Author: Wolfsrainrules

Summary: The Arkenstone is the heart of the Lonely Mountain, where Mahal woke his children first. It is a Holy Place, and therefore one of the places where He would be strongest. So what if Hawthorn took a different approach to it? What if she prayed, and it was answered?

FEMBILBO/THORIN, more hints on my Hobbit Culture and Dwarf Culture, Valar.

Hawthorn had known going into the Mountain that Gold Sickness was a danger she had to be wary of. She'd known from the moment she watched Balin look between the mountain and Thorin with that look in his eye, hands twitching for a weapon he couldn't grab, like he could just fight whatever might take his King. She'd known since Lake Town, when Thorin's eyes drifted so often to the mountain itself, when he stopped worrying as obviously as she had grown used to about his sister-sons.

She had known, of course she had.

But so very often, she could hear Thorin's voice in her head, the conviction of it as he swore I am not my Grandfather.

She had to believe him. Had to hope.

And yet…

And yet, here she stood, her hands gripping a stone that glowed with an inner light, pulsed in her hands, that was warm to the touch. Here she stood, and Thorin was gone. Barricaded himself into the Throne Room, blue eyes clouded and dull.

He was not his Grandfather, and yet it had taken him all the same. Even the others wavered in the face of it. Gandalf had warned her of the curses dragons laid on their hordes, Elrond had spoken against Thorin's resistance, while Thranduil had practically spat that the dwarrow would fall to gold sickness, but she had not thought it to be this strong. She had not thought that they would all be right.

Even she could hear it calling to her, in the back of her head. And if she had any inclination for gold and riches, she thought it probably would have taken her at least somewhat. Still, the moment Thorin had turned his sword on her and demanded the Arkenstone, she had known.

Even when his dull eyes had lit back up at the threat of a dragon, when she had finally been able to get through to him. She'd hidden the Arkenstone from him then, resolved to keep it from him, but…

She stared at the stone in her hands, feeling it pulse with life.

Hawthorn was a hobbit, and she was connected with things that lived. She could sense life, as her Green Lady had intended for her race. In her hands, the Arkenstone pulsed with it. It was a living thing, truly the heart of this mountain, just as her dwarrow had claimed.

But in the heart of the stone, she could sense a discordant note. Something that did not belong. A darkness that was trying to dull the pulse of the Arkenstone.

Her hands shook, and for a moment Hawthorn was not sure what she should do. What could she do?

They had tried so hard to get home. They had fought so long for it, hoped and prayed, bled for it. She remembered their faces on the Carrock, when they caught the first glance of their mountain. She remembered the hope in their eyes, the earnest joy. How it appeared years of weight and loss had bled away.

And she remembered when they first stepped into the mountain, just inside its hidden door. She remembered how her dwarrow's eyes had closed, and those that had been in the mountain before collapsed against its walls with hands pressed to the stone. She remembered how their heads had tipped backwards, faces raised as if in supplication. She recalled how those who had never stepped foot in the mountain staggered, heads lifting like faunts who were seeing The Great Tree for the first time, awe and joy in their eyes.

And now...now that was gone. A film had fallen over their eyes, a sickness had infected them and she knew of no cure.

This sickness that even now she could feel, holding the heart of this place in her hands.

Hawthorn let her head fall back against the stone of the little alcove she had hidden inside. She could remember how excited Ori had been to share the story of the Lonely Mountain with her. He had told her how it was the birthplace of Mahal's children, where they had first Awakened. Most thought it to be Moria, but it was not.

He shared how Mahal had shaped them of the very stone she sat inside, and how the grandest of Temple Rooms for Mahal and his Lady Wife were in this mountain.

Her eyes opened, and she slowly looked down to the Arkenstone in her hands.

It continued to pulse, warm and living in her palms.

Her hands trembled.

Perhaps….perhaps the Stone Father would listen to her on behalf of His children?

Ori had shown her the Temple Room before, when she asked to see it, right after Smaug had been killed. She had wanted to pray for all the fallen they had found in the mountain, and for Lake Town which had still smoked in the distance.

She held the heart of the Lonely Mountain.

She stood in the birthplace of Mahal's children, where He would be strongest. She stood on land that He had stood upon, to bring His children to life after their sleep. This was a Holy Place, akin to The Great Tree in the Shire, where Yavanna had stood to guide Her children into the Shire after the Wandering Days.

Even now, hobbits could still feel Her Presence beside The Great Tree, and it was Holy Ground not shared with Outsiders. Even Gandalf had not seen it. They had shared Great Trees with him before- the first trees planted in the Shire when hobbits began to settle- the trees that framed their land and acted as protection, but The Great Tree was a sacred secret to their people.

That had to mean something.

She stood, hands gripping the Arkenstone as she clung to hope. It was an absent motion as she brought the stone to her forehead, pressing it there and br