In the heart of the Lonely Mountain's keep,
The armies gathered, fierce and deep.
Dwarves and Men, Elves in tow,
To face their foes, and deal the blow.

At the fore, Thorin stood tall,
Oakenshield, brave and loyal to all.
With sword in hand, he led the charge,
Against the Orcs, he showed no fear or mirage.

With every swing, his strength did show,
As foes fell back, and heroes did grow.
But as the battle raged on and on,
The tides of fate were soon to dawn.

For in the fray, Thorin did meet,
His nemesis, Azog the Defeat.
A fierce battle of strength and will,
As they fought, the air was still.

The dwarves fought on, with all their might,
But Thorin's fate was sealed that night.
For as the dawn did slowly break,
Oakenshield's life did swiftly take.

With tears in their eyes, they mourned their king,
As he lay still, a broken thing.
But Thorin died a hero's death,
His deeds remembered with every breath.

For he did fight, with all his might,
And in his death, he won the fight.
A warrior true, he'll never fade,
In tales of old, his name engraved.
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