Treasured Love | Thorin Oakenshield.

02 - faint

It was still late at night now by the time the dwarves settled around the dining table. Now it was finally time to say why there are 13 dwarves in our home. I stood beside Bilbo just next to Gandalf as the dwarves spoke.

"What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?" Dwalin asked Thorin.

"Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms," Thorin replied after taking a sip of soup.

"All of them!" Some dwarf commented and a cheer was heard among all the dwarves.

"And what did the Dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?" Dwalin pressed on after the chatter demolished.

Thorin cleated his through and looked at Dwalin, "They will not come. They say this quest is ours and ours alone."

His words sparked something in me. I had finally taken interest in this conversation. "You're going on a quest?" I asked Thorin. There was no reply. Instead Gandalf asked us for more light which Bilbo was quick to get. Only a single candle which wasn't much and not what Gandalf was expecting.

"Far to the east...over ranges and rivers...beyond woodlands and wastelands...lies a single, solitary peak," Gandalf beckoned as a map appeared on the table.

I peered over his shoulder to see the title of the map and read it aloud, "The Lonely Mountain."

"Aye, Oin has read the portents... ...and the portents say it is time," spoke a red headed dwarf spoke and gesturing to the grey haired dwarf holding a trumpet to his ear beside him. I looked up from the map to look and saw everyone's eyes sparking.

The dwarves then continued speaking of the mountain, but a single sentence spoken by what seemed like all the dwarves peeked my attention.

"When the birds of yore return to Erebor...the reign of the beast will end."

"Uh what beast," Bilbo finally spoke with confusion tainting his voice. I had heard this before. These are the dwarves if Erebor. The dwarves whom had their home taken from them by a fire breathing dragon. These were them. Thorin Oakenshield sounded sort familiar because he is the prince under the mountain. The heir to the throne.

"You're the Prince of Erebor," I say looking down at Thorin who sat quietly. "I've heard your story before and what happened to your home. I've read the legends about this dragon."

"Dragon?!" Bilbo exclaimed, but I disachknowledged him and pressed on.

"This quest is to retake the mountain, isn't it?" I asked, my question steering to Thorin mainly.

"Aye, but why would you care of anything to do with dwarves. We are here for Bilbo, not the likes of a female hobbit," Thorin replied, his voice deep and threatening.

I scoffed and sat back on my heels, popping my hip out and crossing my arms.

"I'll have you know-" I began as I pointed a finger at the stubborn dwarf who dared to look behind him to me. There he goes without a single care in the world about me.

I was interrupted when chatter erupted from the other 12 dwarves. Soon enough, I couldn't even tell who was saying what, and then a fight almost broke out among the company.

"Enough!" Thorin yelled at the company and stood tall and menacing among them. Even I got startled and I wasn't even fighting with any of the dwarves. "If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look East to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?" Thorin cheered and the rest of them cheered for their prince dwarf. I on the other hand rolled my eyes.