goldentickle - Tumblr blog

goldentickle · 2 years

Text

adieu mon homme | fili chapter 2

I grumble as he pushes past me, his shoulder moving me to the side. “Thank you, miss.” He smiles slyly.

“I don’t recall inviting you in,” I try to step back in his way.

Instead he tosses a heap of weapons into my arms, sending me toppling backwards into the wall of the foyer.

“Be careful with those. I just had them sharpened,” he walks past me curtly.

“Oops.” I drop them onto the floor, each sword and dagger clattering as they make contact with the hard wood flooring. “My bad.”

It is hard not to smile as I watch his face contort in anger.

“I told you I just had them sharpened!” Fili tries to control his temper, a muscle in his jaw ticking against his fury.

“I’m sure you can have them sharpened again,” I dust my hands off on my faded blue skirt, the grime from Fili’s weapons transferring onto the material. “Would you look at that? My skirt is ruined!”

“Fili, let’s not be rude to our host!” His brother scorns playfully from where he pries off his boots, using Bilbo’s mother’s glory box as leverage.

“Hey! I wouldn’t do that if I were you-“ I am cut off, being shoved aside by Dwalin as he walks in to greet Fili and Kili.

Bilbo walks up next to me, clearly in need of a nap. I don’t blame him. I consider myself to be in the same situation.

“Whatever are we going to do,” he grumbles as the dwarves advance onward to the dining room, food already scattered across the once clean table.

“Let’s shove this in the hole, or otherwise we’ll never get everyone in,” Balin commands them to move one of the tables into the living room.

Bilbo almost bursts a blood vessel and yet he still keeps tight reins on his temper. “Ev…everyone?! How many more are there?”

I almost scream at the sound of yet another knock at the door, my own temper reaching its limits as Bilbo stomps towards the door.

In comparison to his rather measly attempts of getting the situation under control, his outburst is uncharacteristic of him. “Oh, no! No, no. There’s nobody home! Go away, and bother somebody else! There’s far too many dwarves in my dining room as it is. If…if this is some blockhead’s idea of a joke, I can only say, it is in very poor taste!”

The moment I turn around towards the door, dwarves flood in, their faces smushed onto the floor as they pile on top of each other.

“Good God,” I mutter under my breath. “Could this have happened at a worse time?”

I bend down to help a dwarf off of his friend, earning a warm smile. I nod cordially as I bite back the pain in my ankle. I really should listen to Dwalin and get some ice for it, but Bilbo’s sanity is a far more pressing concern at the moment.

“Gandalf,” Bilbo sighs, not in relief, but in annoyance as the tall grey wizard pokes his head into the doorway.

Gandalf the Grey is a legend here in the Shire, his fireworks marking the greatest celebrations in hobbit history. Having never seen him in real life, until now I didn’t think he existed, honestly. But seeing him tower over the dwarves, them not even reaching his waist, I know it is him, that he is the real deal.

“Gandalf?” I gasp. “As in the wizard?”

“Oh yes, Brindle Took. As in the wizard,” he bellows, stepping over a red haired dwarf on his way into the house.

As Bilbo goes on and on to the dwarves about being careful with his utensils and decorations, I stand in front of Gandalf, as if someone of my stature could possibly stop him in his tracks. “Are you sure you’re at the right house?” I know that the question is lost. Such a wizard wouldn’t mix up houses like this. He wouldn’t send dwarves flocking to some stranger’s house.

“Yes, I am. I even put that delightful little mark there earlier myself. Had to make sure our guests knew where to come,” he explains, avoiding hitting his head on the hanging chandelier above.

“Excuse me, Mr. Gandalf?” One of the dwarves asks Gandalf, this one with kind eyes and a smile.

“Yes, Dori?” Gandalf leans his weight on his staff. I look between the dwarf and the wizard. Before today I hadn’t seen neither and now I feel as though I could go the rest of my life without seeing another one of each.

“Could I tempt you with a cup of chamomile?” He asks, reaching his mug upwards towards Gandalf who waves him off.

“No thank you. I’d rather have some red wine.” I see the smile in the wrinkles beside his eyes. Disregarding me, he begins to tally each dwarf, counting each on his hand. “Uh..Fili, Kili. Uh…Oin, Gloin. Dwalin, Balin. Bifur, Bofur, Bombur. Dori, Nori…” He looks around, his grey eyes wide, as if he is missing something. “Ori!”

I don’t offer to help him find whatever it may be, I just look at him blankly.

“Yes, you are quite right, Bifur. We appear to be one dwarf short.”

Dwalin pipes in from the other room, “He is late, is all. He traveled north to a meeting of our kin, he will come.”

“More?” I mumble to myself, running a hand through my knotted curls, and I suddenly find myself remembering that I hadn’t even brushed my hair yet.

“Mr. Gandalf?” The earlier dwarf with the kind eyes hands Gandalf a wine glass.

My attention is lost when a cup of ale is thrust into my hands rather roughly. “Excuse me?” I look up at Fili, who is holding a lot more glasses than should be physically possible.

“Loosen up! Drinks on the house!” He jokes, earning a rather stern glare as he passes out more cups of ale.

“On the house?” I scoff, my grip on my cup turning white. “I thought you had reached your limits of stupidity, but every time you open your mouth I am yet again astounded.”

“My point exactly. Stop being such a priss. This party is supposed to be fun.” Fili winks a blue eye at me, earning a cool green glare.

I will strangle you, I want to say.

Before I can voice my frustrations properly, he walks away, leaving me in his dust.

Asshole.

My sanity is spent by the time the dishes are clean.

And yet another knock sounds on the door. That sound is going to live in my nightmares for the next decade, I’m sure.

“I am going to end my very life with this fork-” I grumble, picking up the stray utensil and slumping my head against the wall.

“Don’t be dramatic,” a dwarf says.

I don’t think I’m being dramatic, I grumble internally, rubbing my temples with the pads of my fingers.

Maybe I should have gone home when Bilbo kicked me out. The thought sneaks into my mind like a solicitor trying to sell me new shingles that I don’t even need. Maybe further injuring my ankle would have been worth it to maintain my blood pressure.

“He is here,” Gandalf gasps as the dwarves fall silent, something that I had doubted they could do at all.

“Who? Another dwarf,” I mutter under my breath.

The dwarves huddle around the door as if they are about to receive a king, someone worthy of such an entrance. I can’t help but climb atop a chair to observe, to see what all the commotion is about, see who is the mysterious he that Gandalf was awaiting.

The door opens and yet another dwarf stands in the doorway, in full armor and furs, as if he had stepped out of a storybook. His dark hair is braided in places as is his beard.

“Gandalf,” he greets with a rather quick nod. “You said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way. Twice.”

Okay, so he’s not the king that I thought he was going to be. He is just a normal dwarf. As normal as a dwarf can be. He just so happens to have a terrible sense of direction.

“I wouldn’t have found it at all if it weren’t for the mark on the door.”

With that, Bilbo goes ballistic. “Mark? What mark? There’s no mark on that door. It was painted a week ago,” he reasons, approaching Gandalf and the door.

“There is a mark,” Gandalf retorts. “I put it there myself. Bilbo Baggins, let me introduce the leader of our company: Thorin Oakenshield.” Gandalf ignores my presence, as it is clearly unexpected.

Thorin, the dwarves’ leader, looks Bilbo up and down with unmistakeable judgement in his eyes. “So… This is the hobbit. Tell me, Mr. Baggins. Have you done much fighting?”

I hesitate to laugh. Bilbo, the sweet tempered cousin of mine is not one to fight.

He scoffs, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “Excuse me?”

“Axe or sword? What is your weapon of choice.” Thorin begins to circle Bilbo, as a lion does his prey.

Flustered, Bilbo flushes a deep pink. “Well I do have some skill at conkers… but I fail to see how that is relevant.”

Thorin makes a clicking sound against his teeth. “Just as I thought. He looks more like a grocer than burglar.”

I furrow my brows and get down from the chair upon which I was standing as they continue to speak amongst themselves.

What business do they have with Bilbo? Why are they being so judgemental?

All hobbits are alike in that aspect. We aren’t creatures of battle, we are country folk. We pride ourselves on our cooking skills, not our talent with an axe or sword. If they wanted a hobbit, they should have considered that. Adventure isn’t something we do regularly, maybe once in a century. But even so, that is generally just a trip to a bordering town and a bar brawl then we call it a day.

From my thoughts, I am drawn as Gandalf waves Bilbo to the table where all of the dwarves are now sitting.

Invisible, I seem to have turned against the dimly lit walls upon which shadows cross from Bilbo’s candle.

Gandalf’s voice rumbles throughout the room, casting a spell on each and every one of us. Our minds are enraptured in his words. “Far to the East, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak.”

I can’t help but interject. “The Lonely Mountain.” I kick myself up off of the wall and lean over a dwarf to look at the map sprawled over the table.

One of the dwarves nods, making brief eye contact with me. “Aye, Oin has read the portents, and the portents say: it is time.”

Time for what? I leave my question unasked as another dwarf continues on with that he was saying.

“Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold. When the birds of the old return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end,” he explains.

Beast? They don’t like to explain things now, do they? I furrow my brows as I grow more and more confused, my mind jumbling up both fact and myth into one pile of information that I can’t possibly sort through.

Erebor rings familiarity in my head. Dwarves. Erebor. Beast. They all seem so familiar but I can’t make the dots connect in my head.

“What beast?” Bilbo asks, the light shaking against the wall as he leans over Thorin’s shoulder.

A dwarf with a funny looking leather hat nods, leaning against the back of his chair. “Well that would be a reference to Smaug the terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks, extremely fond of precious metals.”

“Yes, I know what a dragon is,” Bilbo retorts.

The side of my mouth kicks up at Bilbo’s sudden attitude. I rarely saw this side of him.

Ori stands from his seat, his hands pressed against the table. “I’m not afraid, I’m up for it. I’ll give him a taste of the dwarfish iron right up his jacksy!”

I don’t even know what Smaug is, but I know that isn’t a good idea. Turns out the rest of the dwarves aren’t in agreement with me as they cheer him on.

Balin waves the commotion away, “The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us, but we number just thirteen, and not thirteen of the best, nor brightest.”

Bursting in commotion once again, Fili’s voice rises above the rest of theirs, “We may be few in number. But we’re fighters, all of us! To the last dwarf!”

Kili adds, “and you forget we have a wizard in our company, Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time.”

Thorin stands when their voices rise above a decipherable level.

I remain standing back against the wall, trying to become even more invisible, if that is possible. Fascinating as it is, I feel as though I am eavesdropping where I wasn’t invited.

“Enough! If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look East to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected.” He slams a fist down onto the table and I jump. “Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?”

The talk of adventure makes something in me bubble, almost boil. My stomach, although full of food, feels empty except for the electric air inside that I feel might escape at any second.

I sigh and lean my head against the wall, imagining what Erebor would look like. The sun would shine on the mountain’s peak, fragmenting into beautiful rays of light. The snow would fall gracefully from the sky and I’d catch the flakes on my tongue. It would be so cold it would burn. I have never seen snow before…

“What about her?” A dwarf grabs my attention by pointing a gloved finger at me.

“Hm?” I blink out of my thoughts. “What about me?”

“Are you a burglar?” The dwarf repeats.

“No, I’m a Took.” I shake my head. “Why do you ask?”

Thorin shakes his head and mutters something indecipherably. “Very well. We’ll do it your way. Hand Mr. Baggins the contract.”

I turn to Gandalf. “What is happening?” I ask, looking at Bilbo unravel a rather lengthy piece of paper.

“They want to take him on their adventure,” he nods. “He’s going to be their burglar.”

“Burglar?” I choke out a laugh. “Bilbo? I don’t think that is going to happen.”

“What? Would you do it instead?” Gandalf quirks an eyebrow.

I bite my lip, looking down at my hands, unmarked by a day’s work. “I don’t think I’d be much of a help, but given the chance, I think I’d like to go.”

“Well, I’m a bad influence, all of the hobbits say, so don’t take my word for it. But I think we could use more people on the journey. You never know what could happen.”

I look at him. “Are you inviting me on the journey? Would that fly with their fearless leader over there?” I nod my head towards Thorin.

“If I can connect it to the glory of Durin, I’m sure it would.” Gandalf chuckles as he looks at Bilbo faint, reading the contract. “Oh dear. It seems your cousin isn’t taking kindly to the contract.”

“Are you being serious about this? Can I come?” I don’t know why I’m asking, but something in me jumps at the rope that fate has thrown me. Maybe I could see Erebor. Maybe I could see something beyond the rolling hills of the Shire. Maybe there is more to the world than dinner and tea.

“I’m not one for sarcasm,” Gandalf notes, making his way to my cousin. “I really am a terrible influence on you hobbits.”

#filidurin #fili #thorin son of thrain #the hobbit #lord of the rings #kili durin #the hobbit fanfiction

0 notes

goldentickle · 3 years

Text

adieu mon homme | fili chapter 1

“Damnit.”

My ankle slips into a hole, a shard of pain ripping into my joint. I put my weight onto my walking stick, which is firmly embedded into the earth. The particularly unstable earth that had come undone underneath the weight of my feet.

Bilbo Baggins, my cousin had turned me away after I had come to his house rather unexpectedly this morning, looking for some excuse to get out of my house. I haven’t gone far from his house yet, still in his garden.

I live alone, I prefer it that way. My little lone cottage in the Shire is much better than the big Hobbit hole I had lived with my family in before my 30th birthday. I like being able to control my surroundings, decorate the walls with my paintings and doodles. I like cooking my own food, making anything I pleased and having no one to tell me that I can’t do it. I like being on my own. It’s easier that way. I am the only factor in life I can control, so I like being able to control my surroundings as well.

“You don’t need to be dramatic, Brindle, I just don’t want any visitors today,” Bilbo sighs, opening the door behind me. “I hate to turn you away, but I’m just tired and I want to be by myself, thank you very much.”

Bilbo is rather opposed to the idea of socializing, even with his family. My parents talk about him often as the lone cousin, being raised all by himself in the Shire’s finest house. They remark about how it is such a shame that there is no one to live there with him, since it is such a fine home.

His home, in fact, is quite nice. People generally think of a hole in the ground as a grimy tunnel with worms and maggots, but Bilbo’s house is anything but that. Furnished finely with the best furniture and heirlooms available to the Bagginses, Bilbo takes great care to maintain it. Whenever I come over to his house he cleans near obsessively after I leave. I have seen him grab the broom as I make my way out. I’m not as much as a clean freak as him, but it’s not like I track mud into the house. I always take care to wash off my feet before walking inside. I don’t want

I turn around to look at him, letting out a huff of frustration, tapping my finger on top of my walking stick. “I just twisted my ankle, Bilbo. I think I’m allowed to be dramatic.” I fix my eyes in a glare at him, my mouth quirking down into a frown.

“Do you think you can make it home? Use your walking stick as a crutch?” His eyebrows furrowed in concern, the lines between his eyes deepening. “I’m sure you want to get home as soon as possible-“

“My ankle is about to swell beyond recognition in t- minus three minutes, so yeah.” I grimace at the pain that spreads through the side of my foot.

“Oh, good. I’ll send you with some tea to take with you on the road-“

“I’m being sarcastic, Bilbo.” I drop my chin to my chest and grind my teeth together. “Could you help me inside? Maybe get some ice…?”

“Good God, why today?” He shook his head and grabbed my arm, supporting one side as I put all of my weight onto my good leg and my walking stick.

“What, do you have a lady friend coming over?” I mumble, just loud enough for hear him. His silence is response enough. “What? Maybe a gentleman friend-“

“I could send you out on the road if I wanted to,” he grumbles. I have half a mind to point out that he is in fact letting me into his house, which means that he doesn’t want to turn me away, but I keep my mouth shut.

“What’s got your trousers in a bundle today?” I say with a pained laugh. “Did your cheese go bad?”

His face flashes red in a way that tells me that I should probably stop poking fun at him, his eyebrows screwed tight and his mouth fixed in a frown.

“Nevermind,” I mutter, grinding my teeth together to try to stop the pain spreading up my calf. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll probably be better in a couple of hours!” I grin up at him, the corners of my mouth curling upwards mischievously.

When he doesn’t grin back, I take that as my cue to shut up, not wanting to be on the receiving end of his rage.

As we walk through the threshold of the doorway, I notice an odd symbol etched onto the corner of his door. I look at it briefly, transfixed. What could it mean?

“You got your door repainted a little bit ago, right?” I ask him.

“Yeah, why?” His voice is flat, clearly annoyed with me.

“No reason. Just curious. It’s a nice green color,” I told him, covering up my confusion with yet another smile.

~~~

A knock sounds on the door. I jolt up from where I’m sitting at the table, being reminded painfully of my ankle’s current swollen state.

“You said you weren’t expecting anyone?” I quirked an eyebrow up at Bilbo, who sits across from me at the table, his previously untroubled look on his face turning into a scowl.

“I’m not,” he grunts and stands up, hands slamming down onto the table.

I shrug off his overreaction. I’m sure he had the same reaction when I knocked on the door earlier. I take a bite of my meat pie. Bilbo is a great cook. With all the time he has to himself, I’m sure he uses it to his advantage, learning how to perfect his recipes.

That is another reason I enjoy barging in on Bilbo. If he’s in a good mood, I get a good meal, which is better than anything I can make.

He opens the door. I want to go and see who could possibly knocking at this hour, which unfortunate hobbit would be the subject of Bilbo’s anger next. However, although with rest, my ankle had begun to hurt less, I didn’t feel like potentially making it worse. These things often took a while to heal, even if it was just a minimal injury.

I am rather prone to those.

I have my fun, but at a cost. Often that being my poor joints. But that risk never stops me, I still go on my hikes, go on my little adventures, much to my parents’ dismay.

My mother and my father look at my bruised shins and knees with disdain, the purple and green marks on my skin being that of shame in their eyes. I prefer to think of them as proof that I had fun.

“Dwalin,” a gruff voice comes from the foyer. I sit up straighter at the voice. That is not a voice of a hobbit. “At your service.”

There is a beat of silence, which I think means that Bilbo is stumped, unsure of how to respond. I don’t blame him.

“Uh,” Bilbo stammers. “Bilbo Baggins, at yours.” His discomfort is almost tangible in his voice. I can sense that whoever this person is wasn’t invited. Much like me.

My ankle hurts only a bit when I walk towards the door, trying to put as much weight as I can onto my other leg.

“But, do we know each other?” Bilbo asks the person standing in the doorway. I can’t see who it is just yet, since the door blocks him.

The person steps into the house, his steps heavy and purposeful.

“No.” It is a dwarf.

A dwarf is in the Shire.

That is unheard of. Completely absurd.

He is tall, balding with a long dark beard. Dressed in armor, he makes quite the ruckus as he walks further into the house, much to my cousin’s dismay. Dwalin, is what he said his name was, I think.

I stand there, unable to form words. This must be the most interesting thing to happen in the Shire since Gandalf came and brought his fireworks.

“Woah,” I breathe. Neither of them notice me standing there. Maybe that is for the best.

Bilbo already seems to be stressed out enough. He doesn’t need me interfering and making things worse.

“Which way, laddie?” The dwarf, Dwalin, asks as he throws off his coat, it toppling over the coat hanger entirely. “Is it down here?”

I gawk, watching Dwalin search the foyer for something, although I didn’t know what.

“Is what down where?” Bilbo holds the door open in vain, trying to get Dwalin to exit back from where he came.

“Supper!” He threw something at Bilbo before heading into the dining room.

I hobble after him, watching as he still didn’t notice that I was there.

“Dwalin, is it?” I ask, raising my voice a bit so he can hear. I don’t know how well the dwarves can here, so it is better safe than sorry.

He turns around, eyeing me suspiciously before grunting in slight annoyance. His lips curl downward in a frown under the mass of hair that makes up his beard. “He didn’t say there were going to be extras here…” He pays no mind, continuing on his path to the kitchen, although he clearly didn’t know where it is. He enters both the study and the living room before he finds his way to the dining room.

Without restraint, I continue to follow him throughout Bilbo’s house. “Who?”

“He said there’d be food,” he tells Bilbo, the statement thrown over his shoulder flippantly.

“He said?” Bilbo’s eyebrows furrow over his brown eyes. “Who said?”

Dwalin sits down at the table, taking what food was left on my plate.

“Rude,” I breathe, glaring at my stolen plate of food.

“Very good!” Dwalin says, finishing the last bit of my food, looking towards Bilbo who sits uncomfortably in the corner. “Have you got anymore?”

I watch, unable to take my eyes off of Dwalin. I’m sure he notices, but I don’t care all that much. It isn’t every day that a dwarf came into the Shire. Even so, if he does notice, he doesn’t seem to care all that much.

My cousin, however, he is a completely different story.

“You see, I wasn’t expecting company.” Bilbo stumbles as he moves to grab a plate of biscuits for Dwalin.

Dwalin doesn’t even give Bilbo so much as a glance as he grabs the biscuits off of the plate, shoveling them into his mouth.

The bell rings, an eerie alarm from the door. Both Bilbo and I jolt up, my ankle aching in response.

I grimace.

“That’ll be the door,” Dwalin says at last, breaking the uncomfortable buffer time. “And you should put some ice on that, lassie.”

As Bilbo goes to the door, I toss a smile towards Dwalin, appreciating his rather unsolicited advice.

“Thank you Dwalin.” I sit down next to him. “So where did you come from? I have never met a dwarf before.”

“Everywhere,” he grunts, shoving an entire biscuit into his mouth at once. “I’m sure the wizard would have told you the story.”

“Wizard?” I tilt my head to the side. “Gandalf? He hasn’t been here in a good while. I’m sure Bilbo would have mentioned something like that…”

“Well the mark was on the door.” He just shrugs and moves to ignore me.

I’m not going down so easily.

“What mark?” I ask, propping my hand up on the table, resting my head upon it. “Bilbo recently had the door repainted.”

“The mark on the door.” He emphasizes each word as if I’m an idiot.

With his condescending tone, I conclude that he isn’t gonna let any information slip. So I just roll my eyes and decide not to press anymore. It isn’t worth being talked down to again.

“Are the others here yet?” He asks.

“Others?”

More voices come from the foyer, Bilbo’s raising, clearly annoyed.

“Bilbo?” I call, standing to go towards the foyer. “What is it?”

Another dwarf, this one with white hair and a matching beard stalks through the door, a wide smile on his face, completely unlike the brusque Dwalin who had walked through the door just minutes before.

“Am I late?” The dwarf leans in to whisper, as if there was people around who he didn’t want overhearing.

“Late for what?” Bilbo asks.

“Oh!” The dwarf’s attention snaps to Dwalin, who finds himself perplexed by one of Bilbo’s vases. “Evening brother!”

Dwalin drops the vase onto the ground and it crashes on impact. “By my beard!” He exclaims, sizing him up. “You’re shorter than I remember.”

“Unless we mean wider, not shorter. Sharp enough for both of us,” the other dwarf quips, grinning.

As Bilbo prepares to say something, they clash their heads together, the impact ringing throughout the house. They laugh, as if it didn’t hurt at all, but I find myself wincing for their sake.

“Excuse me,” Bilbo interjects, “Sorry, hate to interrupt, but the thing is, I’m not entirely sure you’re in the right place.”

As Bilbo rambles on, the dwarves completely ignore him, not one word that he says penetrates through their rather thick skulls. When he mentions how unprepared he is, they just fill their cups with ale, as if Bilbo wasn’t even there.

An angry tide grows in me. I’m not one to turn away company, even the unexpected kind, but this is rude.

Once Bilbo finishes his unsolicited apology, they look at him rather blankly, nothing but a glint of mischief lighting their eyes.

“Apology accepted,” the older, grayer one smiles.

The doorbell rings is traitorous tone as the dwarves continue their chatter, raiding Bilbo’s poor pantry.

I turn to Bilbo with furrowed eyebrows, noticing his own. I toss a lock of curly dark hair behind my shoulder and turn towards the door. “I’ll get it. You try to get them out of here. I’ll turn whoever it is away.”

He nods curtly as I stumble towards the door.

With a grunt of frustration, I open the door, preparing my speech that will turn them away.

As I look up, there are two more dwarves, weapons in hand, but they look anything but menacing and violent. One of them is blond with deep cerulean eyes and the other has deep brown hair and a sparkling smile.

When I realize that I have been looking for a bit longer than a proper host would, I sigh and shake my head. “Look, I think you’re at the wrong place-“ I begin.

The blond one nods in acknowledgement. “Fili.”

“And Kili!” The one with the short brown hair adds before they finish with a synchronized “at your service!”

I start to close the door on them, but the blond one puts a strong arm against the door, trying to force it open. “Woah, are we breaking and entering now?” I quirk an eyebrow, narrowing my eyes, trying to appear as intimidating as I can against his significantly taller stature. “Fili, is it? I’ll make sure the authorities get the right name-“

“You must be a Boggins!” Kili pushes Fili into the door, forcing it open.

“I’m not, actually-“

“Has it been cancelled?” Kili’s face drops, the smile falling.

“Has what been cancelled?” I say, raising my voice just the slightest bit, trying to get them to leave.

Maybe if I pretend to be criminally insane, they’ll get scared and leave-

Before I can put my plan into action, the other dwarves spot Fili and Kili, welcoming them in.

Fili shoots me a smug look and I fight the urge to throw a rather obscene gesture back at him.

This is going to be a long night.

#fili #filidurin #thorin oakenshield #the hobbit #line of durin #the hobbit fic

4 notes · View notes