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It had been days since the dragon was slain in Lake Town, but only a day since Fili, Kili, Bofur and Oin arrived unharmed to the mountain. Thorin remembered their arrival in a haze, just like many of the things that happened after the moment he thought his nephews died and he turned to searching the arkenstone. He was determined to find the relic, and his sister-sons return only solidified his profound belief of the rightfulness of his actions. But not a full day has passed, and the blasted wizard arrived, galloping on his horse inside the mountain like he owned the place, easily jumping over what defenses the dwarves had already built.
"So arrives he, who abandoned us to travel through forest infested with elven scum," Thorin sneered at the wizard, not waiting for him to dismount. If Thorin was honest with himself, he didn't want to give the wizard a chance to explain himself, he only wanted him to be gone. But Gandlaf only scowled at him, carefully supporting the hooded lump that Thorin hadn't noticed at first.
"Reserve your judgments to when you see whom I brought here," Gandalf bit out and slid off his mount, carefully helping down the person, shrouded in the wizard's cloack. The person in question was clearly of dwarven height, now when the king paid attention. What other dwarf would the wizard bring, and at what purpose? His interest was piqued.
But then the figure was gently lifted from the horse and put on the ground, and Thorin saw thin bare legs flash between the folds. Gandalf supported the dwarf, as he moved to take the cape off their head.
When the dwarf in question took off the cape, Thorin couldn't understand whom he was seeing. His long beard was unkept, hair completely grey and in disarray. He was wizened and could barely stand without Gandalf's hand on his back. But Mahal's beard, the tattoos on his face were familiar, only Thorin couldn't place them where he had seen--
"Thorin?" the dwarf in question spoke, looking directly at him. Somewhere in the background Balin loudly gasped, and was followed by even louder curse from Dwalin. But Thorin couldn't understand their reactions, surely some old dwarf--
"Do you recognize me?" Dwarf asked, stumbling forward, and Bilbo, who only moments before was at Thorin's side, was now catching the dwarf's hand, was helping him move forward. "My son, do you still remember me?"
And then it hit Thorin. The tattoos, those were his father's inkings, stretching over his brow and nose. But how this bent low, starved dwarf could be his father?
"I had to abandon you to go to Dol Guldur, the stronghold of evil to the south from Erebor," the wizard spoke, still close to the dwarf's side, despite the fact, that Bilbo was now helping him to get closer to Thorin. "And I found him. Azog must have brought him there."
Thorin looked from the wizard, feeling his face go slack at the thought. The dwarf in question almost approached him now.
"You forgot me?" There were hurt and resignation in his voice, and it was it that finally pushed the dwarf into reaction, snapping him out of whatever haze he was in.
"Never," he cried and marched the remaining few steps forward, but his legs wouldn't hold him and he fell to his knees, Thrain joining him on the stone floor moments later, and pressing his brow to Thorin's, putting one frail hand on top of Thorin's head in such a familiar, parental gesture, that Thorin wanted to weep.
Another shacking hand found his, and squeezed it, as if trying to give him some comfort.
Thorin couldn't breathe, his throat was closed off, as he tried to suck in breath. But instead only ugly sobs kept tearing from inside of him, stealing the last of air in his lungs. He pushed harder against the forehead of another dwarf, desperately wishing for the contact to never end.
"I searched for you," he finally managed to gasp, voice thick with tears and barely recognizable. "I kept searching--"
He was dimly aware that the two of them are not alone, that the wizard is in the same room, that the company was hovering further down the hall, that Bilbo was standing right beside them, but none of it mattered except for this old, thin, unkept and tortured dwarf.
"I am so glad you are alive," the dwarf murmured, and his voice was too strange, reedy and quiet from disuse, so unlike unforgettable roar it used to be. But it was still familiar, still Thorin recognized it."I am so grateful that my son is alive."
"Father..."
Thorin couldn't stop himself, he hugged the dwarf, hiding his face in the crook of his shoulder, hiding away from the world in the arms of his father, his father he never gave up on.
Thorin kept gasping for air, but how could he stop his anguish when his father, his father that everyone thought to be dead was alive?
There were rustling and hasty steps and Thorin realized that he was left most likely alone with Thrain.
"My brave, foolish boy," Thrain was whispering into his hair, shakily stroking it.
"Everyone thought you dead," the younger dwarf whispered. "But I knew, I should have searched har--"
"Stop it, son," his father leant away, and looked straight into Thorin's eyes. "You wouldn't be able to save me, and I am glad you never found me. It is not your fault."
Thorin didn't know how to react to the avalanche of feelings that suddenly absorbed him, so instead he said: "I reclaimed Erebor. We returned our homeland. I did what grandfather did, father."
But instead of pride there were sadness and pain in his father's eyes.
"My son, I only regret to never telling you that you didn't have to live up to Thror's ambitions," Thrain took Thorin's face into his dry hands and leant their forehead together once more. "You deserve much better than living with shadows of dead men behind your shoulders. I never wanted you to become Thror. I wanted you to be you."
Thorin closed his eyes, soaking in the sensation of being next to his father, hearing his voice, and, most importantly, having him alive. It was a miracle, a blessing.
“When no one else was around they needed someone strong. How could I fail them?” Thorin whispered after a moment.
Thrain didn’t reply, and they set in silence for a very long time.