The Prophecy

The Battle Ends

Meanwhile in Erebor, while dwarves, elves and men were dying outside, Thorin was merely sitting on his throne with no care in the world. A new fear stirred inside of him. What if they would come for the gold? It wasn't hard climbing up the wall, they will come, and they will take his treasure. They already had his Arkenstone. What was stopping them from taking the rest? His thoughts were so troubled that he had not heard Dwalin approaching him.

"Since when do we forsake our own people?" Dwalin asked in concern, "Thorin, they are dying out there."

Thorin sat upright in his throne when he thought of something, "There are halls beneath halls within this mountain - places we can fortify." Dwalin looked at him, wondering what he was getting at, "Shore up, make safe. Yes... Yes - that is it. We must move the gold further underground - to safety!"

The dwarf king rose from his throne and started walking away, but stopped when Dwalin angrily called him out, "Did you not hear me?! Dain is surrounded! They're being slaughtered, Thorin."

Thorin looked at him blankly, "Many die in war. Life is cheap. But a treasure such as this cannot be counted in lives lost. It is worth all the blood we can spend!"

Dwalin shook his head in disbelief, "You sit here in these vast halls, with a crown upon your head, and yet you are lesser now than you have ever been."

Thorin slowly turned to him, his eyes dark with fury, "Do not speak to me as if I was some lowly dwarf lord..." As he spoke it was clear that he was mentally affected, "As- As if I were still... Thorin... Oakenshield. I AM YOUR KING!"

Thorin roared and pulled out his sword, slicing at the air; however, he was so unbalanced that he almost fell over.

Dwalin only stared at him, his eyes watery as he beheld what has become of the Thorin he knew, his dearest friend, "You were always my king. You used to know that once." He bowed his head in sorrow, "You cannot see what you have become."

When Thorin spoke, his voice was deep and dark and not his own, "Go! Get out...before I kill you."

They stared each other down. Dwalin was hurt beyond words but knew that if he didn't leave soon, the dwarf king would really kill him and think nothing of it. He turned and was on his way to leave, before stopping briefly.

He looked at Thorin out of the corner of his eye and muttered the last words he could think of, "What would Zarina say when she saw you right now?"

With that he left and didn't look back.

Thorin growled and stomped off to the great halls of the mountain. He angrily paced the floors of his palace, his heavy boots echoing as he moved about. However, the dwarf king stopped abruptly when he reached the hall with the gold floor where they tried defeating Smaug. He took a few steps on the gold and stared fondly down at it, noticing his own reflection staring back at him.

Suddenly it was as if thousands of voices were filling his head. Some voices he could recognize, some not and some were his own. But they got louder and soon, they were all he was hearing, and it was driving him mad.

"You sit here...with a crown upon your head...you are lesser now than you have ever been..." Dwalin.

"...but a treasure such as this cannot be counted in lives lost..." Himself.

"...a sickness lies upon that treasure..." Balin.

"...the blind ambition of a mountain-king..." Bard.

"...AM I NOT THE KING..." Himself.

"...this gold...is ours...and ours alone..." Himself.