain nodded, "enough to gather more than one."

Durar intervened. "Use my thousand selected if you wish."

Thorin looked at him, "that would be most welcome. Thank you."

"Anything to help the Mountain King" -Durar said with a proud smile- "My men belong to the Lonely Mountain now. They are the Firebeard contribution to your army my lord. Use them and abuse them to your will."

"Then you shall command them," Thorin said gracefully.

Durar smiled widely. "Oh, haven't had a good fight with Orcs in years. I'd love that!"

Thorin pursed his lips and looked at a young dame who was wailing above an elder dwarf that looked unconscious. Her face was barely seen under all the dirt and blood. Several people had gathered around them to offer some help.

Thorin uncrossed his arms and was the first one of the nobility that was standing by the entrance to break through the shocked circle of bystanders and approach the elder. Durar was right behind him. He came down to one knee and cupped the forehead of the elder. "Is he wounded or ill?" He asked the young dame.