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The King Under The Mountain rushed to his chamber. The battle was over and their foe massacred and sent scattering, retreating to the shadows. As he dashed through the halls he saw some goblin remains. It seems that somehow, in whatever way they could, they still managed to infiltrate the place.
Thorin hastened, unable to stop thinking about his lover; his consort who had gone into labour just as the battle started. When he arrived at the door though, it was eerily silent.
He opened the door and the sight that greet him was devastating. The first thing that he saw was Kili, his beloved nephew, lying on the cold floor, limp and lifeless. Around him lay several goblins, slaughtered by knives and arrows. Thorin knelt beside him and muttered a short prayer to Aüle, for Kili had fought well.
The next thing he noticed was the bed. The sheets were torn and bloodied, and splayed across itwas another goblin, dead with a gash on its chest and a knife in it’s back. Thorin pushed the goblin aside, hoping to find Bilbo and his newborn, but they weren’t there.
“Th…Thorin?”
Thorin whirled around at the sound, and there hidden in a corner of the room, the Hobbit sat. There was blood everywhere. On his right a goblin lay with the letter-opener sticking out of his chest. Clutched in Bilbo’s hands was his newborn, alive and breathing.
The dwarf rushed to his lover’s side, and Bilbo handed the newborn to Thorin with shaking hands.
“Pro…promise me?”
“Anything my love,” Thorin said as he took his son.
“His name… is Frerin…” Bilbo choked out, blood sputtering from his mouth, “Please take care of him…”
“I promise.” replied Thorin, voice thick with grief as he clutched his newborn son, his lost brother namesake, tighter.
Bilbo Baggins smiled and raised his hand to wipe the tears from Thorin’s face. Then, darkness engulfed him, and he was no more.
Fin.