The moon hung over the heads of the thirteen dwarves, the wizard, and the small Hobbit. The ponies and singular horses tied against the trees while a fire burned in the centre of the large group. Each one discussing their day with one another and the lingering discussions of the day. Curious on what one another would do if they were truly able to return home and reclaim Erebor.

Gandalf sat a few meters from the others, smoking his pipe and muttering to himself. Thorin was standing close to the cliff, eyeing the horizon for any danger that could come near his kin, Fili and Kili were sat by one another, talking and joking with one another while puffing on their pipes. Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur were working on the fire while one of them cut up the vegetables they stole from a farmer. Balin and Dwalin were seated by one another, discussing the stories of Thorin Oakensheild to entertain the scared Bilbo. Ori, Nori, and Dori were sitting beside one another, listening to the story as well, about how Thorin defeated the White Orc...or so they thought. Oin was happily staring towards the stars while Gloin stared at the small drawing he had of his son and wife. Missing them both dearly.

"His armour bent, weilding nothing but an oak branch as a shield." Balin certainly had a way of telling a story to keep everyone entertained while thinking highly of his leader and King. "Azog the Defiler had learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken." Almost everyone looked at Thorin and his two nephews. "Our forces rallied and drove the orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated. But there was no feast nor song that night for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived. And I thought to myself then, there is one who I could follow. There is one I could call King."