LOTR/Hobbit ~Collection of Preferences~

Nearing The Catalyst

Thorin:

The mountain looms before you like a majestic yet cold beast, intimidating and all-too-quiet for your like. The boat you share with Thorin, Bifur, Ori, Gloin, and Bilbo Baggins abruptly seems diminutive and frail compared to the Lonely Mountain's silent power, in your mind. Swallowing reflexively against your dry throat, you reach for Thorin's hand, only half-realizing you're doing so. His fingers curl around yours and you meet his gaze. You don't mean for your apprehension to be so obvious in your eye, but it is, and a flash of concern crosses his own vision.

"Thus we arrive," he declares to the passengers of both boats journeying up the Long Lake, "to the rightful home of our fathers and our father's fathers." Cheers meet this sentiment, but your voice, stolen by the worry in your heart and the frigid wind sweeping across the lake, is absent from them. "The fight is not yet won," the leader of the Company goes on, and you frown. Is this supposed to make you feel you better? If so, it isn't much working. "-though I have faith in the valor of each of you and doubt none of your determination." He looks to you once more now. 

"Even the smallest of us boasts the heart of a true warrior." 

His thumb runs gently over the side of your hand and a shiver trills up your spine. A slight smile finally appears on your lips at his words, clearly directed at you (and Bilbo). "Together, triumph is inevitable, and Smaug, that miserable worm, shall perish before our might!" Further calls of approval greet Thorin's encouraging words, and this time, you volunteer yours as the loudest of them all, squeezing his hand in a silent thanks for reigniting your courage.

Time moves on. The Company (excepting Fili, Kili, Oin, and Bofur) beach the boats and hike up to the foot of the mountain, then further up one of its sides. Bilbo spots the staircase leading to the secret door, you remember the moon-letters detailing how it may be opened, the last light of Durin's Day shines upon the keyhole and Thorin unlocks the enchanted stone. From there on out, things pass in much of a blur for you, and it is only the fury of Smaug's bellowing as he chases you (the bravely-self-suggested bait) into a grand hall that brings the usual passage of events back into your mind.

Huffing and panting, you sprint for your life across the hall into an adjacent stairway and only stop when you hear the creaking of molten gold. You return to the mouth of the staircase just in time to see Smaug bellowing like the thunder of the heavens as he is buried under a thousand, nay, twice a thousand pounds of scalding-hot liquid gold. From your lips comes the first cheer, and you lock eyes with Thorin where he stands on a high ledge across the hall. He beams at you, and you grin right back- but then Bilbo shouts to get out of the way and you, having learned many times over to trust your cousin in these sorts of situations, quickly scamper back down the stairs. The light of flames and a roar of pure wicked rage come from above and your heart siezes up in your chest. 

Thorin- Bilbo- no, no, no- 

And the dragon, still undefeated, screeches his intent to burn Esgaroth down to the very surface of the lake it is built upon. His powerful wingbeats fade from your hearing within a minute's time; still, you wait, petrified, on the last step of those stairs until Thorin appears, spouting reassurances you both know hold no weight, his voice sharp and hollow. He draws you into a tight, brief hug, then the two of you rush up the stairs and follow your companions, all equally dismayed, outside to watch helplessly as the dragon swoops down toward Laketown, the fire contained in his monstrous body burning through his scales, alighted with his fury.

Your Current Impression of Him (YCIOH): You are absolutely terrified of what's to come. The immediate future looks achingly bleak, and tears slip silently down your cheeks now from just your left eye, an additionally-depressing reminder of all that you've sacrificed for this quest, as you stare at the flames consuming Esgaroth. Even Thorin's hand holding yours does not bring you comfort, your fear and sorrow are so great.