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When Bilbo Baggins finally left Erebor some six months after the Battle of the Five Armies, in was in the midst of a Dwarven honour guard with his entire company seeing him off. There was much waving and cheering, not just from the Dwarves that he now finally and happily called friends, but also the growing populace itself, who considered him something of a hero and saviour.

Thorin Oakenshield, Leader of said company and King under the Mountain, resting heavily on his cane, a much hated necessity even all these months later, watched his One go with a heavy heart. An unbroken mantra of: "It's for his own good." passed endlessly under his breath. None were close enough to hear and thus prevent all that would happen later. His sister would surely have had some choice words to share along with cuffs for the hard of hearing or just plain stubborn.

When the caravan finally passed out of sight, Thorin turned and limped back inside to his throne and all the duties that went hand in hand with it.

Time passed as it is wont to do. Life was easily filled with tasks, especially for a king. There were reports to request and read, delegations to greet and so on and so forth.

Busying up his daylight hours with the minutiae of rule proved to be simple for Thorin. Night was another matter and these empty, silent hours were filled with his now permanent mantra of: "It's better this way."