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The Storytellers and the Bards will find much to sing about the fall of Smaug and the Great Battle of Five Armies.

They will tell of Bard’s courage and his keen eye, for it was his skill with the bow that brought down the Dragon.

They will tell of the gold-madness overcoming Thorin Oakenshield, the curse of Durin’s Line, brought by Sauron’s spite.  And how it too seemed to infect the Men of Dale and the Elves of Mirkwood and nearly pushed them all into a war that would have had Men and Elves pitted against Dwarves.

They will speak about the daring of the little Hobbit Burglar, Bilbo Baggins, who sought to prevent bloodshed by trading the Arkenstone of Erebor, heirloom of the Line of Durin, to the Men and Elves in exchange for the lives of his Dwarven friends and companions. 

They will sing about the armies of orcs on their wargs and goblins and how their arrival instead brought Dwarves, Men and Elves to ally together against a common foe. 

There would be many things to tell, of great deeds and courage and honor in battle.

But no song, no story, could capture that terrible moment when Thorin had cast out one he would have called beloved and consort, naming him instead as traitor and betrayer and renouncing all ties of love and friendship between them. 

There would be no song or story when Fili and Kili, angered by the treatment of the burglar and friend who had saved their lives so many times on their Quest, would raise their voices in rage against their beloved uncle.  That it would be Dwalin and Balin who would intervene between uncle and nephews.  That Bifur would call his own King a faithless fool, which carried so much more weight in his ancient Khuzdul and it would be Bombur, not Bofur, who would make the apologies for their kinsman for so grave an insult.  And it would be Dori, Nori and Ori who would try to mend the sudden rift in their Company, suddenly bereft of its Heart. 

The Dwarves of Thorin Oakenshield’s company would still follow their King into battle, loyal despite it all.  But no song will mention how they looked for their Burglar, praying that he was not in the midst of this carnage, even as they fought against the orcs and goblins. 

There would be songs of how Kili stood alone to defend his wounded brother, who had shielded their uncle with his own body from orc arrows.  But no song would ever mention that this was the moment that had snapped Thorin out of his gold-madness, that his sister-sons’ lives would be forfeit for his folly. 

They would sing that Thorin fought like a berserker to save his sister-sons, his beloved nephews.  But there would be no song for the strange sight of a flashing blue blade, the size of which was more of a letter opener, that had hamstrung and brought down many an orc that had tried to get close to the Durins.  A flashing blue blade wielded by an invisible hand would be too fanciful even for the most imaginative Storyteller. 

They would sing that Thorin Oakenshield would bring down Azog, the Pale Orc at last - Orcrist the Goblin Cleaver claiming its rightful prey.  But here, the stories and the songs would differ.  Because Azog had raised his own weapon to strike a fatal blow against Thorin but had hit some invisible thing that had stood between him and the Dwarf King and had given Thorin the chance to strike true and avenge his grandfather and father and brother at last. 

There would be no song of the moments that Thorin had frantically spent searching the battlefield for his - oh Mahal curse him for a faithless fool - Hobbit.  Because although Thorin could not see Bilbo - he had sensed the Hobbit’s presence and knew that it was Bilbo who had saved him once again.  Despite Thorin’s ingratitude, his anger, his own betrayal, Bilbo had stayed.  And had fought for them, though he was no warrior. 

And just then, Thorin had remembered how pale and wan the Hobbit had looked, that he had trembled so, when Thorin had threatened to throw him down the mountainside.  And he remembered that Bilbo would still take ill in the mornings - nerves Bilbo had said - but Thorin had worried then and had meant to persuade Bilbo to speak to Oin yet again about it but… so many things had happened.

There would be no story told of how the Dwarf King had found the Hobbit, who had, by some strange gift he had somehow mysteriously acquired, retained enough presence of mind to suddenly appear, lying amidst a pile of goblin bodies.  The mithril armor that Thorin had once given him had taken the brunt of Azog’s strike but his trousers were soaked with blood, despite the lack of a visible wound. 

There would be no tale told of the grief that had taken Thorin Oakenshield when Bilbo hovered between life and death, having paid for the lives of the Dwarf King and his nephews with the life of the unborn child he had unknowingly carried.

The child, that had he or she had lived to be born, would have called Thorin father.

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