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Thorin starts the day like every other since he has reclaimed his throne in Erebor, after a long time standing at death’s door and finally not stepping through.
He puts on his clothes. He braids his hair, his beard. He dons the crown. He listens to the morning report from Balin. He takes care of any urgent business before breaking fast.
Then he takes a stroll through Erebor, a different one every day. His feet carry him through the mountain, past bowing dwarrows, under high crystalline ceilings or through dark tunnels.
Always, without fail his journey ends at the same place.
Sometimes he thinks the mountain itself strives to remind him of his sins. Sometimes he thinks his forefathers designed the maze of their home to enforce the memory of their roots, those who came beofre.
Thorin knows this trail of thought to be false - recently this place housed those who came after.
It is a dark place, despite being situated within the top of the mountain to let day-light reach the cold, sparkling stone-slabs. It is a cold place, rainbows of light filtered through gems and reflected on precious metals painted on the walls.
He should have listened to Fili.
Fili, the older, the one designated his heir, his sister-son and almost (but not quite) his own son through nurture.
One dreary evening Thorin had nearly taken off Fili’s head during fighting lessons.
“I don’t need to learn this. I should learn a smith’s work or another craft. It would be more profitable than this.”
“We have a life, Uncle, we do not need another one.”
“Erebor’s beyond our reach, we could live here, peacefully! Why risk injury or death for a long-gone dream?!”
He had raged at Fili and the boy (even with a beard, grown, he would always, always be his boy) had stormed off and then come back quivering under his disappointed gaze, apologized.
Kili had delighted in being favoured for a while.
Fili had seen the truth.
Had he listened to his - his - sister-son (never quite sons, but sons all the same, the both of them) he would still have them.
He hadn’t.
He didn’t.
Afterwards he always took the direct path to the throne-room.
He sat on the throne made of stone and talked to his people and listened to their concerns. He sat on his throne made of stone and received lauded envoys and high guests.
He sat on his throne made of stone and thought of his throne made of hay in a small smithy with his sister-sons on his knees.