6. 05 - His Harp shall be restrung
Age equivalent - 11 human years
Thorin ran through the Halls under the mountain, excited, joyous. The snows from the mountain had finally retreated, the sun was out, bright and the streams were swollen. Fish! There would be fish for supper!
If he could catch it!
His grandmother said to try the throne room, but he wasn't there. There were no guests expected, no Elves; Thranduil wouldn't come until the spring equinox, still some weeks away. He found his father in the gem room, overseeing the newest gems mined. "I don't know, Thorin." Suddenly, his eyebrows drew down. "Wait. I do know. The vaults. Try the vaults."
This worried Thorin more than he wanted to let on. As of late, his grandfather spent more and more time in the vaults, doing Mahal knew what.
The closer he got to the vaults, so deep within the mountain, the heavier and slower his feet became. As he came to the doors, two dwarven guards stood in front, their long pikes crossed in front.
"Sorry, Prince Thorin. The king does not wish to be disturbed."
"But it's me. His grandson." He held up his and his grandfather's fishing poles. "It's spring. We always go fishing in the early spring."
Both shook their heads. Obviously, the king's orders overrode the prince's.
Thorin backed into the shadows, thinking, wondering....
Wait! There was a secret entrance into the vaults. It was tight, really an air passage. But he knew of it...
Quickly he made his way around the corridors, and after leaning the poles against the wall, he shimmied up to the long abandoned passageway. He frightened a rat or two climbing up and smushed a hairy spider with his hand. After much grunting, swearing under his breath, he managed to creep slowly down the air passage and to the vault.
As he tumbled over the edge, he landed on a tall pile of gold, disturbing the neat stack that cushioned his fall. He slid down the pile with a loud 'oof'.
"Who is there?" Thrór roared and turned the corner, in Thorin's direction.
"It's just me," Thorin called out. He slid off a boot, shaking gold coins and a few sapphires from it. Damn, they hurt to walk on!
"What are you doing here?" Thrór didn't appear to be appeased or particularly happy to see him and that caused Thorin's shoulders to sag. There was a fire of something... not sane... in the Dwarf King's eyes, something that frightened Thorin, deep down.
"It's the first warm day of spring. We always go fishing." Thorin still had that hopeful, child-like smile, one that he would grow out of eventually.
Thrór turned back to his growing mountain of treasure. "I am very busy."
Thorin was not so easily swayed or distracted. He was his grandfather's grandson and he had his mien. "It will still be here tonight, will it not?"
Thrór stood there for some time, looking at the ever-growing pile of riches.
For a moment, Thorin was afraid he would send him away, off to greet the spring by himself, but the dwarf turned around and smiled. "You are correct." He pulled off his outer robe and dropped it on a pile, causing the stack of gold to slide and shift. "It will still be here." He held out his arm out to his grandson, who joined him with a happy grin. "We should find your father. I'll bet Thráin hasn't been fishing in a long time."
As Thorin ran down the corridor to retrieve their fishing poles, Thrór sent a guard to fetch his son and then turned to the remaining guard. "When we leave, locate the air vent my grandson slid through and seal it up." The guard nodded. "Make sure there are no other ways into the vault." He smiled when he heard Thorin come back around the curve of the hall and enveloped him in a huge bear hug. "Now, we'll go catch some trout for your mother to fry up!"
Neither noticed the lone guard shaking his head in sorrow as the two scurried off.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.