She dreams of Golden Hope

Ode of Spirits and Compassion

„Oh! think not my spirits are always as light, And as free from a pang as they seem to you now, Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow." Oh! Think not my spirits are always as light- Thomas Moore

„I would take each and every one of those dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills. For when I called upon them, they answered. Loyalty, Honour and a willing Heart… I can ask for no more than that."

Balin sighed as he heard the words of his king. The response Thorin had given, when Balin had finally voiced his doubts and trepidations about the quest him and the rest of Thorin's company were to undertake. He was honest, he did not believe that they would be successful in their undertaking. He could still vividly recall the day Erebor had been taken. He could still smell the smoke, the charring on the tip of his grey beard. The desperate cries of the women and the wounded warriors, replayed itself like an eternal melody in his ear that had already become less skilled to distinguish discreet sounds. Him and Thorin were the only ones in the company, who had been in Erebor that day. Who could vividly recall the devastation, the desperation that, that firedrake had caused. Dwalin had been but a child during that time and, differently from his elder brother, he had not been obliged to face the calamity, the fire, the explosion that had sent the royal guard flying. The strongest of men in Erebor, flying like helpless puppets through the air. Only him and Thorin truly knew the extents of Smaug's power, only they knew the reality of what truly awaited them behind the sealed gates of Erebor, where the beast surely still lay, festering like a cancer and guarding their gold, that had been long-forgotten by any of their kin, except by him and Thorin.

He eyed the man before him. His leader, his king, his friend. He could see the wariness and the exhaustion in Thorin's stormy eyes. This was one that'd had to mature and grow up much too quickly. He supposed that all descendants to the throne had. That since birth crown princes were groomed to become mature, solemn, responsible and able to carry the weight of a kingdom on their shoulders. Since Thorin's birth, his grandfather Thror had taken measures that Thorin would be tutored and learned in the skills required for a king. The task had fallen on Balin's shoulder, he'd taught Thorin what his grandfather had wished for him to know and Thorin had proved the most able pupil. Before his eyes, the young dwarf boy who, at the beginning of his tuition, had been unable to wield even the lightest of swords and had been more interested in wandering his grandfather's kingdom and watching the miners collect and harvest the wealth, that sprung from the walls of their home, had transformed and grown to become the fiercest and most able warrior within Erebor's halls. He had become impertinent, ingenious and keen, something that had been achieved through long and laborious lessons. He had watched the lad become a proud and meritorious representative of the kingdom of Thror. Yet Balin, who had been not only a tutor, but a dear and loyal companion to the prince, had only realized at the battle of Azanulbizar, as they accounted for all they had lost, despite having been victorious, when Thorin had stood solemnly after having defeated Azog with his oaken branch as a shield and overlooked his weary warriors, radiating silent authority, that his charge, his pupil was a king. One whose rule could even rival his grandfather's, who had been a just and valiant leader, until he had been seized by that terrible gold sickness.

He could still remember the day, when Thorin, who at the time had been approximately Fili's age, had come up to him and had entrusted him with his worry over his grandfather's declining sanity. Over the corruption, over the avariciouness he could see growing and festering within Thror. Yet Balin had known, naturally he was not as close as Thorin to Thror, but he had seen how, shortly after the Arkenstone had come into the Durin's folk possession, Thror's love of gold had become more and more fierce. How he had increased the miner's work hours and had ordered them to go deeper and deeper into the heart of Erebor, disregarding the danger this work environment could have. No, in the last days before Smaug's arrival, Thror's greed had overriden his care and compassion for his people. Thorin had come to him, to his tutor, and had entrusted him with his worry over his grandfather and his increasingly corrupted regime. He had also entrusted Balin with his fear, that the same tendril of greed that had become fertilised and become substantial within Thror, slumbered within him. The young prince had feared that he could become equally debauched and that his love of gold would supersede his morality, his love and sense of responsibility toward his people. Balin had tried to console the young prince and rid him of his insecurities. Thorin had been appalled and worried, when he had seen the unnecessarily cruel measures that Thror had taken against a miner, that had wanted to keep one of the numerous jewels he had found in the walls of the Lonely Mountain. Previously, when Thror had been more sound of mind, he would have simply imprisoned the man. Yet, now that greed usurped his compassion, his punishment had become more carnal and pitiless, when the man had gotten both his hands removed. Thorin, who had been taught throughout his infancy, that a sovereign and just rule was not only decided on the disciplinary capability of the king, but also on when it was wise to show mercy, had been shocked by his grandfather's decree. It had been a shock to him, when Thorin had confided in him and had seemed vulnerable in face of that display he had witnessed, confirming Thror's lunacy over his treasures. To Balin it had seemed as if the young dwarf prince had long shed any insecurity, any vulnerability. But that day, he had once more glimpsed a fleeting image of his young pupil, who had felt overwhelmed at the expectations, that had been thrust upon him, since he had first learned to walk. He had tried to console the young prince. He had told him, that all creatures possessed a tendril of something within them, that could corrupt them, be it greed, cruelty, or whatever else. It was possible for all creatures to become corrupted, and only the individual themself could prevent their downfall, by being strong and not giving into the siren call of nepotism.