Middle Earth Short Stories

Long Live the King

Dedicated to: BJKaplan 

I gaze out of my window upon the luscious greenery growing in my garden. Delicate purple flowers peek from beneath the heavy leaves of the Hibiscus bush; a small chipmunk darts beneath its shelter.

My eyes drift to the small sapling, hardly a foot tall, that ways in the gentle breeze.

The voice of an old friend echoes in my head,"Go back to your books...and your armchair...plant your trees, watch them grow."

And I had done just that. I had honored his last wishes.

A quiet three years have come and gone since the passing of Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain. Yet not a day goes by that I do not think of the adventures I shared with him and the others. My thoughts stray to that of Kili and Fili - strong, brave, young dwarves they were....destined for greatness.

And although the Battle of the Five Armies was a victorious one, I cannot help but feel as if the bad outweighed the good. Yes, Dale and Erebor were saved, and thank Providence for that, but three of Middle Earth's finest warriors were lost. Three of my dearest friends were slaughtered mercilessly.

One day all of the dark forces will pay for this evil deed.

They will pay.

I turn away from the window and prepare myself a cup of tea before reclining in my armchair. I sip my tea and rest my head against the backing... Closing my eyes I find myself once more in the great halls of Erebor.

Its walls shine of emerald and the smooth marble floor is cold beneath my bare feet. My eyes linger on the golden throne at the far side of the hall and I move forward - silent - as any burglar ought to be. I placed my hand upon the arm of the chair and imagine Thorin, the rightful king, sitting on this throne. A powerful and just king he would have been... But that was stolen from him. He would have no share of the wealth from beneath the mountain, now. He would have no part in what he had worked so hard for.

I sigh deeply and make my way to the stairs, which would lead me to the treasure below. Before I had even reached the bottom of the stair, light shines upon the wall opposite the doorway, having been reflected from the gold which lays beyond. I slip under the arch and, once more, my heart stops. One does not simply look upon the wealth of Erebor without a sense of awe and wonder. Endless hills of gold, splashed with puddles of glittering rubies and sparkling diamonds.

But no dragon.

The riches were up for the taking, for those in the favor of the King...But where was this King Under the Mountain?

In a tomb. A tomb studded with sapphires and amethyst. A tomb in which silver and gold flow like rivers around the coffin of their ruler. A ruler in whose hands the arkenstone lies....never to be held by another living man again. For only Thorin Oakenshield is a worthy ruler of such a magnificent hall. Only Thorin Oakenshield has the right to rule.

Long live the King Under the Mountain.

Long live my dearest friend.

Long live Thorin Oakenshield.