Hi Guys! You Are Probably Wondering Why I Haven't Posted The First Part Of This Fic On Friday. Well,

update: the playlist is now 7 hrs. long-

By Any Other Name: Playlist

Hello darlings. I had lots of people send me songs that reminded them of BAON, And I think I mentioned every now and then I had certain songs in mind when writing chapters, so I thought I’d compile everything into a playlist for those of you who might be interested. :) If there are lyrics underneath a song, then that means it’s one I was actively listening to/daydreaming to when writing that scene so take that however you wish, lol. 

(My personal favorite picks have stars by them, so if you listen to nothing else I’m BEGGING you to listen to those but it’ll hurt you probably)

Enjoy, and I hope you get some cool new tunes out of this lol. 

Seguir leyendo

is this his gay way of asking him out

I may or may have not created a playlist because of this emotional rollercoaster of a fanfiction

By Any Other Name: Chapter Sixteen (FINAL CHAPTER)

(Now featuring a banner by @bunch-of-jedi-canes)

Summary: 🌹

Chapter Rating: 🌹

Warnings: 🌹

Ships: 🌹

Tags: 🌹

Word Count: 🌹

A/N: See the end for Author’s Note

As always, bless @fat-zygerrian for being my beta reader! And additionally, thank you to ALL of you who have liked, reblogged, commented, screamed in the tags, sent asks, or done anything at all to support me and this work. You mean the absolute world to me and I am so, so grateful. Enjoy the finale, besties. We’ll be back very soon. ;)

Tag List Form. Reblogs are SO appreciated!

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen

Keep reading

Currently thinking of how I will write chapter 4 of TWICTB. Can't decide if I should keep adding the gay fluff or make the political arrangements even more dramatic.

Just finished a rewatch of BOFTA and man do I love the ending where Thorin, Fíli, & Kíli all recover from their injuries and get crowned as King and Princes in Erebor then help to fully restore the mountain and live in peace. Especially the part where Bilbo stays with The Company after going back to the Shire to move his belongings to the mountain.

man

I made a quiz to assign you a bad batch member, it’s pretty random but fun!

gay ppl can never just say "I love you", it's always gotta be some shit like-

The Way It Comes To Be- Chapter 4 (DIRECTOR'S CUT)

Chapter summary: Everything seems to be going okay, but now Thorin has to face his own destiny.

Link on Ao3

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Thorin x Bilbo, Kili x Tauriel

***

Chapter 4: Dawning Renewal

The days in the Lonely Mountain were growing colder with each passing day. The few trees that dotted the area had nearly shed all their leaves, and snow continued to fall steadily. The harsh weather wasn’t making the rebuilding of the Kingdom Under the Mountain or Dale any easier; snow buried new constructions, and the ice threatened to deform them. This placed enormous pressure on all the workers, who were racing against time to finish everything before the full force of winter set in.

Everyone had a role to play in the restoration of the city: men, elves, and dwarves worked together on the external structures, rebuilding houses and public buildings. Many of the women and some elves focused on creating farms for agriculture and beautifying the city with plants to make it more elegant. Dáin’s surviving soldiers, along with some humans and Thorin’s Company, were hard at work restoring the palace, both inside and out.

Thorin's Company, loyal to their soon-to-be king, moved constantly between Dale and Erebor. They handled a variety of tasks: attending diplomatic meetings alongside Thorin, inspecting progress in Dale, overseeing the work in Erebor, and laboring to restore the palace.

Despite the frantic pace, there was a palpable sense of unity and determination among the workers. Dwarves and elves, once bitter enemies, now worked side by side. The men of Laketown, grateful for the refuge and aid given to them, worked tirelessly, feeling a deep sense of obligation to repay their allies.

Bilbo, though uncertain whether he would stay or leave, found himself increasingly involved in these activities. While not a builder by nature, his sharp mind and keen eye for detail made him indispensable in overseeing the progress and ensuring that nothing was overlooked. He often found himself darting be tween sites, relaying messages, and coordinating the various efforts of men, elves, and dwarves alike. His small figure became a familiar sight amidst the bustling crowds, a reassuring presence in the midst of all the chaos.

One chilly morning, Bilbo stood atop a scaffold, looking out over the bustling scene below. He could see Thorin in the distance, directing a group of dwarves as they hauled a massive stone into place. The king’s regal bearing and commanding presence were unmistakable, even from afar. Despite the challenges, Thorin's determination never wavered, and his leadership was inspiring to all. 

As Bilbo watched, he felt a surge of pride and happiness. The Lonely Mountain was slowly coming back to life, and he was a part of it. The thought warmed him against the biting wind. He knew there was still much to do, but with each passing day, the dream of a restored Erebor came closer to reality.

Below, in the bustling streets of Dale, Bard was equally busy. The townspeople respected him greatly for his leadership and bravery, and they followed his guidance as they worked to rebuild their homes. Bard’s efforts were focused not just on physical reconstruction but also on ensuring the people’s morale remained high. He often visited families, listened to their concerns, and offered words of encouragement.

Meanwhile, in the newly established farms, elves and women of Dale worked together, their hands deftly planting seeds and tending to the growing crops. The collaboration between elves and humans was a rare and beautiful sight, symbolizing the newfound alliances forged through shared hardship and respect.

Inside the mountain, Thorin’s company worked diligently. Balin, with his extensive knowledge of Erebor’s history and architecture, directed efforts to restore the grandeur of the palace halls. Dwalin, ever the warrior, took charge of reinforcing the defenses, ensuring that Erebor would be well-protected against any future threats. Fili and Kili, young and energetic, were always eager to lend a hand wherever needed, their enthusiasm infectious.

Bilbo’s frequent interactions with Thorin grew more meaningful each day. They shared brief, intense conversations about the progress and the future, their bond deepening with each encounter. The tension between them, a mix of unresolved feelings and mutual respect, simmered beneath the surface, adding an unspoken layer to their interactions.

Bilbo found himself gravitating toward Thorin more often than ever, and even more than when they were on their quest. Their exchanges had always been purposeful from the beginning, but lately, there was a bigger weight behind every single word they spoke. Thorin’s glances lingered just a moment too long, his tone even softer whenever he addressed Bilbo.

Once, while discussing the day’s progress, Thorin’s hand brushed against Bilbo’s as they both reached for the same blueprint. Bilbo felt his heart jump at the unexpected contact, but neither of them pulled away immediately. Thorin’s fingers hovered near his, a brief hesitation that sent a jolt of awareness between them.

“There’s still much work to be done,” Thorin said, his voice lower than usual, almost as if they were discussing something far more intimate than construction plans.

Bilbo cleared his throat, forcing his focus back on the scroll in front of him. “Yes,” he replied, his voice sounding steadier than he felt. “But we’ll manage.”

There was a moment of silence, the air thick with something Bilbo couldn’t quite name. Thorin stood just close enough that Bilbo could feel the heat radiating from his body, his presence grounding, yet it set Bilbo’s nerves on edge in a way he had never anticipated.

As the days passed, these small moments became harder to ignore. Thorin would stand just a little too close to Bilbo during their briefings, his gaze more intent than necessary when the hobbit spoke. Another time, after a long day, Thorin’s hand lingered on Bilbo’s shoulder just for a heartbeat longer than it should have, before he muttered a gruff “Good night” and disappeared into the darkness.

Bilbo found himself waiting for these fleeting touches, though he would never admit it aloud, and when Thorin’s gaze would meet his, steady and unyielding, Bilbo would feel something stir in the pit of his stomach—a mix of anxiety and anticipation, as if they were standing on the edge of something neither of them dared to speak of.

Then, one evening, as the sun dipped low, casting the mountains in hues of amber and crimson, Bilbo stood beside Thorin atop the palace. Below, the workers finished their tasks, the clatter of hammers gradually fading into the evening air. The silence between the two of them felt charged, not awkward, but thick with something that neither quite knew how to articulate or manifest.

“We’ve come a long way,” Thorin said at last, his voice low, almost thoughtful as his gaze fixed on the horizon.

Bilbo nodded, though his thoughts were far from the construction efforts. “And we still have a long way to go,” he replied, his voice steady despite the strange tightness in his chest. He glanced at Thorin from the corner of his eye, feeling the unspoken tension that lingered between them electrify the atmosphere.

Thorin turned then, his sapphire eyes resting on Bilbo with an intensity that made Bilbo’s heart race exponentially. There was something different in Thorin’s expression, something softer, more vulnerable. “I didn’t expect… to have come this far with you by my side,” Thorin murmured, his words deliberate, almost as though he was testing the weight of them. “Now, I cannot imagine seeing this through without you.”

The hobbit swallowed, caught off guard by the rawness in Thorin’s voice. His pulse quickened exponentially, a sudden warmth creeping up his neck. He didn’t know how to respond to that, at least not with words. “We’ll see it through,” Bilbo said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, though there was a determination in it. “Whatever comes… we’ll finish what we’ve started.”

The air between them grew heavier with the words unsaid, and the silence was charged with a tension that felt almost palpable. Thorin didn’t move, but the way he looked at Bilbo was enough to make the hobbit’s breath hitch. There was an intensity in his eyes, something that made the space between them feel smaller than it actually was. The world seemed to shrink for a moment, leaving just the two of them standing on the edge of something deeper.

Bilbo shifted, his heart pounding in his chest. The sun continued its descent, painting the sky in soft purples and golds, but neither of them moved to break the silence. It was as though they were waiting—both unsure of what exactly—but knowing that something was there, just beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged

“Thorin?” Balin called from afar. Thorin and Bilbo turned around and faced the white-beard dwarf. 

“Balin, is everything alright?” Thorin asked.

“Yes. There is someone waiting for you at the gates. He wishes to see you,” Balin answered.

“And who is this mysterious person you're talking about?” asked Thorin.

“Come see for yourself,” Balin teased. Thorin's expression changed to an inquisitive and serious one, but he still followed Balin. Bilbo was also really confused about who would be looking for Thorin right now. Could it be anyone dangerous?

When they got to the main entrance, both Bilbo and Thorin approached the gate carefully. A tall, lean figure was approaching them from the shadows. 

“Greetings, old friends,” the figure greeted, got closer, and revealed himself.

It was Gandalf.

Thorin and Bilbo couldn't believe their faces. He left shortly after the Battle of The Five Armies and said he would return at some point, but didn't say when. The dwarf and the hobbit ran to Gandalf and hugged him. After such a treacherous battle, the old wizard was delighted to see both of them alive and safe. 

“Gandalf!” Bilbo gasped, “I can't believe you're here!” 

“I wouldn't miss the rebuilding of the great Kingdom Under the Mountain,” said Gandalf happily. 

“It is a pleasure to have you here,” said Thorin, smiling. 

“I am honored by your hospitality, Your Majesty,” Gandalf kneeled in front of the dwarf to show him the uttermost respect. Bilbo decided to copy Gandalf, not really sure of what he was doing. Thorin was left speechless and didn't know how to react at the moment. 

“Well, thanks,” Thorin said awkwardly.

“Oh, Thorin, you haven't changed a bit,” Gandalf laughed, but the comment made Thorin feel very uneasy since Gandalf didn't know how badly Dragon Sickness affected him. Thorin and Bilbo then decided to show Gandalf around the palace. He was amazed by how quickly the construction progressed in just a couple of weeks, and congratulated both men on the efforts they placed into rebuilding Erebor.

“There is still a lot to be done,” Bilbo told Gandalf, “We haven't even started on reconstructing the back of the palace!”

“Well, I think that without Bilbo's great attentiveness to detail, the palace would be a horrendous mess,” said Thorin, looking attentively at Bilbo. The hobbit got flustered and smiled sheepishly at the dwarf king. Gandalf noticed this and simply smiled to himself, sensing the bounded connection these two men have developed. 

“Now, Bilbo, if you don’t mind, I need to have a little talk with Thorin about a very important matter and to get updated about the last few weeks I have been gone,” Gandalf told Bilbo. The hobbit simply smiled at both men and left the hallway, while the two men headed towards the great gates of the Throne Room. Once they were inside, Gandalf began speaking. 

“I can see that you two have become inseparable,” Gandalf said. Thorin slightly blushed and smiled. Thinking tenderly about his hobbit. 

“Well, you can put it that way,” said Thorin, “Bilbo was been such a skilled burglar… and an amazing person. We’ve grown close.”

“Oh, it’s very obvious,” Gandalf teased, “It looks like my decision on bringing Bilbo along with the Company on the quest has been a very asserted one.”

“It was,” replied Thorin,”At first, I underestimated Bilbo’s courage and abilities, but he proved that he was braver and more skilled than anyone I’ve fought with. He’s saved my life more times than I can count. I owe him... more than words can express.” Thorin’s voice faltered, hesitation creeping in.

Gandalf’s knowing smile widened as he watched the dwarf. “It’s clear that Bilbo means more to you than just his skill,” Gandalf said, his voice gentle.

Thorin remained silent for a moment, his thoughts veiled, but his feelings were unmistakable. In all the years Gandalf had known Thorin, he had never seen him care for anyone like this. Bilbo had become something of a lifeline for the dwarf king, and was even more valuable to him than the gold under the Lonely Mountain. 

“Well, Thorin, I did not just come to pay you a well deserved visit,” Gandalf said in a serious tone. “There are rumors circulating about another Orc attack around these lands. After the death of Azog and Borg, the Orcs seemed to have sworn revenge for the death of their leaders. There have already been a few raids down south and in the far west, near the Blue Mountains, but they will not stop until they get to Erebor no matter what.”

Thorin’s eyes filled with preoccupation and distress. Even if his features remained still, the way his blue eyes darkened conveyed the storm of emotions that just rose up from his mind. He clenched his jaw, the weight of his kingship settling heavily on his shoulders. Erebor was his responsibility— its people, his kin, the kingdom he had fought so long to reclaim. The threat of another Orc attack stirred a huge wave of anger within him, but alongside it came a pang of fear for those he cared about.

“They would dare challenge us again?” Thorin’s voice was low, almost a growl, as his hand tightened around the armrest of the throne. 

“The only thing these Orcs want is revenge, and would do anything to get it,” Gandalf said. “However… I also fear that there is something darker and more sinister behind all of this.”

Gandalf began talking about some of his discoveries in Don Guldur, how he met a being called the Necromancer, a strange entity that he later on discovered was another entity called Sauron. Gandalf did not go much into detail about Sauron, but even if Thorin did not get all of information and only heard rumors about him in the past, he could sense that the idea of his return was already very dangerous. 

“We’re… not entirely sure if Sauron is the one behind all of these attacks,” Gandalf said in a low voice. “ We are not even sure if he was the one who intentionally sent Azog to kill you, but if Sauron is indeed orchestrating all this chaos, his return is inevitable. The only question is when he will return, and how prepared we will be”

Gandalf’s words hung in the air like a stormy cloud, heavy and foreboding. Thorin remained silent for a moment, the weight of the crown feeling heavier than usual. The torches in the throne room shone against the polished turquoise walls, but the light seemed to dim with the breaking news. 

“We cannot afford another war,” Thorin finally said, his voice low but steady. “Erebor has just begun to rebuild. There’s been enough suffering for us all.”

Gandalf’s keen eyes softened, sensing the inner turmoil within the dwarf king. “I understand your reluctance, Thorin, but you must also understand that this is no ordinary war. Sauron is no ordinary foe. His power can spread like a sickness, corrupting everything in its path. We aren’t very sure why Sauron wishes to return, but no matter what happens, it will affect ALL of Middle Earth.”

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before continuing, “Sauron is not simply after a kingdom or gold. He craves dominion over all of Middle Earth. His darkness doesn’t merely destroy…it enslaves. Those who fall under his influence become mere shadows of themselves, twisted and bent to his will.”

Thorin’s brow furrowed deeply. "You speak of him like some kind of god. How could one being hold so much power?"

Gandalf sighed. "It is not just his mighty influence on the battlefield that makes him dangerous, Thorin. He wields fear like a weapon, preying on the weaknesses and desires of others. Once, long ago, he deceived even the most powerful of rulers with gifts: the Rings of Power. They were meant to strengthen their bearers, but in reality, they were chains, binding them to Sauron’s will."

The mention of the Rings caused Thorin to straighten, the ancient stories rising from the depths of his mind, pressing on his consciousness. “The Rings,” Thorin murmured, eyes narrowing. “I’ve heard of their power… even the Dwarves weren’t immune.”

Gandalf nodded solemnly. “Yes, the seven given to the Dwarf lords were not as easily controlled as those of Men, but they still brought ruin. Their greed became greater… that endless pursuit of wealth made them more vulnerable to fall. Your people have always been resistant to domination, Thorin, but the pull of power—of gold— can corrupt even the strongest hearts.”

Thorin’s jaw clenched as the truth behind those words stirred something within him. The memory of his own family’s fall to dragon-sickness still fresh in his heart. His own fall to that wretched sickness also gnawed at his heart, filling it with the guilt of almost making Erebor crumble completely to pieces. 

"Erebor nearly fell once to the lust for gold," Thorin said quietly, his eyes hardening. "I will not let that happen again."

“That is why you must prepare,” Gandalf urged. “The fate of Erebor and more is at stake. If Sauron indeed rises, the lands of Men, Elves, and Dwarves will all fall in turn. There will be no safe haven… not even here.”

Thorin’s gaze fell to the golden floor beneath him, his fists tightening at his sides. He had always fought for his people, for his homeland, but now, he realized the fight was larger than he had ever imagined. It wasn’t just about Erebor anymore, but about the entire world. His heart weighed heavy, but he also knew that he could not run from this fight at all. 

“And what would you have me do?” Thorin asked, his voice gruff, yet steady. “I will not abandon my people, but if what you say is true… What chance do we have against such a force?”

Gandalf smiled slightly, though his expression remained serious. “I do not ask you to fight alone, Thorin. There are others who will stand with you: Elves, Men, Dwarves, and even Hobbits. You must forge alliances, and unite with the free peoples of Middle Earth. This battle cannot be won by one race alone. The only way we can possibly fight this foe when he returns is together.”

Thorin considered Gandalf’s words, the tension in his shoulders easing only slightly. "If it is alliances we need, then I will speak with more Elves and the Men. Erebor will not stand alone in this fight."

Gandalf nodded approvingly. "That is a wise course of action, Thorin Oakenshield, but remember, Sauron’s strength lies not only in his armies, but in the fear he instills. If we stand united, with courage and resolve, we can resist him, but if we let fear divide us, all will be lost."

“We must do everything to prevent that,” Thorin said with determination, though fear was installed in his oceanic eyes. “We cannot be further divided… not now.”

Gandalf’s eyes softened even more, sensing the inner conflict brewing within Thorin. He took a deep breath, knowing what he had to reveal next would strike at the heart of the dwarf king standing in front of him.

“There’s… something else, Thorin,” Gandalf said, his voice dropping to a more somber tone.

Thorin’s brow furrowed in confusion as Gandalf’s demeanor shifted.

“During my time in Dol Guldur, I encountered a tortured soul,” Gandalf began, his eyes dropping. “It was your father…Thrain.”

Thorin stiffened, his hands tightening into fists. “My father? You’ve seen him?”

Gandalf nodded gravely. “I found him imprisoned there, broken in both body and spirit. He had been taken by the Necromancer’s forces many years ago.”

Thorin’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing. “But why…how could this happen?” His voice was thick with a mixture of disbelief and anguish. 

Thorin knew Thrain had survived the Battle of Moria because he never found his body among the fallen, but he never knew where his father went. Some said that Thrain was driven mad by greed and went missing, while others said he was dead. Either way, Thorin never found him, or even a trace of him, which limited his search for his father, and led him to think he was most likely dead. 

Gandalf began speaking again. “We all know that Thrain went missing during the Battle of Azanulbizar, but we never knew where he went. I found out that he wandered into the Dimrill gate after the battle, where he was captured by Orcs and taken to Dol Guldur as a prisoner. He was tortured by the enemy to get information about the whereabouts of the map to the Lonely Mountain, and the key to the kingdom. However, he did not want the gold…. He wanted the Ring of Power that was passed down to Thror, and Sauron captured it.”

“Why would he want that ring?” Thorin asked. “Why would Sauron even need….” Thorin’s voice faltered as realization hit him. He remembered the old Elvish poem he heard when he was a child:

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them…

“The seven…” Thorin murmured. “Sauron… he wants them. He wants the Rings! He’s…”

Gandalf nodded gravely. “Yes. He seeks to reclaim them all, to regain his power, and the worst is yet to come, Thorin.” Gandalf’s eyes met Thorin’s deep blue, filled with sorrow. “Thrain… your father did not survive his imprisonment. He died there, in Dol Guldur.”

Thorin froze, the weight of the words sinking into him like a blade. “Dead?” His voice cracked, disbelief and grief flooding him. “He… he is gone?”

“Yes,” Gandalf said, his tone soft, yet unwavering. “I tried to save him, but I was too late. The torment he endured… broke him. By the time I found him, he had little strength left. His mind was shattered, yet he remembered you. He spoke of you before the end, Thorin.”

Thorin’s face was stone, the anguish beneath barely held at bay. His father, his blood, lost not in battle, but to Sauron’s darkness.

“And he was alone…” Thorin whispered, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “All those years… alone.”

“I am so sorry, Thorin,” Gandalf whispered. 

Thorin’s fists clenched, his knuckles white as a storm brewed in his heart. “Alone in that wretched place, tortured for information that would only serve the Enemy. I should have searched harder, fought harder to find him.”

“Do not blame yourself,” Gandalf said gently. “No one could have known about Sauron’s demise easily.”

“At least I could have tried!” Thorin exploded, slamming his fist against the stone table with a resounding crack. His chest heaved heavily with fury and grief, which was pouring itself  out in waves. “I should have honored his memory! Instead, I let him be forgotten—let his suffering continue while I lived, while I… believed him lost to madness or death. I let him down, Gandalf. I let my father down.” 

Gandalf watched Thorin for a long moment, his heart heavy with sorrow for the dwarf before him. “You did not know, Thorin,” he said softly, his voice full of understanding. “Your father’s fate was not yours to bear alone. Sauron’s darkness has touched many, and even the bravest of us would have been powerless to prevent it.”

Thorin shook his head, his breath ragged. “But I should have been there. I should have done more. I should have known…”

“Grief clouds all our minds, even the strongest ones,” Gandalf continued, his voice unwavering but full of compassion. “But your father’s memory lives on in you, in the choices you make now. That is how you honor him, not by carrying the burden of his death, but by living in his name, by fighting against the very evil that took him.”

Thorin stood still, Gandalf’s words washing over him, but he could not shake the weight of his guilt. He could almost see his father’s face now, haggard and broken, trapped in the darkness of Dol Guldur… Alone.

“He spoke of you, Thorin,” Gandalf added gently. “He was proud of you, and he loved you. He wanted you to know that.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Thorin’s rage subsided into a heavy, aching sorrow. He let out a long, trembling breath, his gaze fixed on the floor. His father’s shadow loomed over him, but now, he knew what had to be done.

“There is still hope in this world, Thorin Oakenshield,” said Gandalf, breaking the silence, “You are hope itself. With you as ruler of Erebor, the people of Middle Earth will slowly begin to trust again. Your victory at the Battle of the Five Armies is spreading like wild fire across the lands.”

Thorin simply nodded silently, feeling the intense pressure of his role as king heavy on his back. The dwarf always desired to rule Erebor someday, but actually facing that reality felt even more daunting and intimidating than ever. 

“I know I have to do this, but I wonder how I will be able to rule over this kingdom if I do not even have hope in myself,” Thorin replied in a tone of surrender. 

Gandalf looked at Thorin with a mixture of compassion and firmness. “Thorin, the strength of a king is not measured by the absence of doubt, but by his ability to rise above it. You have faced dragons and armies with courage. Now, you must face your own fears with the same resolve. Hope is not something you find, it is something you create. And it is clear to me, and to all who follow you, that you have the power to do so.”

The wizard smiled gently, seeing the realization dawning in Thorin's eyes. “Exactly, Thorin. You have always had the strength within you. It’s the same strength that led you to reclaim Erebor and to protect those you care about. Now, that strength must guide you as a ruler.”

Thorin’s mind lingered on that thought for a while. Gandalf did have a point about how hope is something that is created, yet the task felt so difficult to Thorin. He has faced thousands of foes in the last 24 years since Erebor’s capture and today, but how? He wasn’t so sure how he actually found the strength to do so, but he actually did. That courage in him was still inside him, stirring his body and his heart. Thorin soon enough realized that he was the one who created that wave of moving energy that gave him the courage to face any threats, and he could use it to face his fears and weave veins of hope.

He was the only one who could change his destiny.

He was the architect of his own destiny (1). 

The battle was finally over, and now, it was time to face the real challenges ahead: to rule Erebor. It was finally time to do what he wished to since his use of reason, time to face what was soon to come once and for all.

Gandalf placed a reassuring hand on Thorin's shoulder. “Remember, Thorin, you are not alone. You have your kin, your friends, and allies by your side. Trust in them, as they trust in you. Together, you will rebuild this kingdom, and hope will flourish once more.”

Thorin looked into Gandalf's wise eyes and felt a renewed sense of determination. “Thank you, Gandalf.”

Gandalf nodded, his eyes twinkling with pride and affection. “Then go forth, Thorin Oakenshield, and lead your people into a brighter future. The road will be difficult, but I have no doubt that you will succeed.”

With those words, Thorin felt a surge of resolve. He turned to face the vast halls of Erebor, the kingdom he had fought so hard to reclaim. The challenges ahead were daunting, but with hope and drive, he knew he would lead his people to greatness.

***

Notes: 1. Amado Nervo, a Mexican poet, wrote "porque veo al final de mi rudo camino / que yo fui el arquitecto de mi propio destino," meaning "because I see at the end of my rough road / that I was the architect of my own destiny."

one true ending