Deathless (1/3)
Deathless
Warning: Reincarnation - Angst - References to Illness
Relationships: ThorinxOc - DurinxOc - DurinVIIxOc
Characters: Thorin Oakenshield - Original Female Character - Durin the Deathless - Durin VII - Aule - Yavanna - Balin
I just want to thank with all my heart the beautiful and lovely @lathalea to always support me and have created the perfect art to make this ff happen. I love you so much girl 💓💓💓
The marketplace to the west of the mines was buzzing with life. Dozens and dozens of dwarves, if not hundreds were running through its corridors, busily passing workshops and shouting at the top of their lungs to attract the attention of passers-by. If there had been one word to describe that moment the caverns of Khazad-dûm would have been: alive.
Yellow light streamed in from the ceiling through the blue drapes and a chorus of voices and chatter filled the air, with the smell of coal and freshly baked bread.
Thrain dragged his feet, always followed by a handful of men and surrounded by advisors who informed him step by step of any changes that had taken place in the markets in the few days he had not been there, leaving him no time even to understand what had happened at times. In those situations he was truly grateful that Farin, the closest thing he had left to a Father, would help him keep track of every deal by writing down small details or unnoticed events that he would somehow forget. Thrain was neither old nor young, he had a few strands of white hair, but even though he was king of all the clans, he still felt like a novice prince at times, especially within those walls.
Erebor was something else, in a day he was able to go from one side to the other, to go from a council chamber to the forges in less than half an hour knowing every nook and cranny. His ancestral home was instead, as the songs said, an infinite labyrinth of tunnels that they had not yet managed to explore all: Moria. The great kingdom of the dwarves in the Middle Earth, the home of their Fathers, their home.
Every day as he walked through the corridors he saw a new part of it, or he saw a part of it rebuilt and cleaned of the filth of the orcs who had lived there for too long, discovering and rediscovering it again and again, and everyone thanked him for it.
Durin, that is what they called him, Durin the Seventh of his name, had been hailed by his people a few years before, immediately after the great Battle of the Eastern Gate, immediately after he had managed, along with leading the small portion of Erebor's army that remained, to clear the upper halls of the orc legions, reclaiming a part of the kingdom that had never been taken, not even by the expedition led years ago by Balin son of Fundin.
Thrain had soon been surrounded by every surviving dwarf there, some crippled, some covered in blood, some moribund, and they had begun to cheer his name at the top of their lungs after he had accomplished what his Father had wished for all his life. Whether he had succeeded by fate or by his desire to see his people free at last, he did not know, but he knew that he had to do it, and so he did, and was hailed as the reincarnation of their Father for it.
Thrain had not yet become accustomed to that name and in his heart he did not know if he would ever be able to.
When he was just a child from time to time on the coldest nights, he remembered gestures he had never made, he remembered a huge figure looking down on him, he remembered a dwarf woman at his side surrounded by quartz and gold sleeping in his arms, he remembered waking up in a lonely cave and then blood and battles and screams he had never shouted. He would tell his Father about it and every time he told him a new dream he would smile and put him on his lap reassuring him that sooner or later it would all make sense, and in the end it had.
