Life in Exile

Chapter 3 - Exile and the War of Dwarves and Orcs (2770 - 2799)

It took the entire day to chop  down the number of trees that were needed, but it was going to take  longer to shape them into boats. The ones who didn't cut down the trees  had to sacrifice their sleep and energy to do this before sun-up.  Luckily, there was still some stew left from what was made with a rabbit  that Frerin had killed, so no one had to hunt tonight. Frerin was very  proud of himself when he made his kill, his first kill. Thorin was proud  of him as well, but he was more content by the fact that Frerin had  finally done something productive with his recklessness. Frerin was too  young to take part in making the boats, so he and Dori played by the  edge of the river as the sun went down in their faces. It was night when  Thorin finally approached them, the crescent moon was up, giving the  Anduin a silver-lining and making their skin glow slightly in the light.  Frerin and Dori were skipping stones across the water. They wanted to  see if one of the stones could skip completely across the river. Thorin  watched for a while, with his arms crossed, as the two made many  attempts. Most stones skipped twice, occasionally they would skip three  times, but Frerin was most enthusiastic when his stone skipped four  times! Thorin finally told them it was impossible for the stone to reach  across, no matter how hard someone threw it or how many times the stone  skipped.

"I know," Dori said, "I just like how they make ripples. The ripples are perfect and soothing!"

Frerin  rolled his eyes and yawned, before going down to his fours and looking  down into the water, "Thorin, are there fish in this river?"

Thorin fetched the river a glance, "Most likely."

Frerin sprang to his boots and hurried off, "Come on, Dori! Let's make spears and—"

Thorin  had grabbed Frerin by his green hood, not only pulling him back but  also lifting him off his feet so he could not move, "No," he retorted.  Frerin thrashed and growled, "Put me down, Thorin!" Thorin dropped his  brother and stood behind him so that he blocked the river, "It's late,  and those are the only clothes you have." Frerin stood up and brushed  dirt off his clothes, "Fine, I just wanted to help," he grumbled,  storming off to the camp Balin and Thrór had made. Dori approached  Thorin and stood in front of him, "I wasn't going to do it anyways," he  said, "I don't like getting wet."

Thorin found a rock a little bit  further from the camp; he sat down next to it and leaned against it so  that he was propped up comfortably enough to fall asleep. He liked being  on his own, he liked the silence and the peace and the freedom of  reflecting on himself. Although he cared for his family and his friends  more than his own life, he preferred being by himself. Thorin had spent  plenty of time on his own during the exile, when he did he always  thought of home and the things he used to do every day that he could not  longer do. But tonight, he pushed those thoughts behind him. Today was  the first day he could see the Misty Mountains clearly, and they gave  him a new sense of life. He thought about a potential settlement  wherever his grandfather chose to settle, that this settlement would  prosper into something mighty, and he saw himself being a respected  Dwarf Lord but still being groomed by his grandfather to be a King. He  had a strong sense that things would get better, and this sense was  given to him by the Misty Mountains. But as he relished in living on the  other side, he remembered that there would have to be a time where he  would have to look upon the other side of the Misty Mountains, where  they then would become a barrier protecting him from his past. On the  other side laid a Kingdom in ruin, a City in ash, and a Dragon sleeping  upon the treasures of his fathers. The anger and hatred from that day  emerged once again, and then he made a vow; that he would one day take  back the homeland of his people, slay the dragon, and make the throne of  the King Under the Mountain vacant for who rightfully deserved  it...whether he had any help or not. Before that vowed could be fulfilled,  Thorin knew he had to grow up and become a true leader, someone who  everyone would respect and follow. He knew that he had that ability so  far to only a small group, but he yearned for an army or two. Frerin  suddenly approached, to Thorin's shock. Thorin grew defensive  immediately, "Go find your own rock," he growled. Frerin sighed deeply,  "Everyone is snoring, I can't fall asleep. And there is no way I am  going to sleep on my own...I heard sounds coming from the forest."

"What do you want me to do, Frerin?"

"I want to sleep with you."

Thorin plainly showed his mild disgust with a frown. Sleeping with parents was fine, but with your sibling? It was repulsive!

"I don't like it either," Frerin muttered, "But you're the only one who doesn't snore, and you can protect me, remember?"

Thorin  thought, mostly about how damaging it would be to himself if he gave up  his solitude for the night, then finally gave him a nod...which was more  of a nod in defeat, "Fine." Frerin laid down perpendicular to Thorin so  that his head rested on Thorin's legs. Thorin watched his younger  brother fall asleep, he soon wondered what kind of Dwarf Frerin was  going to be, and if he was ever going to grow up and mature like he did  or be reckless until the day he died.

The next morning,  the boats were ready. There were even oars made with the leftover wood;  ere break of day, the Dwarves made trips back and forth carrying as many  of their kin as possible at each trip until there was no one left on  the east side of the Anduin. Thorin was highly praised for the  successful plan, and so was the Dwarf who taught them how to craft the  boats. Because of the suddenly praise and attention for Thorin, Thrór  gave him the responsibility of guiding the group over the Misty  Mountains. Balin handed him a map of the Misty Mountains to follow with,  he pointed where they had to be: Dunland, which was south of where they  would be once they had crossed. As Thorin lead the way up the Misty  Mountains, he made a song for himself to remember everything he had  thought about the night before and was had transpired not so long ago.  He often mumbled the lyrics to himself until he developed a melody that  he liked. One day, Dori asked what he was singing, as it was not  something they were taught in Erebor. Thorin stopped, making everyone  halt. He turned to his followers and told them his song. As the Dwarves  continued to travel, they would add into the song of what the  experienced during the Sack of Erebor, whether they were outside or  inside during the time.

Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To seek the pale enchanted gold.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.

For ancient king and elvish lord
There many a gleaming golden hoard
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught
To hide in gems on hilt of sword.

On silver necklaces they strung
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, in twisted wire
They meshed the light of moon and sun.

Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away, ere break of day,
To claim our long-forgotten gold.

Goblets they carved there for themselves
And harps of gold; where no man delves
There lay they long, and many a song
Was sung unheard by men or elves.

The pines were roaring on the height,
The winds were moaning in the night.
The fire was red, it flaming spread;
The trees like torches blazed with light.

The bells were ringing in the dale
And men they looked up with faces pale;
The dragon's ire more fierce than fire
Laid low their towers and houses frail.

The mountain smoked beneath the moon;
The dwarves they heard the tramp of doom.
They fled their hall to dying fall
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.

Far over the misty mountains grim
To dungeons deep and caverns dim
We must away, ere break of day,
To win our harps and gold from him!

   Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away, ere break of day,
To find our long-forgotten gold.