I wanted to do something special this Halloween, so I decided to write a tiny ficlet about Thorin.
I’m not a writer by any stretch of the imagination and this is my first attempt, so I hope you’ll be understanding.
I’ve taken some liberties with the story, especially with the idea that once the Durin dwarves passed away, the line was broken, which isn’t true as Thorin’s cousin took over.
Nothing about Thorin’s life was easy, why should the afterlife be any different?
He sees the mountain in the distance, shrouded in clouds that hang low above the iced cap.
All that once was is lost.
Everything he loved had turned to dust, only echoes of people and places remain, delicately vibrating somewhere deep within him.
The Durin Dwarves, once a noble family of kings, is now reduced to tales recorded in books by careful scribes, told around campfires over a jug of beer, whispered to children at bedtime.
Nothing remains but his wandering spirit, trapped on Earth to roam the familiar lands.
As his body fell on the battleground and his blood seeped into the scorched earth, his soul had not been greeted by his forefathers in the grand halls of Mandos.
There was no feast in his honour, nor toasts of fine red wine raised to celebrate his glorious time on earth.
His beloved nephews did not intonate a song vivating their victorious battle, nor where their voices of praise joined by his ancestors.
He did not return to the earth, as the elves believed, turned into stone from which dwarves were made of.
Aule had devised a cruel fate for the one he had created in the chamber beneath the mountains of Middle Earth, the beloved son of Durin kings, leader and defender of his people.
He stays here trapped, looking but not seeing, listening but not hearing, feeling nothing but regret at all that had come to pass.
Gone is the burning desire for gold and treasures, he can taste the remberence of proud utterances passed through his lips, but what they were, he cannot recall.
He gazes upon Erebor and a faint emotion flutters in his heart.
Is it despair, regret, passion?
What strange memories stir within him, disturbing the nothingness of his purgatory existence?
Whatever possessed his soul in life had now left an ice cold emptiness deep inside him, a vacuum in which thoughts of a distant time long past resonated in echoing vibrations.
If he could feel anything anymore, his spirit would burn as if Smaug’s breath still cast fire on the treasure his ancestors had kept hidden from greedy hands.
His heart would swell with pride and love at the thought of Fili and Kili, his beloved nephews, who stood by his side and fought like the heirs of great warriors they were.
What fate Aule had in store for them he did not know , but Thráin’s grandsons did not carry on the line of Durin, of that he was certain.
He uttered words resembling a pray, a hope that the brothers were together in the afterlife, spared the pain of loneliness, an existence in limbo.
Jewels, which reflected sparkles in his eyes, threw shadows onto his noble features, caught the light of the flickering candles and torches, and glistened on the walls of the halls of generations of kings, all was lost.
Nothing remains but distant memories that haunt.