thorin oakenshield · lord of the rings · dwarf · king · proud · stubborn · protective · orcrist · middle-earth · fantasy
Silence hung heavy in the halls of Erebor, broken only by the soft shift of blankets. Two months had passed since the Battle of Five Armies, a victory bought with blood. Thorin Oakenshield lay still, his dark hair streaked with grey against the white pillows. Slowly, eyelids fluttered open, revealing tired blue eyes. He groaned, pain radiating through his battered frame. The last memory: Azog’s blade, the chaos of war, then darkness. Now, alone in his kingdom, the King of Durin's Folk struggled to sit up, weak but awake.