Crossover with Phillip Pullman's Dark Materials Trilogy and Tolkien's the Hobbit. Non-canon.

In the great land of the east rests a lonely mountain, strong and standing defiant against the sky. Its people grew powerful and wealthier than anyone could have imagined. The Age of the dwarf was a time of peace, a hard won peace that had been fought by Erebor's king – Thror, King Under the Mountain and his eldest son Thrain Crown Prince to the throne. The greatest dwarf kingdom in Middle Earth was truly blessed, for not only was Thrain's bloodline secure in his son and grandson but also when other calamites had befallen their kin, Erebor alone stood untouched and untainted by evil.

Not even the great dragon Smuag had dared attack the mountain, instead favouring to pillage the dark lands of Mordor instead. And for that, I think we should be all thankful.

But as it has been said in the past, one is not born into greatness, greatness must be earned. These words cursed Thorin Durinson since the moment of his birth. His heart sought the acceptance and the respect of his father and forefathers that had pathed the way for this age of peace and plenty, the young dwarf wanted adventure and the opportunity to prove himself worthy of his blood line.

Thorin would sit for long hours at night thinking of dragons and trolls, wishing with all his heart that he too would one day prove himself a hero.

"Be careful what you wish for," Lifthrasir chided gently, curling her spotted fluffy tail around his neck in affection.

Daemons. Daemons are interesting things to begin with. Not that Thorin would think twice about having a daemon. For anyone of you who don't know, or for any of you who need reminding; daemons are souls, a person's soul embodied in animal form from birth and with them till the moment of death when the animal disappears into an ill formed cloud of golden dust that blows away on the wind. No one knows why, or even how daemons come to exist but they do, and that is where our story starts.

You should probably know that when a child is born with a daemon said daemon will change form at will until it settles. In Thorin's case, one moment Lifthrasir would be a spotted mountain snow leopard- Uncia uncia- and the next she would choose to be a black Ibex- Capra ibex- or any other animal she felt like choosing. Maturity, depending on race and culture etc, came at different ages; for dwarves it was 65, where as for Hobbits it was 33. But the curious thing is all races shared one common trait when coming of age: your daemon must have settled form.

Settling form is a tricky business. One form forever was a like picking a pair of shoes to wear for the rest of your life when you've been used to flip flops. But more importantly, the shared soul of the daemon and their barer must find someone {outside of their family of course} to love unconditionally. A settling love, or as its more clandestine name- "One Touch" was what was needed to settle ones daemon. The shared feelings of owner and daemon that their "One Touch" could be trusted with the most sacred and most taboo of acts- Touching someone else's daemon and being touched in return in a bonding act of love.

And that is where the problem lied for Thorin. He had never found his love and had never looked for it, it was the thought of it; the unspeakable act of touching some else's daemon, having someone touch his heart… it went against the most basic unspoken rule there was in Middle Earth: it was like breathing; inhale, exhale, don't touch someone else's daemon.

He didn't care that Lifthrasir could be a raven one minute and an ibex the next; if she was happy that meant he was happy and at the moment in time, he was content staying just the two of them; but it seemed the rest of the world had a different idea entirely.

"You are not an adult! How can I in my right mind let you go wandering off into Aüle knows what danger? No, Thorin, the answer is no." Thrain, Thorin's father, bellowed; as he paced the large ornate sitting room and stood near the mantelpiece to glower over his silver goblet. Icarni, Thrain's peacock daemon- Inachis io, spread her glorious turquoise tale and shook out her feathers in warning to Thorin's daemon. Lifthrasir bowed her head and in a leap, turned from ibex to raven, and landed gently on Thorin's shoulder.

"I am 65! I am an adult, Dis and Orion were running down Rohan when she was only 35," Thorin protested weakly, desperate to appeal to his father's better judgment and sense of fair play.

It had nothing to do with his age or his skill in arms, it was down to one fact and one alone: without his daemon settling Thorin was still classed as a child.

Thorin had watched from afar as his sister and spaniel daemon had trailed after her One Touch. She had followed the young dwarf, who belonged to a group of travelling merchants, all the way to the borders of Gondor before she caught up with him.

Thrain let out a long tired sigh that only a parent can make. "Your sister found her settling love very young. Her actions were justified, if rather rash," Thrain acknowledge in a tired voice and finished the wine in his goblet in one long gulp, before setting it down on the top of the fireplace and fixing Thorin with the famous Durin stare. Icarni lowered her feathers and swiping them across the stone floor, fixed Lifthrasir with an unsettling avian glare. "Thorin, give it time. You too will go and have adventures of your own, just wait until Lifthrasir has settled."

Before Thorin could even argue, Thrain was striding out the door with Icarni leading the way with her beak pointed haughtily in the air.

Lifthrasir fluttered off Thorin's shoulder and in a faint flicker of gold light, settled as an ibex at his feet. Thorin fell heavily into one of the deep sofas and they both watched the empty doorway unhappily.

"I don't want to find our settling love," Lifthrasir whispered quietly and stroking the side of Thorin's knee with her horns. Absently, Thorin touched the soft tuft of black fur between her ears.

"Me either Lif, he can't force us. We're happy like this so we'll stay like this," Thorin said fiercely, his dark eyebrows furrowing and his bearded jaw set. If they didn't want to settle, they wouldn't settle, no matter how many Dwarven royalty their father would set before him. But a little part of his mind did wonder, wonder about the feel and the closeness and the heat... And what it was like to touch?

No, he wouldn't find his one. He knew it even if his father didn't.

It was on Thorin's 106 birthday that Thrain and Thror finally gave Thorin and Lifthrasir what they craved most.

Adventure!

"Thorin! Come in my boy," Thror called warmly, sending echoes around the map room as Thorin and Lifthrasir teetered on the edge of the doorway.

The message had arrived early that morning via one of the Royal House Guard.

Council room, 6o'clock – Thror.

Walking to his Grandfather's side, the two Durin's looked down at a large map of Middle Earth drawn with rich green and red inks and inlaid on thick yellow parchment. Thror's woodpecker daemon Salix, sat atop the curtain rail looking down at them. Lifthrasir shifted into her snow leopard form and stood on her back legs, looking over the top of the table.

"This is Ered Luin," Thror said as he pointed to a set of mountain ranges to the far west.

"The Blue Mountains," Lifthrasir breathed reverently under her breath.

"Indeed, my girl, the Blue Mountains. So named for its blue opals but that is not what I want to discuss with you. Once a great and powerful kingdom…" Thror's voice turned suddenly from warm and welcome to chillingly severe in a matter of seconds. The old dwarf turned and took Thorin's shoulders in hand, fixing him with an icy blue stare. "This matter is grave. I trust that I do not need to mention the need for discretion."

"You have our word my lord," Lifthrasir swore fiercely and Thorin nodded, clapping his hands over his grandfather's.

"Very well, listen and listen close, for if all goes well; you shall be as great as a hero of old."