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Chapter Text

The wind was blowing softly in the small mountain village of the Durin people that were nestled in the valley of Erebor while the prince rode out on patrol of the hillside. His sister Dis was gathering herbs for the healer that afternoon and Thorin wanted to make sure she was alright for Wargs had been seen wandering the valley. Their small village had been a secret from the outside world for many years, but slowly their people were dying out due to not enough women being born each year. Thorin pleaded with the village elders and his father Thrain to allow the young dwarf men to leave to find wives outside their borders, but they would not hear it for their people were outcasts in the world of Arda.

A long time ago, their ancestor Durin the Deathless waged a war upon the land and build a great fortress called Moria. For Durin believed he was ordained by the Valar gods to become ruler of the land, he enslaved the woodland elves and other such races that fell to his conquest. The woodland elves surrounding the fortress had to bow to his whims and commands, until a revolt had broken out among the slaves. The last remains of the Durin family fled from Moria and settled in a peaceful valley that was below a large single mountain calling their home Erebor. If any one of the children of Durin were to be found outside their small valley, they would be taken to the Elven king and killed for the sins and crimes of their father were passed down to them.

Thorin’s pony snorted and halted on the dusty road on his way to the watch post on the edge of their valley and no matter how much he urged the pony onward, she would not move. Something was wrong. There were no birds singing in the trees and the deer that normally walked around on the edge of the forests were gone. Thorin slowly pulled his sword from his side and gently urged the pony down the road again.

“What is that?” The prince whispered softly, feeling his heart start to pound hard against his ribs. There was something in the air, something burning like a great forge.

“Thorin!” Dis’ voice called out to her brother from down the road and Thorin caught sight of her running away from something in the distance. He narrowed his eyes to try to focus on what was behind her until a burst of flames erupted from the tree line.

“Dis!” Thorin kicked his pony towards Dis and opened his arm out to her as he urged his frightened pony on faster. She grabbed onto his waist and settled behind him as he turned his pony towards the mountain.

From the forest, a red drake from the North flew up into the sky and fire spilled from his jaws burning the trees below him. From the village, the brother and sister could hear screams of their people and dwarves readying themselves to battle the dragon coming towards them. They would not survive this, Thorin knew that for sure since the dragon would burn their village to the ground as if it were only leaves in the wind. He could not let it reach his home and family. He turned his pony off to a hidden spot and let his little sister down.

“I have to draw him off!” Throin yelled as his pony reared on her hind legs, “Go to the village and protect father if I fall!”

“Throin! You can’t do this by yourself!” Dis called after him, but he had already kicked his pony into a gallop towards the serpent.

Thorin held his sword up high and moved in front of the fire drake’s path to draw its attention towards him. The eyes of the serpent glared at the foolish dwarf warrior and fire flew from his mouth to burn the dwarf and pony. As the fire swirled around them, the prince cursed and jumped off his stead to allow her to run to safety. He stood up with sword in his hand and strength in his eyes. Not even a dragon would take his home away.

“Turn away now or face my dwarf steel!” Thorin challenged the dragon as it landed on all fours on the ground before him. They stared at each other long before his large tail swung to strike the warrior down. The large tail slammed into Thorin’s side with great force, but he quickly stabbed his sword into his hard scales and latched onto him. With a roar of anger, the dragon tried to swing the dwarf from his tail and slammed his great talons upon the ground causing the ground to shake. After a few thrusts of his tail from side to side, Thorin was thrown up into the air above the dragon, but from this height his eyes caught a scale missing from his glittering chest over his left breast. There was a way to beat him.

Falling to the ground towards the dargon, Thorin pointed his blade down praying to Mahal that his aim was true. The sword pierced the unguarded skin of the dragon and his whole arm plunged into his scalding hot heart. Thorin let out a cry of pain as his whole arm burned from the heat of the dragon’s blood and pulled away from him allowing his sword to become stuck inside the drake’s heart. As the steel blade buried itself deeper in his heart, the dragon cried out in pain and fell over onto his side to suffer a slow death.

From behind Thorin, he could hear his people rally to his side with weapons in hand and his sister Dis with the medicine woman. The smell of the dragon’s blood and fire filled the air and in his heart he knew he had done something terrible, but he could not let his family die by the fire of this drake. It was a great sin to kill a beast of the Valar, no matter if it were of the light or the dark.

“Thorin! You’re hurt!” Dis came to his side and knelt down to touch his wound before the old woman spoke up.

“Do not touch his wound!”

The prince looked down at his arm and his blue eyes widen in fear and disbelief. Instead of raw burnt flesh, his arm was covered with a strange black mark that swirled around the limp like a serpent’s body. It was a dark curse for what he had done and the prince wanted to cry out in agony for his soul was tainted. The sound throbbed painfully and he watched as the black serpent started to move and grow upon his skin until his sister poured cool mountain water upon it. Painful, but Thorin found this pain easier to handle then the feeling of the curse upon his arm.

As his sister tended to his arm, the prince watched the old dwarf woman bow before the dragon bow and put her hands together in a prayer for the beast.

“I bow to thee of great fire drake,” She whispered solemnly, “I bow to thee. Upon your grave we will offer you sacrifices and gems to honor thee as you pass into the next world. Please do not let your hatred be upon us.”

“Disgusting dwarves…,” The dragon groaned softly, blood and molten fire poured from his mouth as he gave his last dying breath, “I curse your warrior who slain me and he shall suffer the fate that I have suffered…”

With one last breath, the drake’s eyes rolled back and his body went limp in death. The stent of his death wafted around the dwarves and they backed away from the corpse of the dragon. All eyes turned to Thorin who bared the mark of the curse.

~ ~ ~

In a small cave in the mountain’s heart, Thorin knelt before the elders of his people and the medicine woman as she threw the runes upon a white cloth. The sound of dripping water was the only thing that could be heard for all were silent. The torches only lit the small cavern they had taken up as their sacred hall for the elders to meet and lots to be casted. Thorin never thought he would sit before the council like this in his whole life and the darkness of the cave around him gave him the sense of impending doom. His father and grandfather looked upon their heir with sorrow in their eyes for they had heard his fate and did not know if he was strong enough to survive the dragon’s curse laid upon him.

Her hand stilled and she looked up at her prince with grey eyes blank in emotion. “Are you ready to hear your fate?”

“I was ready the moment my sword buried itself into the dragon’s heart.” Thorin replied with courage and sat up straight to hear his fate.

“The fire drake was a beast from the North driven by an unknown force from his home in the great mountains of the Valar. When the blood from his heart stained your skin, a curse was set upon your soul. His hatred will fill you with a fire deep inside your body and shall burn you alive when the mark covers your body.”

His father let out a small cry for his son and bowed his head bow in sadness. Throin did not falter, but looked upon the old dwarf maid as she continued on with her fortune.

“But there is hope for you, Thorin Oakenshield, for the rune of the Eagle has been drawn. As you know, in our lore the Eagle is the messenger of Manwë and he is the Valar god of justice and of healing. You must go to the Mountain of the Eagles in the North where this drake came from and try to understand what the gods have wanted you to hear. Go now if you choose to meet your fate head on and leave behind all that you know here, or stay in Erebor and suffer with the curse until your death.”

There was no choice for Thorin for he could not give up his life because he protected his family, but he would have to pay a hard price; he would cut the braid from his beard and leave his home never to return ever again. He would have to say goodbye to his father, grandfather and sister and leave behind everything he had grown up with and sworn to protect.

“We are last of the Durin clan,” His grandfather whispered and turned his head away from his grandson, “If you choose this path to live, I will not hold it against you, but we shall not look upon you as you leave. You will renounce your claim to the bloodline of Durin and go out into the world to make your own way. I fear that this is a curse upon all of us for our last prince must leave to save his own life. I think the gods are punishing us for the crimes of Durin.”

Thorin watched as all of the elders turned their heads away from him as he pulled a knife from his side. Slowly, he cut the braid from his beard that had a silver bead braided in to symbolize his honor as a crown prince. He laid the knife and braid before them before leaving the cave into the darkness of night. His heart mourned for he loved his family with all his heart and knew he would never see their familiar faces again until the afterlife and they were all together in the halls of Mahal.

The smell of the dragon had faded and all was calm in the village as the exiled prince went to the stables to retrieve his pony Swiftfoot. The mare nuzzled against his bandaged hand as if to give him comfort from the pain he was going through for she would leave with him. He set his pack upon the straddle and mounted her. The pair walked silently towards the gates of the village and he looked up at the stars that he had known for so long.

A twig snapped in the dark and Thorin turned to see who was there only to find his sister standing there holding something in her hands.

“Dis,” His voice sounded as if to scold her again, but he held it back, “You are suppose to be asleep. You know it is forbidden to watch me leave.”

“I know it is, brother, but screw the laws. I had to say goodbye to my only brother.” Dis’ eyes were filled with concern and love all at the same time. Their elder brother had fallen years ago leaving them behind to look after one another and now he was leaving Dis behind to fend for herself.

“I wanted to give you this before you left.” She put a shimmering stone into his hand that was attacked to a silver chain and Throin realized what it was. He looked up at her stunned and eyes wide.

“The Arkenstone? No this is your most precious item in the world. I cannot take this from you.” But no matter how much he tried to give it back to her, she just pushed his hands away. Dis ran away from him and turned back to call out.

“Keep it safe and you will always know that I love you brother.” She whispered in the darkness before turning away, vanishing into one of the stone huts.

Thorin looked down at the stone and watched the colors of blue, green and red flash in the pale moonlight. It was known to his people as the heart of the mountain itself for when it was found, they had dug deep into a great mountain. This necklace had been passed down from the hand of Durin himself and it had come to Dis as a gift for being born a young woman for woman were prized in Erebor. She had always worn it with pride and Thorin thought that no other descendent was more worthy then her. He put the stone up to his lips to kiss it softly hoping that his family would be alright without him. Their way of life was quickly fading and now with his parting he would never know what would happen to them. Their fate and end would be unknown to the prince.

Gently kicking Swiftfood into a trot, Throin left his home of Erebor behind and ventured out onto the road towards the great and wide North to meet his fate. He did not know what he would find, but he knew the gods had spoken and he must answer their call. 

Chapter Text

Thunder cracked over the traveling caravan on the steep mountain trail and the rain battered down upon the travelers and elk hulling their bags of food and supplies for their town. Everyone was on edge and eyes were drawn upwards at the sky looking for the flutter of wings. They would not fly out in a lightning storm, everyone thought, but these creatures were unpredictable and dangerous. Thranduil had warned them to be careful and the guards to watch the skies while they traveled. No matter what they had to bring this food home or the workers would starves.

The elf king stared up with eyes unafraid at the strange giant beings that he had witnessed living on the Mountain of the Eagles. What else would live up there then the children of Manwë? The surprise came when he had seen the figure riding upon one of the smaller eagle’s backs. No one would ever believe his tale if he ever lived to tell it. With these attacks happening randomly, no one knew what day would be their last or how painful it would be.

“Father,” Legolas, his son, walked up behind him holding his bow tight in his hands, “Do you think they will come?”

“I do not doubt it. This is a treat far too good to pass up.” Thranduil answered frowning to himself. Yes they would come even if the rain hindered their journey back home. This mountain had been their home for hundreds of years since they came to Arda and they will defend it at all costs, but progression of this world must continue and the old ways of life must lay down before the new to fade away in death.

A loud shrill of an eagle cried out from the sky and the traveling elves and dwarves let out their own cries of alarm. The elks halted in fear and swayed their heads back and forth, knocking a few of the guides down into the mud.

“Keep calm or the elk will run off! Keep moving! Archers to me!” Legolas yelled and called for the archers to ready themselves for the attack.  

Many of the elves tried their best to calm the elks with their words, but another cry of the eagles coming for them only caused fear to rush through the already frightened animals. They stamped about and their eyes were wide while they panted heavily causing large puffs of steam to come from their noses. A few of the elks stood still, frozen in pure panic.

A small group of elves accompanied by one young dwarf knelt down around their prince and armed their bows with large arrows meant for killing the giant eagles. Kili looked up at Legolas with concern, but the prince shook his head and turned his attention to the sky. Thranduil unsheathed his sword and glared up at the sky watching and waiting for the flash of wings to be upon them. All was quiet except for the panting sounds of the elks struggling upon the path.

Two large eagles swooped down without warning and crashed into the line of elk causing uproar among the guides and animals. Upon one of the eagles was a small being holding a spear in his hand stabbing wildly at the elk’s riders. The bone spear stabbed into a young elf and the sight of blood caused the two eagles to go into a frenzy, flapping their wings. The wind from their large wings blew a few of the guides and elks off the mountain with a cry of fright.

Arrows were let loose from the bows, but the rain and the fear of these giant beings from the sky caused their aim to be disrupted. Once the two eagles saw the arrows, they took off holding an elk in their talons. Legolas cursed and looked at the damage left behind by them.

“Was that it?” Kili yelled back at Thranduil and Legolas after he did not see the two eagles return.

“No, they were only younglings…” The king growled, “Wait till you see their father.”

The archers looked about at the sky with wide eyes and one pointed with a scream of terror as a large eagle, larger than the first two attackers, came down upon them.

“It’s Gwaihir!” Thranduil held his sword up in defense of his archers.

Gwaihir’s talons grabbed hold two elves at the same time and threw them off the cliff while his wings knocked almost half of the rest with them. The king swiftly moved in close to the giant eagle and stabbed his sword upwards planting the sword deep inside his chest. He turned his sword to the side and he heard the break of the tip of his elvish blade before pulling it out. The great eagle cried out and dived off the cliff with a shriek, blood pouring from his wound.

“We got him!” Kili cried out happily, but Thranduil held his hand up. No, Gwaihir would not die from this wound.

“It takes more than a stab of a sword to kill a child of Manwë.”

~ ~ ~

Throin had traveled across the Great North Road that lead straight to the mountains, but there was no road that reached the Mountain of the Eagles. The small villages he did pass by said that the land and mountains were cursed and haunted by strange creatures and monsters of the old world. The dwarf assumed that they had seen the red drake pass, but none would speak about it. There were fields burnt and houses destroyed along with large grave mounds that were recently built for the many dead caused by the dragon. Throin bowed his head knowing that not only he protected his people, but avenged those who had died from the creature’s wrath.

Swiftfoot walked at a leisurely pace while her mount looked around at the large forests. The rain last night had caused the rivers to rush dangerously down from the mountains and he did not know how he would get up to his desired destination. On the road ahead a grey cloaked figure was leaning against the tree where the road turned into a dead stop into a vast wood. He wore a pointed hat that was pushed down low to hide the features on his face and his long staff was propped up on his shoulder as if waiting for someone.

“Good morning,” Throin said with a small bow of his head.

“Is it a good morning?” The old man said as he turned his head upwards showing a long grey beard and grey blue eyes almost glinting with mischief.

“I would assume so,” Replied the dwarf as he pulled on the reigns to stop his pony, “Why would it not be?”

The cloaked stranger did not answer, but turned to look at the woods.

“You know that there is a path up the mountains that people rarely take? There is an elven king named Thranduil who has created a city below the Mountain of the Eagles.”

The name caught Thorin’s attention and he turned his full focus upon the grey stranger before him. Out of all the people he had asked, no one knew of any path to the mountains. If this grey pilgrim knew of a trail, he must tell him.

“There are stories of Thranduil trying to dig into the mountain and find the heart beating inside. You know the mortal king of Gondor would do anything for a chance of immortality.” The stranger said with a small grin upon his lips. “But destroying the forests has its consequences…as you well know Throin Oakenshield of Erebor.”

His sword was unsheathed before the grey one finished his name and pointed it at him. The mark on his arm pulsed in pain and he felt the heat of hatred and anger swell up inside him. What was going on? He did not mean to pull his sword out, but the red was before his eyes and all he thought about was killing this man before him. Throin grabbed his sword arm and forced his blade away from the old man’s chest.

“You have been cursed and that mark will consume you in time.”

“How do you know of this, of me and my people?” Throin gasped softly and gripped tighter on his arm as the storm inside his body eased.

“I am a traveler,” The stranger put simply and huffed at Thorin as if he was a young dwarven child, “I know of many different people in the world of Arda, but I must offer you some advice and guidance for your journey.”

“At this point, I shall take anything.” Thorin said as he sheathed his sword once his arm came under control.

“The creatures of the Valar have grown angry at Thranduil’s destruction and are fighting back at anyone who crosses into their lands. You must be careful, but I feel that the Valar gods have sent you for a purpose. Now go through the woods on this small path until you get to the river, wait there and you will find what you are seeking.” Finishing his guidance, the old man turned away from the pony and her rider to make his way down the road.

Thorin was confused at the advice and turned to watch him leave. “I do not understand! What am I seeking?”

But as the dwarf watched the figure walk away, he saw his body vanish in thin air as if he were talking to a spirit. Whoever this man was, he must have been a powerful servant of the Valar gods. What fortune had brought this being to him? Whatever it was, he must follow his direction and advice. With a small kick to his pony, he started off to the small trail at the edge of the forest.

The small path had indeed lead Throin through the large forest and he was in awe at the size of the trees as they grew larger and wider than anything he had seen before in his life. The deeper he rode into the forest, the taller they would become. Yes, this was indeed a place removed from the natural world of Arda and he could feel the spirits of the forest close around him, watching him closely.

In the distance he could hear the roar of a rushing river and as the trees parted he saw the muddy brown and white water as well as bodies. There were elves, dwarves and large elk floating down the river’s current from the large mountains. Throin dismounted and went to the river’s edge to check upon the fallen ones to see if there were any survivors. Lying upon his back, Thorin found a young blond dwarf upon the rocks and he pulled him out of the water after he found he was still breathing. His arm looked as if it was broken and one of his ankles was swollen inside his large boot. He needed to be tended to quickly or he might suffer a fever and die.

There was a rustling coming from up the river and Throin thought that it might be more survivors. Maybe they could help him find his way to the mountain village the old one spoke of and knew the king called Thranduil. He climbed over the rocks that bridged between the opposite shores until he saw something very large lying on the ground. He looked closer to realize, at his astonishment, that the large brown mound was a giant golden eagle. Thorin had only heard legends of giant eagles that served the Valar god Manwë, but he never thought that they were real.

The water around the eagle was red with blood and the dwarf could see that it had a wound on his chest from some kind of sword. It looked deep and painful, but the eagle seemed to be fighting to stay alive. From the sky, two smaller eagles landed beside their clan member and a small young man jumped off of one of their backs as if this was one of them.

The being was a creature called a hobbit from the eastern regions of the world. Durin had written about them once and this young hobbit was physically how they were described, but the personality did not match. This hobbit wore brown leather tunic and pants that only went to his calves and upon his back were large feather sewn together as if to make wings. Even in his curly brown locks, smaller feathers were tied in to give him the look of a golden eagle. Painted upon his nose was a triangle in golden paint to give the likeness of a beak. Everything about this strange hobbit was wild, yet oddly beautiful.

Thorin watched wide eyed as the hobbit helped the largest eagle up onto his claws and looked over the wound upon his chest. He suddenly leaned in and started to suck the blood out from the wound smearing the dark red blood over his face. After a few seconds he would spit the eagle’s blood out into the water until he grasped a silver sword point into his teeth. This behavior was odd in itself since it was more animal like then a being of two legs. Thorin’s hand slipped and a small rock tumbled down into the water giving away his location.

The hobbit and the three eagles turned to look at Thorin and the dwarf stood up from his hiding place. He stared at the hobbit in the eyes and found that they were blue as sapphires, yet they burned almost like ice and fire together. Were these the beings he was seeking? Would they bring him to Manwë?

“Greetings!” Throin yelled and stood up straight, “Am I close to the Mountain of the Eagles and if I am would you show me the way to Manwë? I have traveled far and wish to speak with your master!”

As he spoke, the two young eagles puffed up their feathers to make them to appear larger and looked as if they were getting ready to strike him down, but the largest one shook his head and turned to speak to the hobbit in a quiet voice. Throin could not hear what they were talking about, but whatever it was it had detour the smaller two from attacking him. They spread their wings wide and flew up into the air with a great flap of their large wings. The hobbit climbed upon the great eagle leader and turned his head away from Thorin as if angry at him.

“Go away.” He said harshly and left on top of the injured eagle’s back setting off towards the mountains.  

Thorin stood there for a while watching the eagles vanish into the clouds and let out a small sigh. He did not think it would work, but at least he knew that the servants of Manwë were close. That meant that the Valar god must be here in the mountains. But why such hatred in the hobbit’s eyes and why did he sit astride the eagles wearing their feathers as if he belonged to their clan? Hobbits were gentle folk of farming and quiet lives in their rolling green hills, not fierce beings that rode upon giant eagles and looked as if he had seen fighting.  What was his story? Thorin had no idea why this great interest, but maybe he did not need to know...

A scream came from behind him and Thorin turned to run down the rocks to where he had left the wounded dwarf.