Authors' Note: Welcome back! We hope that you enjoy our romp through Tolkien's world. If you recognize it, it's probably from Tolkien or Peter Jackson. If it's an non-Tolkienian idea you've seen before in fanfiction, feel free to assume it's a (most likely) subconscious allusion/tribute to the original author. Happy reading! Elle and Rhi

Vengeance

Dwalin leaned against the side of the mountain, seemingly at ease, though his eyes followed Thorin as the king paced before Durin's Door. He greatly misliked the way Thorin's general stern demeanor was fraying the closer they came to reclaiming Erebor. Thorin was a good king, but the taint of the dragon had turned the heads of good kings before.

Thorin crossed before Dwalin once more, and the dour dwarrow spoke up. "You are not yourself, Thorin."

Thorin turned sharply, the shadow of the mountain casting his features into darkness. "Not myself?" he asked, and Dwalin could hear the harsh downturn of the king's mouth in his words. "How so, old friend?"

Dwalin jerked his head at the Door and was unsurprised when Thorin shifted to stand before it, protecting its dark entry. "Time was, you'd not send a young dam down to be a dragon's dinner."

"Did we not hire Biliana to be a thief?" Thorin gritted out.

"Aye, a hired thief, or so she was in the beginning," Dwalin agreed, and the rage simmering in his chest burned his tongue. "But she's one of ours, now, and you sent her with little enough information to know what it is she is to steal from a Mahal-cursed worm!"

Thorin bared his teeth. "Think you that I like this any more than you, Dwalin?" the king hissed. "Sending my hobbit down into the lair of the beast that drove us from our home?!"

"Your hobbit, is it?" Dwalin spat. "She is my niece-"

"And I am your king, so she will be my subject!" Thorin burst out.

Dwalin gritted his teeth. "Do you plan to throw away all our lives so cheaply?"

Thorin turned away, his face wrought with worry. "Could I do this alone, I would not risk a single life other than my own," he admitted, staring into the maw of the mountain, haunted eyes straining as if to see their hobbit returning.

Dwalin levered himself away from the mountain, taking a watchful stance beside his king and friend. "You do not have to," he said lowly.

Thorin snorted. "I cannot imagine the burden we have placed upon her young shoulders," he replied softly. "Our hobbit, gone to look for a stone she has never seen among a dragon's hoard."

"And none to help her," Dwalin answered, settling his hands on the hafts of Grasper and Keeper.

"There now," Bofur added his input from his seat against the mountain. Wreathed in pipesmoke, his face was serious, but his eyes were still bright and merry. "Young though she may be, she is a lass of determination, of caution, and good sense-more'n any three of us combined, I should think. Billa will do fine."

Any good cheer the miner's words may have caused was immediately interrupted by a sound echoed from the depths of the mountain-the unmistakable roar of the great beast itself, drawing every hand to its blade and every dwarf to his feet.

"I am fetching our burglar. Be prepared when I return!" Thorin ordered and vanished into the darkness.

Glóin's hand on Dwalin's arm stayed the taller dwarrow from rushing into the mountain after the king. "Another blade in that narrow corridor will do more harm than good," he said, not unkindly, "And well you know it."

Dwalin shrugged off his kinsman's hand. "Break camp," he grunted brusquely. "Ready your weapons."

"We're not leaving, are we?" young Ori asked, looking lost amid the scramble. "We only just got here!"

Dwalin narrowed his eyes. "Would you like to be the dragon's next meal?" he asked bluntly, and turned away rather than watch the little dwarf quail before him.

Fili joined him as he stood watch at the Door. "Do we run so quickly then?" the heir asked quietly, blue eyes worried.

"Tactical retreat," Dwalin corrected. "That worm has been nestled in that mountain for more than a hundred years. Only a fool would think to slay it in its lair."

Whatever Fili might have replied was lost as the mountain shook beneath them. Óin cried out in shock, his footing near the edge of the mountain giving way beneath him. Kili leapt for Óin 's outstretched arm as Nori locked a fist around the lad's belt, and together they drew the healer back from the brink.

Relief was bitten off as a fell shadow fell upon them, and the terrible voice of Smaug boomed around them. "I will find you, Thorin Oakenshield!"

Dwalin shoved Fili toward the Door. "Get inside!" he shouted, drawing his axes though he knew full well their use against a dragon in flight. "All of you!"

Dwarf after dwarf scrambled into the mountain as Smaug circled Erebor, his great wings heaving as he clawed his way into the sky, and as the Company vanished from the mountainside, the great golden eye of Smaug spied them.

"You will burn!" he roared and dove.

"Close the door!" Dwalin ordered, shoving the last dwarf into the mountain and following hot on his heels. He threw his bulk against Durin's Door, heaving against the thick rock.

But the door that had so easily swung open hours before barely moved. Bifur threw his weight against the door beside Dwalin, Glóin adding his aid a moment later.

Slowly, creepingly, the door began to move.

"Move," Dori snapped, and planted his feet, setting his shoulder to the edge of that great door. "For Erebor!" he cried, and corded muscle stood out on his neck.

"For Erebor!" the Company shouted back, and with Dori's great strength added to their own, the door gave way, closing with a boom that echoed in the mountain.

"You will not escape me!" Smaug shrieked, but the terrible voice was distant, and even the unimaginable might of a dragon could not force the Dwarf-made door open once more.

"We'll need to find another way out," Dwalin said grimly in the darkness. He clasped Dori's shoulder, words failing him as he considered-not for the first time-what might have happened if Dori had not been one of their Company.

Kili's quick fingers brought light to the passageway, striking a flame to light one of the torches set in sconces on either side of Durin's Door. "Why didn't Biliana take one of these?" he wondered, but no one answered him.

"The Sapphire Gatehouse is demolished," Dwalin said heavily. "What do we know of the Emerald?"

Glóin elbowed Óin, who cupped his hand around his ear and leaned toward Dwalin.

"The Emerald Gatehouse!" Dwalin repeated loudly. "Do you know what happened to it in the Coming of the Dragon?"

"I cared for those wounded after the dragon came," Óin boomed. "I do not know if it yet stands, but there were those who were able to flee his wrath through that Gatehouse."

"Then when Thorin returns with Biliana and Balin, we make for the Gatehouse," Fili stated firmly, and Dwalin began to make his rounds among the Company, checking on weaponry and the dwarves' readiness.

The ringing of Dwarven boots on stone drew them to their feet once more, and Dwalin strained to hear the patter of bare Hobbit feet beneath the clatter.

Thorin reached the top of the passageway, half dragging Biliana along beside him. "The dragon knows we are here," he announced, out of breath. Balin came running in right after, a singed thread tied to his wrist.

Dwalin ignored his king, stepping to Biliana's side. The poor lass was trembling like a leaf in a storm, her hands clutched to her throat; he rested a hand on her shoulder, and she clutched it like a lifeline.

"The dragon found Durin's Door," Glóin replied matter-of-factly. "The Emerald Gatehouse may yet stand; we may make our escape from there."

"Are you harmed, mizimith?" Dwalin asked Biliana quietly, and her wide eyes turned to him as she shook her head.

"Terrified beyond my wits, certainly," she whispered back. "But unharmed."

"Escape?" Thorin repeated harshly, and Dwalin looked up sharply to see darkness descend upon the king's features once more. "We have come to reclaim the Mountain, and we will not run from the worm that took my Mountain! This is the home of my people, and I shall wrest it from the claws of the dead beast!"

Dwalin's jaw tightened as he stared at Thorin. He had heard this note in his king's voice before and it echoed in his worst nightmares-the impassioned speech Thrór gave before the Battle of Azanulbizar was not one easily forgotten.

"So how big is it?" Kili said into the silence following his uncle's proclamation. "I didn't get a good look, earlier."

Dwalin wheeled on the young prince. "It is a great great bloody dragon, you fool!"

"They're not the size of horses if that's what you thought," Nori muttered on the heels of Dwalin's outburst. "Did you expect that you'd turn it into your amad's new pincushion?"

Kili answered hotly, but his brother ignored the argument at his side to turn to the newcomers. "What did you see?" Fili wanted to know, his focus on the wide-eyed Billa. "When you were in its lair, what did you see?"

Billa stared at the young heir for a long moment as she relived her conversation with the great beast. "He's got a hole!" she suddenly gasped out. "There's a hole in his chest!"

The dwarrow froze, all eyes snapping to her pale face.

"Lass," Balin said lowly. "Do you mean to say that the dragon is wounded?"

"There's a break in his scales," she explained breathlessly. "A patch in the hollow of his left breast as bare as a snail out of its shell!"

"So it can be killed," Ori whispered.

"Biliana should escape," Dwalin said, and met Thorin's steely gaze, not liking the tighter grip the king took on their burglar. "She can carry word to Dáin's folk," he argued. "Call the armies to fortify this place after the dragon's demise."

"There has been much damage done to this place," Balin counseled. "For all our efforts, we alone may not be able to hold it."

"Fili and Kili go with her," Thorin spat out. "She will not make that journey alone and unguarded."

Kili's jaw dropped, but before Fili could voice his objection, Thorin turned sharply, leading his Company into the depths of Erebor.

Thorin strode ahead, his sword held naked in his hand, sharp eyes probing the darkness, and Dwalin left Biliana in Balin's care as he stepped to flank his king

"We make for the Emerald Gatehouse," Glóin explained to her as the Company hurried along. "We hope it was not overly damaged when the dragon attacked; we may yet be able to make our escape from there."

All around them, the grand majesty of Erebor faded into the darkness. Once-grand staircases were reduced to rubble by the dragon's massive bulk, its claws raking through intricate stonework, and more than once, Bofur redirected them away from a fall of stone-his years in the mines of the Blue Mountains had taught him well the dangers of a seemingly solid rock fall.

But upon arrival at the Gatehouse, the Company found their plans were for naught-for the great gate of the Emerald Guard was rent from its hinges, and replaced with a piling of stones that would take even a hundred dwarves a year to clear. Worse still, in the wreckage of the door, were the pitiable remains of the last survivors of their people. Burned too badly to recognize any sigil they might have borne, the Company fell silent before the open grave.

Dwalin heard Biliana give a choked hiccup, glancing over his shoulder to see Billa on the verge of weeping, her gaze fixed upon the skull of a babe pressed to its mother's breast, dead before it had grown old enough to have the chance to fight back.

"The last of our kin fled here," Thorin said hoarsely. "Hoping beyond hope that this gatehouse would provide respite from the flames of the beast..."

"We can try for the mines," Balin said, his voice heavy. "Maybe survive a few more days-"

"No." Thorin wore a terrible look as he gazed upon the skeletons. "I will not die like this. Weak and gasping for air while that worm sits atop a golden hoard and gloats." His eyes burned into each member of the Company, lingering on Billa. "What king am I, that would cower instead of reclaiming what is rightfully mine?"

"Then how do we proceed?" Dwalin asked bluntly, his thick arms crossed over his chest. "We cannot attack a winged worm from above-"

"Not exactly," Bofur objected, and cleared his throat nervously as the twin gimlet gazes of the King and his Commander fell upon him. "In the Hall of Kings, the damage was significant, weren't it? There's enough stone there that we c'n drop it on his great bloody head."

Thorin eyed the miner with a sharp gaze. "And do you think you can bring down that which my forefathers built to stand for an Age?"

"With help, I can," Bofur said bravely, his typically lighthearted mien as somber as Thorin's.

"We'd have to bring the dragon there," Fili reminded them. "And what would keep it still enough to drop a Mountain on it?"

The silence was thick, until Dori raised a trembling hand. "There was to be a golden statue in the Hall of Kings."

"That's right," Glóin replied. "The day the dragon came, we were preparing to pour the gold into the mold."

"We make for the forges," Thorin decided, and Dwalin had to agree with the king's plan. "Bofur, take your cousin, Óin, and the Ri brothers and ensure you can drop the rocks on the great beast. Kili, arm yourself-we will have need of your arrows soon enough."

"There is an armory along the way," Dwalin remembered, and his recollection sent the dwarrow back into the mountain to carry out the king's orders.

"Stay here," Balin begged of Billa, but she shook her head at him as Dwalin had known she would; the bounce of her auburn curls might fool some into believing their hobbit a flighty young thing, but she had proven herself half a hundred times along their journey.

"I will not stay behind while I can be of some small use," she said, patting his arm. "Smaug already does not particularly care for me, and should my presence be enough to distract him…" She trailed off, resting her hand on the hilt on Sting: her resolve was clear.

Dwalin turned to look at Thorin; his king was no more pleased at her declaration than he or Balin was, but little could be said or done against it, so long as they remained trapped in the Mountain.

No more words were said; the dwarves separated with resolutely set countenances. No words were needed, for this was a brotherhood forged in adversity-they would slay the great beast or give their lives.

The Mountain rumbled around them, and soon the boom of Smaug's voice could be heard echoing along the halls: the dragon had returned to the Mountain.

The different dwarrow groupings clung to the walls and crept with careful steps towards their chosen destinations: none wished to draw the worm's attention before their time. Dwalin kept himself at Thorin's side as they inched their way to the great Forges beneath the Mountain, smiling grimly as he finally beheld those great Works of long ago. His pleasure at the still-impressive sight did not last long.

"The forges are stone cold," Dwalin said heavily. "And we haven't the power to relight them."

"Have we not?" Thorin asked, his eyes alight. Around them, the Mountain rumbled, the clattering of claws along hallowed halls echoed through the depths, and Dwalin understood the king's mad idea. "Stand at the ready!"

Thorin stepped back into the darkness, passing Biliana and the rest of their companions. Dwalin hurried along the corridor after him, the two dwarrow racing toward the sound of the dragon. For all Erebor's endless caverns and dwarf-carved halls, there were only so many places that would allow the bulk of the dragon to pass.

"I know you are in here, Dwarves," Smaug hissed. "Your ponies made a delightful snack on the mountainside."

The rasp of thousands of scales brushing against ancient walls set Dwalin's teeth on edge. "You have grown fat and slow in your dotage," Thorin taunted, his voice echoing in the cavern, drawing Smaug's head around. As those blood-gold eyes settled upon him, he spit, "Slug."

Smaug tore down upon the dwarf, and Dwalin took a fistful of the king's leathers and heaved him back into the hallway, the pair of them racing away. "Old, am I?" Smaug roared. "Perhaps to a fly the spider is ancient, but I shall live long enough to see your kind wiped from existence!"

Thorin threw himself behind a pillar, breast heaving. "I did not expect to see you so easily outwitted!" he bellowed at the dragon.

"You?" the great dragon sneered. "Outwit me? Your grandfather thought he could keep the mountain from me-what makes you think that you will be able to reclaim that which he lost?" The monstrous head weaved back and forth, nostrils flaring as he tried to pinpoint the location of the dwarves by scent.

"You are nothing more than a spineless mealworm, fit for no more than bait for the Laketown fishermen!" Thorin roared, and the dragon reared back.

"I?" he hissed. "I am your death, dwarf!" The cavern grew lighter as the dragon drew a breath, the air rushing past their hiding spots and the spaces between the dragon's scales glowing a ruddy gold as the fire built within him.

But no flame came, and sulfurous gas roiled out from the beast's great jaws. "The great forges of Erebor," Smaug hissed. "They have grown cold without your kind's tending. Did you think I would light them for you?" The great head wove back and forth as he tried to spy his dwarven prey. "For what purpose, I wonder? But that matters little, for I find I am disinclined to oblige you."

Dwalin gritted his teeth, cursing under his breath, until a movement caught his eye, and he watched as Kili stepped out of hiding, his bow raised.

"Ah, look," Smaug rumbled. "You brought your kin. All the better to end the Line of Durin!"

Thorin laughed, a deep rumble that drew Smaug's attention for a critical moment. "The Line of Durin will not be broken by one such as you, witless worm!"

Kili fired, his aim true, and caught the dragon in one of its great golden eyes.

Smaug roared, claws raking toward the spot where he had last seen Kili, but the young dwarf was faster than he looked, and dove out of reach.

"You think you can escape me?!" Smaug roared. "I will roast where you cower!"

Flame streamed forth from his jaws, hot enough to melt stone, and the dwarves hunkered down, trying to shield themselves from the terrible heat. Dwalin heard Billa scream, though whether in pain or fear he could not say, and his heart sank even as his blood boiled.

But when the flames waned, the forges were lit. Dwalin looked around frantically for his little niece, his concern soothed when he saw her collapsed against a pillar, apparently unharmed.

"You miserable creatures, cowering behind your stone," Smaug snarled. "Come out and face me!"

Dwalin cursed when Kili stepped out to fire another arrow at the dragon-his skill with a bow was unmatched and the lad had been successful once, but only a fool taunts a dragon twice.

"You gutless laggard!" Thorin shouted from opposite Kili, drawing the dragon's ire once more toward him.

"Fools, the lot of 'em," Dwalin grunted, only to catch sight of Fili running for the bellows. The movement caught Smaug's attention, and Dwalin knew that if Fili did not reach the bellows, their plan would be for naught.

He crashed Grasper and Keeper together, striking the blunt counterweights together with a resounding smash. "Looking for dinner?" he roared up at the dragon, drawing the beast's attention just long enough for Fili to slide over the edge of the crevasse.

The spaces between Smaug's scales gleamed ruddy gold once more, and the dwarves dove into shelter as dragonfire bore down upon them. The fires of the forges burned white hot, and the bellows did their duty-old mechanisms creaked from the crevasse as the counterbalances began to pump the bellows, driving air into the flame, feeding it until it burned blue.

The old gold, touched by dragon's breath and fueled by dwarven fire, began to shimmer in the massive crucibles.

"What good are forges to rats, skittering in the shadows?" Smaug demanded, one great claw wrapping around a pillar and tearing it from its place. "Did you truly think you can kill a dragon with fire? Your plan is ill-thought, Thorin Oakenshield, and you shall pay for it!"

"Really?" the king challenged. "A fat dotard like you can't even catch a single one of my people!" He dove aside as Smaug lunged, massive teeth snapping on thin air.

But the great cavern was no match for the bulk of the dragon. Stone began to rain down upon them all, dislodged from the ceiling by the dragon's struggles.

Glóin dragged on the chain that released the sluices, and molten gold flowed from the crucibles in gleaming rivers. With a shout, Thorin drew the attention of Smaug once more, before throwing himself down the sluice and into the darkness of the Hall of Kings.

Smaug screamed his defiance, the great head turning back on the sinuous neck as he tore away from the dwarves.

Dwalin pounded toward the Hall, the crashing behind him reassuring him that the others followed.

The great mold of Thrór looked like nothing more than rubble from the outside, but it held as millions of ingots of liquid gold poured into it. The dwarves swarmed its sides-in no way would this be a simple task, releasing the mold that would have had have a dozen dwarven craftsmen plying the latches, but it was vital.

Thorin stood on the top, dark blue eyes piercing the darkness, tracking the sound of the dragon as the beast made its way into the Hall of Kings.

"So this is where you sought to lead me?" Smaug chuckled, his humor echoing within the great hall. "And what now? There is no magic in this place - you have chosen only the location of your doom."

"Your time in my mountain is over, dragon!" Thorin called. "You are no longer welcome here, and you shall leave its halls!"

Smaug outright laughed, his head snaking toward the dwarven king. "Your grandfather said much the same thing, and look what happened to him!"

Thorin leapt from the top of the statue, dragging open the first great hasp. A chunk of stone fell, revealing the gleam of gold.

With a great shout, the dwarves threw themselves against the latches, sending more stone tumbling to the floor of the great hall, revealing more gold.

Smaug was transfixed-here was a treasure utterly unknown to him, wasted away in the forges beneath his golden bed. Gold enough to make a statue larger even than himself. And for a moment, the dragon was still.

"Now!" Dwalin heard Bofur cry from above, and great white flashes lit the upper galleries starkly. Great boulders burst free from the upper galleries, crashing down on the hall of kings, trapping the dragon in a shower of stone.

One great chunk of masonry spun as it fell, arcing through the air. It struck Smaug's right wing with a mighty crack, tearing through the membrane as Smaug let out an ear-piercing shriek of fury and pain and rage.

The great golden statue of Thrór lost some of its definition, bulging forward at the feet, before the heat of the gold buckled the statue at the knees, sending a golden torrent rushing toward the wounded dragon.

In moments, the dragon vanished from sight as the gold eddied around the crenellations from above, and as the last pebbles peppered the smooth golden floor, all was still.

The air was thick with dust, not even the light of the burning tapestries clearing the murk, and Dwalin rubbed his eyes with his arm, trying to spot Thorin and Fili in the gloom. He took a breath to call out to them, when the golden floor burst upward, revealing Smaug's living form. Dark ichor ran from the ruin of his right eye, the left glaring ever more balefully than before.

"This is a plot," the dragon hissed. "A sordid scheme crafted by filthy dwarves and those miserable, tub-trading lakemen! How else would you come into my mountain but by their aid?!" He drew himself up, his left wing claw drooping and useless, torn by the boulders that Bofur had rained down upon his head. His great head snaked upward, pointing toward the front gate. "It is time," he snarled, limping forward. "That I paid them a visit!"

"You can't!" cried Billa, suddenly appearing to stand before the great beast. Dwalin swore fiercely and scrambled towards her. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Fili doing the same.

"Barrel-Rider," hissed Smaug. "Do you think that your tiny protest would be able to stop me?! Do you presume to tell your death what it may and may not do?" The dragon's good eye remained fixed on her, not even deigning to glance at Dwalin as he came to stand before her, Grasper and Keeper at the ready.

Billa's form trembled as the regard of the dragon pinned her in place, but she stood her ground. "O Smaug the Stupendous," she began tremulously, and gulped as his scales began to glow red

hot beneath their golden hue. "Truly, do you think such small beings as the Laketowners would dare to rise up against one so mighty as you?" As she spoke, Fili reached her side, curved blades flickering in the harsh, dim light.

The long tail lashed out, crushing the remains of the statue mold, narrowly missing Thorin as he stalked towards the Worm. "Longer lived creatures have been more foolish than they," Smaug roared. "And all of you will pay the price for such prideful misgivings!"

The Beast thrust his chest towards the ground, even as his maw reared back and flame gathered in his throat. Fili's hand reached Billa a bare moment before Dwalin's, pulling her behind a fall of stone, and Dwalin booted the heir into shelter behind her, spinning to face the dragon, Grasper and Keeper at the ready.

But instead of the heartfire of the great beast immolating their skin, Dwalin grinned as he heard the pained scream of a beast mortally wounded.

For Thorin was beneath the dragon, thrusting a great spear protruding into Smaug's open side. Its blade plunged deep into his breast. "For my people!" Thorin roared, and thrust the lance still deeper, twisting it as the dragon reared back.

Hot blood spurted down the length of the spear, but Thorin Oakenshield held on as the dragon flailed, trying to pluck the dwarf and his weapon from its side. Fili lunged towards them, but Dwalin quickly dropped Keeper and held the young heir back.

"I cannot be killed!" Smaug screamed, but Thorin held tight, widening the hole in the dragon's chest. "I am fire! I am death!"

The great beast lost his balance, tumbling back on his side. Thorin clung grimly on, the dragon's blood covering his face and form.

"Uncle!" Fili shouted, and broke free of Dwalin's restraining hand, leaping into the storm of wings and claws as the dragon collapsed.

"Fili!" Dwalin roared, horrified as the heir locked his arms around his weakened uncle, dragging him back from the death throes of the vile beast, and the dragon's good wing jerked, striking the pair of them and flinging them into the darkness. Dwalin was not the only one who cried out, but he kept his eyes on the monster before him.

Smaug's quivering bulk raged against the stone, his claws scrabbling for purchase even as his own blood seeped from his mouth, the fire in his great golden eye beginning to dim.

The dwarves' footsteps echoed in the great hall, as they stepped forward, weapons at the ready, to finish slaying the great beast should he try to rise again.

Dwalin looked round, his eyes seeking the slender form of their youngest, the last heir of the Line of Durin, his heart beginning to break for the young lad who kept an arrow aimed at the dragon through his own tear-filled eyes.

A grunt from the shadows, the clank of armor, and Thorin Oakenshield reemerged into the dim light, supporting his nephew as Fili swiped at the blood leaking into his beard.

The dragon lay in the center of the Hall of Kings, the fire flickering in his golden eye.

"I reclaim this Mountain for my line and my people," Thorin proclaimed, though his voice was cracked and rough. At the king's feet, the dragon stirred a final time, the great head tilting to show its teeth-and the fire left Smaug the Terrible, the Thief of Erebor bowing to the true King Under the Mountain.

A stillness followed, breathless and disbelieving. Dwarves looked from one to another, as if seeking confirmation in each other's faces. Billa stood frozen, hands over her mouth as if to hold back a hysterical cry. Then Fili stepped away from his uncle's side, falling to one knee.

"Hail Thorin, King Under the Mountain! Shamûkh, Thorin Uzbad Urdu'zasal!"

As with one voice, the dwarves roared their reply: "Shamûkh, Uzbad Urdu'zasal! Hail, Lord of the Lonely Mountain! Hail to the King!"

Dwalin shouted until his voice was hoarse, but he gazed upon his king with a fierce pride-Thorin stood before them all, receiving their adulations with a blinding smile.

Relief, triumph, and joy warred for primacy on his features, softening when he sought Biliana's gaze.

Biliana met his gaze with a beaming smile even as she openly wept. Thorin strode to her side, their fellow dwarves parting before him like stone struck on a fault.

"And hail to our keen-eyed hobbit, who stole the Arkenstone under the Worm's own gaze! Hail to Lady Biliana, the King's Own Burglar!"

The dwarves roared their approval once again, but Dwalin's eyes narrowed as he noted a troubling gleam in his king's visage as Thorin lifted one of her clever hands to his bloody lips.

Thrór had that gleam once, too.

Mizimith: little gem, affectionate

Amad: mother

Shamûkh, Thorin Uzbad Urdu'zasal: Hail, Thorin Lord of the Lonely Mountain