*set based on the Hobbit movies*
Thorin saw the eagles.
He saw his entire kingdom spread below his feet, the battlefield on fire and the bodies turning the earth black and grey.
Thorin saw it all. His heart felt every death.
The wound in his chest though, he did not feel. The warm blood staining his armor was but a faint tingling. The life trickling from the open wound was nothing more than a fading sting.
He couldn't quite breathe. Every gasp was a struggle, his throat slowly closing. And below his feet, every fading body slowly stilled.
He was dying.
The horizon had turned white with the number of souls traveling beyond the lands of Middle Earth. Thorin gasped for another pained and antagonistic breath.
How long would it take for his soul to join his kin?
Once more, he felt the shock as Azog's blade sunk into his chest. He saw the victory in the orc's eyes, mouth twisting into a triumphant snarl.
Slowly, Thorin grasped at his chest. Hot blood stained his fingers and he choked back sudden tears, gazing down upon the battlefield.
The sharp cry of the eagles filled the air.
"Fili and Kili, at your service."
There would be no one to fill his place, to take the throne. No more sons of Durin to lead or reclaimed kingdom.
For he had failed.
Suddenly the world spun and Thorin stumbled back, the pain striking him with a sudden angered viciousness and wrath. He felt it all then-- the despair and agony.
"Do you smell it, the scent of fear? I remember your father reeked of it."
Thorin didn't quite feel the impact of the ground, even as the world spun. He gasped again, feeling his heart fluttered painfully slow.
In the sky above, the sun faded. The snow fell like white ashes and the cries of the armies quieted to nothing.
Not a living soul moved.
He was going to die alone... Thorin gasped. There was no one there beside him, no chance that he would survive this.
In the end, he had failed in his quest.
He had failed his grandfather, his father. He had let down his people and his brothers, the kin of his blood and all those who had relied upon him the most.
He had failed Bilbo.
"Will you follow me... one last time?"
Thorin had not realized at that moment, how true his words were. He had never foreseen his own death... it was not like the stories.
For those who fought for good did not always survive.
But was he a hero? Struggling for breath, blood staining the cold ice. Thorin wouldn't help but wonder if he was truly the king that he had fought so hard to be.
"I am not my grandfather."
Yet here he was, alone and dying. He had given into the greed and lust, he had allowed the gold of his blood and the cursed Arkenstone to claim his mind. To turn him against those he cared for the most.
For he had led them to their deaths. He had hidden away as his own blood fell on the battlefield, he had cast aside all those who saw through his pain.
"Because one day, I'll remember. Remember everything that happened here, the good, the bad, those who survived... and those who did not."
And Thorin realized he was dying.
The sudden pitter patter of feet against stone drew him back to reality and he struggled for another pained breath, trying to turn his head.
Somewhere above, the silhouettes of the eagles blocked out the sun.
"B--Bilbo."
Blue eyes. Thorin saw blue eyes and pained realization, then the hobbit he had come to know so well, sink down to his knees at his side.
"Don't move Thorin, don't move. Lie still."
Thorin felt the hobbit's hands press against his wound, then saw the eyes widen. Bilbo gasped, then turned away for a moment, bringing a hand up to his mouth.
"I--" Thorin shuddered, his throat closing further. It felt like a noose around his neck, cutting off his air. "I'm glad you're here."
"Shhh," Bilbo slowly withdrew his hand and reached forward-- but his palm lingered above the fatal wound.
Thorin reached up, grasping at the halfling's hand. His arm trembled with the mere strength it took to move even his own limbs.
He could feel the life draining from his body.
But he could not stop it.
"I wish to part from you in friendship," Thorin gripped Bilbo's hand tighter, unbidden tears springing to his eyes once more. This time though, he did not fight them away.
"No, no," Bilbo looked away, searching the grounds. "You're not going anywhere, Thorin. You're going to live."
Thorin attempted a smile. For what more could he do, than smile through the despair? Through the realization of his own passing as his essence joined the breeze?
"If this is to end in fire... then we shall all burn together."
Yet the flames were of his own bringing. Thorin had lit the fire and walked through the ashes... and he had taken his companions with him.
Every death weighed on his shoulders.
And he could feel his back cracking beneath the burden of all the blood spilled. No longer did he wish to hold up the world any longer.
"I take back my words and my deeds at the gate," Thorin struggled for air. "You did what a true friend would do. Forgive me, my friend. I'm sorry I have ever lead you into such perils..."
"No," a single tear traced down the halfling's cheek. "I am glad that I have shared in your perils-- it has been more than any Baggins deserves."
Once more, Thorin smiled. But there was nothing but pain in his eyes.
In the sky above, the snow fell swifter. It was cold, and stung where it melted upon his face. But the stinging pain was welcomed.
If only to take from the tearing of his own heart.
It was a formable way to go, Thorin decided, his eyes flicking up slowly to the grey horizon. Fire had taken his childhood... but in the snow, he would be buried. In the snow, he would outlive the raging flames.
Here, he would breathe no longer.
"Farewell, Master Burglar," Thorin tore his eyes from the weeping sky. "Go back to your armchair and your books. Plant your trees... watch them grow.
Slowly, a single tear slipped down his cheek and he clutched Bilbo's hand tighter. "If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold... it... It would be a merrier world."
The breeze picked up... his throat closed fully.
Thorin gasped for breath, realizing he didn't want to die. Realizing he was no triumphant hero. Realizing... realizing he had no choice but to fade along with the sunset.
Faintly, he heard Bilbo's voice cry out.
Yet, as the final snowflakes melted upon his face, Thorin stopped the struggle for air. Somewhere to his side, he heard the voice of his father... he saw the faces of his nephews. He felt the fire of his life giving into the calming storm.
"Look Thorin, the eagles, look at the eagles! The eagles are here... Thorin!" The hand around his tightened. "The ea..."
"If this is to end in fire... then we shall all burn together."
As the sun faded, Thorin felt his pain no longer. He was haunted no longer. And the weight upon his shoulders swept away with the breeze.
For his soul and heart burned into ash.
His final breath was silent.
But the story of Thorin Okienshield passed into legend.
A/N: this one-shot was based on... yes, the movies, not books. I know the Hobbit movies by PJ are all very debatable, but personally, I didn't mind them.
There are always things I wished he would have changed and added, but I felt that Thorin died like a hero in the movies. At least, I cried harder than I did in the book.
Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts, and thank you all for reading! Tis about time I get to some happy one-shots, I suppose...