Born from Stone (A Thorin Oakenshield story)

*A crown doesn't make a King

That's exactly how the next morning found them. Thorin had turned in his sleep and was now facing the remains of the melted statue of his grandfather. There in front of its feet was a black blob, almost invisible from the distance. Yet the sun rays that were passing between the ruins of the gate were enough to cast the shadow of that blob upon the golden floor. Thorin's ears listened to the snoring of his comrades with Dwalin's overpowering everyone else and his eyelids closed once more, but that didn't last long as his half awoken brain was alerted by movement behind him. Someone was walking quietly about, poking around the logs, possibly trying to reignite the remains of the fire pit. Thorin's eyes fell on that dark item which was casting that ominous shadow on the floor and shuddered. Wasn't it too early in the morning to be visited by that particular ghost? He inhaled deeper than usual and felt the pain from his stomach awakening along with him. This was the first night he slept without nightmares and without the pain tearing him apart. Had he known that sleeping amongst his companions would have offered him such peaceful sleep he would have sought them out much sooner.

He pushed with his good arm and came to a seated position. Even though his sleep had been restful and he was deeply grateful that he didn't get riddled with more weird dreams last night, the shadow which was being cast on the golden floor made the usual broodiness return on his face without too much effort. His thick brows came together and his forehead wrinkled. He lifted himself up from the bed with great difficulty and even though the cane would have helped him stand straight much sooner, he denied it. When he turned and looked at it lying next to his bed only derision was visible in his eyes.

He raised his brow loftily and turned his attention to the shadow once more. His heart thumbed in elation when he understood that he was able to walk slightly better than yesterday. He was still visibly limbing and his left arm was wrapped tightly across his stomach, but he was able to do it without the assistance of the cane. One heavy boot clanked on the golden floor with the ever-present traces of his proud military pace and the other dragged behind him trying to offer him what little support it could. Still though he managed to reach the forgotten Raven Crown unassisted.

It was still exactly at the same place he threw it just before going out to battle. No one bothered to pick it up, either because no one wanted to touch his crown or more possibly because no one had noticed it. He kneeled down and grabbed it angrily feeling an insatiable need to spit on the floor for the pain this crown had offered his family all these centuries.

"Thorin?" Bilbo's voice drew him out of his heavy contemplations.

He opened his eyes and sighed deeply. "Good morning my friend."

"Good morning. Do you...do you need any help?" Bilbo approached and his gaze fell on the crown Thorin was holding.

Thorin looked at Bilbo dejected. "Do I look so impossibly weak?" His voice held a tone of disgust towards himself.

Bilbo shook his head vigorously. "No! No...Of course not..." He didn't sound convincing.

Thorin's brow raised slowly and a faded smile appeared on his lips.

Bilbo scratched his head and reciprocated with an uncomfortable smile of his own. "Well, maybe you do look like you need a bit of help. Do you want me to bring over your walking stick?"

Thorin's lips curled down. "No, thank you."

Bilbo pressed his lips and looked at his friend lovingly. "Maybe my arm could assist you then?" He offered his elbow.

Thorin shook his head.

Bilbo licked his lips, feeling troubled by the haunted countenance of the King. "Did you sleep well?"