The fire came, and many fell in it's wake.
The flames ravaged the mountain and scored the trees, trees that burned through the nights as stray fires fell, a bright, burning agony, and the cries of the dying remained in the air, the once-Prince even now hearing the cries of his people as they burnt, they screamed--
Thorin closed his mind to the memory of the fire that claimed most of the pride, stepping slowly through the now-empty halls of Dvergrheim as he moved to leave, mind going to the conversation the night before with Oin.
Oin found Thorin as the former Crown Prince had often been, lost in thought overlooking the expanse of Dvergrheim, eyes on the others below, but now, now the hollow hills were silent, and Thorin was no longer Crown Prince, the fire that claimed so many claiming the king, Thrain, and forcing the young male, barely battle-readied, into the position of King Under The Mountain. The singing and commotion of the pride was now all but gone-- perhaps, one lion was around at a time, maybe two. The leopards had fled, the hobbits seeking safety, guarded by as many warriors as Thrain could spare, but Thorin was forced to accept upon finding them they were gone.
Oin watched a dry storm turn the dwarves into a skeleton pride, and the loss aged him quickly as he saved those he could. Now, the too-young King overlooked his fallen kingdom, and then to Oin.
"How strange, I think." Oin spoke softly. "That mere weeks ago, my brother, the caverns were filled with laughter."
"Yes." Thorin spoke quietly, overlooking Dvergrheim, and Oin felt uneasy. "I will fill them again."
Oin perked a bit, tilting his head some at his brother, his king, and blinked.
"How will you accomplish that, then?"
"I will bring in those whom will follow me." Thorin looked... Distant. Outward. "We will begin anew."
"How? There's few of us. The warriors with the Hobbits did not return. And what of the Old Ways?"
"If any live, I will find them." Thorin spoke calmly. "And we know the old ways, Oin. Mihr as well. I will find all whom are willing to join us, and we shall begin anew."
Silence.
"And the Alfr?"
"The Alfr are on their own. For now we seek to tend to our own. If any Alfr join, well." Thorin frowned. "Only the pride may enter Dvergrheim."
Oin nodded slowly, looking out.
"What of the Hobbits?"
"The Hobbits may come. I would not turn our small friends away. But I will not let us die."
Thorin stepped into the light of the Valley, looking about slowly as he walked, adjusting to the light, eyes dilating and then shrinking to pinpricks, and the King grimaced as he adjusted, before continuing to walk. Close by, perhaps on a ledge, he knew others watched him depart, and the King Under The Mountain looked back, and up to Oin, standing with the battered remains of the pride.
The survivors.
For Thorin, it was an emotional moment-- he had never left his people, the pride circling out, filling the ledges.
Once, a sunning place, now a pride gathering in ash and residual smoke to watch their king stepping away.
It had not been easy telling them what had to be done, and Thorin expected to depart in silence, unseen, while the pride continued to mourn, however it was not so, Oin smiling, just slightly, before raising his head.
The pride's voices roared as one, ringing through the valley and Thorin felt a small smile cross his muzzle; perhaps releif would come quickly, and the male returned the cry, a strong roar rolling from his lungs as some birds flew from their nests.
The exchange was bittersweet, Thoring roaring a bit longer before turning, stepping from the valley. Oin climbed down from his ledge, the patriarch of the Ulf clan following his brother, moving to catch up as he walked. The brothers walked in silence, before Oin spoke calmly, looking to him.
"Do you think you'll be gone long?" Oin spoke calmly, almost rhythmically.
"I can't say, Oin." Thorin looked towards the mountaintop. "But she'll be waiting when we return. And we need numbers. I will only be as long as it takes me."
"What will it take?"
Silence before Thorin as he thought on the answer to his brother's question, closing his eyes as he considered his answer slowly, deliberately, and the male finally looked to him.
"Once we have enough numbers to seed a healthy start. Hobbits, true Dvergr-potential, hybrids... If they are strong and willing, then I can bring them home. If by some hope a warrior or Hobbit survived fleeing... I will bring them. All we need is that seed." Thorin finally spoke, the most he had in some days, and Oin nodded, thinking himself as the male escorted his sibling towards the borders.
"I wish you luck, and skill, then, brother, and that you return before your mane begins to gray." Oin smiled a bit. "It would not do for the King Under The Mountain to grey before he has his Queen, or his Heir."
A somewhat flat look crossed Thorin's face, the male looking at his brother skeptically. It was expected he sire children to continue his line-- but it was also expected of Oin, in case his children did not survive.
"It would also do you well to mate, brother." Thorin jibbed back. "Lest a prince go unwed himself. After all, if not my children, yours."
A mutual chuckle rumbled between them, the green and trees growing yellower, dryer, perhaps, than the mountain valley was already. For a moment, the sons of stone gave pause, blinking in bewilderment at the expanse. For a moment, Oin thought Thorin may hesitate, however the King stepped forward, calm.
"And so the journey begins." Thorin spoke quietly. Oin nodded, but made no move to follow, knowing full well should his brother never return, the pride would eventually turn to him.
"Aye. The journey begins, and with it your adventure into the lands beyond our home, to become the King to save us all." Oin spoke, nodding. "And when you return, the Storytellers will sing songs of your heroism and adventures, and the Dvergr will be borne anew."
"Do you think you can maintain the clans and the Patriarchs until that time?" Thorin frowned. Oin nodded.
"Of course. We'll be safe until that day. And them we may celebrate."
"Good. Then go forth. I'll see you soon, I pray."
Thorin nodded, turning from his brother, and the King under the Mountain ventured forward towards the roguelands. Oin watched, before smiling, turning to return to Dvergrheim.
It was the dawning of a new era.
