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prologue

It began long ago in a land far away to the East. The like of which you will not find in the world today. There was the great city of Dale. Its markets are known far and wide, full of the bounties of vine and vale, peaceful and prosperous. For this city lay before the doors of the greatest kingdom in Middle-Earth, Erebor. Stronghold of Thror, King under the mountain. The mightiest of the dwarf lords. Thror ruled with utter surety, never doubting his house would endure, for his line lay secure in the lives of his son and grandson. Ah, Frodo. Erebor. Built deep within the mountain itself, the beauty of this fortress city was a legend. Its wealth lay in the earth, in precious gems hewn from rock, and in great seams of gold running like rivers through the stone. The skill of the dwarves was unequaled. Fashioning objects of great beauty, out of diamond, emerald, ruby, and sapphire. Ever they delved deeper down into the dark, and that is where they found it. The heart of the mountain, the Arkenstone. Thror named it the king's jewel. He took it as a sign, a sign that his right to rule was divine. All would pay homage to him. Even the great Elven king, Thranduil. But the years of peace and plenty were not to last. Slowly the days turned sour, and the watchful nights closed in. Thror's love of gold had grown too fierce. A sickness had begun to grow within him. It was a sickness of the mind. And where sickness thrives bad things will follow. The first they heard was a noise like a hurricane, coming down from the North. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in the hot dry wind. He was a Firedrake from the North. Such wanton death was dealt that day, for this city of men was nothing to Smaug. His eye was set on another prize. For dragons covet gold with a dark and fierce desire. Erebor was lost. For a dragon will guard his plunder as long as he lives.

Thranduil would not risk the lives of his kin against the wrath of the dragon. No help came from the Elves that day. Nor any day since. Robbed of their homeland, the dwarves of Erebor wandered the wilderness. The once-mighty people brought low. The young dwarf prince took work where he could find it, laboring in the villages of men. But always, he remembered the mountain smoke beneath the moon, the trees like torches blazing bright, where he had seen dragon fire in the sky, and a city turn to ash. And he never forgave, and he never forgot.

Trudging sleepily around in the small place they called the shire I felt some sort of relief, tonight was the night that we would have our burglar and would finally start our long journey to the mountain... The mountain adad never got to grow me up at, the place where adad had lost everything except for a baby me. Glancing over at adad I almost snorted, one of his scared hands was the small letter he had received not 6 months earlier, his other hand was scratching at his bald head, his face was scrunched in concentration and anger," Adad do you want me to look at the letter? If there is a map I may be able to get us to the burglar's home?" Looking over at me as if I was insane he let out a large barking laugh," You know as well as I that you cannot even point out north! You are just like your mother you couldn't even locate your room if we lived in a large home!" "I ... I can locate north! It is over there!" I said hoping I was right just to prove him wrong," That over there is west Maddilin..." Clamping my big mouth shut I continued to trudge along the narrow halfling path. Houses in the ground had made me scratch my head, why would anyone want to live in a small hole in the ground? That is just odd! No id rather live in Erabor, the time will come. Practically falling over in my excitement, out of the corner of my eye I spotted a bright red dwarven ruin etched out on a dark green door. A great flood of pide flooded through me 'Prove your adad wrong' I would always tell myself. 

Tapping on Adad's shoulder I pointed out my discovery. A great smile painted his face, a rare occurrence if ever you saw. Running myself up to the door I rapped on the door happily, this was it! I would see the mountains as my family had promised me. A single fat tear of happiness rolled down my face,' If this burglar doesn't come with us I may just roll over in my grave!' Catching up to me finally looking over to see adad, a face of the stone was etched into his face as if he was just a boulder. Copying his stoak demeanor I collected myself. 

Finally, the large round door a small man about my height stared me straight in the eye, "Dwalin, At your service." Adad bowed down uttering this sentence barely loud enough for the hobbit to hear. Quickly bowing down myself I looked up at the hobbit in the doorway," Maddilin at your service."