The battlefield was laid, the traps set, the fog summoned by magic thick upon the lake. Now, the time had come for the Dwarves to begin their own quest.
Three days remained until Durin's Day. That morning, the company gathered at the lakeside to bid farewell to the thirteen Dwarves led by Thorin Oakenshield, along with Bilbo Baggins, the brave Hobbit who had come so far.
Kaen, tall and solemn, placed a hand on Thorin's shoulder. "I shall remain here in Lake-town to face the dragon's wrath. Erebor is your path to tread. Remember your task—rouse the beast, provoke its fury, and reveal the town below, so that it may come to vent its flames here."
Thorin nodded, a fire in his eyes. "We will lead it here. You have done enough, more than any could ask. Now it is our turn to see this through."
"Bilbo," said Gandalf, turning to the Hobbit, his grey eyes filled with warmth, "your adventure nears its end. And I must say, you have surpassed more Hobbits than I can count."
"Thank you," Bilbo said with a modest smile. He then looked to Kaen and said, "Your Majesty, if I may… I would be honored to have your blessing."
"You do not need it," Kaen replied, lowering his gaze to meet Bilbo's. With a gentle hand, he rested his palm on the Hobbit's shoulder. "True courage comes not from height or strength, but from within. Remember that. And use the ring wisely—only if there is no other choice."
Bilbo gave a solemn nod. "I shall heed your words. After all, the ring was your trophy—I am merely its keeper."
Just as the company began to board the boat, Thorin reached out suddenly and stopped his nephew.
"Kíli, you are not coming."
"What are you talking about?" Kíli stared at his uncle, stunned. "I have to be there when the hidden door opens! I want to see the halls of our forebears with my own eyes!"
"No," Thorin said firmly. "You will remain here."
Kíli looked betrayed. "Why? What have I done wrong?"
Thorin did not answer with anger or explanation. Instead, he said quietly, "One day, if that day comes… you will understand."
Fíli stepped forward quickly. "Uncle, you cannot take this from him. We've grown up listening to the tales you told us, the songs of our ancestors. And now, just one step away from Erebor, you would deny him that dream?"
"Fíli…" Thorin's voice was low but resolute. "I have faced Smaug. I know his might better than any of you. If one day you become king, then you will understand this burden."
Though confusion passed among the Dwarves, none opposed Thorin's decision. He was their prince, and his word held weight.
Fíli said no more, but his expression turned troubled. He looked at his younger brother one last time, a gaze filled with meaning unspoken.
And so, under grey skies, the company departed. Boats drifted slowly away from Lake-town, leaving behind a crowd of silent watchers.
"May your journey be swift, and your return safe!" Gandalf called out.
The Dwarves bowed slightly, offering a wordless thanks.
….
Kaen approached the left-behind Kíli, who stood staring out at the horizon.
"You seem troubled."
"Your Majesty," Kíli said quickly, bowing low. "I don't understand. What did I do wrong? Why did he leave me behind?"
Kaen looked at the young Dwarf with steady eyes. "Because you are his hope for Durin's folk."
"…What?"
"Thorin, as a prince, once stood before the might of Smaug. He knows the terror that the dragon carries. You and Fíli are the only other heirs of the line of Durin. He cannot risk both of you."
Kíli's breath caught.
"A leader must preserve the fire," Kaen continued. "Just as the Kingdom of Erebor once preserved Thorin, so too must he now preserve you."
"He was never crowned," Kíli said softly.
"But he has always borne the weight of a king. He fights not for himself, but to reclaim Erebor and preserve the bloodline."
Kíli's fists trembled. "But why me? Why not Fíli? He is first in line."
Kaen met his gaze. "Because he is your brother."
To the Dwarves, kinship was sacred. Even kings would choose death to shield their kin. Just as Thorin could not bring all heirs into danger, Fíli too would never let his younger brother risk death while he stood safe behind.
Kaen placed a reassuring hand on Kíli's shoulder. "Pray for them. Prepare yourself. I will have my royal guard escort you to the forest—you cannot stay here. This place will soon burn with dragonfire. As Thorin's spark of hope, I too must ensure your safety."
Kíli said nothing, but the bitterness in his eyes began to fade. Though his heart longed for the mountain, he knew he must wait—for now.
With ten of Kaen's elite guard at his side, Kíli entered the woodland where the people of Lake-town had already taken refuge, hidden deep from the impending war.
….
Led by Thorin Oakenshield, the Dwarven company journeyed two full days through wind and stone. At last, they arrived at the base of the Lonely Mountain.
They passed through the ruins of Dale, once a proud city of men. Now it lay still and broken, the bones of a kingdom long fallen.
The Dwarves did not linger.
They pressed on to the western slopes of the mountain, and there they began their search. Unfolding their maps, they scoured the terrain for signs of the hidden door.
It was Bilbo who first spotted it. His sharp eyes scanned the cliffside, and then he pointed toward the left shoulder of a colossal stone carving—the statue of a Dwarven king.
"There! A platform!"
The company gathered round.
"Well done, Mr. Baggins," Thorin murmured. "A thief with eyes keener than gold."
They climbed, one by one, up the carved stone columns to the ledge. The sun was dipping low—twilight cast long shadows upon the grey rock.
Frantically, they searched the wall for the keyhole, but under the dying sun's light, no such thing was found. No line, no seam, no trace.
Frustration grew like fire in their blood. Weapons were drawn, axes struck the stone in rage. Sparks flew. Chips of rock tumbled down. The sun sank beneath the horizon.
And still—nothing.
One by one, the Dwarves slumped to the ground, hearts heavy with despair. All their dreams, their struggle… had it been for naught?
All, save Bilbo.
The little Hobbit remained standing, eyes narrowed in thought. Thorin, weary and grim, turned to call his men away.
Then—suddenly—a voice echoed in their minds.
"Do not lose hope. Wait for the moonlight… and the thrush."
"King Kaen!" they gasped. Though far beyond sight, his voice reached them still.
"Moonlight… the thrush…" Thorin whispered, hope blooming once more.
And so they waited, standing still beneath the stars.
Clouds parted. A silver beam of moonlight washed over the cliff face. Then, from the quiet dark, came the flutter of wings—a thrush.
It flew to the grey stone, and with its beak, began to tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Then, as if summoned by the rhythm of legend, the moonlight shimmered and drew itself into a single point.
A keyhole.
Thorin breathed out in awe. "Grey stone and moonlight… the thrush at the door… the last light of Durin's Day…"
He lifted Durin's Key. In the glinting moonlight, he slid it into the lock.
Click.
The stone wall rumbled and shifted.
The hidden door had opened.