Though dark and musty, damp and cold, the surroundings around him, were so familiar. How could Thorin forget his own home? Though it felt truly surreal to be here. He reached out and touched the stone of the wall, it was really there, and he was really here. It wasn't a dream. This is real. This was reality.
“I know these walls.” He looked around and up at the ceiling. “These halls,” he furthered on and touched the wall nearest to him. “This stone.” Slowly he looked over his shoulder, Balin had moved into the corridor too. “You remember it, Balin? Chambers filled with golden light.” Thorin smiled wistfully over the memory of his home, back when it wasn't under the siege of a dragon.
“I remember,” Balin confirmed quietly with a nod, he still looked slightly tearful over being here. It was too much emotion to handle. Behind Balin the rest of the company had slowly started to fill in as well.
Glóin turned slowly and looked up to the engraving which was above the door on the wall. “'Here lies the Seventh Kingdom of Durin's Folk. May the Heart of the Mountain unite all Dwarves in defence of this home.'” Glóin translated simply yet quietly.
Balin looked up too, “The throne of the King.” He said.
Bilbo stopped by his side and looked up as well. “And what's that above it?” He was referring to the image of something above the throne. There were light lines emanating from it.
“The Arkenstone.” Balin replied.
“The Arkenstone,” Bilbo repeated thoughtfully. “And what is that?” He was stumped, he didn't know what it was.
“That, Master Burglar, is why you're here.” Thorin said from his leaning position further away, he looked over the two before looking back to the way they were needing to go. Bilbo shifted and frowned lightly, it suddenly sunk in what it was that he was needing to do, it certainly didn't help that each member of the company had taken to looking at him as well.
“Can you not do something?” Were the only words which Fíli could think to say. Below him laying on a bed was Kíli. He wasn't in too good shape, from earlier on he had lost consciousness again, only to wake again and be in agony. He laid now letting out pained groans. Fíli stood right by his brother's side he had no intention of leaving him.
Bofur was elsewhere in the room collecting water, while Óin sat trying to tend to Kíli's wound. Náriel was trying her best to look through drawers and cupboards in an effort to find something which could be of use. Though when Bard caught what she was doing she sheepishly smiled and awkwardly moved off to help Óin.
“I need herbs, something to bring down his fever.” Óin replied to Fíli's earlier words while casting him a quick look as Kíli gave an uncomfortable fidget on the bed.
Bard had picked up what Náriel was doing and pulled some pouches from a cupboard she couldn't quite reach. If she stood on a chair she could, but she didn't think that was wise. Shuffling over she looked them over with a frown.
“We have nightshade, feverfew...” Bard said while looking over to the bed where the Dwarves were.
“They're no use to me. Do you have any Kingsfoil?” Óin asked while quickly glancing at him.
“No, it's a weed. We feed it to the pigs.” Bard retorted though he got a strange look shot at him by Náriel, who evidently didn't agree with his words.
“Pigs?!” Bofur perked up over hearing this. No one else really paid notice to his odd moment. “Weed? Right,” he turned and pointed a finger at Kíli, who just glanced at him, Óin and Fíli looked at him oddly. “Don't move,” like Kíli could even if he wanted to right now. “You,” he rushed down and pointed at Náriel, “Come with me.”
YOU ARE READING
Calm The Fire (UNDER EDITING)Fanfiction
It is a little known fact that Thorin had come to dislike the race of elves; but perhaps it hasn't always been this way, maybe, just maybe, once upon a time there wasn't such high disdain held towards them. The dwarf-Prince's heart isn't as nearly a...