#birthdayplotbunnies

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

The Plot Thickens...

IT’S THAT TIME OF YEAR AGAIN!! This will be the third year in a row that I have given out ‘Birthday Plot Bunnies’ on the week leading up to my birthday. It’s just the hobbit in me what can I say. 🤷😆 Starting July 13th I will release a different plot bunny each day leading up to unveiling a new story on the 19th (my birthday)!! The 6 WIP ideas though I am leaving for you all to decide which should become my next project. (Not that I need another one, but hey. It’s tradition now.) Notes are votes!! So feel free to rb/comment/like as many times as you want!

I’ll be reblogging all my old plot bunnies as we lead up to the 13th so lots of Sunny writings headed your way! 

Previous Winners:

2020- Just to See You Happy

2021- Soul Traitor

This post will also serve as the masterpost for all 7 plot bunnies. So without further ado, I present to you:

Day 1- Cursed (Reverse Werewolf AU)

Day 2- Fighting for a Dragon’s Wish (Dragonball Z AU)

Day 3- Together in Erebor (Anastasia AU)

Day 4- Erebor’s Monster (Mermaid AU)

Day 5- Cheat Code (Video Game AU)

Day 6- Another Chance to Fly (Ice Skating AU)

Day 7- A Ghost of a Chance (Haunted Wedding AU)

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!

So usually when I get to this point, I have a fic ready to go and post. However, this one is a little different. Based on the nature of this fic, I’m not going to reveal it until October. 👀

BUT!! Just like I have all week long, I’ll give you guys a VERY TINY sneak peek (because I’m still tweaking), and feel free to scroll down to see some AWESOME MIND-BLOWING ART that @mysandwichranaway​ did for me earlier this summer for this fic. 😍

Otherwise, don’t forget the previous six plot bunnies can be found here, and you have til SATURDAY to make sure your favorite fic remains in the lead and becomes my next major project!!

Thank you for making this another awesome year of BPB!!

Summary: When Tauriel asked Bilbo whom she jokingly calls her “work dad” to walk her down the aisle at her wedding, he honestly thought that would be the most surprised he’d be that week. Showing up to meet the groom and his family and discovering that he actually knows her uncle-in-law-to-be intimately well, nearly sent him into shock. And then, of course, there’s all the ghosts because why not get married in a haunted hotel?? 

Excerpt from Chapter 1: Father of the Bride

Bilbo couldn’t even begin to believe what he was hearing. A breathless laugh left him as he turned the corner, shaking his head. 

“Oh please, Bilbo!” Tauriel pleaded.

She had taken to trailing after him like a puppy as he removed binders of old case files from his arms to place back on the shelves in the archives. Every once in a while when he couldn’t quite reach, she effortlessly plucked it from his hands and put it away for him. He thanked her, moving on as if ignoring her outlandish request would make it disappear.

“I mean, I know we’re just work friends, but I’ve always thought of you as a sort of work dad.” She remarked.

Bilbo shot her a look. “It was the dumb jokes, wasn’t it?”

She grinned widely. “You are well versed in them.”

“‘A man sued an airline company after it lost his luggage, and sadly he lost his case’? It was clever.” Bilbo tried to argue.

“It’s very telling that you think so.” She teased. “But on a more serious note, Bilbo. You sort of took me under your wing when I first started at the firm. Showed me the ropes while the rest were…”

“Intimidated?” Bilbo filled in for her.

“I was going to say wary of a young red-haired woman wanting to make it big as a lawyer, but sure.”

Bilbo snorted, placing his last file away.

“I don’t think being ‘kind’ is enough qualification for what you’re asking. I mean, walking you down the aisle at your wedding…that’s a bit…personal.”

Bilbo finally gave her his attention, and he rather wished he hadn’t as her expressive eyes seemed to pin him with repressed sorrow. She shifted on her feet, before ducking her chin to stare at the ground between them with her arms crossed.

“My foster father refused to do it. He has…history with Kili’s family, and basically disowned me when I refused to call off the wedding.”

Bilbo crossed the distance to lay his hand on her shoulder.

“Oh Tauriel, I’m so sorry.”

She shrugged and tilted her head, but the tears she stubbornly held onto that caused her eyes to shine were far too telling of her true feelings. And with five simple words, the flood was released.

“I don’t have anyone else.” She whispered hoarsely.

Bilbo handed over his handkerchief before awkwardly pulling her down into a hug. It was a challenge when your female coworker was almost a foot taller than you, but if the way she sunk into the embrace was any indicator, he could tell Tauriel appreciated it. His right hand slowly reached back to play with his golden hoop earring. A nervous gesture of his that he jokingly blamed on why he stayed in the background as a paralegal rather than taking on cases like a true lawyer.

After a few more minutes, she finally released Bilbo, carefully wiping away the streaks of mascara under her eyes and blowing her nose. Bilbo silently mourned the death of that handkerchief, feeling guilty for the thought. He opened his mouth, ready to deny her request in the most gentle way possible, but instead all that came out was a heavy sigh. He gave her a little half-grin before taking hold of her free hand with both of his.

“I think you could do better than a stuffy old fool like me, but yes. Yes, I would be honored to walk you down the aisle on your wedding day.”

A squeal, reminding him of just how young Tauriel was despite how she acted in the office, was released and he found himself with a mouth full of red hair as she practically crushed him against her.

“Thank you, Bilbo. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Bilbo gave a huff all in good fun as he pat her back. 

“It is absolutely the least I could do.”

***

Excerpt from Chapter 2: Touring the Venue

“And we can consider this as place for the reception.”

Bilbo looked out across the decent sized wooden gazebo, appreciating the way the trees framed the shot, and the small string of lights delicately hung around the inside edge of the structure.

“It’s beautiful.” Bilbo breathed.

Tauriel grinned and nodded in agreement which made Kili want to take it right then and there.

“We’ll consider it.” Dis was quick to step in. “Let’s look around at some other some of the other locations on the property first. Because if it’s raining like it was this morning, an outdoor reception might not be the best idea.”

The wedding planner was quick to agree as she started to steer them back inside to show them alternatives. Bilbo, who was quite frankly, worn down already by wedding preparations decided to hang back and admire the beauty of the property a little bit longer. Placing his hands on the railing in the back, he could just make out the slope of the river and the gardens before it. He closed his eyes, basking in the beauty of it all. This place was almost his paradise.

“It’s too bad Dis isn’t a fan of outdoor weddings.”

Bilbo spun around, his heart hammering in his chest as he narrowed his eyes at Thorin. The man was almost sheepish if it wasn’t for the rather conspicuously innocent smile and way he had his hands tucked in his pockets. Much like Bilbo’s initial impression of him from their uni days, the man truly was too handsome for his own good.

“It’s the bugs.” He continued.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow, which finally got him faltering a bit.

“Dis!” He quickly explained. “It’s why she’s not going to okay this spot. She doesn’t like bugs.”

“Fascinating.” Bilbo drawled, deciding now was the best time to make his exit.

“It’s too bad.” Thorin shrugged, purposely brushing up against him. “It really would be the perfect place for a dance.”

With the flip of a switch, the lights blazed to life, giving the gazebo a soft warm glow. Bilbo stopped, his appreciation for the display stronger than his desire to escape the other man. As he turned a circle to really get a feel for the ambiance, he was flummoxed by the hand suddenly before him.

“Don’t you think?”

“Don’t I think what?” Bilbo repeated dumbly staring from the large palm before him and back to Thorin’s impossibly blue eyes.

“That we should dance.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no! I don’t dance.” He explained trying to back away.

Thorin, however, was unfortunately persistent. He raised an eyebrow, but made no move to chase Bilbo, always leaving the choice with him.

“Will you not have to dance the father-daughter dance with Tauriel?”

Well, damn. Bilbo had certainly not thought of that when he agreed to this.

“Just think of it as...practice.” Thorin shrugged.

Bilbo pursed his lips. He should be thinking of it as practice saying no to Thorin bloody Oakenshield. Instead, he stepped forward with a sigh, putting his hand in Thorin’s.

“Fine. I will dance with you to no music in this public space. Idiot.”

Thorin only grinned as he spun Bilbo around before his hand found its way onto Bilbo’s waist. Honestly, it was awkward relinquishing control to Thorin when there was no beat to go off of, and the man was unabashedly staring right at him.

“You have always been my greatest regret.” Thorin admitted softly.

Bilbo scoffed, even as he tried to ignore his burning cheeks at the confession.

“That’s so cliché.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

“Really?” Bilbo finally turned his head to look at him properly. “Because I’ve always thought of you as just another mistake.”

Thorin looked stricken, almost making Bilbo regret his tone, if not his words. They stopped swaying, but hadn’t quite moved away from each other. 

“I didn’t know how to handle it. I thought in a drunken stupor I had just let myself be another notch on Bilbo Baggins belt.”

Another notch on his belt? The nerve.

“So you ran.” Bilbo remarked quietly. “And I never got the chance to find out why I wasn’t good enough for the great Thorin Oakenshield.”

The other man’s shoulders slumped and his eyes gazed down upon him mournfully. However, that didn’t stop him from pressing closer. His countenance almost imploring. Bilbo could feel his palm start to sweat inside the other man’s as his gaze flickered between Thorin’s eyes, his lips, and the little hint of his raven tattoo poking out of his shirt at the neck. So. Damn. Hot. Bilbo thought for a moment, Thorin might try to kiss him, and he raged silently over whether he would let him, when a light exploded overhead. 

Bilbo jumped, pushing himself into Thorin’s chest as another exploded before the whole string went dark. His arms wrapped tightly around Thorin’s waist while the other man had his around Bilbo’s back, the smaller took the time to remark on the whole ordeal.

“Well that was...odd.”

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 5- Cheat Code

WOW!! So I didn’t realize that my next plot bunny wasn’t queued up today until right now.🙃 Better late then never I guess. I’ll probably do an overnight reblog of this one right before the next one drops tomorrow morning. SORRY!

If you would like for this to be my next fic, please be sure to shower it with lots of love (reblogs/likes/comments).🥰💖 All plot bunnies will be linked back to this masterpost.

Summary: Bilbo moves in with his cousin, Primula, and her family as he tries to cope with the grief of losing his parents when a curious thing happens. Fiddling with one of Frodo’s games one night, he found that every night at 2:17am he is sucked into the video game world of: Quest for Erebor. At first, it just becomes an escape, but as time goes on and Bilbo really gets to know the characters, he is bound and determined to see every single one of these dwarves safely to Erebor. Even if he has to cheat the game to accomplish it.

Warnings: Depressive episodes (none that lead to self-harm)

It was almost over. The worst day of Bilbo’s life. All he had to do was get through this last part, and he could go home. Locking himself away from insufferable relatives and their condolences. Leaving him to finally grieve on his own. A much needed reprieve that would be a balm on Bilbo’s poor heart after the week he’s had. It was just that…he noticed the hole. Eyes wide and unblinking were trained on the twin black caskets, unadorned by embellishments save for the simple carved floral wreaths gracing the head of each, and poised over a hole large enough to swallow them both. His chest started to burn, and he quickly sucked in a much needed breath, only for it to stab like needles all the way down to his lungs.

Someone next to him squeezed his hand tightly, but Bilbo barely felt it. Everything seemed to be fading away. The preacher’s voice was getting further away, his chair no longer felt sturdy beneath him, and his ears were ringing as a simple fact seemed to echo loudly inside his head: his father was uncomfortable in tight spaces, he was afraid of holes. And Bilbo, his own son, was about to force him into one. Bilbo felt himself attempting to stand, but he couldn’t even get his knees under him as he crumpled and his vision faded to black.

When Bilbo came to, he realized he was no longer at the grave site. Instead, he was laying in the backseat of a car as someone gently ran their fingers through his curls. For a moment, Bilbo could have sworn it was his mother, and his eyes immediately flew open only to see his dear cousin, Primula, looking down at him. He physically felt something in him shatter, as he gave a hoarse wail and the flood of tears followed. Prim held him as tightly as she could, silently crying over him as he lost any semblance of control. He buried himself as deeply as he could into her knees, trying to anchor himself in the turbulent sea of emotions threatening to drown him. 

“You can’t go back there. Not like this.” Prim’s shaky voice ordered. “You’ll come stay with us. At least until you’re back on your feet. And that’s the end of that Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo felt like he should argue, but his strength had all but deserted him. He managed the smallest of nods, curling up against his cousin tighter. His last coherent thought before a true sleep claimed him was one week. He would not allow his cousin to baby him for longer than a week.

***

Prim lived in a two-story townhome just on the outskirts of the city. It was painted a fetching color of pale blue, and the white trim really completed the look. She lived with her husband, Drogo Baggins, although of no relation to Bilbo (Baggins was a fairly popular name after all), and their twelve-year old son, Frodo. Bilbo had been delegated to the guest room upstairs, across from his nephew (as cousin seemed too odd a term for a boy nineteen years his junior). 

After Bilbo had fainted at his parents’ funeral, he had been taken back to the home he once shared with them just long enough to pack his suitcase before he was whisked away here. The first two days had passed with many tears, hugs, and warm drinks. The first two weeks ended with Bilbo having long given up on a sleep routine that didn’t involve him awake most of the nightly hours. After the first two months, Bilbo feared he would never find the motivation to return home. 

“Bilbo?” Prim’s voice accompanied a knock on his door.

Bilbo groaned as he curled up tighter in the covers.

“Bilbo Baggins, I’m coming in unless you say something.”

Bilbo groaned again, but clearly that didn’t count as an answer to Prim’s ears as the door flew open.

“Oh Bilbo.” She scoffed, crossing the room.

A bright stream of light hit his closed eyes as Prim tore open the curtains, and he quickly remedied the problem by burying his head under his pillows. 

“Bilbo, you have to get out of this room.” She chided. “I know I told you I wouldn’t bother you, but it’s been three days since you’ve had dinner with us and it smells like it’s been at least that long since you’ve showered as well.”

It had actually been eight days since Bilbo last showered, but he wasn’t going to tell Prim that fact. 

“What about work?” She continued as she sat down on the edge of his bed, her hand finding his covered foot. “Your editor is going to start bothering you again before too long.”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to let me worry about that and quit nagging me!”

Prim’s hand immediately withdrew, and an uncomfortable silence settled around them. 

“I worry about you, Bilbo.” She admitted quietly. “Being in this dark room, by yourself for days on end, it’s not exactly…healthy.”

Bilbo closed his eyes tightly against the tears that stung against his eyelids. He just wished Prim would stop and go away. He was just coping in his own way. It wasn’t like he was even remotely considering self-harm. He was just exhausted constantly, and certain tasks had begun to feel like massive chores. However, he worked on his stories at night when everyone else had gone to bed and it was peaceful, and he slept in til early afternoon. She was the one making a big deal out of nothing.

“What time is it anyways?” He finally peeked out from under his pillow.

Her lips were pressed together and her eyes were swimming with pity. It almost sent Bilbo back into hiding.

“Five.”

That did jolt Bilbo a bit as he pulled himself up just far enough to reach out for his phone. The time reflected back matched Prim’s answer. He could also see he had two emails, four missed calls and voicemails, and several social media notifications that he dreaded to answer. Perhaps he should get up. He used to love to take his laptop to the tea shop down the road from his house, and just let himself bask in the sunlight at his favorite window seat as he wrote. He had considered doing that yesterday, but then noon came and went and he just thought of it as a missed opportunity at that point.

“What are we having for dinner?” Bilbo tentatively asked.

Prim’s expression lightened as she jumped to her feet. 

“Frodo voted on pizza.”

Something greasy, additive, and full of fat. Sounded heavenly.

“Alright. I’ll come downstairs.” Bilbo groaned as he swung his feet to the floor.

Prim wrinkled her nose. “Not before you remove those pajamas and burn them.”

Bilbo gave her a flat look at her joke. However, even he was beginning to smell the stale odor of sweat and other unpleasant secretions of the body. A shower would probably not be remiss. 

Two hours later after completing the gargantuan task of cleaning himself, brushing hair and teeth, and getting dressed in a tee and sweatpants, Bilbo was finally ready to face the rest of his family. In spite of how badly he had been dreading it, the evening was far from difficult. He mostly sat and listened as Frodo entertained them with anecdotes from school, Drogo complained about his clients at the firm, and Prim regaled them with the wonders of teaching. 

However, Bilbo was more than relieved when he finally had the opportunity to retreat to the makeshift study (Frodo’s game room), and work some more on the next book in his series. By that he meant, he stared at the last place he had left off wondering just where he had been going with this direction, returning to his outline hoping for some form of inspiration, only to procrastinate any actual writing because motivation was a bitch.

“Uncle Bilbo?”

He spun around in his chair to see Frodo standing at the doorway.

“I’m sorry, were you wanting to reclaim your space?” He asked with a thin grin.

Frodo shook his head, a shy smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“No, Mom said you were having trouble with your book.”

Bilbo frowned and resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Your mother needs to mind her own business.”

Rather than spurned by the sharp tone, Frodo giggled as if Bilbo had just told a funny joke. Despite that not being his intention, it pulled a real smile from Bilbo all the same. Frodo seemed to take this as an invitation to creep further in.

“You know when I have trouble writing, I just play video games for a couple of hours, and my mind gets so numbed I suddenly am plagued with ideas!”

“You write?” Bilbo questioned.

Frodo shrugged. “Just fanfiction, but I like it.”

Bilbo sat forward, a soft smile refusing to leave his face.

“You know that’s how I started my writing career? Of course there weren’t all the fancy websites like there are now when I was writing it.”

“Really?!” Frodo lit up. “For which fandoms? What was your OTP? What are your favorite tags to use?”

Bilbo blinked as he tried to process most of that, but he seemed to at least understand the gist.

“I liked to write in the world of Arthurian legends.”

“That makes sense.” Frodo nodded. “Since your current series is about wizards, burglars, and dragons. Real D&D kind of stuff.”

“Yes.” Bilbo deadpanned. “I have heard it described as that before.”

“OH!” Frodo suddenly exclaimed as he began to shift through the box of games next to the television. “I know the perfect game for you.”

The moment Frodo had found his prize, he thrust the game case into Bilbo’s chest.

“Quest for Erebor?” He read.

“Yeah!” Frodo implored. “It’s really cool! So there’s these thirteen dwarves, and you’re trying to get them home to their mountain only it had been taken over by a dragon and there’s this thing with the orcs and the leader of the company. But the really, really cool part is that you get to choose your character at the beginning and depending on what species you choose you get certain advantages in the game. Sam and I think that ideally it’s built as a multiplayer game where you have one of each type of character on the team, but Merry has played it before and he doesn’t like to replay games, and we don’t really want to play with Pippin because he never takes multimodes seriously, he just wants to goof off and then record it for his let's play…”

“I think I understand. Thank you.” Bilbo hastily interrupted.

Frodo ducked his head as he slowly started backing out to the door.

“Right, yeah. Anyways. I think you’ll like it if you want to give it a go. And then when you get good at it, you can play with Sam and I.”

Bilbo felt his breath hitch before he released it slowly in one drawn out and silent sigh.

“That would be marvelous. You’re very sweet, Frodo.” 

That had the boy beaming widely again as he nodded his head before exiting. Bilbo waited until he heard Frodo’s bedroom door close before he tossed the game away on the couch. It truly was a sweet gesture, but unwarranted. Bilbo had never been a gamer and couldn’t see that changing any time soon. He would get back in the groove eventually. He just needed to buckle down and start writing.

Three hours later, and Bilbo had abused every app he had on his phone with not even a single additional word to the document. He didn’t understand. He saw the scene so beautifully in his head, why couldn’t he put it into words correctly? He tossed his phone on the desk as he rubbed his hands down his face. If he wasn’t going to write, he should go to bed. Start getting his life back in order by actually waking up at a decent hour. Then his gaze landed on the game his nephew had so lovingly pulled out for him. 

It did sound fascinating…

Getting up to reach out for the case, Bilbo let his eyes linger on the cover where the dwarves had been so realistically animated. They weren’t your typical ‘Snow White’ dwarves with the short stature, long beards, and big noses…okay well that was a lie. There were certainly more than a fair few who fit that criteria, but they were more than that at the same time with the heavy metals and furs and elaborate braids. And the three at the front didn’t follow this pattern at all. Curious. 

Bilbo opened the box to stare down at the game disc inside. He didn’t know what he was thinking. He didn’t know how to operate any of these machines, and it was far too late to wake his nephew. Yet, he owed it to Frodo to try. Sweet lad who only wanted to help Bilbo find the motivation to write again. Besides, he was an intelligent, college-educated man. Surely he could figure out how to operate a child’s toy.

It was almost 2 a.m. before he finally got the damn thing turned on and on the correct channel. As Bilbo held a controller that seemed to have more buttons than he could even imagine operating, he was rather starting to think this was not in any way worth the effort. The title screen came up threatening to blast Bilbo’s eardrums in the soft silence of the early morning hours until he scrambled for the TV remote to remedy the problem. He pressed the appropriate ‘Start’ button on the gaming controller and was taken to a “Choose your character” screen.

It became rather intuitive to scroll through the five types of characters and read their bios, although the ‘stats’ bars were beyond Bilbo’s comprehension. He could choose a dwarf, which did seem to make sense on a quest with other dwarves but probably wasn’t as fun. There was also an elf with a warning that there would be an immediate drop in comradery as elves were natural rivals with dwarves. Not a viable option then. He could be just plain ‘man’, also seemed to be a boring choice. Then there was hobbit or wizard. On one hand…a wizard seemed rather useful but Bilbo was a bit intimidated by the ‘expert magic skills’ that he didn’t think he would be able to master. Meanwhile, the hobbit was such a simple fellow, valuing home and comfort, but having skills in stealth which sounded like an easy feature to control. 

Having made his selection and entered his name (he didn’t bother with a nickname), the game launched him into a movie-like scene as he was given a narrative on how the dwarves lost their home in the first place, and that the eye-catching fellow on the front cover was indeed a dwarven prince which explained his sharper features compared to the rest of his companions. After all, in modern media royalty must be ‘good-looking’. Bilbo listened somewhat boredly as the wizard, Gandalf, and the dwarf prince, Thorin made a plan to retake Erebor. Bilbo half wondered if he had chosen wizard if he wouldn’t be playing at this juncture. Then the implication was made on them needing a burglar before the screen went dark and the word ‘Hobbiton’ came across the screen. Clever.

Bilbo gripped the controller tighter thinking this was going to be the moment where he was actually going to get to play as his little hobbit character appeared on screen just now rising out of his bed. Then the controller in Bilbo’s hand began to vibrate. Thinking this was a gaming mechanic, he wasn’t too worried only the TV began to glow with a soft edge. Great. The game was crashing. Bilbo moved to get up and turn it off, only he couldn’t. He was frozen. His hands refusing to come away from the controller. 

Was he having a stroke?! What in the world was going on? The buzzing from the controller grew louder, the fuzzy edges to the TV screen seemed to come out towards him, and then Bilbo felt as if he were falling. He closed his eyes tightly against the sensation. Then it all stopped. Bilbo first became aware of his panting, too loud in the quiet that followed his strange experience. Then he realized he had somehow landed on the ground and off the couch. Groaning, he pushed himself up to his knees.

“Well that was unpleasant.” He huffed.

When the spots cleared from his vision, the first thing he realized was how bright it was. Did he stay up all night? Again? As he looked around the wooden room with its rounded doorways, it took him longer than he was proud of to realize this wasn’t the study. This wasn’t even Prim’s house anymore! Just what was going on? Was he dreaming?! 

Bilbo found himself rushing through the house to the front door, desperate to find out what exactly was going on. He opened the cheerful green door only to gape at the hobbits, actual real life hobbits, passing by his gate.

“Hello, Mister Bilbo!” 

Bilbo slammed the door shut. This was not happening. Not happening. Things like this did not happen in real life. He slowly opened the door only for the same hobbit to once again call out in exactly the same manner.

“Hello, Mister Bilbo!”

Bilbo stood there dumbfounded as he watched the hobbit saunter off only to return a few minutes later to repeat the same greeting. That had to be proof then. He wasn’t just in some weird fantasy land. He was inside the video game.

“Nope.”

Bilbo fainted dead on the spot.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 4- Erebor’s Monster

Halfway to the end! If you would like for this to be my next fic, please be sure to shower it with lots of love (reblogs/likes/comments).🥰💖 All plot bunnies will be linked back to this masterpost.

Summary: Bilbo is investigating ‘Erebor’s Monster’ in secret trying to discovery the nature of all the mysterious disappearances the town has suffered. However, Bilbo soon finds himself on a discovery that will shake his core belief system completely if he is to help Mayor Thorin Oakenshield recover that which was lost and defeat an ancient evil for good.

Erebor’s Monster. The terrifying sea serpent-like cryptid was said to roam the depths of Lake Erebor. Known as ‘Smaug’ by many of the locals, it’s assumed that during the channel swell almost forty years ago, he slithered from the depths of the ocean to lay claim to Erebor. Why? No one really knows. However, sightings of red scales or the nearly alien moans at night lead credence to the claims of something strange in the small mountainside town. Whether elaborate hoax or the verge of scientific discovery, many now flock to Erebor nestled between the fishing capital of the region, Dale, and the mighty green woods of Elfhaven if only to see that which seems too far-fetched to be believed.

“Well? What do you think?”

Bilbo lowered the article to raise an eyebrow at the older man across from him.

“I’m not sure I know what to think. You do know I’m a journalist, not a paranormal investigator, right?”

“Ah!” Gandalf declared, his eyes twinkling brightly. “That’s precisely why I came to you, Bilbo Baggins. Keep reading.”

  Bilbo resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he continued to scan the page before him.

  “Smaug…photos…more bullshit…oh yes, here we go. ‘Accredited to Smaug, or not, several disappearances have been linked to the monster hunting tours of Erebor. When asked to comment, Mayor Thorin Oakenshield claimed no responsibility as all personal belongings including cars had vacated the premises. He further went on to explain how the cliffs surrounding Erebor can make for dangerous terrain, but local authorities have been unable to conclude if roadside accidents were to blame…’

Okay Gandalf, what are you up to? You can’t actually expect me to fly halfway across the world because a couple of drunk idiots drove their cars off a cliff.”

“Thirty-seven.”

“Come again?”

“It’s not a couple. There have been thirty-seven missing person reports filed in the past eight years. All of them stating Erebor was the last place they had been seen.”

Bilbo blinked as he digested this information, his eyes returning to the article with just a touch of renewed interest.

“And the other point of interest, Thorin Oakenshield is relatively new to the job. He took over for his father who also mysteriously went missing.”

“Let me guess…Mr. Oakenshield has been in this position for exactly eight years?” Bilbo drawled trying to act bored.

Gandalf held out his hands with a smug smile before leaning back in his chair. Bilbo tapped his fingers on the tabletop as he considered the story. In truth this sounded like a police matter, and therefore not something he needed to get involved with. On the other hand, Bilbo knew that’s exactly why Gandalf did bring it to him. This certainly wasn’t the first time Bilbo had gotten involved in a potentially dangerous situation all for a story. In fact, it was when he exposed Saruman as conspiring to overthrow the other White Council members that landed himself on Gandalf’s radar in the first place. The government official had watched Bilbo’s career with interest after that, even going as far as to fund his trips on the stories that took him outside of Hobbiton (which was most of them). However, this was the first time his friend had ever come to him directly with a case.

“I’ve heard the weather is marvelous this time of year.” He added.

Bilbo snorted. “In April? I imagine it’s dreary, rainy, and chilly in the evenings.”

“You’re going to love it!”

“Gandalf, I can’t just go running off into the blue chasing after monsters.”

“I thought that’s exactly what you do, my dear fellow.”

Bilbo couldn’t help smirking at this. “Well, this will be my first literal monster at least.”

Gandalf leaned forward as far as he could, placing a large palm on Bilbo’s shoulder.

“Bilbo, my boy, I would never have come to you if it wasn’t of the utmost importance. I truly believe there is more going on here than meets the eye, and if you happen to uncover a giant sea serpent in the process, then that just proves there are still many strange curiosities left in our vast world. However, it’s the monsters out of the water that I fear. This is a case that will require a great deal of courage, a quick wit, and no small degree of charm. Alas, I cannot leave Imladris at this time.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes as Gandalf gave his shoulder a small squeeze before releasing it. Bilbo found himself missing the warmth of the gesture almost immediately. His parents had died many years ago while he was still in uni, leaving him with their sizable cottage all on his own. A cottage he barely stayed in, come to think of it, as he was constantly bouncing from place to place. Gandalf has been the closest thing he’s had to family in a long time, not counting his actual extended relatives who were more interested in the wealth of the Baggins’ name than his wellbeing. Bilbo found himself gazing up at Gandalf imploringly.

“Gandalf, if it’s as bad as you’re making it out to be, can you promise I will come back?”

“No.” The older man sighed with a shake of his head. “And if you do, you will not be the same.”

That should have been the deal breaker. The moment when Bilbo told Gandalf that he had the wrong guy and he was better off finding a PI for this kind of investigation. After all, Bilbo didn’t need the story. He would find other pieces, closer to home, that didn’t have the possibility of sea serpents swallowing him whole.

“So when do I leave?”

***

Bilbo made his way down the walkway, rubbing his face, hoping that the airsickness would pass soon. Bilbo was not one for flying or sailing come to think of it…buses were debatable. Really, Bilbo was the kind of person who liked to keep his feet square on the ground, and after the six hour flight he was rather dreading getting in a car for the next three.

Wheeling his carry-on behind him, he made his way out of the airport towards the loading zone. Gandalf had promised he had transportation already worked out for Bilbo, and sure enough as he drew closer, he saw a tall dark haired man holding up a sign that read ‘Baggins’. Bilbo approached the other who almost seemed to quirk an eyebrow as he sized him up.

“Mr. Baggins, I presume?”

“Call me Bilbo.” He forced a smile, holding a hand for the other to shake. “And you?”

“Bard. I’m told you want to go to Erebor for some ungodly reason.” 

Bilbo laughed. “Well, I run a myth-busting blog and thought I ought to give ‘Smaug’ a shot.”

Bard’s smile was as stiff as his greeting. “Let’s hope you don’t come to regret that decision.”

Bilbo waited until they were in the car and the trees of Elfhaven doing their best to remind him of his motion sickness before he chose to address Bard’s unusual comments.

“The mayor and I don’t exactly see eye to eye.” He explained.

“Ah, yes I heard he was…obstinate.” Bilbo agreed delicately.

Bard’s lips thinned and his grip on the wheel tightened. 

“If it were only that, Mr. Baggins.” 

And that was all the man would say on the subject. Bilbo managed to wring out of him that he didn’t actually live in Erebor, but in Dale with his family. However, his job pulled him to Erebor and Elfhaven more often than not. Bilbo got the impression he wasn’t talking about being a driver, especially if he frequently met with the mayor, but he remained tight lipped on that account. Conversation dwindled after that, and Bilbo found himself drifting asleep with his head against the window when the trees thinned and Bilbo was able to glimpse sunlight once more. 

“You’ll want to see this view.” Bard smirked over at him.

They crested the hill, and Bilbo’s breath caught in his throat. A single solidary peak seemed to rise out of the depths of the large glittering lake. In fact, it seemed to be less lake and more sea to Bilbo’s eyes. Off in the distance to the south, Bilbo could make out the towers of Dale. Part of the town being built directly on the water which was insane to Bilbo. Pulling his eyes away from their suicidal lifestyle, he let his eyes scan to the north under the mountain where he knew Erebor to be. It certainly wasn’t as impressive, but it seemed to have its charm.

Bard expertly navigated the twists and turns of the road as only a native could. Bilbo made a mental note of just how dangerous it was, and even though there were guardrails everywhere, it seemed very plausible to take a turn just a little too fast and drive straight into the lake. It would be rather anticlimactic if he was able to solve Gandalf’s little problem that easily. Thirty more minutes, and they were on the main street headed for the Green Dragon where Bilbo would stay for the week.

Bilbo was rather pleased to see everyone walking along the sidewalks keeping the roads fairly clear if it wasn’t for the suspicious narrowed glares he seemed to attract.

“Not too fond of tourists if you can tell.” Bard informed grimly.

“This is absurd. They have a tourist attraction for Yavanna’s sake!”

“They don’t see it that way.” Bard smirked. “They seem to think they have a rather large deterrent, and you are the idiot that can’t keep his nose to himself.”

Bilbo’s said nose twitched under the implication. However, before he could refute Bard’s claim, they had pulled into the parking lot of his hotel. 

“Well…I suppose this is it. Thank you, for the ride and…conversation.”

Bilbo opened the door, and Bard latched onto his arm before he could get out. Bilbo’s heart began to pick up speed at the desperate and dark look on the other’s face.

“Take care, Mr. Baggins. And if I can offer you some advice? Don’t. Trust. Anyone.”

An icy chill went straight down Bilbo’s spine and more than anything, he wanted to get out and away from this man.

“I-I’ll do that. Thank you again, Bard.”

The man gave a quick, jerky nod before releasing him. He gave Bilbo one last long look as he pulled away. Bilbo watched as most of the Ereborians milling on the street stopped to watch Bard’s retreat before turning to stare at him. Bilbo didn’t waste any more time as he all but sprinted inside the hotel’s cheerfully painted green door.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 3- Together in Erebor

If you would like for this to be my next fic, please be sure to shower it with lots of love (reblogs/likes/comments).🥰💖 All plot bunnies will be linked back to this masterpost.

Summary: The Fall of Erebor was a tragic tale where all of the line of Durin was wiped out by Azog the Defiler, save for the young Princess Dis. Except for the rumors that suggested Prince Thorin survived his fall after cutting off the white orc’s hand. Tori, brother of Dori, Nori, and Ori wouldn’t know. Of course, he has very little memories of his past. Being a blacksmith was all he had ever envisioned for his future, nameless orphan he was, until a hobbit approached him with the adventure of a lifetime.

Warning: Canon-typical violence, implied character death

For years, Erebor was the glittering jewel of the east. The richest of all the dwarf kingdoms, and the largest city-state of any race. Erebor was ruled with an iron fist but a fair hand by the line of Durin. An old and powerful lineage headed by Thror, and continued with his son, Thrain and his grandchildren. 

Dis, the youngest and the only female, was a true princess and cherished as one by her entire family. At 32, she had all the males twisted around her finger, and she used that to her advantage. Frerin, the youngest male, had the charm of a diplomat, but the heart of an adventurer. Rather hard to pin to his duties and studies, you’d be more likely to find him on the mountainside than within it. Then there was Thorin.

Still a few years shy of adulthood, the eldest of Thrain’s children fully immersed himself in the duties of a Prince of Erebor and was much beloved by all. His noble bearing, skill with a blade, and gentle heart won him the love of his people and the pride of his family. In spite of the Arkenstone’s title, Thorin truly was the Heart of the Mountain. And none laid claim to the heart stronger than his sister, Dis.

“Thorin, we’re missing the party!” Dis whined.

“Now do you want your birthday present or not?” The prince teased as he continued to rifle through his drawers.

Dis had perched herself on the arm of the settee, crossing her arms in a pout. She felt like if it was truly that big of a deal then Thorin wouldn’t have misplaced the gift. Still, she waited in eager anticipation. Thorin always got her the best gifts. Handmade crafts full of meaning and wonder. This was no exception as he finally retrieved the small spherical object with a triumphant huff.

“For you, Kurkarukê (my tiny raven).”

Dis smiled in delight as she reached out for the box. It was gorgeous. Made of gold with sapphires and onyx forming the design of a raven on the lid. A small slit was cut in the front of the box, too narrow for any key she’s ever seen.

“It’s beautiful.” She remarked before raising an eyebrow. “What is it?”

Thorin smirked. “Now where’s the fun in just telling you?”

She playfully swatted him, and he laughed in response as he took a knee before her. He reached out for her necklace knowing she never took it off. A few years ago, their grandfather wanted to push back against the Gundabad orcs that were encroaching on their land. Thorin was sent out with the army to observe military strategy, but there was always the possibility he would be dragged into the fight. After all, war was merciless. Dis had been inconsolable thinking she was never going to see Thorin again. He had made her that necklace the night before he left with her raven etched on one side, and a simple message on the other “Together in Erebor”. Now, her clever brother used her most prized possession as the key to his latest gift.

He turned the necklace in the slot several times, and she could hear the small gears inside wind up. When he was finally satisfied, he released her necklace holding the box up before her as the lid lifted and music began to drift from inside. Dis gasped lightly. It was her lullaby. The one Thorin had sung her to sleep with after their mother had passed. Inside the image of her raven that had been pressed with gems on top reflected back as little figures representing her, Thorin, Frerin, Adad (father), and Gamul adad (grandfather) began to dance inside the music box.

“Far over the Misty Mountains cold.” Thorin started to sing. “To dungeons deep, and caverns old.”

Dis loved his voice, and even though the song was about Erebor having been lost to a dragon before Thror retook the mountain, she couldn’t be happier than when Thorin was singing it to her.

The box finished its song alongside Thorin’s lyrics, and it closed itself back up. She held the precious music box just staring back at the raven Thorin so lovingly called her as she tried to get a handle on her emotions.

“Thorin…” She started.

“I know you don’t like me going to Ered Luin for diplomacy training. So I wanted you to have something to play when you sleep and are lonely and know that I will always come back to you. To be together in Erebor.”

Dis threw her arms around her stupid brother’s neck trying not to sob. It was too much. The gift, the reminder of his two year absence, his overly ridiculous soppiness. She never would have guessed in that moment that it would be their last together in Erebor. For while the two royal siblings had slipped away, a darkness had fallen over the Hall of Kings. 

Azog, the giant Gundabad orc who led the charge against Erebor, had returned. His pride had been chipped by the army of dwarves when he first attempted to lay waste to Erebor and failed. Consumed in his revenge, he gathered a force for one more siege, and waited in the darkness for the most opportune moment. Which came on the princess’ birthday where the gates’ security was lax due to the high number of traveling dignitaries. The orcs stormed the mountain in a wave that would crush the lives of many. 

Shouts were heard throughout the mountain until they eventually reached the halls where Thror and his guests drank and danced. The dark news had the king rising to his feet, terror clouding his blue eyes.

“It can’t be.” He swore.

The sounds of screams and dwarves fighting tooth and nail drew closer, and the warrior king was forced to take action.

“SEAL THE DOORS! CALL FOR AID! BRING ME MY AXE!”

“Your Majesty, we need a way to get all your guests out of the mountain safely.” Gandalf, the wandering wizard, declared.

“There’s a secret door at the back of the mountain.” Prince Thrain announced. “Take everyone you can, and Gandalf? Find my children. Get them out. Tell them…I love them.”

Gandalf nodded and the prince rushed off after his father.

“Mahal be with you, my friend.”

As the orcs began to break through the outer defenses, Gandalf began to lead the elves, men, and lone hobbit family out through the back. All the while keeping his eyes out for the heirs to the kingdom. However, Prince Frerin had immediately leapt into action the moment word of orcs reached him knowing exactly where his siblings were, never realizing he was heading for an ambush. Azog the Defiler promised death to the Durins. Every last one of them. And he had sent his own son in search of the young dwarves.

***

Shouts from the hallway had Thorin frowning as he moved across the room. He yanked open the door to ask the guards just in time for them to be stabbed through with an orc’s blade. In spite of his lack of actual battle experience, it was almost instinct for Thorin to pull the axe out of one of the dead dwarf’s hands and decapitate the first orc. Spin, slice the second one across the chest, and then stab the last one in the belly. It was after he was done, staring down at the mixture of red and black blood on the floor, that his hands began to shake.

“Thorin?”

Without hesitation, Thorin quickly retreated into the bedroom, barring the door. 

“What’s going on?” Dis tried again, her chin wobbling.

Thorin didn’t know how to answer her. Orcs were in the mountain, in the palace. Where was his father, his grandfather? Where was Frerin? Pounding came from the door, and Thorin could feel his blood throbbing in his veins as he nervously held up his axe in defense. He looked over at Dis, cowering in the corner, and he felt his throat go dry. He didn’t want Dis to die. He didn’t want to die.

“I know you’re in there, Thorin son of Thrain. I smell your fear.” 

A sword. Thorin needed his sword. He was best with a sword. Why didn’t he have his trusty weapon with him? The heavy stone door began to crack as something large rammed into it. Thorin flinched. This was it. Those horrid monsters were going to get in here and…and…Thorin took a deep breath to settle his nerves. And he would defend his sister. With his life if he had to. Another crack and a shower of dust settled between them. One more good hit, and the door was done for.

“Thorin!”

The dark haired prince spun in surprise only to see Frerin accompanied by a young and frightened hobbit. 

“Nadad (Brother)! What are you doing here? How did you get here?”

“No time!” Frerin insisted. “Quick! This way. My friend here found a secret tunnel. We have to get out. There are orcs crawling all over the place.”

Thorin clapped him on the shoulder as he dropped the axe and grabbed Dis’ hand instead. The hobbit was gesturing them over to a small hole in the wall. It would be a bit of a squeeze for Thorin, but he should fit. Just in time too. However, just before they could disappear in the tunnel, Dis released a gasp and spun around.

“My music box!” She exclaimed.

“No! It’s not worth it!” Thorin ordered, grabbing her hand even tighter.

Frerin, who was bringing up the rear, looked over towards the edge of the parlor where he spied the round golden object.

“I’ve got it!”

“No! Frerin!” 

Thorin’s shout came at the same time the front door finally crumbled. The younger prince looked back at his siblings, his eyes round with fear, with a single word on his tongue.

“RUN!”

Then the giant white orc seized him, running his sword straight through Frerin’s middle. Thorin was frozen. It was like a scene straight from his nightmares. It almost didn’t seem real. Seeing Frerin coughing up blood, watching it drip from the orc’s long blade. And then the cold dead eyes of the monster fell on him, and Thorin had only one decision he could make. Unless he wanted to experience the same fate for him and his sister. No matter how much he hated himself for it. Thorin pushed the other two inside the tunnel before following and sealing the door and the gruesome fate of his brother away. 

Panting, choked sobs, and whimpers were almost too loud in the dark stone surrounding them. The walls too thick to know what was happening on the other side. Thorin gave himself a moment, squeezing his eyes shut tight against the image of his defenseless brother. When he opened them again, there was only one thing on his mind: no more of his family would be lost this day. 

“We make for the exit.” He declared.

Dis and their hobbit companion followed closely, and if each of them latched onto Thorin at some point, that was a comfort he couldn’t deny any of them.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 2- Fighting for a Dragon’s Wish

So this one has a special dedication section. It was exactly 1 year ago today that @dimdiamond​ made this post, and this Cursed AU came to be. It is almost insane how well this has all come together, but I guess Dim doesn’t call me “madman” for nothing.🤣

If you would like for this to be my next fic, please be sure to shower it with lots of love (reblogs/likes/comments).🥰💖 All plot bunnies will be linked back to this masterpost.

Summary: The Arkenstone was no more and it’s wish granting dragon, gone with it. The traumatic events left Bilbo wanting to hang up his fighting lifestyle until thirteen rude aliens barge their way onto his planet demanding the stone. Bilbo finds himself traversing the galaxy in search of the Silmarils which may have the power to restore the Arkenstone, and along the way learn that he actually has more in common with the Ereborians than he realizes.

It had taken a long time for Bilbo to be considered a respectable hobbit. Given his particular history, many would have seen it as impossible. However, Bilbo rather enjoyed the quiet bustle the village he moved to had to offer. He all but preened in the golden sunlight that aided his small garden, and most important of all: his staff remained a walking stick only when he felt like venturing on a small jaunt through the woods surrounding his hilly home. For the first time in his life, he was completely at peace. His friends, however, had a different opinion.

“Forgive me for asking,” The tall Dale native grimaced. “You just seem so…”

“Bored.” Gandalf finished for Bard glaring down the end of his pipe at Bilbo.

The hobbit calmly sipped from his cup of tea before he deigned to answer his pseudo-father figure. Bilbo was fifteen years old when he lost his entire family in one brutal attack. Gandalf had been the one to take him in, and while he was forever grateful to the old man, he rather resented the implication that Bilbo relied on the way of the life he had been provided. 

“Rest assured, I’m quite content. The people of Hobbiton have been very welcoming, and I don’t find myself wanting for much here.” 

Both of his companions furrowed their brows skeptically, and thinking on his feet, Bilbo realized a subject change was in order.

“And Bard, how is your family? Are they…adjusting?”

Just as he hoped, the man’s expression smoothed over into pure joy. 

“Aye, they are glad to be back. And I’m more than happy to have them back. Thanks to you, Bilbo.”

“Oh, posh.” The hobbit waved off. “I was but a small part of that story. You are the real hero here, Bard.”

Rather than encouraging a turn in the conversation, Bard and Gandalf went back to frowning at him. Bilbo felt his nose twitch as his eyes fell, rather rudely, to the dark, liquid reflection of himself from his teacup. 

Bard cleared his throat. “This is a lovely home, though, Bilbo.”

The hobbit smiled as he seized the flag of truce gladly.

“Thank you, I built it myself.”

“Did you really?” Bard asked in amazement, really taking in the architecture of the smial.

Bilbo nodded indulgently, resisting the urge to rub at the callouses on his knuckles. Gandalf’s eyes seemed to zone in on the movement though. Thirty-five years, and he still failed to hide anything from the cunning old windbag.

“Bilbo, my dear boy, if this has to do with what happened with Sma…”

“No!” Bilbo cut him off, immediately jumping to his feet, teacup falling to clatter on the dirt floor.

Bard and Gandalf tensed, but didn’t react beyond that. Bilbo really must be losing his touch then. He could feel his hands tighten into fists as he fought to fiddle with the golden ring on his right middle finger.

“I garden.” He stated, his voice wobbling slightly. “In the afternoons, I fish, then I come home to read or draw maps or ANYTHING I FEEL LIKE DOING! This is what I want. I’m…fine. I’m more than fine, I’m here and not out there. And it’s…fine. It’s all fine.”

“Bilbo,” Bard addressed softly after a beat. “What happened in Laketown…it wasn’t your fault.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened as his chest began to heave. This was supposed to be a nice visit. He was in this nice new home, in a nice village. Why did Gandalf and Bard want to ruin it? Why didn’t they want Bilbo to have nice things? When he looked back up at the taller pair, his eyes were steel, and he could see them visibly flinch.

“Listen to me.” He demanded, feeling the power in his words and hoping it was only in his words. “Short of a sky-falling, world-ending, cataclysmic event, I will never be who I used to be again. So you might as well drop it! Either accept me for who I am now, or…I can show you the door.”

To emphasize his point, Bilbo opened the door to his smial before crossing his arms smugly. Of course, that was the point where everything went wrong. The sky darkened drastically, the ground began to quake, and a horrid noise filled the air. Bilbo bowed his head in resignation even as Bard and Gandalf jumped to their feet sprinting out into the yard. However, before Gandalf passed him, he shoved Bilbo’s worn pole into his chest. Bilbo stared down at his faithful companion morosely. This…this is why he couldn’t have nice things. Quick as a flash, Bilbo Baggins was out the door, ready to face whatever new threat beckoned him.

***

Maybe it was just Bilbo, but an alien invasion was probably about the last thing he expected to have to deal with when he woke up that morning. However, staring up at the truly massive ship as it slowly lowered itself to the grassy hillside was rather hard to pretend not to notice. Not that Gandalf or Bard would let him turn back now, both in ready positions. Bilbo merely leaned against his staff, waiting. After a lot of unnecessary fanfare, the hatch finally opened revealing its thirteen passengers. Other than the sheer volume of armor and facial hair on them, Bilbo found himself rather disappointed with how normal they looked. Even if they were flying. Well that was different. Considering it was rather hard to miss the three idiots who were the only ones not screaming and running away, the alien visitors flew straight for them.

Bard gripped his bow a little tighter, and even Gandalf tensed at their approach. Bilbo remained calmly leaning against his wooden pole. 

“We are the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, King of Erebor.” The oldest looking one addressed, landing with a bow. “We come seeking a treasure unique to your planet. Please present it to us, and we will leave you in peace.”

The tall, bald warrior scoffed. “Why are we assuming these three would know anything? They don’t look like much.”

The dark haired one in the center smirked back at him. “Aye. Especially the short one. He looks more like a grocer than a fighter.”

“Course I can’t seem to find a power level worthy of our time anywhere.” The red headed one gruffed

His hand was pushing a button on the side of the eyepiece they all seemed to be wearing. Bilbo assumed it was some sort of radar, but to read fighting power? Baffling. Of course, that didn’t bode well for them if it was outputting that all of Arda was weaker than the thirteen of them. Bilbo felt his muscles twitching at the idea of making them prove it, but he remained in control of himself. He was retired after all. 

“A treasure you say?” Gandalf finally asked.

The dark haired one from earlier landed before him. From the way he held himself as a very important alien, Bilbo was willing to bet this was their so-called King. 

“A jewel that shines with ten thousand sparks of white radiance, shot with glints of the rainbow, the Arkenstone. We heard humors that it might be found on this misera…planet.”

Bilbo narrowed his eyes as Gandalf and Bard shifted uncomfortably. 

“You can’t have it.” He finally declared.

All the Ereborians suddenly ceased with their chatter as their eyes immediately fell to Bilbo. The dark-haired one especially seemed to be trying to set Bilbo aflame with his glare alone. Quick as a flash, he was suddenly before Bilbo, holding him a foot above the ground by his cravat. Bilbo’s first instinct was to knee the asshole, but he restrained himself, dropping his staff in order to grip the Ereborian’s hand for leverage.

“And who’s going to stop me, Ardan? You?”

“I hadn’t planned on it.” Bilbo grunted. “And I prefer the term hobbit or Shireling if you must know.”

Bilbo was dropped unceremoniously with a snort from his former captor.

“Thought as much. Now give us what we want.”

“Or?” Bilbo hinted.

“Or we blow up your little dirtball.” The Ereborian smirked over his shoulder.

Bilbo caught uncomfortable shifting from the others, especially the white haired one, out of the corner of his eye. Well, if worse came to worse, he may not have to fight all thirteen.

“I think what our dear Bilbo meant to say…is it’s not here.” Gandalf intercepted.

This bit of news froze the Ereborian in his tracks. 

“Not here?” He repeated.

“It has been, quite by accident, I’m sure…”

Well that was a complete lie.

“Destroyed maliciously.”

Bilbo had to plant his feet to keep from being blown over by the power physically rolling off the Ereborian in waves. All of his confidence melted in an instant. What were they? There was something else underneath Bilbo’s newfound fear as the power washed over him. It was…comforting? No, more like…familiar. Familiar like a dream. 

“I do hope you’re joking.” The Ereborian snarled, his full attention on Gandalf.

“Unfortunately, I’m not. But before you get too carried away, there may be another. And I happen to know just where to go to get the information you need.”

As if it had never been there to begin with, the power vanished, but it did not return the dark haired Ereborian’s previous good humor. 

“By all means, lead the way. However, if this is all some elaborate last ditch bid to trick us and save your planet, I will not hesitate to kill every single one of you. Starting with him.” He promised nodding in Bilbo’s direction.

Gandalf shared a look with Bilbo, and while he seemed amused by the Ereborian’s lack of faith in Bilbo’s abilities, the hobbit could see he was nervous. Bilbo gripped his staff a little tighter. He really had been enjoying his retirement. It was a shame that didn’t last long. And he had only these self-entitled aliens to blame.

“I’m afraid it will not be accessible at this time. The Tower of Imladris is a well hidden fortress after all. However, in a show of good faith, we would see you comfortably fed and sated for the night.”

The Ereborian’s frown deepened as his arms crossed. Clearly trying to weigh the advantages of Gandalf’s suggestion.

“We can afford to wait a day, lad. For this, we can wait.” The white haired one stated, placing a hand on the dark-haired one’s shoulder.

“Fine.” The Ereborian sighed. “We will do as you suggest, but he stays with us.”

“What?!” Bilbo demanded, glaring at the alien’s finger pointed in his face.

Bard seemed as if he were about to protest, but Gandalf placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Very good!” Gandalf agreed. “I was going to suggest Bilbo’s home as your reprieve considering it is large enough and not far from here.”

The nerve of him.

“Gandalf…” Bilbo began only for the older man to cut him off.

“Just for the night, my boy. And who knows? It might be quite the merry gathering.”

Bilbo turned slightly as he listened to some of the Ereborians whooping and describing their hunger in great detail. It sounded like Bilbo was about to lose three of his five pantries to this lot.

“Find your courage. You’re meant for more than books and maps, Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo breathed in deeply, letting it out slowly as Gandalf patted his arm. The old warrior spared one last glance to give Bilbo a wink before he whisked himself away. Bilbo counted to ten before turning to face his alien guests with a large fake smile.

“Who would like some tea?”

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 6- Another Chance to Fly

Last plot bunny that you can vote on!! 😭 This one kind of feel like a cheat since I did a drabble for it already earlier this year, but oh well.😂 Thank you guys for all the notes so far!! I’m going to leave voting open until SATURDAY. Please note that tomorrow’s fic is actually in the works to being completed in October so I’ll have a special surprise to go along with it. 👀 

If you would like for this to be my next fic, please be sure to shower it with lots of love (reblogs/likes/comments).🥰💖 All plot bunnies will be linked back to this masterpost.

Summary: Bilbo and Thorin had a chance to show the world of figure skating how a hobbit and dwarf can be the greatest, when a tragic accident lost them a world title and subsequently their careers. Five years later, Bilbo is ready to make another run at it, but will he be able to convince Thorin to shake off the trauma of the moment to give him another chance to fly?

Warnings: Mentions of blood

Thorin was never one to let nerves get to him. He relished competition, and proving people wrong seemed to be a skill he was especially deft at. However, stretching in their warm-up room as the clock on the wall continued to count down the time until they were on the ice was making him shake. 

“Thorin? Are you listening to me?”

His gaze immediately flew over to where Bilbo Baggins sat, calm and collected as ever. However, rather than be envious of his partner, he found himself completely taken with how fluffy his curls were tonight. And how even under the heavy stage make-up, Bilbo’s fawn eyes still managed to reflect a level of innocent naivety that he knew were not actual traits in his companion, but caught him off-guard all the same.

“It’s just another night. Don’t think about who is in the audience or what’s at stake. Think about me and how vexed I’ll be if you drop me.”

Thorin laughed knowing exactly how Bilbo would be. Down to being more upset that Thorin messed up their routine than the actual injury itself. Not that Thorin would let that happen. 

“You ready to walk through our steps?” Bilbo asked, popping up off the mat.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Thorin rather detested warm-ups that weren’t on the ice. He knew Balin and Gandalf would kill him if he didn’t do it, but there seemed to be a lack of finesse when you were clunkily running around the room versus literally gliding on the ice. However, he and Bilbo went through the whole routine, spending a little bit of extra time on the tricky sections. Every time was perfect. Bilbo was perfect.

Two years ago, Thorin was continuing a family legacy of being one the few dwarven skaters in all of Arda. In a sport dominated primarily by the taller men and elves, dwarves were considered too boorish and clumsy to make good figure skaters. Then Thror took the world by storm, nearly winning a world championship in his first year on tour. Thrain was quick to follow in his footsteps, leaving Thorin to carry the mantle as well. For most of his career, he had only done singles. Elves and men didn’t make good partners, and Thorin had never been able to find a dwarf he was compatible with. Then he had been approached by Gandalf and Bilbo.

Bilbo Baggins had been an enigma. Hobbits did not figure skate. Ever. Their foot hair was so sacred in their culture that covering it was practically sacreligious. Thorin understood this well as it was the same for dwarves and their braids. Yet, Bilbo wore his custom skates proudly, and let Thorin know that his goals were the same as his: to make it to the top and prove everyone else wrong. 

Thorin wished he could say that they clicked immediately, but Thorin spent the first few months of their partnership trying to push Bilbo away. He saw the hobbit as a liability. Something too new in the world of figure skating to ever get him the score he deserved. It was after watching him skate literal circles around Azog that changed Thorin’s mind. They had been partners ever since. Something Thorin wished to extend past their professional lives as the velvet box sat heavy in his gym bag.

“It’s time, lads.” Balin stated poking his head into the room.

“We’ll be right out.” Bilbo promised.

He waited until after the older dwarf had gone before surging onto his feet to press a kiss to Thorin’s lips.

“For luck.” He smirked.

Just like that, all of Thorin’s jittery energy had been completely grounded. One more reason why he loved Bilbo Baggins.

“I don’t think I quite got that.” He teased.

Bilbo didn’t hesitate to surge back up for a longer kiss this time.

“Third time’s the charm.” Thorin remarked.

Only it was Thorin bending down in order to explore Bilbo’s mouth thoroughly. Letting all thoughts that weren’t about the hobbit he loved fall by the wayside.

“Satisfied?” Bilbo asked breathlessly when he finally, reluctantly pulled away.

“Well actually…”

“Two minutes!” Gandalf called as a warning, not bothering to poke his head in.

Thorin groaned as he rested his forehead against Bilbo’s.

“His timing.”

Bilbo pet Thorin’s cheeks with his thumbs as his grin seemed to light up his whole face. It made Thorin want to kiss him again. 

“We need to go. I’ll let you kiss me afterwards. As well as other things.”

“I love you.” Thorin blurted unashamed. 

Bilbo’s grin widened as he gave Thorin one last sweet kiss.

“Come on. We have a gold medal to win.”

Looking back, Thorin always blamed the fourth kiss as a sign of what was to come. He shouldn’t have pushed for more. It was bad luck. Not that he had ever believed in luck. In fact, he had frequently told Bilbo that they make their own luck.

They left the room and followed their coaches down a long hallway that led to the main arena. The closer they got, the colder it got. A welcome change as far as Thorin was concerned. Bilbo gave a small shiver as he did every time. Thranduil and his wife had just finished, and were exiting the ice to await their score. However, the haughty elf clearly made time to find Thorin’s eyes and give him a challenging eyebrow raise.

“Ignore him.” Bilbo immediately whispered.

It was fine. If anything it got Thorin’s blood roaring. It would be his great pleasure to wipe the floor with the prissy platinum blonde twit. Still concerned that Thorin may start something, an apt fear considering it had happened once before, Bilbo led Thorin over to a bench far from Thranduil to put on their skates.

Finally ready to get out on the ice, Thorin popped up and immediately made eye contact with the one person in the arena who could unravel his confidence in seconds. His grandfather’s eyes bore back into him as if daring him to impress him. Memories and fears became entangled in his mind to the point that Thorin wondered if he would ever find his way out again. However, with a quick touch to his cheek, Bilbo reminded Thorin he wasn’t alone once again, and the moment their eyes met it became easier to breathe.

“Just look at me.” Bilbo whispered. “Don’t take your eyes off me.”

Probably the easiest instructions any person could give him. Thorin covered the hand on his cheek giving it a small squeeze. It was the last good moment before everything went terribly, terribly wrong.

It was all just flashes of sights and sounds to Thorin now. Pieces of his memory that refused to go away no matter how hard he tried. The horrified screams from the crowd somehow louder than the track to their dance they didn’t quite realize should be turned off. The cold seeping into his knees as he cradled a small body close. The flashing blues and reds of the ambulance as he clutched tightly to an unresponsive hand pleading with every deity he could think of to let Bilbo Baggins awaken once more. Even as blood pooled from behind the gauze held tight over his eye. 

There were two things and two things only that he remembered with absolute clarity that night. The first was staring at Bilbo’s pale body in that hospital bed. The neck brace swallowing him as Thorin had to listen to the long, awful list of possible symptoms Bilbo could face after this. Paralysis being the one to stick in his brain and not let go. The second was Thranduil’s interview after the accident, and while Thorin had never wanted to punch the elf more, a small part of him told him he deserved it. After what he did to Bilbo, he deserved it and more.

“There’s an affliction in the skating world known as goldsickness where the desire to achieve gold invalidates everything and everyone else. I always suspected Thorin Oakenshield had it, especially considering it was the condition that essentially ended his grandfather’s career, and yet even I was unprepared for such a devastating and heartbreaking scene. My sympathies go out to Mr. Baggins who was dragged down by the dwarf’s madness, and my hopes that he can find solstice in a promising career cut short by greed.”

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Alright, it got super close, but I think the voting has slowed down enough to call it. My next WIP is...

EREBOR’S MONSTER!!

🥳🥳 THANK YOU GUYS for another great year of Birthday Plot Bunnies! If you missed any from this year, feel free to check them out.

Also remember, the first chapter of A Ghost of a Chance will drop Sept. 24th. Check out Sandy’s awesome art he did for the piece in the link. In fact, we’re still waiting for someone to catch a certain little addition...👀

If you want to see previous Birthday Plot Bunny contenders, feel free to check below. Also, just because a bunny didn’t win, doesn’t mean I won’t do it eventually! Please continue to hit them up with love and comments. It always makes me so happy to see. 🥰🐰

7 Days of Plot Bunnies (2020)

7 Days of Plot Bunnies 2: The Plot Twist (2021)

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

👉👈 just here to say that I love the reverse werewolf AU. I liked the way you wrote the whole idea.

I have been on the road but I totally was going to dm you about where that was a screaming “ahhh” or an awed “ahhh”. 😂

Back on point though…THANK YOU!! 😍 I have many ideas for Thorin treating Bilbo like a pet wolf until he realizes he’s the cute hobbit he saw naked once. 🤣🤣 Honestly I love wolf shifters but have had no idea how best to tackle it til now. 👀👀

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 7- FINALLY THE END!

Thank you everyone who has taken the time to read my work this past week! It’s been fun. I’m going to reblog the other 6 so they all have a fair chance and wait until Friday for the finally tally. In the meantime, please click the link below for the one-shot I posted on AO3. 

Title: Thirty Minutes to Change Your Life

Summary: Thorin overhears a conversation in a bar that makes him think Bilbo is considering suicide. Bilbo just thinks Thorin is hitting on him when he asks for 'thirty minutes to change his life'.

DISCLAIMER: This work does not make light of suicide or suicidal thoughts. It does, however, completely encourage people to reach out to those they fear are a harm to themselves or others.

Excerpt: 

He’s learned that asking people out at bars takes a bit of strategy. Going for the nonchalant play, he decided to walk by their table until he found a point in their conversation where he could jump in. It works well for him most of the time. Only this time, he heard something that nearly had him stop cold.

“You say this every year! You’re not going to jump, Bilbo.” The cousin groaned.

“Nope. You won’t change my mind this time, Siggy. I’ve got nothing to lose. I’m doing it this time.”

They wouldn’t be...there’s no way they would be talking about that so casually in a bar. Suddenly, all thoughts of hitting on the man went out the window as Thorin was riveted listening to more and making sure he wasn’t hearing what he thought he was hearing.

“Bilbo, I love you, but you’re not going to do it.” The cousin scoffed.

“Do you know I’ve promised myself every year since Mom died that this year will be different? I can’t keep living like this, Sig! I’ve just...I need to do this.”

“NO!” Thorin roared, spinning around.

Both men jumped in their seats staring at Thorin warily. Smooth, that was real smooth.

“What I mean to say is I couldn’t help overhearing and just...give me thirty minutes. Thirty minutes to change your life.”

All the story starters from this week are linked back to this masterpost.  The rest of this story can be found on AO3.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 5 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: For the Love of My Husband

Summary: Bilbo is a thief and a conman who has tricked Thorin, Crown Prince of Erebor, to marry him as an escape from a tight spot. He thought their marriage was happily enough, but Thorin feels a disconnect from the hobbit he’s married. To appease his family and strengthen their bond, Thorin asks Bilbo to take the Trial of Souls with him. Problem is, Bilbo doesn’t want Thorin to know anything about him because they are most assuredly not Ones. And if Thorin learns the truth, Bilbo will find himself back in the streets or worse...

In a darkened pub deep under the kingdom of Erebor, a hobbit and a dwarf squared off. The waiting crowd was near silent as they waited to see what would happen next. The dark haired beast of a dwarf looked fairly confident as he shared a smirk with his two friends directly behind him.

“What’ll it be, Took? Fold or settle?”

The hobbit nonchalantly lifted his overturn cup to sneak a peek at the two dice lying inside. 

“How about I raise you instead?”

It was silent for a moment before the dwarf, Drulik, burst into laughter followed by his cronies.

“Raise? You have nothing left to bet with.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” Bilbo stated before pulling out a silver harp-shaped brooch with thin golden strings.

The dwarves surrounding the gamblers all began murmuring at once, some trying to lean in for a closer view.

“Is that…?” One of Drulik’s dwarves gaped.

“Yes.” Bilbo announced calmly. “The Courting Gift of our dearly departed queen, Mahal rest her soul.”

“How did you get that?” Drulik demanded.

Bilbo gave him a wane smile as he tucked back into his vest with a pat. “It doesn’t matter. The question you should be asking is how much do you think it’s worth?”

The gambling den awaited Drulik’s long drawn out answer. It almost made the hobbit want to roll his eyes at the melodrama. However, after years on the streets, he knew a good show could sometimes be the difference between success and failure. And Bilbo didn’t fail. Finally, Drulik pulled out another bag, spilling the golden coins onto the pile between them.

“Settle.” Drulik demanded before revealing the contents under his cup.

The crowd cheered and whistled much to Drulik’s ego at the combined total of eleven from his dice. Nine Rings was a gambling game loved by Durin’s Folk and Men alike with a very simple premise. Highest total won. So you bet and bluff to convince your opponent that you have as close to twelve beneath the cup as possible. However, there was one small exception. Nine always trumped any other number. Therefore, when Bilbo lifted his cup to reveal the five and four, there was a near frenzy of excitement. Drulik was rendered speechless as Bilbo lifted his pint in cheer before downing the ale all in one go. Producing a sack from his coat pocket, he raked all the golden coins towards him.

“Well lads, this has been more excitement than any hobbit can take, but I think I’m going to leave now while my fortunes are in my favor.”

“You cheated.” Drulik growled. “You had to have.”

“Check my dice if you wish.” Bilbo offered with a shrug.

The tavern owner, Nifror, who ran as honorable a den as one could for thieves and ruffians was at their table in a flash. Bilbo had heard a tale that the last dwarf who cheated at the game got their loaded dice pinned, one to each hand, with a knife made by Nifror’s wife. He threw the dice a few times and each time they landed with a different number. He shrugged.

“The hobbit’s clean.”

“But that’s impossible.” One of Drulik’s own gaped.

“Yeah, we loaded them ourselves!” The other snarled.

There was a pause and then Old Nifror was on them in a flash. Some moved to help the old barkeep out. The rest roared and placed bets on the winner. Meanwhile, Bilbo used this as the perfect opportunity to sneak away. He dropped the loaded dice he had smuggled into his pocket on the ground with a snort. Like he would be that stupid. Now most would have worried walking around with that much gold around the dregs of Erebor’s underworld. Fortunately, Bilbo was a professional at remaining quiet and unseen. A talent he had been forced to pick up early in his life. Which is why he nearly screamed when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Make a good haul?” The dwarf smirked.

Bilbo turned around with a glare. “You know you don’t have to be so smug every time you manage to catch me off guard.”

Nori, Bilbo’s oldest and dearest friend, just raised an eyebrow as he tried and failed to hide the mischievous superiority oozing from his every pore.

“Just like to remind you, you’re not the best just yet.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes as he continued on his way knowing the dwarf was following.

“We both know I was headed to your place eventually so is there a reason you’re bugging me now?”

“Can I not worry over the sake of my friend?” Nori gasped overdramatically.

Bilbo snorted but made no arguments or agreements.

“Well, if I were coming to find you, it might have something to do with the fact that your husband finished up his duties early today to surprise you.”

The coin he was holding nearly slipped from his suddenly numb fingers.

“Valar above!” Bilbo swore. “That dwarf. He’s positively incorrigible!”

“He’s in love.” Nori pointed out.

Bilbo scoffed. “Love. Well shit, looks like you’re going to have to take this to our hiding place for me.”

Bilbo shoved the bag of gold into the dwarf’s chest before power walking towards the secret tunnels. Nori kept stride with him, clearly not done delivering bad news.

“Are you anywhere close to the right amount?”

“I’ve nearly two-thirds at this point.”

“Bilbo, you only have a week left.”

“I’m well aware, Nori! Maybe it's enough to...buy me more time.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t the whole point of you marrying some rich noble supposed to give you easy access to the treasury?”

“It was, but there was one teeny detail we didn’t take into account.”

“What’s that?”

Bilbo paused, his face falling into a grimace. “In-laws.”

***

One of the first things Bilbo and Nori did upon their rushed and unplanned move to Erebor from Ered Luin was scope out the best places for a quick getaway. They just so happened to make kind with a chatty miner named Bofur who, while deep in his cup, told them that the royal wing originally was meant to be on the other side of the mountain. When the architects realized the disadvantage of having the royal family so far from the guards’ posts and war meeting rooms, rather than just move the furniture back down only to go back up on the correct side, they cut unmapped tunnels around the outside of the mountain. It also had the added advantage of getting their monarchy out quicker in the case of a coup if the knowledge hadn’t been lost through time. It was perfect for the thieves’ needs. In almost no time at all, Nori and Bilbo had found the tunnels and utilized them fully. 

Something the hobbit was thankful for now as he flew down the tunnel to get back to his room. He welcomed the blast of mountain wind to rapidly cool the sweat on his face before ducking back into the opposite entrance. There was a small alcove where Bilbo’s fancier clothes lay and he all but threw himself out of his worn threads for the finer silks and cotton. The last thing he did was pocket the brooch before sprinting back down the tunnel braiding and beading his hair on the run. Once he was back in the royals’ wing, he ducked his head out to make sure the coast was clear, and then silently made his way to his suite. After closing the door behind him, Bilbo relaxed against it, heaving a sigh of relief.

“And just where have you been, Husband of Mine?”

Bilbo prided himself on the fact that he did not squeak even if he did jump nearly two feet in the air. Thorin, Prince of Erebor, was lounging in the armchair by the fireplace looking rather pleased with himself. Bilbo attempted to calm his racing heart as he stepped forward, plastering what he hoped to be a loving grin on his face.

“Just a walk on the cliffs with Nori. Surely, you would not deny this hobbit the feel of fresh air and sunshine?”

Thorin stood at that point, meeting him about halfway. His thumb gently caressed Bilbo’s cheek.

“If I had it my way, I would deny you nothing, ukradê (my greatest heart).”

Bilbo hummed in practiced delight as he met his husband’s lips with his own. The hobbit was at least content with the knowledge that as far as dwarves went, Thorin was stunningly handsome. Not a sentiment necessarily shared with others of his race. Which worked out just fine for Bilbo as it left a prince of all things, uncommitted and available.

“By the way, look what I found this morning.” Bilbo stepped back with a teasing smile as he produced the brooch from his pocket.

“My mother’s brooch!” Thorin gaped as he took it reverently. “Where…?”

“It was under my bed. You must have dropped it when you paid me a surprise visit last night.”

Thorin smirked as he latched onto Bilbo’s hips. “I remember the night well.”

Oh, and he was a really, really good bed partner. No, Bilbo was well aware he could have it much worse. It was just the dwarf’s nauseating romanticism that nearly caused him to roll his eyes more than once. Thorin gave him a long lingering kiss before he bent forward to press his forehead against Bilbo’s own. Their hands found their way into each other’s naturally interlocking.

“I promise, it won’t always be like this.” Thorin murmured when he finally pulled away, his blue eyes shining brightly.

Like this. The dwarf was so dramatic. It constantly made Bilbo feel like some player performing for the court. Heaving a sigh as he looked down between their conjoined hands. 

“We’ve been married for eight months, and two of those have been spent here in Erebor. If your family was going to accept me, they would have done so by now.”

Thorin released his hands so he could lift Bilbo’s chin to look at him.

“Don’t lose faith yet, amrâlimê (my love). I have a plan.”

It was a good thing Bilbo was a talented actor. He laughed, causing Thorin to smile.

“You have a plan? That sounds dangerous.”

“Tease all you want, but I have all the confidence in this plan.”

“Well, out with it. What have you come up with?”

Thorin shook his head teasingly. “You’ll have to wait. I want it to be a surprise.”

Bilbo linked his arms around the dwarf’s neck for leverage as he started showering him with kisses at his jaw, the corner of his mouth, and his throat.

“And I couldn’t persuade you to tell me any sooner?”

“You are cruel, thundanûd (tiny embrace).” Thorin moaned, his hands resting on Bilbo’s arms.

“It’s only cruel if you don’t accept the invitation.” Bilbo teased back as he pulled at the prince’s tunic to allow him access to his collarbone.

Thorin shuddered once with want before finding the strength to pull away. He grasped Bilbo’s hands again as he kissed him deeply as an apology.

“Later. There will be time later. But now...we are having dinner with my family.”

Bilbo’s building fire of lust was immediately doused, a small frown settled on his forehead that Thorin attempted to kiss away. Lovely, the in-laws.

It certainly wasn’t that Bilbo wanted them to like him. He could honestly care less. It was just their dislike of him that made it really difficult for him to do...well, much of anything. Thrain, still mourning the loss of his dead wife, remained suspicious and hardened against Bilbo for the sheer fact that he was a hobbit. Their marriage had yet to be announced to the Council or even the mountain in general. Keeping Bilbo out of the public eye was Thrain’s number one priority which was certainly no hardship. It was Frerin and Dis he had the biggest problems with. Thorin’s brother and sister, ever loyal to him, seemed to think Bilbo wasn’t good enough for the dwarf, and constantly had Balin, the royal advisor, keeping tabs on him. Bilbo was reluctant to admit the dwarf’s keen eyes and sharp wit, but it had taken quite a few of Bilbo’s best moves to lose his tails before entering the secret tunnels.

Therefore, coming together in the Royal Dining Room for “family dinners” was a...stilted affair. There were only two redeeming features to those evenings. One, it was always the best food Bilbo had ever eaten in his life. And two, Thorin’s nephews, Fili and Kili, were not the least bit bothered by him and had some story worth telling that took the edge of him for a little bit at least.

“And then the axe sailed through the air and straight into the boar’s head. So technically, technically we aren’t responsible for the mess in the trophy room.” Kili finished.

“No.” Vili, their father snorted. “Just responsible for startling the poor guard that set off the chain of events.”

“Well how were we supposed to know he was right there?” Fili defended.

Bilbo snorted in spite of himself. “Watch the shadows.”

He immediately tensed after he said it as he waited for the barrage of insults to be hurtled his way.

“Spoken like a true thief.” Dis sneered.

Yep, right on cue.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t corrupt my sons.” She continued.

“Namad…” Thorin warned softly.

Thrain’s hand met the tabletop in a harsh bang. “What have I said about speaking our language in front of the Halfling?!”

Bilbo sighed and turned his attention to his soup as the line of Durin flexed their tempers. Thorin rising to his defense, Dis and Thrain attempting to argue their points louder, Frerin leaving snide quips here and there, and Vili trying and failing to keep the peace. The joy of family dinners.

“Actually, while we’re on this subject, I have something to say.” Thorin demanded, his voice low and regal. “I will be gone the remainder of the week.”

Everyone, including Bilbo, froze and stared up at Thorin in relative confusion and outrage. The prince’s eyes were boring holes straight into his father whose scowl would be enough to frighten wargs off at this point.

“And just where will you be?” The king finally spat.

Thorin reached down for Bilbo’s hand making the hobbit supremely discomforted. Thorin’s eyes were soft and pleading though as they met his.

“We will be taking the Trial of Souls.”

“We’ll be doing what now?” Bilbo questioned.

“Thorin…” Dis murmured at a surprisingly subdued volume, her eyebrows knitted together.

“Finally! A sensible idea!” Frerin declared. 

All eyes rested on the brunette as he raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t you think? I mean, to put it bluntly, everyone at this table has been trying to convince Thorin out of this marriage in some way. When they don’t emerge from the tunnels together, that would be a pretty good indicator of the truth.”

“We haven’t. We like Bilbo.” Kili reminded softly.

Bilbo shot the troublemakers a quick smile of thanks. They were idiots, but they were sweet. Meanwhile, Thrain was rubbing his beard in thought before nodding once.

“Yes, this will do well. In fact, if you make it through all five chambers, I’ll hold a feast in honor and publically accept your union.”

Thorin nodded, still looking rather cross with his father. “As I’d hoped.”

Bilbo found he couldn’t take it anymore. “Now, wait! Wait just a minute! What is this...Trial of Souls?”

Thorin stared at his father for permission, and the king granted it almost the picture of satisfaction. Being a gambler, it made Bilbo largely nervous as Thorin turned back towards him.

“It’s a series of tests to prove two dwarves...or in our case, a dwarf and a hobbit, are Ones.”

Bilbo’s mouth opened and shut a couple of times, but no words were able to come out.

“Problem, Halfling?” Dis questioned with mock innocence.

“Thorin, a moment if you please.” Bilbo was finally able to say as he pulled his stone-headed husband out into the hall.

“Are you serious?!” He finally rounded on him.

“What?” Thorin questioned.

“Thorin, I…” Bilbo fought for the right words without making this worse. “I don’t understand. What exactly do we have to prove? We’re married. Shouldn’t that be enough?!”

Thorin sighed. “It should. You are correct, ibinê (my gem). But don’t you see? It’s perfect! My family will be satisfied by our success at the Trials, and it’ll be irrefutable evidence to the rest of the mountain if any rose to challenge us. And politics aside, I want this for us.”

“Us?” Bilbo repeated too numb to be completely in control of his mouth.

“Yes!” Thorin nodded eagerly. “Couples that pass the Trials of Souls find they become closer than ever. Our...relationship hasn’t been for very long, and I respect that your past is painful to you, but I want to know you azyungel (love of loves). I want to know everything there is to know about my husband, and share myself in return. What do you say?”

Now being a hardened thief, the hobbit knew a thing or two about how to get out of a seemingly hopeless situation. However, as his mind swirled and swirled around the damnable logic of Thorin’s decision, he found himself becoming dizzy and nauseated. That was it then. Bilbo was doomed. He had just enough time to get out a soft ‘nope’ before he fell over in a dead faint.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 6 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: A Walk on the Other Side

Summary: Bilbo is a FBI profiler and rather enjoys his desk job when a strange case comes across his desk hinting towards the FBI's most wanted: Smaug. As soon as he makes this connection, he is approached by notorious crime lord, Oakenshield, in an attempt to get him to work for him. Bilbo’s world gets flipped upside down by the suave man, and he may not be a dirty cop, but he does have a personal investment in making sure Smaug is put behind bars.

Bilbo Baggins was not exactly the first person you pictured when you heard the acronym “FBI”. He was a little too short, a little too pudgy, and enjoyed his sweater vests immensely. Yet, he’s been his department’s top analyst for the last fourteen years. He may not be one of the showy field officers (messy, nasty work that), but what Bilbo did was not any less important. In fact, if it wasn’t for analysts like Bilbo, a lot of times the “gunslinging action” wouldn’t take place at all. A rather unpopular opinion but true.

It was shaping into a relatively normal Thursday for Bilbo. They had just finished up a debrief over their latest embezzlement case. He was starting to suspect they were dealing with a serial embezzler. It was different locations, different methods, and different amounts, but there was something about the case that clicked in Bilbo’s mind. He was almost to his desk when he noticed a large manila envelope was draped over his keyboard. He raised an eyebrow as he carefully lifted the sticky note attached to it.

Have a look at these files for me? I know I’m missing something. Call me when you figure it out. -GG

Bilbo plopped into his uncomfortable rolling chair with a sigh. Gandalf was his old AD before he switched departments. And unfortunately, anything with Gandalf’s name on it was usually trouble for Bilbo. He tapped his fingers on the desk and spun back and forth in his chair for a bit when his eyes landed on his mother’s picture on his desk. She was in uniform hugging him at his college graduation. He knew exactly what she would want him to do. Heaving a groan, he pulled the damn envelope towards him and started looking over the files.

Arsons? Those didn’t usually fall under Gandalf’s jurisdiction. His eyes skimmed the reports, not sure exactly what Gandalf was expecting him to do. The evidence was fairly cut and dry. What’s more is the local police caught a suspect that seemed substantially to blame. Case closed. However, if Gandalf thought there was more, he should probably check it twice. It was actually the third time that he caught it. The papers hit his desk as his mind reeled. No...surely it wasn’t? Now he really needed to make sure.

He laid the photos out side by side circling the origin of the fires in each picture. His hand was shaking when he was done. This was big. This was FBI’s most wanted big. He didn’t even bother writing up a report. He immediately got on the server and sent a one-word email to Gandalf.

Smaug.

It was thirty after six when Bilbo finally packed up his work to head back home. His mind had been racing all afternoon, and all he wanted was to be put on the arson case. However, Gandalf never replied to his email, never called, nothing. First thing he was going to do when he got home after feeding Myrtle was grab a beer from the fridge and call the older man. Even if Gandalf wouldn’t let him be part of the team, he deserved to know what happened with that bastard.

Bilbo’s townhouse wasn’t exactly what you would call grand, but he enjoyed it greatly. It had the cosy atmosphere of his childhood cottage while still being rent efficient in a quiet neighborhood. It was a slight commute to work, but well worth it. He unlocked the door and flipped on the lights to the front room as he toed off his shoes and set his messenger bag down. He was just getting ready to move into the kitchen to get some cat food down for Myrtle when he froze. There was a man in his house.

“So you’re Mr. Baggins.” His low voice purred in amusement as he looked him up and down. “You look more like a grocer than an agent.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to scream when the man whipped out a Sig Sauer.

“Don’t.” He ordered calmly. “I only want to talk.”

Bilbo’s eyes hardened as he quickly took in details for a sketch artist. Tall, likely over six foot. Lean, except for he’s slightly broader in the shoulders. Tailored suit. Slicked back dark hair but graying at the sides, hooded blue eyes, well-trimmed beard and mustache. Almost as if he knew exactly what Bilbo was doing, the man smirked before nodding towards the sitting room. Bilbo moved slowly and deliberately as he sank down onto his armchair. The man unbuttoned his jacket before taking the spot on the couch. He set the gun down in front of him on the coffee table. A peace offering, but also a signal that it was within reach if he needed it. Bilbo’s blood was pounding as he forced his dry throat to work.

“What do you want?”

“Gandalf told me you have the information I need.”

Bilbo cocked his head in confusion as his mind raced to process the loaded answer. This man knew Gandalf. He talked to him recently. He knew Smaug.

“What kind of information?” Bilbo played dumb.

“A file came across your desk, and you gave Gandalf a name. I want to know why? What did you see that made you so sure it was him?”

There was almost a maniac gleam in those bright blue eyes. It was something Bilbo related to well. 

“I can show you. I just need to get to my bag.” Bilbo stated, slowly standing up.

The man’s hand twitched towards his gun, but he didn’t pick it up as he nodded his consent. He didn’t take Bilbo as a threat. His mistake. Bilbo grabbed his bag and slid the pistol and cell phone out of the front pocket whirling around on the man. He sighed but put his hands up as he leaned back into the couch. Bilbo’s left hand was shaking as he searched for Gandalf’s number, but his gun hand remained steady and in control. He put the call on speaker so he could watch the man’s face for any slip. However, his expression never changed from slightly bored and exasperated.

“My dear Bilbo, I do hope you haven’t shot our guest yet.”

Bilbo could just kill the AD. He really could. As it was, his posture relaxed just slightly.

“Who is he?” He demanded of Gandalf.

“Someone who has hunted Smaug longer than you.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes at the dramatics and lack of a real answer which seemed to amuse the other man somewhat. This didn’t feel right. Every instinct in Bilbo’s body said to arrest the man across from him if nothing else than because he was dangerous.

“Do you trust him?” Bilbo finally asked, his voice wavering just slightly.

There was a long pause before Gandalf answered.

“I do.” 

Being of no real use, Bilbo hung up the phone after that. He had two choices before him. He could trust Gandalf’s judgement, or he could go with his instincts. He kept the gun trained on the man for a moment longer before lowering it with a sigh. He flipped the safety back on as he stuck it in his waistband, because he wasn’t a total naive idiot, before picking up his bag like he said he was going to initially. When he looked back over, the man’s gun was gone. Bilbo sat stiffly next to him and pulled out the file Gandalf had sent over earlier.

“It was where these fires originated that tipped me off. Here, what do you notice?” Bilbo questioned.

The man furrowed his eyebrows studying the images before he shrugged with a grunt of irritation.

“Placement.” Bilbo pointed out. “There were no traces of accelerant so how do you start a natural fire? Well, very easily. Gas range stove, covered radiator, electrical outlets, but look. Where the spot is most charred we can assume is the start of the fire. It’s nowhere near anything like that. It couldn’t possibly have started naturally. So what set off the fire? Smaug has a very specific MO. He kills using highly concentrated nitroglycerin tablets, smuggable due to their heart relieving counterparts, that when combined with human stomach acid will cause an explosion. And judging by the shape of the darker burn, it’s not a huge leap to assume that there was a human body there.”

“But all of the owners were alive to file insurance claims.” The man pointed out, looking more curious than anything else.

Forgetting that he was a stranger that had a gun trained on him not even ten minutes ago, Bilbo found himself getting more animated at the chance to finally explain his theories.

“So I looked into that after I sent the email to Gandalf. Somehow, every owner was conveniently out of town before the fire happened, and afterwards were able to afford a building or home way above their pay scale. Which even if you take insurance money into account still shouldn’t be possible. I think Smaug was paying them off for access to conduct his dirty work somewhere he couldn’t be tracked. What’s more, all the buildings being used by the same money laundering cleaning service made an easy target for the police.”

The man raised an eyebrow as he seemed to be appraising Bilbo. He smirked before standing.

“Very well, I’ll talk to Gandalf about getting you transferred.”

Bilbo jumped to his feet.

“Transferred? Where? For what purpose?”

“I want you working for me.”

“Now wait just a minute here!” Bilbo demanded as he stomped back into the entry hall. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but I won’t be a dirty cop! And don’t try to convince me anything about what we did was legal. Nobody breaks into an FBI agent’s home and holds a gun on him unless they work outside the law.”

The man shook his head with a snort. “Well aren’t you just perceptive.”

“Hang on!”

Bilbo reached out for the man’s arm at the same time he reached for the doorknob. In less than a second, the man had Bilbo’s arm pinned above his head in the wall out of view of the window with Bilbo’s own gun placed under his chin. Bilbo glared into the ice blue eyes inches away from his own as he tried to keep a cool head in an uncomfortable situation.

“Let’s get a couple of things straight.” The man whispered, his breath hot on Bilbo’s face. “One, I don’t answer to anyone, especially not you. Two, you’ll be whatever I want you to be or you don’t get the revenge you so clearly desire. Yeah, I can see in your eyes how badly you want Smaug. Work for me or get the hell out of my way. I don’t really care one way or the other, but Smaug is mine.”

He gave Bilbo one last smirk before shoving the gun in Bilbo’s pocket and stepping away. Without so much as a ‘good evening’, he was gone in the night. Adrenaline shot, Bilbo slid down the wall until his butt met the floor painfully. He let his head lightly bang into the wall behind him a few times as he just focused on breathing. A ‘meow’ alerted him to his company before Myrtle stepped over his legs to rub her head against his arms and stomach.

“And where have you been?” He croaked.

He didn’t get an answer back aside from another ‘meow’ as she seemed rather insistent on getting her dinner. Bilbo closed his eyes and counted to twenty before getting up to finally go to the kitchen. That beer sounded more prevalent than ever.

***

First thing he did the next day was go straight to Gandalf’s office, slamming the door behind him. The older man looked up and gave the analyst a wide smile. 

“Bilbo! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Who the hell was that last night?!”

“Well…” Gandalf huffed.

“Tell me.” Bilbo seethed. “Or I’ll go straight to the top and tell Saruman everything.”

Gandalf pouted. “No need to get testy. Please have a seat. Do you want some tea? Coffee?”

Bilbo let his face fall into his hands. “What I want…” His muffled voice stressed. “Is some answers. What have I just been exposed to?”

Gandalf sighed. “Very well. I believe you are familiar with Oakenshield?”

Bilbo slowly lifted his head to pierce Gandalf with a baffled glare.

“Oakenshield...the crime family? Oakenshield...who got into it with the Orcs several years back and cut off the hand of their boss? That Oakenshield?” 

“The very one.” Gandalf snapped, pleased. “Well that was Thorin.”

“Thorin? As in the head of Oakenshield, Thorin Durin?!” Bilbo’s voice had risen in pitch at this point.

“Of course.” Gandalf nodded as if Bilbo having a conversation in his living room with a dangerous mob boss was akin to making a friend at preschool.

Bilbo collapsed in the chair across from Gandalf as spots danced in his eyes. He white-knuckle gripped the arms as if physically trying to tether himself to the conscious world. I’m not going to pass out. I’m not going to pass out. Bilbo was an analyst! There was a reason he didn’t go out and meet people...well like that. And Gandalf knew Durin. Even worse, Gandalf leaked FBI intel to him. Slowly he lifted his head.

“Did my mother know?” He demanded hoarsely.

“Did she know what?” Gandalf asked, genuinely baffled.

“Did she know you worked for the mafia?”

“Bilbo…”

“ANSWER THE QUESTION, GANDALF!”

The wizened face hardened, reminding Bilbo of the reason why he had yet to retire.

“She suspected...but I never told her, no.”

Bilbo rubbed his jaw as he chuckled on the verge of hysterics.

“She always told me I had to get in your command. Said it was her best days on the force. That you were a good AD. Tell me. What’s your ratio? How many do you let slip off the hook for every one you put behind bars?”

“Now see here, Bilbo Baggins! I will not let you undermine me or my division! Contrary to your belief system, there is more at work here than what you can comprehend.”

“My belief system?” Bilbo scoffed. “You mean THE LAW?”

“Yes.” Gandalf grumped. “The law. The law which can dictate that a pickpocket is guilty but a corporation stealing hours from their underpaid workers is innocent.”

“I’m not going to sit here and debate...politics with you!” Bilbo laughed. “My job is to arrest people like Thorin Durin and there’s nothing you can say that’s ever going to make me think working with the lunatic is a good idea!”

“Not even if he’s your only chance to take down Smaug?”

Bilbo’s face fell into an emotionless mask, except for his eyes burning holes into Gandalf. Without another word, he stood and left the office. If he slammed the door closed with more force than necessary, well that was no one’s business but his own. Luckily, his black mood seemed to engulf him like a siren warning everyone off. He made it to his desk with no distractions ready to pick up where he left off with the embezzlement cases. Only, he couldn’t move as he stared blankly at the wall of his cubicle.

Understandably, his focus was a little off. He figured he should turn Gandalf in, but for the love of his mother’s memory and nothing more, he deemed it best to leave that stone unturned. His decision was immediately questioned when he got a text twenty minutes later from an unknown number with a time and a location and a charming little warning at the end.

Come alone.

Bilbo snorted as he tossed his phone on his desk. Absolutely not. An hour later, he found himself procrastinating the embezzlement case again to pull up the bureau's database on Smaug, Dracon. It was all information Bilbo had practically memorized at this point. His eyes drifted towards his phone with the text he had already committed to memory before shaking his head and exiting out of his search. Bilbo was an analyst for the FBI. He had his integrity and moral responsibility to ignore psychopathic crime bosses who wanted to use him for a turf war. He wasn’t so single-mindedly driven by revenge regardless of what Gandalf or Oakenshield said. His phone buzzed again.

Belladonna Took’s son was meant for more than sitting behind a desk for the rest of his life. Thorin was impressed. At least hear him out tonight, and if you absolutely feel like you can’t join the team, we won’t bother you ever again.

Bilbo threw his phone with a string of curses that had everyone around him staring with wide eyes. Bilbo dragged his hands down his face. This was such an easy decision. He just had to say no! No, no, no, no. Why couldn’t he say no?

Because you’ve never felt more excited about any case before? Because you trained for months to be a field agent before making an abstaining promise to your father at your mother’s grave? Because you’ve never felt closer to getting your mother’s killer, and that’s a sweet taste that just won’t go away?

Bilbo cursed himself with every swear in the book when the cab pulled up outside the restaurant that was texted to him. His nerves were singing. Everything about this felt wrong and dirty. And yet...he opened the door to let himself in.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 4 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: The Hoardless Dragon

Summary: Thorin has been waiting his whole life for something interesting to happen in Erebor, and when Tharkun arrives with a “dragon expert” to warn of Smaug’s survival he thinks he may have gotten his wish. However, Thror falling in and out of the gold madness its beneficial to Erebor’s defenses, and it may be that there is more than one dragon to fear.

Tharkun has always been a curious character. Thorin may only be twenty-three, but he knew enough to recognize at least this fact. First off, he carried himself as neither man nor elf. Thorin has always been amicable to the men of Dale, much to his grandfather’s chagrin. Even to a lesser extent, his own father seemed hesitant over his friendship with Girion’s son. Flawed they may be, Thorin would describe men as a race as being unchiseled rock. Rough, but hiding their true value deep within. He would never use this to describe Tharkun.

Likewise, the elves had an almost ethereal, and in Thranduil’s case, haughty air about them that also didn’t apply to the wizard. Tharkun carried the same wisdom and experience as the ageless race, but he was also warm and wizened like he came to expect of men. He could even argue that Tharkun was secretive and stubborn like his own people if his battle of wits with his grandfather was any indication. Yes, Tharkun was odd. However, he was also kind. He encouraged Thorin’s curiosity of what lay beyond the gates of Erebor with tales of stone giants and great eagles. Battles fought long ago, and hidden lands of green hills and little people.

Thror may look at the eccentric being and sneer, but Thrain and Thorin were in near agreement that Tharkun was a true Khuzdbâha (dwarf-friend). That’s not to say Thorin was blind to the fact that Tharkun was a meddlesome interloper who preferred to speak in riddles. Thorin was third in line for the throne after all, and he knew how to watch for a politician’s half-truths. Still, when the herald rushed into the throne room to announce the arrival of the grey wizard, Thorin found himself fidgeting beside his grandfather’s throne in excitement.

Thrain’s eyes were twinkling as he looked over his father’s head at him. Still his words were reprimantory. 

“Thorin, behave.”

The young prince ducked his head trying his best to calm himself. He still wasn’t quite used to throne room behavior, and was constantly being reminded to behave. His mother was in fits that he had to attend open court at all thinking him still too young. He was proud of the fact that his father was already training him in his duties to the crown. However, he knew his father wouldn’t have sprung it on him at all if it wasn’t for his grandfather’s declining health. 

It was something Thrain and Fris did well to hide from their children, but Thorin wasn’t blind. The days of Thror encouraging Thorin and Frerin in their mischief as they tried to sneak by his office or taking him into the forge to experience his first taste at smithing were far behind him. Now, he could barely catch his grandfather’s attention so absorbed was he in his gold. Even raised to appreciate the might and beauty of Erebor, Thorin had a hard time understanding why his grandfather spent so much time with his gold and gems. Even his smiles and laughter were now replaced with ice glares and harsh words. Thorin loved his grandfather, but he was not so sure that his grandfather loved him anymore. Whatever strange inflection has taken Thror, Thorin hoped Tharkun held the cure.

The doors to the throne room were thrown open once more as Tharkun was escorted down the path with four guards stationed inside. A new precaution his grandfather deemed important to take as of late. Tharkun made no motion that the blatant display of distrust bothered him as he swept his way to the bottom of the steps with a deep bow and wide grin.

“Hail Thror, son of Dain. Hail Thrain, son of Thror. Hail Thorin, son of Thrain. It pleases me greatly to see the sons of Durin in good health and prosperity.”

Thror was content to glare down at the wizard so Thrain took it upon himself to greet their guest.

“Hail Tharkun! If we had known you would be arriving, we would have already pulled out the good mead. As it is, if you intend to join us for dinner tonight, I would see it done.”

“You do know how to tempt me, dear friend. As much as I would like to revel in pleasantries, I believe business must come first.”

“Yes, what storm follows in your wake this time, Tharkun Amsâlakhzar (bringer of bad luck)?” Thror mused.

The room was immediately filled with tension as Tharkun’s eyes narrowed on Erebor’s king in tight scrutiny. He’s never actually seen it in action, but Cousin Fundin, used to tell Thorin stories of Tharkun’s raw power, and how you never anger a wizard. The dwarf prince was half-afraid he was about to get a firsthand account.

“Ha!”

The sudden noise seemed to startle everyone in the room as Thorin turned his head just noticing for the first time that Tharkun did not arrive alone. The strangest being Thorin had ever seen in his life stepped out from behind the wizard. He stood merely an inch or two taller than Thorin which was on the small side for a dwarf. His beardless face, large wooly feet, and slightly pointed ears hidden by bronze curls stood in stark contrast to what Thorin was used to with his own kind having never seen another species of their height. Even his fashion was bizarre with the short trousers, perfectly tailored vest, and a velvet jacket of all things. That’s when Thorin remembered Tharkun’s stories of the little people on the other side of the world. This creature must be a halfling!

“I suppose you had every reason to fear, Grey Wizard, I’ll give you that much.” The halfling snorted, deriving some sort of depravatated humor from the situation.

“And what is this?” Thror demanded.

“Not what, Your Majesty, who. You can be knee deep in a dragon spell, and still have some manners about you.” The smaller male mocked.

Thorin had a detached bewilderment as he watched the impending mine-collapse. His own father didn’t speak to Thror so brazenly, and by the tightened grip on the stone throne, this matter would not be taken lightly. Still he couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by ‘dragon spell’?

“How silly of me!” Tharkun forced the diversion even as his hands tightened on his staff. “King Thror, Prince Thrain, Prince Thorin, allow me to introduce Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.”

At this the halfling gave a small nod of his head raising the ire of his grandfather. The smaller male would be lucky to leave with his life if he continued on this way. However, Master Baggins' attention then swept over to Thorin himself, and the halfling seemed caught off-guard for the first time tilting his head just slightly as he blinked slowly. The halfling’s hand immediately went to the golden band on his right hand, and he began to fiddle with it while narrowing his eyes on Thorin. 

“Why is Bilbo Baggins of the Shire in my mountain?” Thror snarled, pulling Thorin’s attention back to his grandfather and the wizard.

“Bilbo has been my traveling companion as of late.” Tharkun smiled, seeming to think the conversation was back on his terms.

“Not voluntarily, mind you.” The halfling grumbled earning a small whack on his back from the wizard’s staff.

Thorin had to duck his head to hide his mirth at the scene, but when he looked back up the halfling was watching him again. This time with more fondness, as he gave the prince a wry grin and a quick wink.

“You see, I asked Mister Baggins to join me because I noticed stirrings to the north.” Tharkun remarked casually enough.

“Stirrings of what?” Thrain asked curiously.

“That my Prince, is the right question.” Tharkun smiled brightly before his face and tone fell grave in the blink of an eye. “The fire-drake, Smaug, is awakening from his slumber, and he seems to be sniffing out a new hoard to bed in even as we speak. If you do not take precautions, I fear his sights may fall to Erebor.”

The wizard’s warning was met with silence. Thorin wouldn’t lie. There was a small part of him that thought this was fantastic news. Nothing exciting ever happens in Erebor! The entire time he’s shadowed his father, it’s been nothing but boring council meetings, numbers and figures, even their trips down to Dale had become tedious. Now, though, there was something exciting to occupy his attention, and he couldn’t deny that part of him that wanted to charge headfirst and face down a dragon to earn his epithet. Thorin Dragonslayer, they would call him!

Outwardly, he portrayed the same concern he could see on his father’s face. Then his grandfather burst into fits of laughter.

“You have told some tall tales, Wizard, but this one steals the prize! A dragon! Next you’re going to tell me Durin’s Bane itself is knocking on my doors.”

“It is no jest, King Thror.” Tharkun insisted with a tight expression.

Thror sobered up some, but still seemed to discredit the grey figure’s words.

“I have been chased from my home by a dragon before. I know the signs. Erebor is prosperous, it will not fall. Especially to a fire-drake that has been extinct for ages!”

“You ignore the signs.” Mister Baggins stepped forth once more. “They are all here, King Under the Mountain, and the fire-breather Smaug lives as well as a few that your people refer to as cold-drakes. Why, it wouldn’t shock me to find Eisigem still sleeps in Dain’s Halls.”

“Enough, you impertinent imp!” Thror cried, jumping to his feet.

Thorin’s hand fell to his sword at his waist along with the other guards even though he was conflicted about attacking Tharkun and his companion. Still, the hobbit offered his grandfather great insult, and he was not about to deny that.

“Who are you to question the word of the king?” Thror demanded.

Mister Baggins’ lips were pressed in a tight line, and once glance at the dark look from Gandalf sealed his sour mood.

“My apologies, Your Majesty.” Mister Baggins replied in a clipped tone. “I am but a simple hobbit, and it is clear that I overreached my station.”

“A simple hobbit, in the service of this ustar (interferer).”

“Gandalf is an...old friend. He called on me for a favor, and I found myself in the position of being able to fulfill his request.” Mister Baggins offered in response.

Thror gradually seated himself once more, and Thorin relaxed the grip on his blade. Tharkun stepped in at that point, half shielding the smaller being behind his person.

“Bilbo, you see, is something of a dragon expert.” The wizard offered. “I thought his knowledge would benefit Erebor well with the terrible news I’ve brought.”

Thorin stared at Bilbo with renewed interest. A dragon expert? How many of the beasts had he slain to earn such a title? Thorin found himself hungry for the halfling’s story perhaps more so than he ever yearned for Tharkun’s own.

“Aye, a dragon expert.” Thror huffed wryly. “Why he looks more grocer than warrior. Axe or sword, Mister Baggins, what is your choice?”

He smirked darkly in response to the king’s blatant mocking as he continued to fiddle with the ring on his finger in agitation. “Neither. I’m more fond of using my bare hands and teeth.” 

Thror huffed, not impressed with the hobbit’s jest even as Tharkun shifted uncomfortably. 

“Your Majesty, I have not brought Bilbo to advise you on how to slay dragons, but on how to prevent their arrival because Smaug is coming. Perhaps not any time soon, but the treasure beneath your feet will be far too alluring, I fear.” 

A tense silence fell over the room, and Thorin wanted to shut his eyes against the storm he knew to come. If there was one thing he had learned very well, it was that you did not mention gold in Thror’s presence.

“I see.” Came the unexpectedly calm reply. “You have not brought a dragon expert, but a burglar in my mountain. And use your insane theories of dragons as a front to rob me blind!”

“Your Majesty…” Tharkun began before Thror cut him off, banging his fist on his throne.

“SILENCE!” Thror roared. “I ought to kill you now for such insolence.”

“DO NOT THREATEN ME, THROR SON OF DAIN!” 

Like everyone in the room, Thorin shrunk away from the shadows that manifested outwards from Tharkun. Thrain broke protocol to place himself protectively in front of Thorin, and the guards stepped in front of the royal family. None approached Tharkun as they were quickly reminded the wanderer was in fact a wizard of great power.

“I’m not here to rob you!” Tharkun continued before the shadows suddenly died down, and his expression turned soft. “I’m trying to help you.”

There was no movement that followed as all eyes watched the king to see what he would do next. Thorin’s grandfather looked taut as a rope in a pulley. His eyes narrowed as if weighing his chances against the wizard in battle. Thrain’s hand squeezed Thorin’s arm in a reassuring manner, but his eyes remained on Tharkun just as his war hammer remained in his other hand. Thror finally got up and walked to the edge of the dais using its height to tower over Tharkun.

“Get out of my kingdom. You and your abrâfu shaikmashâz (descendent of rats).”

Tharkun’s chin jutted out proudly at the king’s order. Thorin’s eyes sought out the halfling to see how he would react to the slur. Only, the smaller being was no longer behind Tharkun’s cloak. He seemed to be the only one to realize this as his eyes darted over the chamber before finally landing on the halfling’s form. Thorin made a strangled sound in surprise as he jumped away from the throne. All eyes, including Master Baggins’, fell on Thorin as he merely stared in open mouth shock at the being standing on the king’s throne holding the Arkenstone close to his mouth. Almost as if he were speaking to it though Thorin couldn’t make out the words.

“T-THIEF! H-HOW DARE...AKLÂF MENU (curse you)!” Thror sputtered before coming to life and heaving his sword high above his head to smite the halfling.

Thorin could only watch in horror as Bilbo Baggins, dragon expert and friend of Tharkun, remained resolute in his execution, still whispering to the gem. Just when he was about to be struck down, the halfling’s eyes bore into Thror’s own, stopping Thorin’s grandfather in his tracks. It was as if time had been frozen around them. Thorin felt the itch to take a step forward, but Thrain still had his arm securely wrapped around the other. The guards also seemed uneasy about this strange spell being wove around their king and whether they could interfere. Tharkun only watched on with a narrowed, but unsurprised gaze.

Only a few seconds had passed, though they felt like a lifetime, when the Arkenstone’s light dimmed, and iron clattered against the ground. Thorin looked around wildly, but every adult had dropped their weapons and were staring at each other and the halfling with an awed fascination. Thorin looked up at his father as even he loosened his grip breathing deeply as if it were his first out of a long sleep.

“What did you do?” Thrain murmured softly.

The halfling merely hopped off the stone throne, straightening out his vest and jacket before approaching Thror. The king had sunk to his knees, but his blue eyes, the same eyes Thorin had inherited, looked brighter and troubled all at once.

“This is not a jewel, Your Majesty.” Master Baggins began still looking only at the king as he held out the Arkenstone. “This is a petrified dragon heart.”

Gasps rang throughout the room.

“While not as potent as a real dragon heart, it’s been weaving its spell over you all the same. The effects will lessen, though not disappear completely until it’s destroyed. At the very least, I wouldn’t advise putting it back above your head.” The halfling continued to explain as he shoved the stone into Thror’s hands.

“Don’t dragon spells come from locking gazes with the beast?” Thorin asked curiously.

Master Baggins flinched before turning to Thorin with a hard look. His voice, however, was soft and encouraging.

“No, Your Highness. That’s unfortunately a myth. It’s the heartbeat that lulls you.”

“Yes, but...what did you do?” Thrain repeated again.

“I spoke to it in its language and convinced the heart to sleep. Like I said, not a permanent solution, but I do hope it stops the irrational yelling and weapon drawing.”

Thror and Thrain just stared at him dumbfounded.

“You spoke to it…” Thror repeated.

“I did say our friend here was a dragon expert.” Tharkun used this moment to speak up, surprising many who had seemed to forget he was still there.

Thorin watched the hard glare that passed between the two before Master Baggins walked right past the wizard.

“Right, well, if you need me to silence any other madness-inducing gems, I’ll be down in the market. I’m famished.”

The halfling spun on heel, gave a deep bow to the royals, before disappearing out of the hall before anyone could so much as say a word in protest.

“Now, about Smaug…” Tharkun began.

Thror winced as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. 

“Peace Tharkun, it’s been a rather...eventful morning. If you are willing to wait until tomorrow...Erebor would be proud to host you and Master Baggins.”

Thorin stared at his grandfather in shock before a small smile began to split his face. Could it be? Did Tharkun and Master Baggins truly fix Thror? Tharkun’s approving smile managed to give Thorin hope that they had achieved the impossible.

“As His Majesty wishes.” Tharkun bowed.

Thror looked to be trying hard not to roll his eyes as he stepped out through the side entrance. Thrain immediately followed, dragging Thorin along behind him even as the younger prince turned to wave goodbye to Tharkun. Once they were in the relative privacy of the royal halls, Thror wrapped Thrain up in a hug.

“Makkê, birashagammi (My son, I’m sorry).”

Thrain didn’t say anything in return. Just clutched his father a little tighter and if either of the dwarrows were crying, Thorin pretended not to see. Instead he was practically vibrating in his desire to be dismissed so he could tell Frerin, Narvi, and Falvi. Obviously something as amazing as meeting a dragon expert was too big to keep from his best friends in the whole mountain.

“I have no patience to keep up appearances for the rest of the day. I would like to retire and actually enjoy my family once more.” Thror’s voice brought Thorin back to the present conversation just in time for a large grin to split his face.

He may just get his wish after all.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 1 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost. 

Title: Heart of the Mountain

Summary: What if Thror wasn’t mad like everyone thought? What if the Arkenstone was truly at fault? Questions Bilbo and Thorin will have to answer together after Bilbo is swallowed by the gem. Bilbo and Thorin must work together to conquer the magic of the Arkenstone while Bilbo is invisible and forgotten by the others without making Thorin look as insane as his grandfather. Also, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to maybe work out why exactly the Arkenstone considered Bilbo, Thorin’s heart as well.

He did it. By the skin of his teeth and the hair on his feet, if Smaug had anything to say about it. Still, Bilbo did it. He had successfully burgled the Arkenstone from a fire-breathing dragon. Returning it to its rightful owner would be another matter entirely. For one thing, said fire-breathing dragon was nipping at their heels. For another, Bilbo feared for the true King Under the Mountain. What if Smaug was right, and the stone really did possess some sort of adverse effect on Thorin? 

It was quite a while later before Bilbo was able to truly stew on these thoughts. After their escape through the mountain failing in ending Smaug’s life. After he fled to exact revenge on a human town that did not deserve such burning fury. After the dragon fell into the lake never to rise again. Bilbo turned back to gauge Thorin’s reaction, only for the dwarf to be retreating back into the mountain.

Lord Elrond spoke of a madness that existed in Thorin’s family. Gandalf seemed confident it would not take the dwarf as it had his grandfather. Bilbo supposed he had to hope for the same. Yet, unease took him at Thorin’s callousness. Before he could talk himself out of it, he found he was chasing after the King. The dwarf’s path straight to the treasure hall was not encouraging.

“Thorin!” Bilbo called.

He paused and slowly turned back to the hobbit with an unreadable expression that gave him pause.

“Master Baggins.” He nodded in return.

“The dragon is dead. I saw it.” Bilbo pointed out.

“One enemy defeated in a sea of others that will come to steal from us. We must make ready.”

Unease prickled the back of Bilbo’s neck. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t going to jump to assumptions though. He wasn’t going to immediately doubt his friend for a paranoia that was fairly justifiable if you considered their quest thus far.

“I agree, yes, wholeheartedly we need to protect that which is yours, but Thorin...surely, there are more pressing matters at hand?”

“Pressing?” Thorin questioned with his chin raised high.

“Where are we going to sleep? After the food runs out from our packs, what will fill our bellies? The survivors of Laketown will need refuge.”

It was the last point that earned a growl from the dwarf king. 

“Do not speak to me of refugees when we know not who or what survived!”

Bilbo was taken aback by his ire, and found himself to be rather tight-lipped suddenly. Thorin shook his head in disgust before retreating back to the treasure hoard of Thror. The burglar did not give up the shining gem in his pocket that night.

The next morning found the company of dwarves and lone hobbit sharing a hearty albeit plain meal of jerky and cram. They had rations to last them a few more weeks, but most of the others agreed with Bilbo’s earlier assessment. They needed supplies. Only, their king was not there to bring such tidings.

“Bilbo, I thought you were with him last night. Did he say anything to you, lad?” Balin questioned.

The hobbit swallowed down the hard tack with a little water from his skin before answering.

“Uh, yes. He said we must be ready for...enemies.”

The dwarves all exchanged confused looks at this. Dwalin and Balin’s eyes met with more desperation and warning.

“I don’t blame him.” Bilbo immediately defended. “We’ve had enemies breathing down our necks the whole quest. Why should it be any different at the end?”

“Aye, the hobbit speaks sense.” Gloin agreed. “Clearly, there are several matters we need to take care of. The hard work is not over yet, lads.”

“And where is he now?” Dwalin rumbled. “Where was the last place you saw him, Bilbo?”

Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. He knew the sons of Fundin shared his fears. They were close to Thorin, and Balin lived through the days of Thror’s madness himself. He didn’t want to offer doubts to Thorin’s sanity. Not yet. 

“I’m...not exactly sure. I may have a guess though. I’ll just...go see if I can find him and be right back.”

Dwalin didn’t look satisfied with his answer. Balin was a little more understanding. 

“Aye, that would be mighty fine, Master Hobbit. Meanwhile, we’ll start talking about defense and reinforcements so as to have an idea to present our king.”

Bilbo nodded gratefully as he hopped to his feet. He really hoped he was long as he meandered down the tunnel that would bring him back into the treasury. The endless waves of gold and gems were just as boundless as they were when Bilbo was last in here. He couldn’t believe so much of it could exist in the entire world! Much less this single, lonely mountain. It would probably be more of a monumental task to find Thorin than Bilbo first suspected. And honestly, he hoped he would not find the dwarf in such a place. It wouldn’t mean anything good, of that he was certain.

He carefully picked his way down the stairs and around the first golden hill calling for the king as he went. He didn’t really expect an answer so it nearly had him jumping out of his skin when the dwarf revealed himself to be right behind him.

“Am I not allowed my peace?” Thorin growled.

Bilbo spun around to see him leaning against one of the pillars broken by Smaug’s mighty forepaws. The dwarf looked terrible. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his skin looked pale and waxy in the glow of the gold.

“Thorin!” Bilbo shouted unnecessarily, still trying to recover from his fight. “We missed you...at breakfast.”

“The dawn is already upon us.” Thorin groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Yeah.” Bilbo nodded slowly. “We’ve been discussing...options for what we should do from here.”

“There is but one option for us.” Thorin snapped. “We have to find the Arkenstone.”

Cold robbed Bilbo’s feet of any feeling, and his coat felt unnaturally heavy. 

“Last night.” He began gruffly, clearing his throat before continuing. “Last night, you said we had to prepare for enemies. Now some...shiny gem must be our first priority?”

Thorin’s head snapped to pierce Bilbo with an icy look. “What are you insinuating, Halfling?”

“Me?” Bilbo grinned without humor. “Nothing, nothing at all. I’m just trying to understand. How does a rock matter more in this moment than food and supplies?”

“It’s not a rock.” Thorin scoffed.

“It is!” He argued. “An unusual one, but a rock nonetheless.”

“What would you know?!” Thorin exploded, throwing his hands in the air. “If you had done your job in the first place, none of this would have happened!”

“Excuse you! What would you have me do? Run through flame and death!”

“How about not wake up a dragon?”

“How about there wasn’t supposed to be a live dragon to wake?!”

“Yet there was!”

“Yes, there was. And now he’s dead. Along with half a village of fisherman.” 

“A VILLAGE WITH MY NEPHEWS IN IT!”

Bilbo froze. Any anger, resentment, or cynicism he had left just seemed to ebb out as he watched the mighty dwarf king clench his fists and look away.

“I promised Dis...I was supposed to look after them. I thought I was doing right...I made them stay.”

Bilbo never felt so relieved to be washed in the waves of one’s grief. It all made sense. There was nothing sinister about Thorin’s action. He was an uncle worried sick. In fact, it seemed rather obvious in retrospect. Thorin tended to lash out worse when his heart was heavy if his how he described his behavior on the side of the Misty Mountains later to Bilbo was any indicator. Slowly, he made his way to the dwarf’s side and placed his hand on his arm.

“Thorin...I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I was short with you.”

The king tore himself away, still refusing to look at Bilbo.

“It does not matter.”

“No, it does! It really does, only...why the Arkenstone? Why come down here and search for it all night in your worry?”

Thorin heaved a large sigh, but the tension in his body relaxed none.

“I guess I shouldn’t expect a hobbit to understand such things.”

Bilbo tried really hard for the sake of his friend’s hurting not to take terrible offense.

“Do you remember at the beginning of the quest back in your home when I spoke of the meeting with my kin?” He asked, finally turning to stare at Bilbo.

The hobbit almost smirked. My! Didn’t that feel like a decade ago? However, he did remember the night. Vividly, in fact and nodded his assent.

“They would not join our quest. They thought it was folly. I was told I was only going to my death, and without the Arkenstone they would not join me in my suicide.”

Bilbo’s eyebrows came together as he tilted his head slightly. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand. What does the stone have to do with anything?”

“It’s the King’s Jewel. It is a symbol of power to people. One that can command any of the dwarven lords to honor their pledge to Erebor.”

Understanding took hold at that point. “If you had the Arkenstone, you would be able to call on their aid now.”

The king nodded which in turn caused the hobbit to scoff.

“How ridiculous! To be bound so by a…”

“By Mahal, Bilbo, do not call it a rock again.” Thorin swore.

Bilbo held the king’s glare before they both burst into snickers. Perhaps not the best time or place, but a welcome reprieve nonetheless. 

“Well, let me start by saying, don’t worry so. If your nephews are even half as stubborn as you, they wouldn’t dare let a dragon kill them.”

Thorin ducked his head with a sad smile. “Let us hope you are correct.”

“And turning our thoughts to food and bedding and clothing wouldn’t be remiss before we start holing ourselves in.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Anything else?”

“Yeah.” Bilbo grinned. “If ruling is really going to be so much easier with a shiny rock...then I have just the thing.”

The dwarf looked to be losing his patience again at the word ‘rock’, but the sight of the Arkenstone Bilbo pulled from his pocket had him at a loss for words that the hobbit rather enjoyed.

“Not so bad at my job now, am I?”

Thorin barked out a laugh while his eyes glittered in wonder. “Bilbo, how did you…? Just when exactly were you planning to give this to me?”

“When I was ready.” The hobbit shrugged under the dwarf’s glare. “None of that! You can’t expect me to make good decisions on an empty stomach and blisters fresh on my feet. Just what kind of hobbit do you take me for?”

“The thieving kind?” Thorin raised an eyebrow.

Bilbo lifted his nose and gave a rather pretentious sniff. “Well, if that’s the case, perhaps I will take this rather important rock and put it back where I found it.”

Thorin laughed as he moved to place his hand over the Arkenstone. “Peace, Master Baggins. I meant no…”

The dwarf never finished his sentence. As soon as his hand touched the Arkenstone, both he and Bilbo were blasted backwards by a surge of power. Thorin hit the stone pillar hard, slumping to the ground before it. Colors danced before him and in it, a rather insidious voice he couldn’t place.

“Dig deeper. In the gold your heart will finally be free. After uniting the lock with the Arkenstone as key.”

Thorin shook his head to clear it as his ears still rang from the impact. He staggered to his feet as he looked around for where the hobbit could have possibly landed.

“Master Baggins?” He questioned.

He waited for a response, but none came. Thorin swore as he spun, checking against every stone and wall for an unconscious body.

“BILBO!” He hollered.

“Thorin?” A quiet and unsure voice returned.

The dwarf sighed in visible relief as he turned to where Bilbo’s voice came from. Only, there was no one there. There was nothing at all save for the Arkenstone.

“Bilbo?” Thorin tried again, creeping forward.

“Here!” 

Thorin’s brows furrowed together, and his steps became more cautious. How odd. He could almost swear he was hearing Bilbo’s voice come straight from the Arkenstone. He paused as he reached out for it, his fingertips just ghosting the surface. What if this was how the madness started?

“Thorin!” Bilbo called to him, his voice pleading.

A different type of siren’s song than what he imagined it to be. This had to be the madness that took Thror. His hand flinched back as he recoiled from the tempting stone.

“Master Baggins...Bilbo. The stone is leading down a dark path. I beg you to reveal yourself before I follow in the footsteps of my grandfather.”

The stone released a bright array of colors that had Thorin staggering as he shielded his eyes from the onslaught. The lights burned stars behind his eyelids that had him blinking rapidly as he adjusted back to the returning dimness of the treasury. Only, he was no longer alone. Master Baggins was standing before him. A sight that would have given him joy, if it wasn’t for the fact that Thorin could see straight through him as if he were a ghostly entity. Thorin stared, closed his eyes, rubbed his heels into them, and blinked them back open. He was still treated to the same sight. A spector hobbit trapped in the glow of the Arkenstone with a rather alarmed expression.

“Thorin, it would seem, we have a bit of a problem with your rock.”

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 3 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: Soul Traitors

Summary: Betrayal among soulmates is unheard of in all the free races of Arda, yet that’s exactly what Durin, King of Khazad-dûm, endures. Heartsick and angry, he damns the Valar for their choice and earns their wrath in return. He and his former lover will be reincarnated until the wrong between them is righted. Thorin, Durin’s lastest reincarnation, believes nothing can break that curse and instead mounts a quest for the Arkenstone to free his people of theirs. Gandalf, the meddlesome wizard, offers a Burglar for their quest. A hobbit burglar who will help Thorin uncover more than just a gem.

Warnings: Character Death, Gore (I mean, it’s not heavily descripted gore, but it does mention the manner of the character’s death so just to be safe.)

Each of the races have their own views on soulmates and how you go about finding them. However, all seem to agree that to find a soulmate is a very special thing. To find the one person who you can trust with your whole heart and soul. That’s why to the dwarves, they called these people, Ones. None would ever consider betraying their Ones as that seemed a cruelness beyond even that of the orcs. Which is why King Durin stood in the high chamber of the court of Khazad-dûm staring down at the small figure below with such shock and fear, many feared a light breeze could topple their usually infallible king.

The curly haired creature in chains returned the king’s stare with heartbreaking indifference. Many of the court began to chant prayers to Mahal that this was not to be so. That the One of their dear king wouldn’t dare do that which he was accused. Durin’s flat and breathless voice finally spoke, silencing all in the hall.

“Madoc son of Maloch of the Holbyta Tribe Fallohide, you stand before the King of Khazad-dûm as the sole conspirator and thief of the Arkenstone. One of the great treasures of our kingdom. What plea do you make in your defense?”

With no hesitation, no change in emotion, the small being stated the same line Durin’s heard since his capture.

“I love you.”

The king leaned forward to bow his head as he gripped the stone podium tighter. 

“Madoc, this is serious!” Durin’s most trusted advisor, Gelbim, spoke up. “You have taken a sacred relic from our halls, and not just any, but the one that has the power to bring ruin upon our city and our people! Your crime is punishable by death. For the love of Mahal and the great Valar, please, tell us where you’ve hidden the Arkenstone.”

Durin slowly brought his eyes up as the silence persisted to see a small break in Madoc’s mask. His jaw trembled and a single tear leaked from his soft hazel eyes that Durin had loved from the moment he met him. 

“I...love...you.” He sobbed.

That was the moment Durin’s heart broke. Not shattered completely though. No, unfortunately that particular pain would come later that week when Madoc’s sentence was being carried out. But this...this was the first of a pain that would never desist.

“How can you when you hurt me so?” Durin asked softly, yet his words carried through the chamber as Madoc bowed his head in defeat. “You are given a traitor’s sentence. Death with no chance to appeal. Your name will not be spoken aloud again, your hair will be shorn and removed of any braids and beads, and your body will be burned rather than returned to the land and stone. In the Eyes of Mahal, so mote it be.”

Gelbim, his dear friend, told him he didn’t need to attend. None would think less of their king. Durin wished he had listened. He couldn’t bear to watch, but the sound of the axe going straight through his One’s neck would haunt him for the rest of his life. As it was, he stumbled to his chambers to fall and not rise from their marital bed for weeks after. When he resumed his reign, the toll of losing heart and soul was apparent to all. 

Durin became hardened in the final years of his reign. He demanded every ounce of mithril in the mountain to be pulled up and sold it to his allies for too high a price. What he didn’t sell, he forged. Weapons, jewelry, a particular handsome mailshirt, and if it were all the same size as his beloved holbyta? Well, none had it in them to point it out to their fading king. As demanded of a traitor’s death, the name Madoc was stricken from all records and replaced with the Amrâb Hufrel or “the soul’s betrayal of all betrayals”. The rest of the Fallohide tribe which was camped near the Misty Mountains was forced to pack up and resume their nomadic lifestyle west or face war with the dwarves. The sorrows of Durin were not to stop there. 

“The goblins of the Deep grow bolder.” Gelbim remarked as they watched the latest battalion return battered and worse for wear.

“Without the Arkenstone, they will not stop.” Durin growled.

“Durin, my friend, we’ve sent quest after quest after the gem. Wherever M-the Amrâb Hufrel has hidden it, we may not ever find it. It may be time to consider...alternatives.”

“What alternative is there aside from leaving my mountain and my mithril!” Durin spat.

Gelbim raised an eyebrow at his answer. “And is that worth more than the lives of your kin?”

Durin froze before spinning around quick as a flash. “Leave if that is your wish! This has been the home of MY line since the reign of Durin I and I WILL NOT GO!”

Go, Gelbim did taking a third of his kingdom with him including the young Prince Thrain and his mother. Crown Prince Nain, Durin’s only stone son, could not be moved to leave his father to his fate even as he saw the heartless path he wrought. For in their quest for more mithril, an ancient evil slumbering deep below the rock was awoken. The king led a frantic charge against the beast and was slain almost instantly. The war against Durin’s Bane lasted a year longer, but when the newly instated King Nain, was slain, the mountain and its riches were abandoned. In the lore of Durin’s folk, this was the first great curse of the Amrâb Hufrel’s theft.

Durin, who welcomed his death with open arms, awoke expecting to find the Halls of His Father. Instead, the nervous face of his treacherous One amongst a starry plane was the first sight he was graced with. 

“Oh Durin, my heart…” The holbyta began taking a step forward.

“You!” The king snarled, moving away as quickly as he could.

The Amrâb Hufrel looked miserable as his face twisted in anguish. “Please let me explain…”

“NOW YOU WISH TO EXPLAIN!” Durin boomed. “You had your chance! You had every opportunity to tell of your nefarious schemes, and instead you mocked me. You mocked my kingdom, a kingdom you once called yours. Well look at it now! All because of you!”

The creature before him was truly wretched and small as he hunkered against every blow Durin dealt. And the dwarf was yet to be finished.

“Peace, my son.” Came a great voice from above that Durin instantly recognized as His Father even having never heard it before. “You have made your point. Now let your Sanâzyung (Perfect/True Love) say his piece.”

“NO!” Durin roared against the very heavens themselves. “I don’t want to have anything to do with this...this...Amrâb Hufrel!”

Thunder rumbled, shaking the entire platform they stood upon. And while the holbyta trembled in the face of such power, Durin’s anger was too great to be cowed.

“You would reject this gift we offer, son of Aulë?” A female voice demanded, icy and iron.

“What gift?” Durin sneered. “Unless you offer me the chance to sever his head myself this time, I see no gift here.”

The other creature of blood released a gasp that was more like a sob, but Durin had no more patience for the likes of him. In fact, he had nothing left to give to him. Something that became apparent to the Valar watching.

“You have become cruel.” Another, softer female voice soothed. “You know only the truths you have seen with your own eyes.”

“And it is enough for me to condemn that thing and the Great Valar that thought to join my soul with it! Damn him and DAMN ALL OF YOU!”

If Durin expected the same booming show of power he received previously, he was sorely disappointed. Instead, it just all seemed to fade away. The stars, the platform, and the holbyta. His sorrowful face full of tears was the last thing Durin saw before he was swallowed by the darkness. The darkness allowed no sound, not even from Durin’s own voice, and no escape. He was unsure how long he wavered in that place: hours, weeks, years? He was utterly and completely alone until finally the voice of His Father broke through.

“You have shamed me, my uzfakuh (great joy). You have shamed me, you have shamed yourself, and you have shamed your Sanâzyung.”

Durin knew he could not speak back, but he still fumed at the Great Smith’s words. 

“We have thought long and hard on how you can atone for the atrocities you’ve committed today.”

And what of the Amrâb Hufrel’s atrocities?

“Your path will not be an easy one, especially if you hold tight to the stubborn slights of your mortal heart. For a soul is worth so much more. You and your Sanâzyung shall be reborn over and over as many times as needed until you can right the wrongs between you and hear the truth of his soul.”

Durin felt a burning on his breast and looked down to behold a glowing oak tree being inked in chains.

“You shall carry this mark in every life of yours henceforth, and it shall know the mark of Madoc in return. Only free of the chains that bind your soul, will you be welcome in my Halls.”

The legend of Durin’s curse and the theft of the Amrâb Hufrel passed down through the centuries until it had inscribed all dwarven mothers with fear. For any child to bear the mark of Durin was to lead a loveless and empty life. Likewise, any “hobbits” as they preferred that met with the dwarves were met with open hostility. Especially if they bore their own mark, though none knew for certain if it was Madoc’s or not. Still, the hobbits learned fast and stories of their own circulated that any child bearing an acorn on their palm would be hunted and killed by the dwarves. So as the stories grew wilder and edged with desperation, Durin and Madoc were reborn again and again just as Aulë promised, but were no closer to breaking the curse that bound them so.

It was many centuries later when a young prince from Durin’s own line was born to the immediate wailing and disappointment of every dwarf in attendance. Not even a few seconds old, Thorin, son of Thrain, Prince of Erebor bore the heavy burdens of his ancestor. It steeled his heart as he grew into adolescence and forced him to throw his all into his duties as prince. He would love Erebor for none would ever love him. And when Erebor was attacked by the dragon, it was Thorin’s foresight and friendship with the men of Dale that was able to send Smaug away. Thorin grew from prince into a king his people could be proud of, and he never wavered from his vow to his kingdom. Never knowing that almost a century and a half later, a hobbit was born with the death sentence of his people on his palm and a destiny he would not be able to escape.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 2 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: One Last Adventure

Summary: Bilbo goes back home to the Shire unable to forget the terrible battle that took the sons of Durin from him. However, when a new group of dwarves appear on his doorstep for his services at the suggestion of their king, Bilbo hopes against hope that means Thorin is out there waiting for him. This journey is nothing like his first one, and it will take his entire company to save him. Even if the ones that may no longer be part of the physical world.

Bilbo may be back in the Shire, but he was far from feeling at home. He would NEVER interact with dwarves again. What did this adventure get him anyways? Back pain that continued to flare up, a tighter belt, an unfortunate wariness of the outside world, and a heartache that seemed to cut deeper and bruise wider than when his own parents died. Because Bilbo would overlook everything, the complaints, the harsh elements, the danger, if the sons of Durin had lived. But they hadn’t. Bilbo would have to go forward in this world knowing that every timeless rescue mattered to nothing in the end. Thorin does not get to walk the mountain halls he fought to reclaim as king. Fili and Kili do not get to carry their unbridled enthusiasm into future adventures of their own. It wasn’t fair. Yet, somehow life went on.

Resuming his life in the Shire didn’t happen overnight. To start with, Bilbo had to hunt down, barter, bribe, and in some cases, threaten to get all of his possessions returned to Bag End. It was nearly a month before everything was back in its place from before the adventure. And he made sure of that. He couldn’t take a single reminder of that awful battle. He squirreled away the chest, the shield, the chainmail, the coat, his sword, all into his mother’s glory box. Only his ring which sat snugly in his waistcoat pocket was allowed to remain in his life.

Yet, the memories still flooded him. Haunted his dreams, oozed out of his dining room table, his front door, his fireplace. Sleepless nights became a dear friend, and nightmares his well-acquainted nemesis. Gandalf said he wouldn’t be the same when he came back, but he had hoped for...something more. He was starting to become unsociable, and quite frankly, he didn’t care. The nearly hostile indifference of missing parties and tea invitations was probably what his fellow hobbits were most put-out about. That and the fact that he disappeared so suddenly and was still unmarried.

No, it was another three months before Bilbo could find solstice in gardening again. He sobbed the entire time he planted that damn acorn, and it was another week before he felt brave enough to tend to it. His books and his armchair, on the other hand, he threw himself into with great abandon. Let him be carried off to places where the heroes didn’t die. Where the adventure led to love and happiness. It soothed his mind, but it wrecked his heart. 

Bilbo’s birthday came and passed without any fanfare much to his neighbors’ and relatives’ ruffled feathers. Weeks later, he got his first letter from Bofur in congratulations. Bilbo became immediately familiar with his father’s vintage. He didn’t dare write back.

Durin’s Day, a dwarvish date he will now never forget, came about a month later along with more letters from Balin and Ori. He nearly broke then, but a reminder of what happens when you let dwarves into your life convinced him to leave that chapter of his life closed. 

Bilbo could not remember a more miserable Yule, but at least Bombur’s children and Gimli seemed to enjoy it if the letters he received were any indicator.

It took a year. An entire year of existing in Bag End watching the little sapling out front grow for Bilbo to finally return correspondence. Dori made it relatively easy for him asking about the tea blends he had noticed when they pilfered his pantry. After that, easing back into his friends’ lives just seemed to be the next logical step. Especially when unwritten ground rules were firmly established: no mentions of the quest, no mentions of Dain’s rule over Erebor, no mentions of who they lost. Yet, he needed some form of closure. Something to allow him to move on. So after returning letters to the remaining ten members of Thorin Oakenshield’s Company (and wasn’t that a surprise to receive Dwalin’s letter), he decided he needed to write three more. Three letters that would never reach their intended audience. 

Fili and Kili’s letters were...relatively smooth. It was like playing a game of pretend. Asking after their adventures, wondering how they were taking to court life, asking Kili about that elf guard. Yes, it hurt. It hurt terribly, but it was also somehow therapeutic to his soul. Then, he pulled over that third parchment and his hand shook leaving a rather large drop of ink on the page. There was a gasping, wounded animal somewhere outside distracting him, and it took far longer than he was proud of to release it was coming from him. He let the quill clatter on the desk as he put his head in his hands. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t pretend that Thorin was alive and well in Erebor, and he wasn’t there with him!

A shaky, rather hystic laugh bubbled out. He never admitted that to himself before. Bag End was always the endgame, but somewhere along the way, it had changed to Thorin. Perhaps that’s why he still struggled with the concept of home. His was gone forever. It was with that unpleasant thought that Bilbo retired to bed, twelve complete letters and one not started. Perhaps never to be written. 

Yet, fate seemed it was not quite through with Bilbo. Looking back, Bilbo deemed it a rather ironic twist. Upon the next day, Bilbo received a knock on his door and opened it to reveal three unfamiliar dwarves.

“Good morning.” He greeted with narrowed eyes.

The three exchanged glances and turned towards the blue sky before nodding in agreement.

“So it is.” The larger one on the left huffed. “Are you, by chance, Mr. Bilbo Baggins? The one who helped reclaim Erebor?”

Bilbo almost wanted to laugh. Almost. Instead, he balled his hands at his hips as he raised himself as tall as his three foot ten frame would allow.

“No. My answer is no.”

“Master Baggins?” The dwarf in the middle gasped. “I don’t think we…”

“You are here to invite me on some whirlwind adventure. That’s all any dwarves that appear at my door want, and I’ll not have it! I had my adventure, and it’s left me none the better. I dare not imagine what another would do to me, so go and bother some other hobbit!”

Bilbo moved to slam his door shut when the last dwarf stopped it with his foot. The hobbit glared at his audacity. Yet, the red-haired dwarf pushed his luck.

“Please Master Baggins. We’ve traveled far, and the King of Erebor told us you’re the only one who can help us.”

“Dain sent you?” Bilbo scoffed.

“No, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Bilbo felt his limbs go limp and the air disappeared from the room. Everything seemed to fall away except for the fast pace his heart set in his chest. 

“That’s impossible.” He finally croaked, his voice sounding dead and flat to his own ears. “Thorin Oakenshield is dead. I saw him die with my own eyes.”

“No, Master Baggins.” The first dwarf stepped in at this point. “He lives...though he couldn’t return to Erebor. We can take you to him...if you agree to help with our plight.”

“THORIN OAKENSHIELD IS DEAD!” Bilbo wailed. 

He was certain all of Hobbiton could hear him at this point, but impropriety was the furthest thing from his mind. Tears spilled from his eyes blurring the faces of the unknown dwarves. Three faces he was already learning to hate. How dare they say something so cruel. How dare they deliver news that, if true, belonged to his Company to divulge. How dare they allow hope to root in his battered heart. He squeezed his eyes shut pleading that when they opened these awful dwarves would be gone.

“Master Baggins,” the middle one sighed. “We know our words will not reach past your grief, no matter how true they are. So we bring this. Thorin told us it would convince you.”

Something small, round, and smooth was pressed into his hand. He knew the texture immediately and nearly fell over from the shock that rocked him to his core. When he looked back up at the dwarves, they were watching him with knowing smug looks.

“We’ve made camp at the bridge just east of town. If you decide to hear us out, you can find us there.”

Finally, finally, the dwarves took their leave like the thieves they were. They robbed Bilbo of his morning, nicked at his sanity, and now they’ve stolen the truth with them. For in his sweating palm was the one object that would sway Bilbo to the idea Thorin may still live, and left him with more questions than ever. Slowly, he dared to look down at the acorn in his palm.

“It’s a poor prize to take back to the Shire.”

“Plant your trees and watch them grow.”

Thorin was the only one who had seen his acorn, and both conversations had been private between the two of them. It could be a trick. A supremely lucky guess. After all, he was “Oakenshield”. However, if Thorin actually did live, was it not plausible he would use such a sign? Bilbo clenched his fist and shook his head. He couldn’t allow such thoughts to fester. Thorin was dead. Thorin was dead. Thorin was dead...but what if he wasn’t?

Bilbo paced back and forth with his pipe for the next three hours, but ultimately, he knew he had to speak to those dwarves again if he wanted answers. He took the mail and his sword because he didn’t trust them completely. He stuffed a pack because there was the possibility of not making it back to Bag End before dark, and he may have to make camp. If he overpacked like he was going on a journey, it was simply to be overly prepared. Before he stepped out his round door once more though, he had one last piece of business to take care of. He returned to his writing desk where his unfinished letter sat blank and ink stained. He dipped his quill in the well and wrote three simple sentences.

One last adventure, Master Oakenshield. Pray you’re at the end of it to receive me. It will be all I can take before I finally break and wither away.