Thorin

Thorin had grown weary of elves to last a lifetime.

Admittedly, Rivendell had not been as bad as he had expected, but the looks some elves sometimes threw them were nothing short of insulting.

That is why he felt perfectly justified when they used one of the fountains to wash themselves. No, it was not petty, regardless of Gandalf's opinion on the matter. The wizard could keep his thoughts to himself. Thorin had no interest in anything unrelated to their quest.

On another note, Thorin would never have expected Kael – or was it Mairon now? Why did that name sound so familiar, anyway? – to be a wizard, though he was admittedly odd enough to be one. Wizards and their ways were mysterious, indeed.

It was strange that Mairon did not look as old as the others, but Thorin guessed that there must be different types of wizards. He did not care as long as Mairon could help them on their quest – at least he was not an elf.

After reluctantly showing Elrond the map to the Lonely Mountain and learning about the moon runes and the day they could enter said mountain, Thorin decided it was time to go, taking advantage of the not-so-secret meeting Gandalf thought he was successfully keeping from them.

He brushed off Bilbo's attempts to convince him to wait for Mairon and Gandalf, because he was sure that if they waited, someone would try to stop them. No, it was better this way.

They only needed to cross the Misty Mountains, and then, with a bit of luck, they could take a straight path to Erebor.

Of course, it was not until they reached the Misty Mountains, under a heavy deluge while trying not to fall during the stone giants' fight, that Thorin realized how naive and hopeful his thinking had been. He should have expected something like this to happen.

They survived the stone giants, at least, but they had another problem.

They lost their burglar. Bilbo Baggins fell down the mountain, and the only thing Thorin could do was stare into the darkness below them amidst the others' horrified and shocked cries of denial.

"Bilbo!"

"Our burglar! Our burglar fell!"

"Oh, Mr. Bo-Baggins! Brother, what do we do?!"

"Oh... oh, no. I should have been faster. I should have been faster!"

"Perhaps he is fine, right?" Fili asked Thorin with a desperate look. "Uncle? I was not the only one who saw that, was I? There was truly a giant bird that flew down after Bilbo?"

Thorin shook his head slowly, his eyes still fixed on the place where Bilbo had disappeared.

"I do not know, Fili," he answered, his voice rough. "We cannot know if... if it was going to save him or..."

Fili's gaze grew horrified, and he looked nauseous at the image Thorin was painting.

"But perhaps... perhaps it meant to save him..." Bofur, who had overheard their conversation, trailed off as he looked at them and their grim expressions. "Bilbo cannot be gone... right?"

"Let it go, lad," Balin said softly, suspiciously misty-eyed – or maybe that was the rainwater. Thorin could not be sure. "There was nothing we could have done. He's gone."

Bofur swallowed and looked down with a quick nod. "Aye. I was just... if we had..."

Balin patted his shoulder and nodded grimly. "I know, lad. I know."

Thorin took a deep breath and gathered himself. It was unfortunate that their burglar was gone, but they could not stay there.

It was not safe.

"We must not dwell on what we cannot change," he said, his voice sounding louder in the silence that had started as the others realized there was nothing they could do. "The burglar knew the risks of this quest. All of us do. But our people still need us. Erebor needs us. We will not forget Bilbo, but we must honor his death by pushing forward."

Some of them – the younger ones, especially – looked almost disbelieving at him, although Thorin could tell both Balin and Dwalin understood his position.

Thorin was the leader of this quest. He was the King Under the Mountain, and a king always needed to make the tough decisions. Especially the tough ones.

Nobody said anything, though, so Thorin nodded once and gently steered Fili, who was still petrified, toward the rocky path.

"We will continue our journey after we have found shelter for the night."

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Eventually, amidst heavy silence, they finally found a cave. It was dark and it appeared to have been unoccupied for quite some time, which was precisely what they needed.

Dwalin entered and searched the back of the cave. After a moment, he returned with a lantern in hand.

"It looks safe enough," he muttered, and Thorin nodded in gratitude.

"Get some rest, everyone. We will start at first light," Thorin announced, and Balin gave him a puzzled look.

"Were we not supposed to wait in the mountains until Gandalf and Mairon joined us? That was the plan," he pointed out, not unkindly. Thorin closed his eyes and turned away.

"Plans change," he grumbled and then looked at Fili, who still seemed in shock, before turning to Kili.

"Kili, take the first watch."

His youngest nephew threw a worried glance at his brother, but did as he was told, and they all began preparing for the night.

It was not long before most of them were asleep.

Thorin, however, could not rest.

He could not shake the feeling of guilt that gnawed at him. He had treated Bilbo with nothing but doubt and suspicion since the very beginning, always thinking that the hobbit was too soft for this journey, too kind.

And so he had never shown him the gratitude he deserved.

After all, Bilbo had no obligation to help them. As an important figure in the Shire, he had everything he needed—family, friends, and a home. He did not need to join them, yet he did anyway.

Thorin wished Bilbo had stayed in the Shire rather than coming with them. Perhaps then... perhaps he would still be alive.

The worst thing was that he could not help but wonder if it was his own pride that brought about this unfortunate turn of events. And even if it was not, even if his attitude truly had nothing to do with Bilbo's fall, he could not deny the harsh reality of their quest.

They all faced immense dangers, and the fate of their homeland rested on their shoulders alone. In this light, Thorin could not help but feel that perhaps Bilbo's fate had been a kinder death than facing Smaug alone would have been, even if it was cruel of him to think so.

And really, what had he been thinking, asking a hobbit who had never stolen a thing and had lived all his life in comfort to steal from a dragon? His dear sister Dís always told Thorin he was prone to making rash decisions, and this time he could not help but agree with her.

His musings and self-reproach stopped when he noticed strange, mechanical noises coming from the ground. He raised his head and watched with alarm as the sandy ground beneath him cracked apart.

"Wake up!" he bellowed, about to jump from his sleeping bag. "Wake up!"

But it was too late, and before anyone could react, the cave floor collapsed beneath them.

As they all fell into the darkness, Thorin wondered with grim amusement if this was what Bilbo had felt like when he fell down the mountain.

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After sliding through tunnels and dark passages, they all fell into a wooden cage, probably placed there to catch unfortunate souls.

As Thorin attempted to rise, someone's foot dug painfully into his back, and a clamor approached them, followed by a horde of goblins attacking them.

Thorin growled and swung at a goblin that ventured too close to steal his weapons. With a furious shout, he smacked his forehead against the goblin's head, and it fell to the floor in a dead faint, if not dead entirely. Thorin had no time or inclination to check.

The surrounding goblins struck him, incensed, though they refrained from trying to take his weapons again. He defended himself and shielded his nephews from the worst hits.

In this chaos, they were led away through a vast network of tunnels and wooden bridges. Thorin tried to memorize the route but gave up halfway. It was impossible to concentrate while trying to dodge kicks and avoiding tripping over others' feet.

Thousands of other goblins looked on, snarling, and Thorin had half a mind to snarl back at them.

They were led into a massive room where the most revolting throne Thorin had ever had the displeasure of seeing stood before them. The goblin sitting on it was massive, although no less ugly than the rest.

Before Thorin could do something unwise, like sticking Orcrist somewhere the king would certainly not appreciate, his sword and everyone else's weapons were taken by the goblins.

The Great Goblin leaped from his throne, leaning on a skull-topped mace for support.

"Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom? Spies? Thieves? Assassins?" His voice rose with each accusation.

"Dwarves, your malevolence," a goblin informed him, and the king seemed perplexed.

"Dwarves?" He repeated, and Thorin refrained from rolling his eyes at the lack of intelligence displayed. Instead, he heaved a deep sigh.

The Great Goblin narrowed his eyes and waved his hands around, nearly smacking the informing goblin.

"Well, don't just stand there! Search them! Every crack, every crevice!"

The goblins rushed forward, and Thorin's companions protested, trying to dislodge the little creatures. Oin looked particularly disheartened when they confiscated his hearing trumpet and smashed it on the floor.

Meanwhile, the king continued his interrogation.

"What are you doing in these parts?"

Kili glanced hesitantly at Thorin, who softly shook his head.

"Very well," the goblin king said. Before Thorin could prepare himself, the king uttered words that sent a chill through his veins. "If they won't talk, we'll make them squawk! Bring out the mangler! Bring out the bone breaker! Start with the youngest."

He pointed at Kili, and Thorin quickly stepped in front of his nephew, who looked terrified.

"Wait!" he yelled, catching the Great Goblin's attention. A sinister smile crossed the king's face as he undoubtedly recognized Thorin.

"Well, well, well, look who it is! Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain."

His bow was a mockery, and Thorin clenched his fists but remained silent. It was not the time to provoke the goblin further.

"Oh, but I am forgetting, you don't have a mountain, and you are not a king. That makes you nobody, really. But I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just the head, nothing attached. Perhaps you know of whom I speak. A vengeful enemy of yours. A pale orc, astride a white warg!"

Thorin froze in denial as the name raced through his mind.

"Azog the Defiler was destroyed," he protested, loathing every syllable of that name. "He was slain in battle, long ago!" His voice trembled, but he could not help it.

Azog could not be alive. He had to be dead. Thorin had made sure of that.

"So you think his defiling days are over, do you?" The Great Goblin chuckled, turning to a goblin scribe who was sitting on a basket. "Send word to the pale orc. Tell him I have found his prize."

After the message was written down, the tiny goblin cackled, pulled a lever, and vanished into the dark caverns below. Bombur and Balin gasped in dismay, and Thorin's focus returned to the immediate situation.

Dozens of goblins wheeled in massive machines that could only be instruments of torture.

The king, who had resumed his throne, started singing a horrendous song.

"Bones will be shattered; necks will be wrung.

You'll be beaten and battered; from racks, you'll be hung.

You will die down here and never be found, down in the deep of Goblin Town!"

Thorin and the others watched in horrified disbelief. He wondered why it was taking Mairon and Gandalf so long to come to their aid. Did they even know where to find them?

He hoped that when they arrived, it would not be too late. Otherwise, he dreaded what would happen. Thorin knew he could not protect everyone here with so many goblins around. They outnumbered them by far.

Suddenly, the goblins around them gasped and howled in fear as Thorin's sword was tossed aside after being examined by one of the goblins.

"I know that sword!" the Great Goblin exclaimed, leaning away from it. "It's the Goblin Cleaver! The Biter! The blade that sliced a thousand necks!"

Dwalin and Bifur, who were closest to Thorin, struggled as goblins piled onto them, beating them with their weapons.

"Slash them! Beat them! Kill them! Kill them all!" the king exclaimed, pointing at Thorin with a furious expression. "Cut off his head!"

Thorin fought fiercely, dislodging some goblins clinging to him, but they were simply too many. Soon, he found himself pinned down, a goblin raising a knife high above his head, ready to deliver the finishing blow. Refusing to close his eyes, he stared at his future killer defiantly, determined to meet his end with honor.

But before the goblin could bring his sword down on Thorin's neck, there was a blinding explosion of white light that sent the goblins and their torture machines flying.

Thorin cast a wild look in the direction it had come from and nearly collapsed in relief.

It was Gandalf.

"At long last," Thorin murmured breathlessly, quickly retrieving Orcrist from the ground.

"Take up arms! Fight! Fight!" Gandalf yelled, slicing through the oncoming goblins like a hot knife through butter. After the others managed to retrieve their weapons, they charged into battle, shouting war cries.

Next to Thorin, Kili felled goblins left and right, with his brother not far behind. Thorin allowed himself a moment of pride at his nephews' prowess. Dís truly had done an outstanding job raising them.

The Great Goblin rose to his feet and swung his mace at Kili. Thorin, who had seen the movement, intervened swiftly, deflecting the heavy blow with all his strength.

His heart pounded wildly in his chest.

With a frightened cry, the king fell backward and off the platform, sailing into the abyss below, screaming like a coward.

"Follow me! Quick! Run!" Gandalf exclaimed, and with a final glance at the room, Thorin sprinted after him, his companions close behind.

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After a harrowing escape, countless dead goblins, and a fall that nearly killed them all—especially when the Great Goblin's corpse, who was not as dead as they had initially believed, fell on top of them after Gandalf killed him—they left that wretched place through a secret passage led by the wizard.

They rushed down the vast mountainside, and Thorin closed his eyes, relishing the fresh air. Sunlight slowly crept over the treetops, even though it wasn't yet morning.

Gandalf stopped, huffing a bit, and turned to them, beginning to count. With a sinking feeling in his chest, Thorin hoped Gandalf would not unleash his anger on them, or worse, abandon them to their fate. They needed the wizard's help to reach Erebor; they could not do it alone, as recent events had shown.

"Three, four, Gloin, Oin, ten, eleven, twelve, and finally, Thorin," Gandalf finished, looking around for Bilbo.

"Where is Bilbo? Where is our hobbit?"

None of the dwarves answered, but Gandalf could probably tell that something was wrong by their expressions.

Thorin did not dare meet Gandalf's eyes. He had told the wizard back in the Shire that he would not be responsible for Bilbo's safety, but a hopeful, naive part of him had wished things would not come to this.

And yet, they had.

"Where is our hobbit?" Gandalf asked again, more forcefully, and Ori, standing next to Balin, let out a guiltily loud sob in the silence.

"I am afraid Mr. Baggins fell, Gandalf," Balin said grimly, and Gandalf turned his head toward Balin, his eyes almost wild.

"What do you mean, fell? What are you saying?"

"He is gone, Gandalf," Balin, his brave friend, broke the news as gently as he could. "Bilbo is gone. He fell down the Misty Mountains. It was... very dark, and we were far from the ground. Nobody could have survived that," he trailed off when Gandalf's eyes welled up with tears.

Thorin turned away, not wanting to intrude on the wizard's quiet grief. He had never seen Gandalf cry before, but, then again, they did not know each other that well.

The atmosphere was grim, and they all took a moment of silence for Bilbo, one that Fili broke with a shy hesitance that Thorin had not heard from him ever since he was a young child, still hiding behind his mother's robes.

"But... he may still be alive, right? It... flew after him, so maybe it saved him?"

Gandalf's attention instantly shifted toward Thorin's eldest nephew. "What, Fili? What did you see?"

Fili shifted on his feet. "Well... it was a bird, but a giant bird, as impossible as that may sound. It flew after Bilbo just as he fell, so maybe it wanted to save him?"

Gandalf looked around and seemed to realize something. "Mairon," he muttered to himself, and Thorin furrowed his brows in confusion. What did the other missing wizard have to do with any of this? As far as he knew, the red-haired man had disappeared completely.

He may have even stayed in Rivendell with the elves, taken by their 'holier than thou' attitude, though that child Thorin had seen around Mairon once or twice might have had something to do with it as well.

Gandalf was still speaking under his breath. "Yes, perhaps... or maybe..." He turned to Fili again. "What did the bird look like?" He asked urgently. "Was it an eagle? Could you tell?"

Fili frowned thoughtfully. "Perhaps. It was very dark, though, and we were focused on other matters at the time," and they all winced at the reminder of the stone giants' battle and the treacherous path they were forced to take through the Misty Mountains, "but it could have been an eagle, now that you mention it. What do you think, brother?"

Kili nodded with a pensive look. "Yes, I believe it could have been. Though I have to admit I had never seen such a large eagle before."

"Is it possible?" Gandalf asked to himself, completely ignoring Thorin's baffled expression.

Just as Thorin was about to tell the wizard to explain what was going on, howls were heard in the distance, and Gandalf looked behind them with a hint of panic in his eyes.

"They are here," the wizard said, quickly moving to the front. "This way! Run! Run!"

Thorin did not need to look to know that the orcs had caught up to them once again, and he swiftly followed the others.

They ran down the mountainside, passing by some trees, and Thorin's heart sank when he noticed where the path led them.

It was a cliff. There was no escape.

He looked around wildly.

"The trees!" Gandalf exclaimed. "Climb the trees! Hurry!"

Thorin covered everyone's retreat and climbed after Dwalin.

The wargs soon swarmed the place, walking around the trees and growling menacingly. They did not move to attack them but made way for someone to come through.

A pale, scarred orc astride a white warg.

Thorin stared, disbelieving. "Azog," he growled.

His old enemy, clearly not as dead as Thorin had believed, started speaking in the Black Tongue, his expression mocking, while Thorin looked at him in shock.

"It cannot be," he whispered, bracing himself as Azog pointed at him with his axe and gave an order to the other wargs, who ran forward and jumped against the trees they were hiding in.

They snapped their jaws as they tore apart all the branches they could reach.

Bombur yelped and jumped to a higher spot, narrowly avoiding a warg's teeth.

They all held on as hard as they could as the trees trembled and shook. The animals' strength forced Thorin and his companions to jump from tree to tree to avoid falling, until they were all left standing on the very last tree atop the cliff.

Gandalf suddenly shifted, and Thorin looked over in shocked surprise as the wizard threw a burning pinecone against the wargs, who turned around, howling, and stepped away to avoid being burned.

The fire spread quickly through the dry grass, and Thorin took a pinecone that Gandalf passed him and lit it up against Fili's, which he then threw while he watched with satisfaction as the wargs yelped and retreated even further. The fire had now extended in a semicircle, completely blocking any path to the tree.

Dwalin yelled in triumph, with Kili, Fili, and the others echoing him, but things quickly took a darker turn as the tree creaked loudly and started leaning towards the precipice.

They held on, but then the branch Ori and Dori were clinging to broke, and both dwarves fell with twin cries of alarm.

Thorin dropped onto his branch and reached down, but he was too far away. Fortunately, Gandalf reacted just in time and managed to reach them with his staff.

"Hold on!" Fili yelled at them, looking at Thorin desperately, undoubtedly seeking some reassurance that Thorin knew he could not provide.

Thorin turned his head slightly, and his eyes met Azog's, the orc looking smug as he watched his Company struggle.

Thorin clenched his jaw and started rising up defiantly, and he watched as the orc's expression shifted from dark amusement to shock and then fear.

Fear of Thorin, likely brought on by memories of their last battle.

He wondered if Azog could still feel the phantom pain of his severed arm, if he could still remember the day he fought Thorin and lost.

He stood on the branch, ignoring Balin's alarmed calls as the others began to realize what Thorin was about to do.

But just as he prepared to run toward Azog and end their battle once and for all, Thorin stopped.

At first, he did not understand why.

He had never shied away from a battle before; it was not his way.

Durin's line, the dwarves as a whole, were not cowards or dishonorable. They were a prideful people, and Thorin, as the heir to the throne, had more pride than anyone.

Slowly, realization dawned on him: pride. Had he not heard about it before? Had he not been warned of this?

"It sounds to me like this is a matter of pride. As if you are blaming an entire race for a matter that was not even their fault," Mairon's words echoed in Thorin's mind.

It was not the same. The orcs were not the elves. Fighting Azog had nothing to do with them. And yet…

"How were you expecting the Elves to help you against a dragon if you were not able to defeat it yourself? The only thing you would have accomplished is getting all the Elves killed."

He had not been meant to hear the words that followed as he stormed off, full of wounded pride and resentful denials. And yet…

"If pride is more important to Thorin than getting his home back, then he will never be able to take back Erebor, let alone reach it."

…he realized now what he needed to do.

As a king…and as a friend.

For the first time in his almost 200 years of life, Thorin Oakenshield turned his back on an enemy, completely dismissing him in favor of what he knew was truly important.

And when the Great Eagles arrived, saving them from what had previously been a certain death, and they all soared away with Azog's furious yells left behind, Thorin felt more pride than ever before, and he wondered if his ancestors would have been proud, too.