[500 powerstones Bonus Chapter]
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Dáin's questions were simple—no more than a series of secret phrases known only to the royal bloodlines of Durin's folk.
Yet Kíli answered each one fluently.
Even when Dáin intentionally gave false cues or reversed the words, Kíli caught the traps and corrected them with ease.
Such confidence was the fruit of Thorin's teachings.
Despite long years of exile, Thorin had raised his nephews in the traditions of dwarven nobility, preserving the honor and rituals of a kingly house.
Satisfied at last, Dáin leapt down from his armored boar and wrapped Kíli in a warm embrace.
"Even though I am a king," he said gruffly, "and even though we've never met before… the blood of Durin binds us all. To see you here, Kíli, my dear nephew—it gladdens my heart."
"Uncle," Kíli replied with equal warmth, "it gladdens mine as well. In the tales Thorin told my brother and me, you were always a great king—and an even greater warrior."
They spoke long in Khuzdul, the tongue of their fathers, exchanging greetings and tales like kin long separated.
Only then did Dáin turn solemn.
"Kíli," he said, "your uncle sent for me. He asked for aid. I came with warriors, ready to fight by his side. I've heard that the dragon is slain, and Erebor has been reclaimed. That Thorin is now King Under the Mountain."
Kíli hesitated.
"Well… yes, that's true. But there's been… complications."
Dáin's brows knitted. "What complications?"
"The curse of the King Under the Mountain," Kíli said softly. "It has taken hold of Thorin Oakenshield."
The one who answered next was not Kíli—but Gandalf.
Dáin turned, startled. "Ah, Mithrandir! I hadn't noticed you—my apologies."
Gandalf gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "That matters not. What does matter is that Thorin has fallen to dragon-sickness. His heart sees nothing now but gold and treasure."
"Dragon-sickness," Dáin muttered, and his expression hardened. A storm of dwarven wrath welled up in him. "Yes… the curse. It has long haunted the line of Erebor's kings."
He looked at the gathered company.
"So. Is this why you sought me out?"
"Not just that," Kaen replied, stepping forward. "We've come to warn you—and to give you this."
Kíli stepped forward and opened his hand.
Within it glimmered the Arkenstone.
Dáin's breath caught.
"The Heart of the Mountain…" he whispered.
He had seen its light once before—but his eyes now bore no trace of greed, no hunger. Only reverence.
This, too, was telling.
For long ago, the Ring of Power gifted to the Durin line had passed to Thorin's forebears. It had never reached the Iron Hills. Dáin had never touched it. And without its corruptive influence, his spirit remained whole.
Unlike the line of Erebor, his branch of the clan had never revered the Arkenstone as a sacred relic.
Dáin, for all his temper and pride, was a dwarf who could master his own desire.
In the original story, it was Dáin who would lay Thorin to rest—alongside the Arkenstone, and much of Erebor's treasure.
…
Now, Kíli spoke of their journey.
Of Kaen's aid, of Gandalf's wisdom. Of Thorin's promises to Kaen. Of the battle with the dragon. Of the victories and trials they had faced. Of how Kaen had protected the dwarves at every turn.
"My uncle," Kíli said, "has taught us much—but Kaen has taught us too. Thorin made promises, but the curse clouds him now. He cannot see the path ahead."
Dáin listened.
Then he gave a slow nod and turned to Kaen.
"You have my thanks, King Kaen," he said. "It seems you have done what few have dared. If what I hear is true… then it falls to me to speak to my cousin."
"He may wear a crown now, but he has lost the grace of kingship. I cannot ignore this."
"No," Gandalf said sharply. "You must wait. There is more."
Kaen stepped forward. "We are not the only ones who know Erebor has been reclaimed. The shadows have caught wind of it. Two hosts of darkness march upon us, from different directions. They are far greater than we imagined."
Dáin's brow furrowed.
"I knew there would be vultures eyeing my kin's treasure," he growled. "That's why I brought my finest warriors."
"We gathered a mighty alliance to aid Thorin," Kaen continued. "Men and elves stand with us. But Thorin has turned us away."
Dáin fell silent.
The dwarf-king who never held his tongue now had none to offer.
Even for him—so known for his bluntness and stormy moods—it was a moment of rare discomfort.
He looked at Kaen, eyes unreadable.
"That was not his will," he said quietly. "Not truly."
"No," Kaen agreed. "He will conquer the dragon within. When he does, he'll regret it. But for now—we must unite. The true enemy approaches."
Dáin's face twisted into reluctance.
"I… do not want to fight alongside those pointy-eared forest princesses," he muttered.
"Pointy-ears" was Dáin's not-so-affectionate nickname for the elves. Ever since the fall of Erebor, Durin's folk had borne grudges against the Eldar.
Gandalf quickly added, "There was more to that tale than you know. The fault does not lie wholly with the elves. Thorin and Thranduil have already begun to mend their rift."
Dáin eyed Gandalf suspiciously, but said nothing.
Instead, he turned to Kíli.
Kíli nodded. "It's true."
Dáin exhaled.
"…Fine," he grunted. "If that's the case, I'll stomach working with those forest maidens. But only because the threat is grave."
And so it was done.
Kaen, Gandalf, and Kíli had succeeded in intercepting the three thousand-strong Ironfoot host.
Together, they forged a temporary alliance—one that might stand against the oncoming storm.
…
The company led the Ironfoot host westward, over the ridges of the mountain.
When the dwarves atop Erebor's gate saw them, they cried out in joy.
"Hey! Over here!"
"Our kin have arrived!"
"Dáin! Dáin! We're up here!"
Dáin, astride his armored boar, rode up to the gates and looked up at his kin.
His voice thundered across the stones.
"My beloved cousins! Your deeds honor us all. You have reclaimed the Lonely Mountain—that alone is a song worthy of a thousand halls!"
"But as for Thorin Oakenshield…" his tone darkened, "…I have heard all that has passed. And I must say—his actions disappoint me."
"I do not care for the company of those tree-hugging knife-ears—but this is foolishness."
"Balin! Go tell Thorin this: I am proud of what he achieved—but ashamed of what he's become."
"A true king faces the dragon within. If he cannot—then he is unfit to bear the crown."
"I will stand beside the elves and the men. I will fight the dark that comes."
"If Thorin wishes to stay in his mountain and hide like a mole—then so be it. I'll still protect him."
On the wall above, Balin gave a heavy nod.
"I will tell him everything," the old dwarf said. "May your words awaken him from this shadow."
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T/N:
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