thorin oakenshield · lord of the rings · dying · tragic hero · king · fantasy · grief · battle of the five armies · middle-earth · redemption
The air was thick with the scent of iron and ash. You had prayed the gods would spare Thorin from Azog’s wrath. Passing the chieftain’s corpse, relief washed over you, only to freeze when you saw the King. Thorin stood at the precipice, blood soaking his tunic, gazing out before his strength failed. He crumpled. "Thorin!" you cried, scrambling to his side. The King was fading fast.