#thror's head

[thranduilofsmirkwood]

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[cthulhusstepmom]

Hobbits are attracted to soft things, Dwarves are attracted to opulence.

It was the talk of the Shire when the last Baggins ran off on an adventure, presumed dead of course, those adventures are nasty, deadly things; even more so when he popped up again, a rather large, rather wild looking fellow at his side. He'd not been home for long before talks of a wedding started circulating. And of course there's no talk for polite society quite like wedding talk. It was even more a surprise when, confronted about the rumors on one screechy morning by a Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, he quite gleefully announced that it wouldn't be to a Hobbit at all but to a dwarf of all people. The dwarf that had taken to following Mister Baggins everywhere, Dwalin they called him, had let loose a rather frightening, growly laugh at the shock on all their faces. Poor Miss Sackville-Baggins had to be carried down the hill after she fainted the poor dear. They were told to sit tight and be patient, that they would get their fill of ogling soon enough. In the meantime all of the Shire was alive with the joyous occasion of wedding preparation. Because if there is one thing that Hobbits love more than Mushrooms it is celebrating. And a wedding of any kind is as good of an excuse as any.

A quiet catching worry of having so many dwarves about does spread through many of the older, more respectable hobbits. They're just so very different is all, especially if they're anything like Mister Dwalin; who is a great help when it comes to lifting heavy things but is truly terrifying when he's had a bit much to drink as he's fond of heavy handed cuddles and the hobbits are a fragile folk that bruise quite easily.

So is it any wonder that mutters and murmurs chase up and down the hill when the wedding party arrives for one Mister Bilbo Baggins and the good folk of Hobbiton get a look at his groom?

At first glance he was a very comely fellow, round and jolly with a smile that could make up for the beard. And then he was introduced as one Master Bombur, one of the Groomsmen. The good hobbits of the Shire were quite quietly appalled when Mister Baggins introduced his Fiance to them. A Master Thorin Oakenshield Son of Thrain Son of Thror; a rugged dwarf with far too many angles and tangles and hard lines and edges, covered from head to toe in lean muscle that had a great many hobbits doubting Mister Baggins skills as a homemaker. He was grumpy whenever he was parted from his fiance and moody at the best of times. There was nothing soft about him, which it is common knowledge to be that which Hobbits prize most dearly in a partner. And, in the opinions of the Hobbiton high society, one of the singularly most unpleasant and unattractive individuals in the entirety of Middle Earth.

Though he did briefly salvage their good opinion when he thoroughly and succinctly put at least a temporary end to the screeching of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins by glowering at her so hard she was, for the first and probably the last time in her life, struck dumb.

As the wedding grew closer the murmurs grew more frantic, was Mister Baggins really intent to tie himself to this unpleasant dwarf? He was certainly eccentric but he's a kind fellow and the hobbits of Hobbiton surely did not wish to see him miserable. Such murmurs persisted until the time they were overheard by the rather overzealous nephews of the dwarf in question and were silenced with enthusiastic prejudice. So the Hobbits worried. Privately. And quietly. (No one was going to be the first to find out if the young dwarves really would skewer them like shish kabobs and leave them to dry in the sun.)

Until the day of the wedding.

Gathered in a discontented crowd the hobbits of the Shire watched on as the glowering dwarf stood watching for his husband to be, barely paying any heed to the officiant. (To be fair Old Took was paying him about the same amount of mind, distracted he was rattling off tales of Tooks past). And then, when Bilbo entered, something remarkable happened.

The Dwarf softened.

Icy steel eyes melted into warm springs, tense shoulders settled open and loose, clenched fists relaxed, subconsciously reaching forward just the slightest bit.

That day, that dwarf was the softest of any seen before or seen since to this very day. And every single Hobbit in the Shire was jealous of one Bilbo Baggins and his beautiful soft dwarf.

[ravensliterature]

Poisoned Arrow

A/N: I know it’s been a minute and I am sorry. I really had a blast writing this one and I hope you like it!

Part II

pairing: Thranduil x Reader

warnings: Mentions of blood, poison, fluff, 

w/c: 1924 (Yeah she is a little long)

Prompt: The reader is Thranduil’s wife and a part of the company. While leaving through the barrels without her husband’s knowledge she get’s hit by the poison arrow. Thranduil is trying to save his wife before it is too late. 

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She had been shot. His queen had been hit with an arrow. Thranduil could see her falling from the sky, falling slowly through the fading blue and bright stars of last night. Her lights, died as she fell to the ground with a yelp. The arrow pierced her leg after she tried to open the gate. His heart seized tight in his chest hearing her cries as he attempted to run to her side, killing any orc in his way. However, he didn't make it in time as she jumped in a barrel following her father down the river.

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Y/N was the daughter of Thorin but her parentage was elven. When young, Thorin found an elf girl and raised her while living in Erebor. She grew into a beautiful woman and was betrothed to Thranduil for the alliance at a young age by King Thror. However, when the dragon attacked it was all put on pause, and Thorin and his family fled to the Blue Mountains.

Thranduil would not give up on her as he fell in love with her the moment he laid eyes on her at their announced betrothal. He journeyed himself to find his distant love until seeing her again in the Blue Mountains. He never imagined he’d ever have another chance to meet his beloved again, but when he did... everything changed. Thranduil asked her to marry him again in the hopes that he wasn't alone in his feelings. Apparently, she had loved him as well and agreed but things weren't how they should be. Thorin's hatred for elves had increased and never approved of the betrothal.

The argument with Thorin and Y/N spiraled until she left with Thranduil left without saying goodbye. A year later the wedding came around and Thorin refused to see his daughter marry that elf. He insisted she lives in the Blue Mountains, a place far away where dangers were less likely to come and away from the elf-kind. Shortly, Legolas was born and grew into a handsome man. Their lives were peaceful until years later when Gandalf knocked on their door.

Gandalf told her that he was building a company in the hopes of reclaiming her childhood home. It had been decided that Y/N would join the company and take part in their quest. She wanted nothing more than to go back to Erebor, return her home, and connect with her father like she once had. So, she took her chance and left. Thranduil hated her putting herself in danger but who was he to rob herself of that connection she missed so dearly? --- "Y/N!" Thorin yelled as he ran to her daughter's side.

Y/N's barrel washed up on shore as she used her upper body to crawl herself to more land trying not to put too much pressure on her leg.

"I'm here." She breathed as she looked up at Thorin. The dwarf prince scooped her in his arms holding her close as if afraid someone was going to try something else. Worry and fear were etched over his face and he saw the pain in his daughter's.

"Oin," Thorin exclaimed, "Please look at the leg. The arrow is cut but there still may be fragments inside."

The healer kneeled down next to Y/N looking at her leg. His brow furrowed with concern before he turned back to his friend. "She should be fine but we need to get her to a town with proper equipment. I'm concerned about it getting infected. " He spoke softly. Thorin nodded, helping his daughter stand on her own two feet. She slowly began to walk until she found an arrow pointed at her head.

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Thranduil glared the orc down as Legolas held a knife towards its neck. He wanted to know what it was doing in his kingdom and why it dared to hurt his wife.  It couldn't be allowed to live but he needed to know.   "In time all foul things come forth," he said as he circled the orc with a sword in his hand. Legolas continued to hold the blade to its neck, "You were tracking the company of thirteen dwarves and an elf. Why?"

Malice and distaste were in his force knowing his father's fears and what it had done to his mother.  This thing was not a creature but a monster sent to destroy them. Its intentions are unknown for all to know. The orc cackled, "Not thirteen, not anymore. The elf, we stuck her with a Morgul shaft. The poisons in her blood. She'll be choking on it soon."

Legolas' grip tightened on the knife causing it to tremble. He needed the orc dead or he'd kill it. A threat against his parents' safety was enough to make him kill it himself. Thranduil's breath left him in a gasp. As anger bubbled in his chest, he felt like he was trying to find air. His son's gaze remained on the orc. It knew exactly what it was talking about, the poison that poisoned the elf.

"You like killing this orc?" Thranduil said lowly, almost too calmly, "You like death? Then let me give it to you!"  he yelled as he pulled out his swords. Legolas watched as his father charged toward the orc. Before he could blink, the blade made contact with the orc's skull. Blood poured from the wound but instead of retreating it rushed forward like a tidal wave. "Legolas, come with me, we must save your mother."

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Y/N was breathing heavily as she leaned against the wall of Bard's house. Her father forced her to stay behind because of her leg. Of course, he was concerned for his daughter but she felt robbed. She wished to help reclaim her home like the rest of the company. Her cousins, Fili and Kili opted to stay behind and help take care of her until she is ready to go to the mountain. Oin stayed behind as well as did Bofur, but he just missed the boat.

However, the pain had gotten worse and she could tell something was wrong. The leg would wasn't healing as it should and she could see the fear in Oin's eyes each time he examined it even if he didn't tell her.  Y/N was worried. The arrow hadn't hit anything vital, yet it could still become infected and kill her. She chucked to herself softly. Maybe it was best she stayed at home after all.

Her breath was ragged and her head was light.  Her vision swayed slightly as she tried to stay upright, leaning against the wall. She was losing consciousness but she knew that the battle was not over yet. The pain was becoming unbearable and she closed her eyes, taking in a few deep breaths. Finally, her body gave way and she collapsed. "Y/N!" the dwarves yelled as they helped her up. Y/N was writhing in pain as she felt the poison all over her body.  She could feel the heat of the flames searing her flesh and she felt like it was consuming her whole body.

"Put her on the table," Bard said in a frantic tone. They set her gently on the table as she continued to convulse.

"We need something to put her head on so she doesn't hit the table!" Oin shouted. The others quickly searched for anything that could possibly stop the venomous poison. They found only herbs that had been used long ago and they were useless. The poison was spreading through her veins faster than anyone had realized and it was eating away at her life. Oin examined the wound more closely. It had turned a black color and it could be seen going through her veins. This wasn't a normal poison.

"I need kingsfoil! Where is it?" Oin exclaimed to Bard. The Fili, Kili, and Bofur looked around in confusion at the mention of a plant, but they didn't have any of it. Only Oin owned the plants. "Kingsfoil? It's a weed. We feed it to the pigs!" Bard replied in confusion. "Pigs, I got it!" was heard as Bofur zoomed out the door. Y/N struggled for air. Every breath hurt her throat as she coughed painfully. The poison in her body was beginning to eat away at her life. She was dying. That was the last thought that went through her mind before another wave of pain hit her.

Suddenly everything except for Y/N went quiet as footsteps could be heard on the roof. The roof broke and a dark figure jumped down from above, landing right next to Bard's daughter and stabbing the orc in reaction. The young girl grabbed the orc and then fled as more fell through the ceiling. Fighting ensued as they tried to defend the girls and a table-ridden Y/N.

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Thranduil and Legolas ran through the town of Dale in the hopes of finding Y/N and the dwarves. However, they stopped in their tracks when they saw orcs running on the ceilings above the water town.  They both knew immediately where they were going. Thranduil ordered Legolas to stay behind while he went to search for his mother, "Stay safe my child, leave none alive."

With that being said, Thranduil continued to run at his pace faster than before. Thranduil continued to run until he heard fighting in one of the homes.  With his guard up and weapons, he approached it in the hope that his wife was still alive. Upon approaching the door, he noticed the familiar scent of blood. His heart sunk in his chest realizing she might be... He opened the door to find three orcs surrounding her, the dwarves, and the humans as they were struggling to defend themselves.  One of the orcs was about to strike Y/N when Thranduil shot his bow sending the arrow right into its skull. He then took out his sword slashing any orc in sight.

Thranduil rushed to her side and caressed her cheek in the hope of seeing the life in her eyes, "My darling Y/N, open your eyes." She weakly shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks, "Nin Meleth..." "Do not speak my love." He brushed some hair away from her sweaty forehead. Bofur ran through the door tired and sweaty, with one hand on his knee and the other presenting the king's foil. Thranduil took the foil from him and began to prepare it, "She needs elvish medicine if we don't heal her leg... She doesn't have much time left." Thranduil soaked the leaves and pressed them onto her wound and began saying an elvish incantation, almost sounding more like a prayer. He looked down at her face and he saw her brows become unfurrowed and appeared to relax. Y/N looked up at him with those beautiful eyes that always filled his heart with love. He could see the pain go away and with that also the poison from her body. He bandaged the wound and held her hand. Tears escaped his eyes as she smiled up at him. His heart swelled with joy as he brought his face closer to hers and kissed her. He had wanted to kiss her forever and every moment in between. It was as though their lips touched for eternity. "Father," said a soft voice breaking the two of them apart.  Their foreheads rested together and a small chuckle passed through Thranduil. "Oh, no. We've been caught by our own son."

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Submit a request here

[just-some-sad-bitch]

I dont care if bagginshield is a ship of the past, if no one reads this or finds it I DONT CARE I NEED TO WRITE THIS DOWN BULLET POINT STYLE.

Ok so this is an AU where Erebor was never attacked by Smaug, the ring doesn’t exist and dragon sickness is related to like old age and long exposure to gold rather than a curse that haunts the line of Durin.

In this AU, as I said, Smaug didn’t get to Erebor but was taken down in Dale. This results on a disaster to both kingdoms because while dale was dependent of Erebor for trade, gold, etc. Erebor heavily depended on Dale for its food, sure the kingdom had cattle and what not but in the midst of the disaster Erebor begins to suffer.

Thranduil is still an asshole and states that he owes nothing to either men o Dwarf.

So, regent king Thrain strikes a deal with the only kingdom that responds to their call: The Shire

Of corse the shire doesn’t respond out of the goodness of their heart, they are in dire need of protection. It is well known that hobbits are a peaceful race, rarely conflictive and with no actual army, they see no need for it for they have no enemies, however, in the last few years goblins have stationed themselves on the blue mountains and when they see fit, they attack the shire and everyone in it.

So the Thain and King Thrain strike a deal

Erebor will send an army to provide protection against the goblins, possibly chasing them out of the Blue Mountains and getting to keep the new mountain

In return, the shire will build a road that leads directly to Erebor making sure to have a direct way of sending food and supplieas all year round

Both kingdoms sharing their surplus, strong armies and nurturing food

However the deal must be strengthened by more than paper and ink, and so a marriage is in order.

The shire will send the Thains grandson to become the master of agriculture of Erebor and marry the second son of the house of Durin, Frerin the golden

FINALLY with all this convoluted background I present you:

Bilbo arrives after years of building the great road that unites the two kingdoms, he is obvs accompanied by Gandalf the grey and dozens of caravans filled with grain, cattle and rich soil

Waiting for their arrival is the regent king Thrain who took the role from his father Thror after he fell ill to gold sickness. With him were his family

Lady Dis, known for her character, forwardness and cunningness as well as beauty and strength. and her two sons; Fili, heir to the crown eventually and Kili, his younger brother, the pride and joy of the kingdom

Thorin, crown prince of Erebor, strong warrior that fought valiantly against the white orc and in his victory earning the title of Thorin Oakenshield. Loyal to his people above anything else and commited to becoming a great king one day.

And of corse the groom, Frerin who had little to say in the matter of his marriage but couldn’t refuse. You see, his older brother will inherit the great kingdom, such promise cannot be waisted on diplomatic endeavors, and his sister, one of the smartest dwarves to ever walk middle earth had already gifted the line of Durin with two strong heirs. So what was he to do? Refuse the only thing that would allow him to show his valor? Of corse not, he was as much prince as his brother and sister, and if his father commanded he be married to an outsider in order to save the kingdom, he would a thousand times.

What he did not expect however, was having his brother fall head over hills for his betrothal upon first meeting. Of corse no one noticed, everyone was too focused of the arrival of the hobbit, but himself and his sister notice right away how Thorin could not stop looking at that creature as if he was the most beautiful being in all of middle earth

The hobbit, however was fat too focused on the king’s speech, the strange surroundings and his wizard companion to notice

He was mad, but similarly to Frerin, he found himself in a situation that he could not escape, his parents were taken by the awful goblins and if being married off is what he had to do in order to save the shire then he will marry whoever and whatever the Thain asked him to

And that’s it, that’s all I got, sorry if grammas is wonky it’s almost 2:00 am and English is my second language, also I was too lazy to review it over. I would love for this story to develop in a way in which Thorin is trying to woo Bilbo while also trying to not Interfere in the deal. Also Bilbo falling in love with thorin but also feeling guilty because were dwarfs marrying for diplomacy is super common, hobbits usually marry for love and I imagine him feeling guilty for loving Thorin while he is supposed fo be marrying Frerin. Also Frerin and Dis egging them on even though they KNOW they shouldn’t. I just imagine this ending with Thorin proclaiming his undying love for Bilbo and both of them being torn between running away and living together but also knowing they have a duty to their respective kingdoms. Of cors everything would work out in the end but Idk

If someone has a similar fic to this please please please share it with me I AM STARVING. Anyway thanks for reading bye!!!

[luna-redamancy]

Hello (*ﾟ▽ﾟ)ﾉ here to request some thorin x reader where the reader is a dragon trainer ? She lived with dragons since young and Smaug was actually her familiar/partner before, now she is trying to help the Dwarves get their home

Hello!! This is such a cool idea and it makes me want to watch How to Train Your Dragon...

Edit: I just now realized this was supposed to be a Thorin x reader... And I wrote just a Company x reader.. I’m so sorry!

Anywho, I hope you enjoy it!

“So you work with…Dragons,” Balin was carefully wording his sentences, in hopes of not offending you, nor his kin that he knew were listening very closely as he sat across from you. The fire crackled in the background and it reminded you of teaching the young drakes to control their fire in terms of intensity and range.

You had yet to sign the contract, wanting to read every bit of it thoroughly. As you told Gandalf, if there were any bits of information regarding killing or hurting Smaug, you would not sign it and you wouldn’t join in on their mission. 

Looking up from the parchment, you gave him a smile. “I do,” You encouraged, putting a finger where you were last reading so you could continue in a moment. 

“Do you know of Dragon Trainers, Sir Balin?” You inquired, tilting your head. 

“I’m afraid I do not,” Balin chuckled nervously to which you nodded in understanding. 

“I know Smaug had hurt you all severely, and for that, I am forever sorry,” You began, “But please know, that not all dragons are like him. He lost his way,” You sighed, looking back down at the paper. 

“How do you know he lost his way?” 

“I once worked with him, when he was younger.” You realized you now had an audience. The entire Company now hovering in the doorway, trying to not look so suspicious. 

“His former trainer died from old age, and he was heartbroken, he barely got up to hunt or make a small hoard, so they gave him to me to work with,” You began to tell his story, remembering play fighting with the small drake, taking him to get treats whenever he did exceptionally well during training. 

He transformed in front of your eyes. No longer was he the depressed dragon that he came to you as, he was kind and playful, courteous and passionate. Not this greedy, murderous, vicious beast that the world saw him as.

“And what happened?” Balin seemed very interested, wanting to know how he went from being in something akin to a dragon’s camp to rampaging his home. 

“We aren’t entirely sure,” You shook your head, “But the elder trainers think that it had to do with the unearthing of the Dragon Stone, or what most called it, the Arkenstone.” 

It felt like the world was put on pause as Balin stared at you in horror. 

“It’s a magnificent jewel, yes,” You nodded, “Beautiful and vibrant, glowing on its own. But it also has magic within it,” You explained. Pausing to put the quill where your finger was so you could grab your book out of your bag. 

“See here,” You flipped the pages rapidly to get to where you had put a placeholder before. The Arkenstone was drawn in the center, glowing bright, with dragons lined up behind it. 

“For some reason, the magic within it causes unfathomable greed in mankind, but for dragons, it sparks undeniable rage that is only calmed whenever the dragons are near it. Like some sort of drug,” You explained, “We haven’t ever been able to have a dragon near one without it causing them to go feral.”

“So you think when the Arkenstone was found and put in King Thror’s throne-”

“It was a beacon to dragons to come take it,” You finished Kili’s sentence as he approached the two of you.

“I don’t know if that’s the exact reason he did what he did, and nothing can excuse the hell he rained down on you all,” You looked over to them. 

“What Smaug did was terrible, and I understand that you want his head on a pedestal,” You focused on Thorin, eyes pleading. 

“Just let me help get you your homeland back. I can get him out safely and take him so he can go back to the far north so our elders can work with him.” 

“How do you know he’ll go with you?” Ori piped in, looking concerned. 

“I am a dragon trainer, and since he has left and done this, well, we’ve trained in how to deal with dragons that are falling to Dragon Stone magic.” 

“Bilbo can help me get the stone away from Smaug,” You looked at the newly contracted burglar with a grin, “And once it��s out of sight and covered, the magic effects should wear off and he should come to his senses.” 

Thorin sighed deeply through his nose before approaching. 

“We will trust what you can do, Lady Dragon Trainer.” 

“Thorin-” Dwalin opened his mouth to argue but Thorin shook his head. 

“Gandalf believes in what she can do, and if this can end with little bloodshed…” Thorin paused, recalling all of his kin screaming as dragon-fire exploded through the kingdom walls. Thousands of their military were wiped out within seconds. 

“Then I will gratefully take the opportunity.” 

“You won’t regret it, Thorin,” You bowed your head in thanks before resuming reading the contract, nerves twisting in your stomach. You had a long journey ahead of you. 

[l-itraklies]

Little Elf

Warnings: none

Pairing: no specific but Thorin x reader, Kili x reader and Fili x reader

Part 1 of ???

Words: 1008

Narrators POV.

Running through the dark forest, she could hear the laughter of her brothers on her tail. "Y/N!" She heard her brother Bucca announce. "Mana, otorno?" She replied ("What, brother?"). Stepping on the branches of trees and jumping to the next, each hanging over the only path into the city. "Come back!" Algar, her oldest brother replied. She landed on a rather larger branch and crouched as low as she could. She pulled an arrow out of her leather quiver, pulling it through the bow. She drew her bow back and swiftly let it go. She was hitting the tree right above one of their heads, leading them away.

She let out a light chuckle before whistling calling her horse, Álváró, to her. The sound of hooves approached her, and she slipped through the branches onto the back of him.

Meanwhile

Thorin and his party (pre-Bilbo), made their way to the gates of the elven city of Lindon. "Thorin, must we keep going?" Bomber complained, "We haven't stopped since breakfast!". Thorin sent him a glare sharp enough to cut stone, sending a fearful shiver to the dwarf. "The wizard says there is someone we need here," he stated bluntly and quite rude if you ask bomber. “It is true” Gandalf announced to them.  A crack came from the trees outside of the path. "Uncle?" Kili muttered, "Yah hear that?" The company listened closely, but the noise did not repeat. "No, lad!" His brother responded cheerfully.

As they neared the entrance of the city a tall stone wall appeared, covered in embellishments. On the top sat guards undisturbed by the dwarves. The gates began to open far before they reached the wall. "Can they see us?" Ori questioned, then the sound of hooves came running. On a jet-black horse road, a beautiful elf had long platinum hair as smooth as fine silk on its back.  She road straight through the party, bursting with pure euphoria and laughter. Gasps of amazement emerged from the group as she rode straight through the gates. She whipped her legs off the horse and hopping down, she turned toward the gate.

A silver crown lay on her forehead, despite her dirtied and ragged clothes. She wore a blue blouse and a grey corset that cinched in around her waist. a small dagger was stowed in the corset and she carried her bow across her chest. Her hair was half braided and the rest was left untouched. "Let them in!" She announced.

"Who request entry to Lindon?" One guard announced

Thorin stepped off his pony responding, "Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the mountain!" The rest of the dwarves follow him and step off their ponies. "Y/n, daughter of Merila queen of Lindon," she said lightly, bowing, her brother's road through the gates mad with rage. "We have guests brothers."

Kili's POV.

She looked as if she was a dream, angelic yet reckless looking. "... and my brother Kili," Fili said interrupting my thoughts. I gave a warm smile, "At your service." She smiled walking up to us all slowly. "Not necessary," she hummed with a bright smile. she stretched out her hands. Her smile turned to a look of confusion. "What is it?" I asked. "I'll take your things," she replied. "We have none," Balin answered. "oh-" her smile returned as she began to walk towards the palace when a tall elf, with red hair, emerged. "Y/n what is the meaning of this noise?" he said.

Narrators POV.

The elf was the king, Angrethor. "Well, they are dwarves," Y/n replied, "they seek your company." Though, she was the queen's daughter she was not the king's, and would not address him as such. "Fine"

Later

Y/n stood in a long pale green dress, that flared at her knees, and had a sweaty heart neckline revealing an emerald medallion around her neck. The room was lively there were elves dancing to the music, eating, and laughing. Except for the company, they sat at a separate table, slowly eating in a brooding manner. “Thorin?” came a voice from behind them, it was the princess, they all noticed her rather shorter frame, for elves and most dwarves as well. “Aye,” he replied, grimacing. “The king will see you now,” she hummed. “Very well,” he growled getting up. 

Thorins POV.

As we walked into the king’s quarters, the company laughed and belched behind me. “Quiet,” I hissed, whipping my head back. “Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the mountain, was it?” the king said, he did not seem remotely like the princess. His hair was as red as blood, his eyes were black instead of green. “Why is it you seek my company?” He questioned. “We wish the Pirncess, to join our company and quest to reclaim the lonely mountain, our home, from the dragon,” Balin explained, the princess was not in the room only the three princes and the king. “I reject, she is to be married,” he responded, “but you may stay as long as you please.” Suddenly the doors burst open, revealing the princess.

 “How dare you! I am not to be married, you have no power over me FALSE KING!” She yelled stomping toward the king red with rage. 

“I am your king and you will obey.” He said calmly

“What does she mean?” Dwalin questioned, to which the company just shook their heads.

Narrators POV.

Y/n lay in her bed, dried tears down her cheeks. She fiddled with her tiara in her hands. She wore her riding clothes, and she had daggers tucked into her boots and her quiver was filled with arrows and her short sword was freshly sharpened. The door squeaked open, and she thought it to be one of her brothers or palace caretakers. She threw a dagger toward the door just missing it and it dug into the wall beside the door. “Woah, ye almost took an ear off princess,” Bofur said from behind the door. “Sorry" Bofur stood by the bed, taking small breaths. "Would you join us?" he said, slightly quiet. "That false king is not my father, you know." she said, ignoring him, "My father was a dwarf, he served Thror and Thrain, to the day he was killed by orcs. and my mother,... killed by her own people for love, she was the true queen." Bofur stood there shocked, he couldn't believe what he'd heard. "Yes," she said looking up at him, "I will help you reclaim the mountain." The rest of the party walked in laughing, gloating, and throwing bags of coins at each other. "Bets will get you nowhere, dwarves."

"We know, little elf," Thorin said jokingly

[enchantingkryptoniteheart-blog]

-The Best of Intentions~

Chapter 11

Dis found her brother in the courtyard, sitting on the bench underneath the blossoming apple tree that their grandmother planted shortly after her and Thror had married. He was lost in his own thoughts, as he fidgeted with something small in his hands.

She approached silently, observing him. He looked pained, fighting some internal war with himself.

"It pains me to see you this way, especially after seeing how you two danced together. I haven't seen you smile or laugh this much since before Smaug, when our parents and Frerin were still alive." Her voice was gentle yet firm, breaking him from his trance.

He glanced up at her as she approached, but quickly looked away, unable to respond. It was just too painful to let it fully resurface.

She sat next to him, her shoulder touching his. "When I met Vili in that market, I knew he was my One. He knew as well, the moment he looked into my eyes, He was charming, over the moon he had found me. I wasn't so sure; I was afraid of such a momentous commitment. So, I ran. And I avoided him for months, until I couldn't bear to be apart from him any longer. It felt like my very soul was being ripped in two."

Thorin looked over at her in surprise. "I had no idea. I just thought you guys met and that was that."

Dis laughed softly, her smile was bittersweet as her eyes momentarily focused on that past time. "No. And now looking back I'm angry with myself for wasting that precious time. For fighting something that I should have just embraced. We are mortal Thorin, we don't have the luxury of forever. We must grab on tightly to our happiness and enjoy it until the very last."

Thorin shook his head, looking away from her and looking out into the night, feeling that long seeded guilt stab at him that always accompanied a memory of Vili. "I'm not as strong as you Dis." He spoke softly. If she hadn't been studying his face, she wouldn't have been able to hear him. "I saw what losing Vili did to you, the pain you went through. I also remember what it did to Adad, losing Amad the way he did. I couldn't survive that. I would beg for death."

Dis put her arm around her brother's shoulders. "I can see how it would look like that from the outside, but I can tell you that I wouldn't trade one second with him despite all that pain. I'd rather treasure the love and memories I have of him than to have never loved him at all. And I know that if Adad were here, he would tell you the same thing."

"Mistlynn*

She needed air. The feasting hall had grown hot and thick, and she had found herself becoming lightheaded. The emotional whiplash she had received throughout the evening hadn't helped either. She found herself on the top of an intricately carved stone staircase that led down into a beautiful courtyard. The moon was shining brightly in the sky, making the water spewing from the fountains sparkle. There was a cloud of light pink blossoms floating above a thick gnarled trunk. At its base she saw Thorin and Dis. She was hugging her brother, their heads dipped towards each other in a private conversation.

She flushed, angry with herself for imposing on such a private moment. She turned abruptly to leave, but in her haste the many layers of her dress twisted about her ankles. She was already unstable wearing the new heeled slippers, with an undignified yelp, she found herself falling and rolling down the steps, landing in a heap of silk and tulle.

She lay there, gasping as she stared up at the night sky, not quite believing the fact she just fell down the flight of stairs, in front of Thorin and Dis no less, "There is no possible way that just happened." She whispered to herself as the gravity of it started to sink in.

She turned slightly, hoping that they had not noticed but instead found that she had landed right next to the bench, both Thorin and Dis looking directly at her with a mix of concern and amusement on their faces. "This…is not…happening." She whined as she grabbed the top layer of her skirt and slowly pulled it up to cover her burning face.

Dis chuckled and patted her brother on his knee. "And on that note, I'll leave you to it." She stood up, brushing out her skirt and walking gracefully away. "I shall see you tomorrow for tea Mistlynn." She called over her shoulder as she made her way back to the feasting hall, the sounds of the gathering still echoing out into the night.

Her face remained hidden from Thorin as she continued to lay there unmoving. She heard him chuckle. "Are you alright? Do you need assistance in getting up?"

"No, I am right where I intended to be. Stargazing and all that implies."

"Through the skirt of your dress? I've never seen one stargaze in such a manner."

"You should try it sometime."

"I'm not one for dresses so I will take your word for it." Thorin slowly pulled the fabric from Mistlynn's tight clutches, chuckling to himself silently, "Mistlynn let me help you up, I promise the bench is much better for stargazing."

"No please, I already feel like dying, just leave me here. I will melt into the earth much easier this way."

Thorin laughed uproariously, his eyes twinkling with mirth with her unhindered honesty. It was just as refreshing as her very presence was.

"Laughing at me will not improve this situation or cause me to join you on the bench any sooner." Came her petulant retort, her voice wavering with ill-concealed embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I truly don't mean to laugh. Will you please join me? If you don't, I will be forced to join you on the ground."

Mistlynn let out a huff but didn't move, she didn't know how at this point. Tulle was so entwined around her feet she knew it would be impossible to unravel on her own.

"Alright then I guess I am joining you!" Thorin let out a grunt as he rose from the bench and then, much to her surprise, he laid on the ground with his head next to hers, clasping his hands over his stomach "I'm not sure the view is much better from the ground, but I do say it is cooler down here after the heat from the feasting hall."

"My feet are tangled and my arse hurts, I can't get up." She finally confessed after a brief silence; her voice contrite.

"I know." Was his simple responsible. She felt some of her wall's crumble as they lay there next to each other, listening to each other's breaths and their heartbeats harmonize as one.

"Would you like help?" The low timbre of his voice washed over her, drawing her in like a moth to an irresistible flame.

"Yes…if it is not too much trouble?" She whispered, trying to disguise the fact she was near tears.

"I am known to be quite agreeable…when one is not screaming at me, that is." His lips twisted up into a playful smirk. It felt good, to allow this side of him to reveal itself after lying dormant for so long.

Mistlynn let out a truly genuine laugh, her embarrassment slowly washing away and being replaced with the intense attraction that pushed her to gravitate towards him. She liked this side of him, and she was hungry for more. "A girl does not like being chased, she may like being pursued but chased is completely unwarranted."

"What do you call it when she leaps off a 12 story balcony slicing through a banner, running through the halls wreaking havoc and holding dwarves at knife point? Just a typical midweek day for you?"

"I apologized for that, I'll have you know! I had just been attacked by a band of Orcs, creatures I've not once encountered, and was in a strange place if you remember correctly. I feel a little grace should be given to that situation." She sniffed delicately, desperately wanting that tense day of their meeting to be a distant memory.

"Well, I guess I could be persuaded if I was given the proper motivation." His voice deepened as he baited her further, truly enjoying their easy flowing banter.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not very good at being a female. Dresses and heels are death traps. My table manners are atrocious. And I never say the right thing! What makes you think I know how to properly motivate anyone?"

He turned his head to look at her, his gaze softening. He reached his hand over and touched hers gently before threading his fingers through hers. Her hand fit perfectly into his, and he felt another missing piece of his soul slide into place. She turned to face him, her eyes wide both in surprise and nervousness.

"I have the distinct feeling you can do whatever you put your mind to." He breathed, his words earnest.

Before she could come up with a response he rolled onto his side and pushed himself up. He placed her hand he held over his shoulder before scooping her up effortlessly. She gasped at the sensation, looking up at his face as he gently cradled her in his arms. A fuzzy memory of him holding her the same way the night he had rescued her, his enticing eyes boring into hers. She had felt it, even then, this gut-wrenching pull to him.

He sat her down tenderly on the bench, leaving his hand on the curve of her low back as he helped straighten out the voluminous skirt of her dress. She sighed in relief once her legs were free and kicked the infernal shoes off for good measure.

Her heart was once again racing at his proximity, his hand burning her skin as it rested on her. She looked up at him, to see that he hadn't taken his eyes off her. Azure again crashing with jade.

"You asked me earlier what was happening." His voice was thick with heady emotion, making her tremble against his touch. She nodded, unable to find her voice.

"I've been trying to fight this." He rumbled, holding her gaze captive. "But now I just find myself falling into you with all that I am. You are who I've been waiting for my entire life." His other hand came up to cup her jaw, making her eyes flutter as she leaned in closer to him.

"Are you saying that you think I am your One?" She breathed, still unable to look away from him, so lost in the endless sea that were his eyes.

"You are my One. I knew the moment I first looked into your eyes; I was just too stubborn to accept it. " There was no doubt in his strong voice. His thumb traced her cheekbone, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

"We were told that having a 'One' was a thing lost and buried with our ancestors." She swallowed thickly. A flash of panic crossed his eyes, fearing this was a rejection. That was not what she wanted; not what she was trying to convey. She brought her hand up and ran her fingers into his well-groomed beard. "All I know is that you are the only one to have ever set my soul on fire. I cannot fathom living a life without you in it. That's why I've stayed. I can't bring myself to leave you."

"M'eudail." He breathed, a small smile played across his lips as he nuzzled her nose with his while pulling her head closer, his hand moving to the back of her head, finally sinking his fingers into her silky curls. He kissed her gently at first, a sharp contrast to their first kiss before he slid his tongue along her bottom lip, as if seeking permission.

She obliged eagerly, one hand grasping his hair tightly while using the other to move onto his lap, anchoring herself firmly to his chest. "Damned dress." She growled into his mouth as she struggled to sit fully on his lap, the layered skirt was preventing her from getting the closeness she had been craving since their first kiss.

Thorin's chest rumbled with a chuckle as she tried to squirm closer to him. "I am quite partial to this dress." His voice was husky as he peppered kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

Her eyes rolled back as she hummed, enjoying the chills he sent through her body with just his lips. "It allows me to pay certain parts of your body special attention."

She never realized how sensitive her breasts could be until he started to lavish attention upon them. She gasped, a jolt of fire shooting to that deep place between her thighs, his hand grasping her breast through her dress. Her chest heaved as he licked and nipped back up her neck.

Her grip tightened in his hair, making him growl and lunge for her lips. His blood was boiling with lust. He knew he had to slow it down, they had a lot to talk about, no matter how badly he craved her. He brought his hands up to cup her face, and slowed down their kiss, softening it.

"Even though this pains me…" he whispered against her lips, "We should probably discuss some things before we get too ahead of ourselves."

Mistlynn breathed deeply through her nose in resignation as she rested her forehead against his. She was on her knees, since her dress wouldn't let her sit fully in his lap, making it to where he had to look up at her. Not that either was complaining. His hands slid down to her lower back, his thumb teasing the dimples at the base of her spine where the curve of her butt was evident.

"I suppose your right." She sighed, "Even though I do prefer kissing you over talking. I feel like we would agree more if we did nothing but kiss."

"So much progress made, then you say things like that." He cocked his eyebrow, his stern tone not reaching his laughing eyes. "What should we do about that?"

She started to massage her fingers across the back the of head and neck, making him groan and rest his head against her chest. "Minx." He grumbled while tightening his arms around her middle, pulling her closer against him. "You don't play fair."

"Never said I did." She giggled. He could only imagine the cat like grin that shaped her mouth.

"I'm going to have my hands full with you, I can already tell." He mumbled into her chest, before playfully nipping the top of her breast, making her squeak in mock indignation.

"Two can play at that game." He grinned at the sound of her laugh, his hands quickly grabbing her butt and squeezing, making her arch up into him in surprise before laughing and smacking him playfully on the shoulder. If he was fortunate enough to spend the rest of his days making her laugh, like he was now, he would never want for anything.

He reached one hand into his pocket, pulling out the small item he had been fidgeting with earlier when Dis had found him. He held it up, so that Mistlynn could see. Her eyes widened when she recognized what it was. He smiled, relieved that she knew the significance of this hair bead.

"This was my mother's." His voice was soft. "My father crafted it for her when they announced their betrothal. It is mithril and sapphire with the runes of my house, of the line of Durin."

Mistlynn swallowed thickly, tears gathering in her eyes.

"I am almost 200 years old, and I have done nothing but fight my way through life. And now that I have found you, I know that all that fighting was meant to lead me to you." He paused and wiped away a tear that escaped and slid down her cheek. "Will you do me the honor of letting me braid this in your hair? So that the world can see that it has always been you that was meant to be my Queen?"

She laughed breathlessly before leaning down and kissing him passionately. "Only if you wear one of mine." She whispered in-between kisses. She abruptly pulled back, biting her bottom lip nervously. "It isn't made of anything special." She stammered. "It's made of ivory and mother of pearl. They were made for my mother by my father when they were betrothed as well."

Thorin kissed her gently. "I would be honored to wear it, and I will treasure it above all other jewelry I own."

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Ambassador to Madness

Rating: NR

Warnings: No warnings as of yet

Status: In-progress (6/?)

Tags: Arranged Marriage AU | Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell | Goldsickness | Slow Burn | Family Drama | Leans a bit towards Fake Marriage AU | Romance | Mystery-esque | First Time | Dwarven Politics

Summary: All Bilbo wanted was to be an ambassador to one of the richest kingdoms in Middle Earth. Upon meeting its prince, his opinion is greatly lessened. However, Bilbo still finds himself agreeing to play the part of his consort to help free Erebor from the gold mad Thror. Turns out, Thror may not be as blind as his grandson thinks, and intends to use Bilbo to get rid of Thorin once and for all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Chapter: Chapter 6- The Delegation from Mirkwood

“Here Bilbo. Since this is a Shire custom, it’ll make more sense if you’re the one to gift it to Thranduil.”

Bilbo unhooked his arm to accept the rather ostentatious object. A mighty frown pulled at the corner of his lips as he aimed a glare onto Thorin. The dwarf actually had the gull to chuckle with his hands held out defensively.

“I didn’t make it.”

“You were the one to commission it.”

“I thought you would appreciate the irony.”

“I’m never telling you anything again.” Bilbo complained.

Thorin’s laughter grew as he bumped shoulders with Bilbo. “Come now, Burglar. You should think of this as an opportunity to…”

“To keep secrets away from my husband’s ears? Yes, I think I shall.”

He hadn’t quite realized that Balin had stopped talking altogether until he chanced a look at the other dwarf only to see he had a peculiar look on his face.

“What is it?” Bilbo asked self-consciously. 

Balin only shook his head as a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“I suppose it’s just good to see you two on better terms is all.” 

They had just spent the majority of their time in Balin’s presence arguing like they always do. How exactly did that come across as ‘better’?

For more of this chapter, please click the AO3 link above!

[lordoftherazzles]

PLOT BUNNY #4 ↳ TWICE IN A LIFETIME

Summary: Just days before the siege on the Dimrill Gate, Thorin voices his guilt for his inability to keep his people safe when Smaug took the mountain. In the middle of an angry prayer to Mahal himself, the ringing of an anvil is the last thing Thorin remembers before waking up within the rolling green hills of the Shire. It’s there he’s greeted by a set of hazels he’d never forget. Not in this lifetime.

If you want to see this fic in the future, be sure to like, reblog, and/or comment! Feedback is welcome, and I can’t wait to see what fic wins the raz2k! Check out the MASTERPOST to see the other plot bunnies!

Dunland had not been the ideal destination, but it was suitable enough to house the displaced dwarves of Erebor for a time. The Grey Mountains were not optimal, nor was flooding the Iron Hills with refugees, which led the Longbeard clan to drift like dust in the wind to anywhere they could find some form of shelter and potential work. A means to survive was not wrapped in luxury, and that was harder for those impacted by greed that rivaled Smaug to understand. 

Thorin’s gaze was fixed on Thror who was hunched over a slab of wood that had been fashioned into a makeshift table within their campsite. This idea of Thror’s was foolish, Thorin would be the first one to think it, but his mouth never opened to try and talk some sense into the king of the Longbeards, even if his throne was far to the East by now–likely destroyed by the evil serpent that had run the dwarves out in the first place. While Thorin’s skepticism remained high, his loyalty to both the crown, as well as family, was even higher.

“When the forces from the Iron Hills arrive we can make haste for Moria,” Thror announced, earning silence in response, but no shortage of looks were exchanged at the rather outlandish declaration. “We will reclaim what once was ours and live comfortably again, especially with our access to the mithril veins once more.”

Was it ever not about riches and wealth?

Thorin’s lips curled downward as he remained silent, his arms folded and simply listening, but not quite paying the most attention, which was his first mistake.

“You’re silent and despondent. What is it?”

As the attention shifted to Thorin, the dwarf shifted uncomfortably under the several sets of eyes that were on him. From his grandfather to his siblings and a few others who were deemed necessary for these declarations of war, Thorin wasn’t sure what he could say under such scrutiny that wouldn’t make him sound cowardly.

It wasn’t that Thorin didn’t want to take back what was rightfully theirs, but the images of smoke and fire still lingered vividly behind his eyelids anytime they closed. Adding another terror to embed itself into his heart was not exactly something he felt encouraging.

“Speak, sigindashatê (my grandson).”

Gnawing the inside of his cheeks wouldn’t remove the attention from Thorin any faster, and much to his immediate regret, he opened his mouth. “You’re leading us to suicide for the sake of a few mithril mines?”

“I am leading us to take back what is rightfully ours unless you think it fitting for us to remain without a proper place to rest our heads and fill our bellies?” 

“I didn’t say that.”

“Look around you. We have not known home for some time and it is taking a toll on my people.”

Thorin had to bite his tongue to keep the words he desperately wanted to spit locked behind his teeth. That glint in Thror’s eye that reminded him of the same stare he would give the treasure hall was enough to make his skin crawl. Dropping his eyes in defeat, not wanting to go toe to toe with his king, regardless of how reasonable his concerns seemed, Thorin knew that Thror wasn’t finished in justifying his actions.

“I have guided our people across the mountains and through hardship since Smaug took Erebor from us, and now when there is an opportunity to reclaim some semblance of home again, it is a risk I am willing to take for the greater good of Durin’s Folk. I would have hoped you’d see my side of things instead of shirking aside your loyalty in favor of cowardice.”

Those sky blue eyes narrowed, Thorin’s teeth grinding behind his lips as he felt a hand land on his shoulder, not daring to lift his gaze to meet that of his superiors and those around him.

“Thorin’s concern is not unwarranted, he too cares for our people and wishes to see them safe,” Thrain interjected calmly, giving his son’s shoulder a firm squeeze. It was one of many times that shoulder had felt the gesture, and one of the few things that kept the oldest of Thrain’s three children from throwing his hands up and walking away from whatever argument was on the horizon. “We must be tactful if we are to attempt this and explore every avenue of possibility to ensure the safety of our kin and comrades.”

“If his heart is not on the battlefield, and not with Durin’s Folk, then he will surely die,” Thror snarled.

Normally Thorin would have kept quiet and stuck around out of that loyalty he supposedly shirked to the side, but with a particular nerve of his having been struck like a poorly played harp, he simply couldn’t stand idly by as if everything was okay. Not after all he had witnessed in his life already.

Without a warning, Thorin shrugged his shoulder from Thrain’s grip and quickly exited the small council that had gathered to discuss Thror’s plans for Moria, and much to Thorin’s relief, no one immediately followed him. No doubt Thrain had something to do with that, he’d always been something of a mediator whenever stress got high. A true voice of reason and someone who looked out for the dwarves’ safety and happiness, much like Thorin did. That was the difference between them and their current king. Thror’s eyes were always set on the outcome that best benefited him, not the whole of Durin’s Folk, no matter what he said.

Scuffing his boots across the grass and passing several sets of eyes that landed on him in the process, Thorin could feel the muscles in his hands tighten and cramp by how they were balled up. For far too long he and Thrain had been shouldering the weight of these dwarves’ happiness, and to see that all be cast aside so quickly? It was aggravating. Perhaps had their numbers been greater and their plans more thought out, he’d be more inclined to march first thing upon the Dimrill Gate. 

The more he thought about it as he wandered away from the heart of the campsite where the dwarvish refugees had settled in the wilds, the more his thoughts began to teeter. To fight and be hailed a brave hero, or to continue to protest and be seen as a coward. It should have been simple, but since the day the dragon came, Thorin had to think about the big picture. They’d lost so much already. In his heart of hearts he knew that regardless of his feelings, he would not abandon his kin in the name of skepticism and being cautious. But a warrior whose heart was not dedicated to the battlefield was doomed to die, and Thorin couldn’t force that sort of dedication at this given moment.

So he sought out a small place of peace to try and find the guidance he was seeking, even if he didn’t expect an answer to land in his lap.

There it was, a small anvil with a hammer engraved with the name of Mahal across the handle nestled near the end of the campsite. A small makeshift shrine towards the great smith himself where those distraught might find a bit of comfort in prayer to their patron god, and while Thorin never found much use for a silly idea, here he was.

Dropping to his knees before the anvil and ducking his head down, hands firmly placed against his thighs, Thorin merely squinted towards the ground in annoyance as he finally let out the heavy puff of air that had collected in his lungs since leaving the meeting Thror was holding. 

“What am I doing?” Thorin asked, eyeing the hammer with disdain as if the inanimate object would knock some sort of answer into him as soon as the words left his lips.

“I am not shirking my loyalty in favor of cowardice,” he grumbled, a hiss passing through his teeth alongside the words as Thror’s assessment stung like salt in barely healing wounds yet again. “Frerin wants to go…” Thorin felt himself choke on the words, thinking of the eager-eyed look he had been given when the plan first started to come to light. Frerin had wanted to fight, to prove himself a proper warrior. He held the enthusiasm that Thorin was lacking. “And I want to want to fight…but…” It would only lead to more bloodshed in the name of greed.

It was a vicious cycle, wasn’t it? Greed had led Smaug to Erebor, and now greed was leading Thror to Moria.

“I could not spare the suffering of my people when Smaug came,” Thorin lamented as his eyes closed and his forehead gently rested against the anvil. A sense of shame he had been harboring in his heart for all of these years was starting to bubble to the surface. “The dragon came and we lost everything. Now we risk losing it all again…” It sparked something in Thorin, an anger that had been building for some time now, even before the days of Smaug’s terror.

“It is a hopeless prayer. How many times have I begged and pleaded for a sign? For a sanctuary for my people so that they may find peace?” With furrowed brows and tightened hands on his thighs, Thorin could feel the agitation boiling beneath the surface. “But you!” He hissed, his eyes lifting and staring upwards to the sky overhead peeking beyond the trees. “You were nowhere to be found!” The snarl that tore through Thorin’s throat caused the dwarf to wince, an ache in his gut that no amount of helpful herbs or other remedies might soothe. 

Rising to his feet and continuing to glare daggers at the sky, Thorin needed someone to blame for his shortcomings, and for the fate that had been handed to his people. “Your creations displaced, others burned or watched their loved ones perish. And what did the mighty smith do from his seat on high? Nothing.” It was far easier to lash out at a god that wasn’t listening than it was to admit one’s fear of losing their family. Or to lay blame at Thror’s feet, even. Divine intervention had only been spoken of in those fables a parent might tell their pebble before bedtime, not in the real world.

“If you couldn’t protect them…then how can I–” Thorin cut himself off as he put his back to the makeshift shrine of Mahal, his arms folding tightly in that closed-off stance he was known for in order to emotionally arm himself. It wasn’t enough. Screwing his eyes closed and feeling an unwelcome burn behind his eyelids, Thorin felt as if his chest would explode at any given moment. “It’s too much, I can’t do it.” The burden he bore that Thror didn’t see. The idea that he needed to protect anyone and everyone where his grandfather would not. It felt like he was being suffocated by it all, choking on responsibility and expectation. 

“My heart wishes it was elsewhere.” The pitiful admission rocked through Thorin’s entire body like a landslide, nearly sending him to his knees once more out of anguish instead of a desire to pray. His knees never hit the ground, a loud ringing of a hammer against metal rang loud in his ears, like a smith tending to their forge, and that was all Thorin could remember before his dismal world turned completely black–and not because he had screwed his eyes shut, but by another sort of force entirely.

==========

“Helloooo?”

A distant voice called out, barely registering in Thorin’s mind as the world around him was a dark and vacant thing. The scent of something sweet tickled his nose though before something literally tickled his nose and forced his eyes to screw shut even tighter. When his eyes finally began to lessen in how tightly they were closed, they opened slowly to reveal daylight, and a bit of lavender fiddled around at his nose before it was promptly pulled away.

“You’re alive, that’s good.”

Exhausted sky blue eyes moved to look towards the culprit of a plant being shoved in his face, and were met with not that of a dwarf’s, but a curly mop of golden-brown hair, big hazel eyes, and pointed ears. He was by no means an elf, but you didn’t often find halflings on this side of the Bree in his experience–which was minimal at best. Letting out a low moan of discomfort as he lifted his head, one of Thorin’s hands immediately went to his head, shielding his eyes as the world began to spin around him. “Make it…stop…” He whined low as his head was among grass instead of dirt and stone like the campsite he and his people had settled in.

“Don’t move so quickly Mister Dwarf, you took quite a knock to the head judging by the bruising to your temple,” the hobbit cast aside his stalk of lavender to take a seat next to the downed dwarf, examining the bruise in question. “Do you remember what happened? It’s not often we find dwarves on the side of the road just outside Bywater.”

“I’m…by water?”

“No no, you silly thing, Bywater, just beyond Hobbiton! You must have been taking the East Road to the west towards Michael Delving, or perhaps east to Frogmorton?” The hobbit hummed in thought. “Bywater has some of the best lavender stalks on this side of these green hills, but imagine my surprise to find not only the lavender in question but a dwarf taking a snooze among the stems. I suppose that would be a relaxing place to nap, have you ever had lavender tea?”

In Thorin’s opinion, this hobbit did not know when to quit talking, and each word pounded hard like a hammer against an anvil in his head–

”The anvil!” Thorin’s eyes shot open and he sat up far quicker than he should have, his head spinning once more and swirling down to his stomach to make for an uncomfortable jolt to run through his body with another groan of discomfort.

“Take it easy,” the hobbit urged, pressing a hand to Thorin’s shoulder and trying to ease whatever distress was making itself known. “Boy, the lavenders are doing nothing for you…” He mused for a quick moment. “Perhaps mother should look at you, she’s far more knowledgeable about bumps and bruises and dizzy heads than I am.”

“Wait, no, where is the anvil? Where are…my siblings…? Grandfather…”

“The only anvil you’ll find in these parts is at old Hamilton Proudfoot’s smithy! Though he hardly tends the forge these days,” the hobbit’s eyes focused on the dwarf’s distressed look, his own facial expression drooping into something with mild concern about it. “You were separated from your family?”

The words may have been spoken with concern and confusion, but to Thorin, it felt like his heart had plummeted into the pit of his stomach as his eyes dropped. “So it would seem…”

“Oh, you’re…you’re lost.”

The word rang in Thorin’s ears loudly, making his heart pound and ache all at once as it truly sank in. He was nowhere near Dunland, nor the Dimrill Gate, and his family was far out of reach. What happened?

“But don’t worry! Belladonna Baggins is an expert in dire situations, we’ll get it sorted out. Come on–wait. What’s your name?”

Thorin watched as the hobbit, excitable as he was, was on his feet and extending a hand to help him up. The dwarf seated amidst a field of lavender stalks could hardly make any sense of what was going on. But what did he have to lose aside from going along with meeting this Belladonna Baggins character? It was best to be compliant and try to piece the confusing puzzle together one step at a time.

“...Thorin, and you?”

And as Thorin lifted his hand to meet the hobbit’s, those hazel eyes practically glimmered like the most luxurious of diamond mines. “Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins, at your service.” 

[thranduilofsmirkwood]

THE HOBBIT MEMES

LORD OF THE RINGS MEMES

RELATIONSHIP MEMES

[delicatenightfury]

Star of the Mountain Chapter 26

Warnings: fluff, angst, canon-level violence, spoilers for the Hobbit films

Pairing: OC x Thorin Oakenshield

Beta'd By: @mistys-blerbz

Author's Note: please do not steal my work! I do not own the Hobbit or the characters, but I do own my OCs and the parts of the plot that are not part of the movies. I have worked very hard on this fic. Please be respectful and do not steal.

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“They can’t see it,” Thorin muttered. “They don’t realize what we must do. This gold is ours. Erebor is ours. I will not allow anyone to take it from us again.”

Since Dwalin left, Thorin had been wandering the halls of Erebor. He walked among the summits of gold, relishing in the sound of it clinking under his feet. His mind swam with different ways they could protect the gold, how they would gather it quickly and move it further underground. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize that his feet had taken him to the Hall of Kings. 

The floor seemed to glow. The gold they had tried to drown Smaug in had solidified and coated the entire floor. Thorin looked down at the ground and saw his reflection in the gold.

“You sit here… with a crown upon your head…” Thorin looked around. Dwalin? Had Thorin not told him to leave him? Thorin was sure that he had heard his voice, but the warrior was nowhere in sight. “You are lesser now than you have ever been.”

“A treasure such as this cannot be counted in lives lost,” Thorin heard his own voice say.

“A sickness lies upon that treasure.” Balin?

“The blind ambition of a mountain king.” The dragon-slayer.

“Am I not the king! This gold is ours and ours alone. I will not part with a single coin.”

“He could not see beyond his own desire!”

“As if I was some lowly dwarf lord… Thorin… Oakenshield.”

“This is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror!”

“Thorin…”

That voice… He knew that voice… It was different from the rest. It sounded almost… disappointed.

“I am not my grandfather.”

“You are the heir to the throne of Durin,” he heard Gandalf say.

He knew who he was. He had the crown. All he needed was the Arken-

“They are dying out there.”

Dying? Who?

“Take back… Erebor.”

That’s what they had set out to do. And they had done it. The mountain was theirs.

“Dain is surrounded.” Dwalin’s words echoed. Dain was here? “Dain is surrounded. We’ve lost sight…”

Lost sight? Lost sight of who?

“Take back your homeland.”

“You are changed, Thorin.” Bilbo…

No he hadn’t. Thorin shook his head.

“I am not my grandfather.”

“Is this treasure truly worth more than your honor?”

“You claimed that Thranduil lacked honor. Where is your’s now?”

He was nothing like Thranduil. But why did those words cause his heart to hurt?

“I am not my grandfather.”

Those words - his words - just kept repeating over and over.

“This treasure will be your death.”

It felt like the room was closing in on him. He didn’t realize it before, but now it seemed he was being cornered. The voices were echoing louder and louder. But the darkness that he hadn’t noticed before was getting closer. Thorin felt like he was suffocating as the world around him went black.

“What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into now, Oakenshield?”

There it was again. That voice. Where was it coming from?

Thorin noticed a light coming from behind him. He looked over his shoulder, raising his hand slightly to try and see properly. His eyes widened in shock when he saw the company in sacks, some tied to a spit above a fire. Stone trolls stood around them.

What is this? We escaped the trolls.

He noticed that the light was coming from a taller figure, moving around. He stared as the figure came into focus. Golden hair, bright smile, eyes that resembled an early sunrise. She stood tall, confident, but had an air of playful and protectiveness about her. Mahal, she was stunning.

“Good to see you again, Thorin,” she said.

The scene around him changed again. He saw several battles blend together, but in each one, he could pick her out. She was fierce and yet graceful. And in every fight, he noticed that she was near him. She wasn’t quite protecting him, but was fighting alongside him and occasionally putting herself in front of him.

“We chose to stand by our king,” he heard her say.

He was standing next to her then. He could feel her fingers lightly running through his hair, just the ends as not to be noticeable by others. 

“Gimlelul.” He had called her that. My brightest star.

When he looked for her again, he stopped. There were tears in her eyes. The room wasn’t lit well, but her unshed tears reflected the nearby fire.

“Locating the Arkenstone proves their loyalty.”

“As if traveling across Middle Earth and facing a dragon does not prove that?”

His eyes widened when he saw blood running down her face, a newly made cut on her forehead, just above her eye.

“Men shmek menu.” I will kill you. “Orn tumpien edainme.” Tree humping wench.

Oh Mahal, he had said that, those vile things? Thorin felt like his legs were going to give out beneath him. 

“I am the king!” his voice echoed loudly in his ears.

“You are my king.” Her reply was soft yet rang louder than his shout had. “You are also my love, just as I am yours.”

His heart ached in his chest. His crown felt heavy on his head.

Her eyes shone with unshed tears as she looked at him. And yet her smile was soft… understanding… loving. 

“Menu gajatu, amrâlimé.” I forgive you, my love.

She forgave him? How? After everything he had done, everything he had said?

The light began to get brighter, engulfing her form once again. No. Wait. Please, don’t take her away. He tried to keep his eyes on her, but she was disappearing.

“No!” He lunged forward, trying to grab onto her. “Oreliell!”

His hand wrapped around her wrist and light exploded around him. 

“Kurdunuh.” My heart, she had called him.

The Hall of Kings slowly came back into focus. Thorin reached for his crown and ripped it from his head, tossing it to the ground. He already felt lighter. But as he stood there, catching his breath, he felt tears running down his face. He shed his heavy coat, which landed on the golden floor with a thud. He wiped the tears off his face and hurried from the room. He couldn’t stand being there for another minute. 

He ran through the halls, shedding pieces of jewelry and clothes that no longer felt right. He steered clear of the great hall and its mountains of gold. Just the thought of it and what it had done to him made him sick. 

“Thorin?”

Thorin stopped and turned toward the voice, finding Dwalin standing several yards away.

“Dwalin,” Thorin breathed. He slowly walked toward his life-long friend. The closer he got, the more he could make out the puzzled yet hesitant look on Dwalin’s face. Thorin stopped, leaving space between them. “We must gather the others. Dain needs our help.”

The tension in Dwalin’s shoulders released and he breathed out a chuckle.

“It’s good to have you back, Thorin,” he whispered. “Everyone’s gathered at the gate.”

Thorin nodded. The two began heading in that direction, stopping briefly enough for Thorin to put on some chainmail and grab his sword. As he situated his clothing, he glanced at Dwalin.

“Any news…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish his sentence. 

Dwalin shook his head, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I lost sight of her soon after the elves charged the orcs. All I know is that a majority of the elves went to assist Dale.”

“Dale?”

“Azog dispatched a small army there. The humans fell back and most of the elves followed.”

Thorin nodded. He picked up his sword, testing it briefly to make sure it was sharp.

“We’d better get up there then.”

Thorin made his way to the upper levels of the mountain. The closer he got, the stronger the sounds of the battle got. His mind raced. How many of his kin were dead? Were they too late? Where was Oreliell? Was she even still alive?

He shook his head. He needed to try and push those thoughts away for the time being.

He looked ahead of him and saw the company seated around the gate, heads hung low. Most of their heavy armor was discarded to the side.

Kili was the first to notice him. Thorin watched his nephew rise to his feet and start to walk toward him. Even from a distance, he could tell Kili was angry.

“I will not hide behind a wall of stone while others fight our battles for us!” Kili shouted. It was not often he saw his nephew so passionate about something, and it was even rarer that he should yell at Thorin. But Thorin knew that he deserved his anger. As she came closer, he noticed the pain on Kili’s face as he shook his head. “It is not in my blood, Thorin.”

The two stopped in front of one another. Thorin saw the tears welling up in Kili’s eyes and he felt his heart tighten at the sight.

“No,” he agreed softly. “It is not. We are sons of Durin. And Durin’s folk do not flee from a fight.”

He smiled at Kili. The boy looked relieved, just as Balin had. Thorin pulled him close, pressing his forehead to Kili’s for several long moments. When they separated, Kili was smiling. Thorin squeezed his shoulder slightly before stepping around him to approach the rest of the company.

“I have no right to ask this of any of you. But will you follow me one last time? If you decide to do this, understand you may not return.”

He watched the dwarves slowly rise and lift their weapons. He couldn’t help but smile at their loyalty. They had been alongside him since the beginning. Oreliell and Bilbo had been right. He had no reason to doubt them.

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read the Hobbit! Chapters 13 & 14

Wow so Tears of the Kingdom sure happened. I don't know what to do with my life now that I'm no longer ridiculously obsessive, but I guess I should become literate again? It seems like I should just be 100%-ing both Switch Zeldas but... it would be nice to finish something.

In the meanwhile, the dwarves sat in darkness, and utter silence fell about them.

Am I supposed to think this isn't their natural habitat? Are they not dwarves? Isn't mining their chief activity?

But somehow, just when the dwarves were most despairing, Bilbo felt a strange lightening of the heart, as if a heavy weight had gone from under his waistcoat.

I was going to joke that this is just because Bilbo is competent and no one else is, but to be fairer to the dwarves really this has something to do with the fact that Bilbo can be invisible and thus has way better odds of surviving anything than them. I'd be despairing too, despite Bilbo's quoting his dad.

At length Mr. Baggins could bear it no longer. “Confound you, Smaug, you worm!” he squeaked aloud. “Stop playing hide-and-seek! Give me a light, and then eat me, if you can catch me!”

Past Bilbo is of course having conniptions at the thought of addressing a dragon in any way, let alone this way in particular.

As Thorin carefully explained, Mr. Baggins was still officially their expert burglar and investigator.

Y'all really should have checked his references. "Hobbit fact: All hobbits are expert burglars!" is probably something Gandalf said when he was seven cups and six bowls in.

His small hand would not close about it, for it was a large and heavy gem; but he lifted it, shut his eyes, and put it in his deepest pocket.

"Is that an Arkenstone in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" - a small taste of the Hobbit smut fic I will never, ever write, much to humanity's relief

All the same he had an uncomfortable feeling that the picking and choosing had not really been meant to include this marvellous gem, and that trouble would yet come of it.

You can tell that the Shire is meant to be where England will end up by the confidence in which its inhabitants claim the sacred cultural artifacts of others for their own use.

“Now what on earth or under it has happened?” said Thorin. “Certainly not the dragon, or he would not go on squeaking.”

Thorin is going to be a dick to the end, I see. So many more charitable verbs my dude.

The dwarves indeed no longer needed any urging. All were now eager to explore the hall while they had the chance, and willing to believe that, for the present, Smaug was away from home.

Okay my bros but what about the immediate future? This is not the time to get all gold lusty. There's a dragon on the loose! Or at least, you think there is, and that's dangerous enough.

With that he put on Bilbo a small coat of mail, wrought for some young elf-prince long ago. It was of silver-steel, which the elves call mithril, and with it went a belt of pearls and crystals. A light helm of figured leather, strengthened beneath with hoops of steel, and studded about the brim with white gems, was set upon the hobbit’s head.

Hey, this'll be relevant later. But also, a belt of pearls and crystals? That hardly seems practical, even by elvish standards.

“I would give a good many of these precious goblets,” he thought, “for a drink of something cheering out of one of Beorn’s wooden bowls!”

Way to be blatant about your messaging, Tolkien.

“This is the great chamber of Thror,” said Thorin; “the hall of feasting and of council. Not far off now is the Front Gate.”

Seems like an odd combination. The place is great as a hall of feasting; huge and blessed with fresh air. But is it good for council? I'd prefer a more intimate setting myself.

They passed through the ruined chamber. Tables were rotting there; chairs and benches were lying there overturned, charred and decaying. Skulls and bones were upon the floor among flagons and bowls and broken drinking-horns and dust.

All joking aside, Tolkien does ruin beautifully, doesn't he?

“How far is that?” asked the hobbit. “Five hours march, I should think.”

Not to sound too much like a hobbit, but if you're not getting to eat until afternoon, it's hardly breakfast is it? Not that this is Balin's fault; you really can't be too careful about your choice of eatery when a dragon's on the loose.

“That won’t be till Smaug’s dead,” said Bilbo glumly. “In the meanwhile where is he? I would give a good breakfast to know. I hope he is not up on the Mountain looking down at us!”

If GRRM wrote this book, this is exactly when they'd be immolated by Smaug, directly above them. Luckily, the real dramatic irony is that Smaug is already dead!

If you want to know what cram is, I can only say that I don’t know the recipe; but it is biscuitish, keeps good indefinitely, is supposed to be sustaining, and is certainly not entertaining, being in fact very uninteresting except as a chewing exercise.

For those of you who read this description and think, "Finally, something more bland than pilot bread for my easily overstimulated taste buds!", check out Feast of Starlight's recipe which can be found on most major search engines.

...really, you insist on being linked? Very well. Here you go.

In all their talk they came perpetually back to one thing: where was Smaug? They looked West and there was nothing, and East there was nothing, and in the South there was no sign of the dragon, but there was a gathering of very many birds.

Obviously he clipped through the ground and is now flying through the infinite void. Keep up boys. But anyway, they have no idea and set out and we cut to another chapter, stepping back in time a little.

“Perhaps the King under the Mountain is forging gold,” said another. “It is long since he went North. It is time the songs began to prove themselves again.”

This seems remarkably optimistic, but I suppose spending generations under the shadow of a dragon and having almost nothing bad happen ever makes one numb to the threats.

“You are always foreboding gloomy things!” said the others. “Anything from floods to poisoned fish. Think of something cheerful!”

This is too real and I now hope that all these Laketown idiots die like the climate change deniers they are. Sadly, it's not to be.

Every vessel in the town was filled with water, every warrior was armed, every arrow and dart was ready, and the bridge to the land was thrown down and destroyed, before the roar of Smaug’s terrible approach grew loud, and the lake rippled red as fire beneath the awful beating of his wings.

Of all the things that gets ripped off from the Legendarium, why not more Laketowns? Beautifully scenic, defensive, and easily fireproof one way or another. Dear fantasy writers, please steal Laketown more often.

No fireworks you ever imagined equalled the sights that night.

I dunno, this one New Year's Eve the university accidentally set off all of its fireworks at once and it was the most spectacular five minute performance of fireworks I ever saw.

Fire leaped from thatched roofs and wooden beam-ends as he hurtled down and past and round again, though all had been drenched with water before he came. Once more water was flung by a hundred hands wherever a spark appeared. Back swirled the dragon. A sweep of his tail and the roof of the Great House crumbled and smashed down. Flames unquenchable sprang high into the night. Another swoop and another, and another house and then another sprang afire and fell; and still no arrow hindered Smaug or hurt him more than a fly from the marshes.

Good, everyone except Bard deserves this.

He was a descendant in long line of Girion, Lord of Dale, whose wife and child had escaped down the Running River from the ruin long ago.

You know, this info might have been better placed in the chapter where the dwarves were in Laketown instead of this guy only being introduced properly now. It's kinda outta nowhere.

The black arrow sped straight from the string, straight for the hollow by the left breast where the foreleg was flung wide. In it smote and vanished, barb, shaft and feather, so fierce was its flight. With a shriek that deafened men, felled trees and split stone, Smaug shot spouting into the air, turned over and crashed down from on high in ruin.

RIP Smaug. You deserved better than to go out like a Legend of Zelda boss to a DMPC, but it was not to be. Hopefully some other dragons in the Legendarium did some damage.

But they had really much to be thankful for, had they thought of it, though it could hardly be expected that they should just then: three quarters of the people of the town had at least escaped alive; their woods and fields and pastures and cattle and most of their boats remained undamaged; and the dragon was dead.

It takes surviving a special kind of war to go, "Yeah only 1 in every 4 people you ever knew are dead, that's a lot to be thankful for." I for one, will be grateful that my wish came one quarter true.

“In the Lake-town we have always elected masters from among the old and wise, and have not endured the rule of mere fighting men.

I mean I'm all for forcibly retiring the elderly as much as the next person who's spent their whole lives struggling under the Boomer Gerontocracy, but I can't really get behind the whole "Fuck elections" thing.

That said the Master is totally asking for his being deposed.

Who obtained of us rich gifts and ample help, and led us to believe that old songs could come true? Who played on our soft hearts and our pleasant fancies? What sort of gold have they sent down the river to reward us? Dragon-fire and ruin!

He's not even wrong, which is impressive.

Then even as he was speaking, the thought came into his heart of the fabled treasure of the Mountain lying without guard or owner, and he fell suddenly silent.

Did Sauron make the Arkenstone? I mean damn it's got more of a pull than the titular dude's soon-to-be titular jewelry.

Many took ill of wet and cold and sorrow that night, and afterwards died, who had escaped uninjured from the ruin of the town; and in the days that followed there was much sickness and great hunger.

One wonders what percentage of the town dropped dead this time. It sounds like quite a large number. Not so much to be thankful for, is it? Unless you're me. Maybe another quarter died! Wish half true!

Even before the Elvenking rode forth the news had passed west right to the pinewoods of the Misty Mountains; Beorn had heard it in his wooden house, and the goblins were at council in their caves.

It's a Mirkwood Wide Web! Convenient for drama, but also cool in its esoteric nature.

...he was the lord of a good and kindly people...

Was he? The last we saw, they spent ages tormenting the dwarves and Bilbo with magic feasts and whatnot. Seems to me that they're helping out for fear that if Laketown doesn't recover their booze imports could be interrupted more than any particular kindness.

It was thus that in eleven days from the ruin of the town the head of their host passed the rock-gates at the end of the lake and came into the desolate lands.

And that's two more chapters! As we're now some ways ahead of Bilbo and crew, the question remains: how many breakfasts has Bilbo missed since we last saw him? We'll find out next time. Thank goodness I'm not into Diablo or this reread would really take awhile.

[ally-holmes]

Confounded

Day 7 of the 30-day short story challenge

Today's prompt was the word confounded which has three different meanings, therefore I challenge myself even more by using all three of them in a short story.

Fandom: The Hobbit | Pairing: Thorin x Bilbo

Warnings: pre-slash | Words: 903

Also available on AO3

Here it goes:

The loud noise echoed in the royal corridors of the reconquered dwarven city of Erebor. Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, king under the mountain halted next to his head of guards and best friend, Dwalin. Both holding in their breaths expecting the sound to repeat itself. And repeat itself it did.

No more than five years had passed since the battle of the five armies took place in the lands connecting Erebor and Dale. Men and dwarves had worked hand in hand to turn each city inhabitable once again which was a tough yet rewarding work. Needless to say, the relative peace reached, especially when in diplomatic encounters with the elves, had been their own burglar's handy work.

Bilbo Baggins had been so kind as to forgive Thorin for his words and acts when sick with dragon fever, and had shown even a more affectionate heart if possible by leaving the Shire in favor of living in Erebor. Evidently, Baggend had been carefully put in the capable hands of Bilbo's gardener to keep in tip-top condition if he fancied a sunny holiday back at the Shire. A holiday he'd been careful enough to mention to all the members of the Company with an open invitation to accompany him once it took place.

If the notion that the stay at the Shire was meant to be a brief one smoothed Thorin's heartache nobody needed to know. Not only did the king have to endure Balin's knowing looks in court the moment Thorin's eyes softened while listening to Bilbo, but also his own confounded nephews were catching on to his lovestruck demeanor. Even Dís, his sister, had taken it upon herself to 'knock some sense' into him, as she expressed in her letters which came all the way from the Blue Mountains.

Thorin and Dwaling followed the sound, hands at the ready on their weapons. The royal wing had not presented too much dragon damage and it's been quite accommodating for Thorin, Fili, Kili, Balin, Dwalin, and, of course, Bilbo. This license did not escape the Ereborians; they all knew what the king had intended with that simple move. Master Baggins, although a halfling, was meant to be respected as part of the royal family, he had won the acknowledgment of dwarf friend –which was unusual– and of savior as he not only took the Arkenstone from under Smaug's fauces but also kept it safe from Thorin's clouded mind.

Very well, Bilbo's chambers were the source of such noise. That notion nearly caused the king's heart to stop its essential work. However, the crouched figures against the ajar door calmed him down.

Fili and Kili were peaking through the slightly opened door, sharing confounded whispers. When sensing a presence behind them, the young dwarves tensed and turned their heads with their charming puppy eyes at the ready. Dwalin arched an eyebrow unimpressed.

"What are you two doing?" Thorin found himself whispering.

"Well, uncle, you see–" Before Fili could finish his sentence there was a crash inside the chamber.

"Confounded thing!! Wouldn't it work properly, no!!"

Bilbo's outburst slipped through the door. Fili and Kili shared a quick look before resuming their positions. Dwalin pushed the king slightly towards the door. Hence the current situation where the four dwarves spied on a very frustrated little hobbit covered in flour while mumbling to himself. The sight of Bilbo's big furry naked feet dancing around the shreds of some broken vase made Thorin's jaw tense.

Before Bilbo could hurt himself or accomplish whatever it was that he was so worked up about, the weight of those four dwarves pushed the door open making them fall. A pretty similar event came to the hobbit's mind when he saw a pile of dwarves on his threshold.

"Can I help you?" Bilbo's ability to pronounce a fairly polite question with a threatening tone and warning behind his eyes was a marvel.

Sputtering nonsense the dwarves put themselves together producing a cacophony of incredible excuses.

"Yes, well… It doesn't matter anymore. That confounded thing wouldn't work!"

"May I ask what's the problem, Master Baggins?" Thorin approached him.

"I was trying to bake one of my late mother's recipes. It's silly, I know. Bombur it's a fantastic cook and he will most definitely allow me to use the communal kitchen, it's just… I don't know! There's a perfectly functional kitchen right there and I've barely used it since I moved in I wanted to feel like it was mine, you see. Oh, this is ridiculous! I would've been nice to show up at supper tonight with my own baking for you, that's all I'm saying." Suddenly fidgety, Bilbo tried to shake the flour from his hands. "For you all, I mean. The Company. All of you. All of us. All."

"What seems to be the problem with the kitchen, burglar?" inquired Dwalin while pushing Fili a Kili towards it.

"The oven isn't working."

Just like that, Dwaling, Fili, and Kili cleaned and fixed Bilbo's kitchen. Meanwhile, the confounded Thorin Oakenshield was struck silent observing the nervous ticks in the hobbit with such focus he didn't dare to blink in case he missed any of his charming little movements.

Bilbo's plans for a big surprise had been confounded and yet he felt lighter than that very morning; all thanks to the dumb loving eyes Thorin was fixing on him without properly noticing. 

The end.

[esculentevil]

(Thorinduil AU) Dragon Born

Technically a fill for this prompt I found on the hobbit kink meme (it’s probably too short tho): "Legolas is the son of Thranduil and Thorin, however Thranduil didn't know he was pregnant yet when he turned his back on the dwarves when Smaug attacked." I’ve had a similar idea, myself, and decided to do it here even if it’s not a full match (another reason it’s only a technical fill...).

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆💎AO3/Pillowfort🌲☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆

During the interrogation in the Elvenking’s throne room, Thorin and Thranduil flirt angrily until they’re right in each other’s faces, glaring heatedly at each other.

However, before things can go any farther (and irrevocably scar Thorin’s co. and Thranduil’s guards), Thranduil rips off his crown just as a very young elfling descends upon his head screaming: “No! MINE Ada! Bad dwarf! Bad dwarf!”

This elfling is Legolas, Thranduil’s son, and he glares adorably angrily at Thorin as the bad dwarf accuses jealously woundedly hatefully his father of... well, Thranduil cuts him off but it’s clear to all but Legolas that it’s infidelity--upon HIM--when the leading dwarf clearly asks: “Was this before or after the dragon?”

To which Duil replies: “DURING the dragon. ... I had found out only hours before and I made to tell you in Erebor--after gathering a small contingency, of course, because I expected Thror to declare war--but... Smaug had made it there first; and the back-up I brought with me was only intended to protect me from Thror long enough for me to return to the forest should it come to that; a dragon... there would have been no standing up to that--especially as it was already IN the mountain--and I had already promised myself that I would not abandon him--would not LEAVE him--as my own father was forced to do with me: I will not die in battle, or anything at all, if it means that my son will be left alone; not for you; not for anybody; and most assuredly not for a DRAGON I WARNED YOU OF.”

[silentstep]

WIP WORD SEARCH GAME

tagged by @jeyne-stark (who has a lot of fic on ao3, do check that out, lots of really great stuff!), who gave me the words

rose | cloud | sleep | red | legacy

all examples drawn from the Giant Sprawling Hobbit Fic:

  rose

           Prilti’s hackles rose instinctively before she froze and lowered them, and then the thought crystalized in her head: I could have challenged her.

           Alien and entirely new.  Prilti had never so much as entertained the idea of challenging Sikaa in her entire life.  Sikaa daughter of Akaar had been talented and fierce and admired since before Prilti was born, mother to twenty grown ravens, a canny beast of a flier, effortlessly dominant over all the females in a royal house of contingents.  She’d claimed King Thror Arkenstone as her own, she stood senior to six of the other eight who did so— and neither Raukar nor Dakar were here.

           But Thror hadn’t been in charge for over a year now.  Thorin had, and Thorin was Prilti’s.  For all that the royal dwarves were plenty insistent that Thror was still the living king and Thorin only a regent, well… power could shift back when it shifted back.  In the meantime, Prilti preened herself and her brother and Fisa, and contemplated Sikaa’s sleeping form, glossy feathers glinting with the shift of her breaths.

  cloud

           “Oh yes?  And when the armies of the Greenwood arrive— and they would— how will you fight them, son of Groin?  With what supplies will you provision our forces?  I know the strength of his: we cannot fight them as we are.”  Thorin planted himself in Gloin’s path, out of patience. “I wonder that you seem to believe this is a matter up for debate!  Your prince has given you orders!”

           Gloin roared and slammed the blunt side of his axe into the dust with enough force to raise a cloud.  “You order us to do nothing!  And you would yet ask us to do it gladly?”  Tears stood in his eyes.  “Allow us at least the freedom to rage and rail!  It cannot be borne in silence!”

           “And yet it must.”  Thorin drew himself up.  Implacable.  A dwarven king must have the power to stand as implacable as the foundations of the mountain itself.  When Gloin shoved at him, Thorin’s stance didn’t budge an inch.  It didn’t feel like victory.  “Our people must not hear of the elves’ presence, because someone will be rash and we cannot stop them all.  So yes, grandson of the grandson of my grandfather’s grandfather, you will bear it in silence, and thus keep Erebor safe.”

  sleep

           Thorin was introduced to the White Mountains first, then it was Dis’ turn; she stumbled back from it feeling no little bit bludgeoned, coming slowly back to awareness of her immediate surroundings to find Dwalin bandaging her hand for her.

           “Thanks, cousin,” she murmured, and let him brush the tears off her eyelashes with his thumbs and drink them.  “I’m sorry to delay you.”

           “You’re not sorry, you’re punning monstrously,” Dwalin rumbled, touching his cheek to hers, then he squared his shoulders and strode over to offer his hand to Tzafrira, calling himself Meha’achir son of Asufi— delayer, son of foundling.  He rocked back on his heels when his blood was laid on the stone, jaw dropping with a gasp like he’d taken a blow to the diaphragm.  Thorin placed his own shoulder behind Dwalin’s, and braced it there as Tzafrira overlaid his blood on the doorpost with her own again.  Dwalin abruptly turned from Tzafrira and leaned his forehead against Thorin’s with a hard clunk.  Thorin wrapped his uninjured arm around Dwalin’s back and pulled him off to a corner of the room while Dis brought the bandage from the tray one of Tzafrira’s attendants held out for them.  Dwalin’s arm hung limp at his side: Thorin held it up for her to wrap the bandage around his palm.  It was almost strange seeing Dwalin’s hands bare, their tattoos unhidden; he wore his knuckledusters even to sew or sleep these days.  The skin they had covered was paler than the rest from lack of dirt.

  red

           On the night when Bonemoon was no longer visible but Bronzemoon had not yet appeared in the sky, Thorin opened his eyes to an inferno of red flames and tried to wake up again.  He only managed to realize it was not a dream when the dwarf he was trying to rescue turned a long knife on him.

           Still entirely disoriented, he disarmed the dwarf with a practiced twist and started to drag him out of the flaming tent, only to be pounced on by another assailant.  Swinging the first dwarf around, he shoved him hard into the second, swiping at the new dwarf’s face with the confiscated knife and laying her cheek open to the bone.  Her bladed knuckledusters glanced off the armor at his shoulder when he jerked to protect his neck.  Then the tent collapsed, and Thorin roared in pain and frustration as he slashed himself free of burning, entangling canvas.

           “Thorin!” Dwalin was thundering.  “Thorin!”

           “I’m fine,” Thorin tried to call, but one of his attackers took the opportunity to try and slit his throat from behind.  He transfixed the dwarf’s wrist with the long knife and dragged it away from his body.  Keeper clove the dwarf’s skull in two.

           Thorin blinked at Dwalin.  “Durin’s beard, Dwalin!  Was that necessary?”

           “Yes,” said Dwalin, and Thorin realized Balin had stabbed the second dwarf to the heart, giving Ironstar a vicious twist. The remains of the tent blazed under their boots.  Dwalin seized him and beat out the flames that had taken hold of his coat.

  legacy

           “I thought this was about Durin’s legacy, not my safety.”

           “Oh, it is.”  Her voice was dangerous again.  “It should not have been bargained with, Amichai nesichi.  It is of Dwarrowdelf and does not belong to Blacklocks. You should have— you cannot— it belongs to our family.  It belongs to your sons and daughters and the kings under the mountain.”

           “Now it belongs to the Blacklocks, and seven thousand dwarves of Erebor will live under stone again.”

           “You can’t do this,” Dis whispered.  “We don’t have enough.  You can’t.  Give them the Arkenstone, give them the Raven Crown, give them Erebor, for our lives— give them everything, yes, until we are only shells and skins!  What will we be?  What will we be without them— little hairy Men, forgetting our ancestors and our ways and our words— you can’t.”

    Tagging @setnet , @july-19th-club , @theleakypen , @elucubrare , and @potato-on-your-head , with the words (incl. variants on):

teeth | agitate | seldom | gold | agree

[obsidiancreates]

As My Friend Has Stood By Me So Shall I (Part 13)

Bofur pulls Bilbo out of the moat, dragging him onto solid ground by the collar of his shirt and silently thanking the hobbit for choosing to wear fewer layers than usual. For how small and light on his feet Bilbo is, when waterlogged he is heavy, even to a Dwarf.

"Bilbo!" Bofur props him up a little. Bilbo's eyes are closed, and his lips are turning blue. Bofur throws his own coat over Bilbo and hopes the sunlight and his own leftover body heat keep it warm enough.

There's a small crowd gathered by the entrance to the mountain, murmuring and trying to get a look at what's happening. "Don't just stand there!" Bofur shouts at them, waving one arm to shoo them. "Get some help!"

A few dwarves scurry away. There's still a crowd. It's ignored, because Bilbo still hasn't moved.

"Come on, you can't let this be what gets you. Not after dragons and wars and all our troubles." Bofur leans down and presses an ear to Bilbo's chest. The hobbit's heart is beating but Bofur realizes with a cold grip of dread that he's not breathing-

"Out of the way!" Oin shoves through the crowd and races over to Bofur's side, a pack of supplies swinging on his hip. "Lay him down laddie, I've seen this before."

"He's not breathing-"

"I know." Oin begins pressing rhythmically on Bilbo's chest. "He's drowned, lad, but we can bring him back!"

"Thank Mahal," Bofur breathes. But Bilbo's lips are still blue, and the rest of his face is starting to turn the same shade-

"Where is he?!" Thorin comes storming out of the gates, right for the little group by the moat. He looks ready to defend, to face some terrible threat, but as soon as he sees the soaking wet Bilbo with no breath and blue lips he pales. Thorin Oakenshield, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King Under The Mountain, is rendered helpless at the mere sight.

You can't exactly fix water in the lungs with the swing of a sword or a rousing kingly speech, nor even with all the gold in Erebor.

"Come here!" Oin beckons Thorin closer, and Bofur's sure Oin is ignoring Thorin's palor rather than just not noticing it. "You take over this, laddie, I need to check for broken bones! Water can be hard as stone with the right kind of fall."

The spell of shock seems to break. "What do I do?" Thorin falls to his knees and copies Oin's rythmic pressing exactly, pouring the same focus into it as he does in battle.

"Just keep doing that, and then you'll need to breathe into his lungs and back to the pressing! Do not stop until the water comes out, lad!"

Thorin presses and breathes, presses and breathes, and the whole world becomes Thorin pressing on Bilbo's chest and breathing into Bilbo's lungs for him and Oin muttering to himself about fractures and Bofur trying desperately to warm Bilbo's hands back from the icicles they've become.

And finally, finally, Bilbo retches.

"Roll him onto his side!"

Thorin quickly obeys, and soon enough Bilbo is heaving breaths as Thorin cradles his head so it won't lay in the pool of vomit-water. And though Thorin's hand remains steady beneath Bilbo's head, the other shakes where it's clenched on his leg.

Bilbo is breathing, and Bofur can finally breathe again as well. But his friend is still limp, unconscious, and freezing.

"We need to move him to the healing chambers," Oin says. "No broken bones, but if we aren't careful he'll die of cold." Oin pokes Bilbo's midsection. "There's nay any fat left on the lad to keep 'im warm."

Thorin nods and picks Bilbo up, crading him close and soaking his own royal garments right through. They sprint to the healing chambers, all three of them, and no-one says a word until Bilbo is in dry clothes and tucked under mountains of blankets with a fire right beside him.

"Bofur." Thorin's voice shakes a bit. "Did you see what happened."

"I did." What if he hadn't gone to the wall when he did?

Would anyone have been there?

Would Bilbo have-

"Tell me." Thorin gestures to another chair nearby, refusing to get up from beside Bilbo's cot. Bofur pulls it over, and takes a deep breath.

"I was standing at the wall..."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thorin rubs his face with a deep sigh. "Again, this trinket rears it's head. It seems to be the source of all our ails lately."

"Aye," Oin mumbles, trying again to pry Bilbo's fingers open and failing. "He's got a death grip on it, and 'e hasn't even died."

Bofur laughs, a weak and hesitant thing, with a wary glance at Thorin. Either the king didn't hear the joke, or didn't care to address it, thankfully.

"Perhaps it's some kind of talisman." Thorin rubs his face again. "You said he claimed he got it on our adventure, Bofur?"

"Aye, he said he did, anyway."

"Do you know when?"

"Never said. Would it help us if he had?"

"I don't know. If we knew when he got it, we may be able to know why this keeps happening."

"If I may interrupt" Balin enters the room with Dwalin. "We, may be able to help figure it out."

"How?" Thorin sits up straighter.

"Dwalin has a... theory. About the Goblin Tunnels." Balin looks at his brother.

"He refuses to talk about them," Dwalin says, keeping his arms crossed. "He's more shaken by those tunnels than by a dragon, or a war."

"He's not unscathed by either," Thorin huffs. "Don't forget about the tapestry of Smaug's eye. And those tunnels were his first experience truly alone on this quest."

"Wouldn't blame him for not wantin' to think about them," Bofur mutters, mouth twisting to suppress a gag as he remembered the foul tunnels himself.

"Aye. But he may need to," Balin sighs. He gestures to Bilbo's sleeping form, which at the moment is a barely visible puff of curly auburn hair and enough blankets to warm the whole Company twice over. "If we cannot understand why this item is so important to him, we may not be able to help him avoid situations like this, further in the future."

"But how? You think any of us could convince him to talk about it when he doesn't want to?" Bofur lifts a hand and shakes it at Bilbo. "Remember trying to get his chairs into his dining room? He gave us hell!"

"Well... I did think, perhaps, one of us, could get him to open up." Balin turns his gaze to Thorin.

Thorin doesn't meet his gaze, too busy now with helping Oin remove a few of the blankets (not nearly all of them, though) and checking Bilbo's temperature. He grasps Bilbo's hand to make sure his fingers have regained bloodflow.

It had been bad enough seeing his hobbit battered and bruised after the avalanche he'd been caught in within the mountain, but this...

Thorin nods. "I will talk to him when he wakes."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bilbo makes a small sound deep within his throat, screwing his eyes shut extra tight as consciousness near-drunkenly shoves it's way back into his mind. His head pounds, worse than when he'd dropped The Ring in the treasury, and his chest feels tight and heavy.

... Actually, all of him feels heavy. Specifically, weighed upon.

His brow twitches, and he tries to move his arm. He can, but barely. It feels like he's trapped under something, something very warm and very solid, like a-

He hears a small and startled gasp, the unmistakable sound of someone waking up unexpectedly after a restless sleep. He's made the sound more than once himself, though this time there's a deepness to it. The weight on him lifts just slightly, and then a hand helps prop him up with an extra pillow. Then a cup is lifted to his lips. He tries to open his eyes first, but just manages a slight flutter before they shut again.

A hand covers his, and Bilbo becomes sure of who was sleeping on him just a moment ago.

"Drink," the King Under The Mountain commands in a soft voice.

Bilbo does. It's not water, but rather thin soup broth. Warm, rich, but not thick, probably a vegetable stock even. Have they been making vegetable broths for him? The thought warms his heart just as much as the broth warms his stomach.

After he finishes the bowl he finally manages to peel open his eyes to the thankfully dim room. "Thorin?"

"I'm here."

Bilbo blinks and takes a moment to look around. He's in the healing chambers, oh joy, and covered in so many thick blankets that it's a wonder the whole bed hasn't collapsed under the weight.

"Thorin, why am I..."

"You fell into the moat."

Bilbo winces, the memory flooding back. "Ah... right."

Hitting the water had felt like hitting stone, a solid mass just before he sank into the freezing depths. But he'd gotten it back, that wonderful thing, the beautiful trinket, his Precio-

Bilbo shudders, and realizes that The Ring is still clutched tightly in his hand.

He also realizes that he's not wearing his own clothes, but rather some kind of nightgown. He knows, of course, to never leave someone in their cold, wet clothes after a fall in the water, lest you watch them to catch a monster of a cold. But he's not sure he's ready to contemplate the idea of one of The Company (or worse, a stranger) undressing him.

"W-who... saved me?"

"Bofur pulled you out. Oin instructed me on how to get the water out of your lungs. You were..."

Thorin can't seem to say more.

"Oh." Bilbo finally turns and looks at Thorin. The flickering candlelight dances on Thorin's face, making his streaks of gray hair shine and almost seem to ebb and flow among his darker locks. The Lord of Silver Fountains, indeed.

"Bilbo." His voice is soft, and... tentative. It makes Bilbo's mouth pinch. "I think... we need to discuss some things."

Alll of the warmth of the blankets (and of his admiration of Thorin) vanishes, a cold stab of fear striking the sensations dead in his chest as he grips The Ring tighter (tight enough to feel his nails digging into his flesh). He takes a moment to compose himself, swallowing and shifting (what little he can) under the blankets.

"About?"

"Your... trinket."

He's going to take it

Bilbo swallows again, forcing the nasty, distrustful thought away. This is Thorin. The real Thorin, not the gold-mad king. He wouldn't take from Bilbo. Well, take food, perhaps. But not something important to him (when did food becomes less important?).

Bilbo clears his throat a little. "What about it?"

"Why is it so significant to you?" Thorin rubs his thumb over Bilbo's hand as they remain entwined. "Yet so troublesome?"

Bilbo scoffs a bit. "And what does that mean?"

Thorin tilts his head down and looks at Bilbo with stern, unamused disbelief. "You've thrown your self after it, twice now. ... Dwalin... believes that you found it in the Goblin Tunnels."

Cold as death, without no breath, it's good to eaaaaat!

Bilbo swallows thickly and shuts his eyes against the memory. "I don't want to talk about this, Thorin."

"I know.'' Thorin holds Bilbo's hand a little tighter. "I take no joy in making you relive it. But we need to understand."

He's going to take it He just wants to know He doesn't need to Maybe if they know something they can help Help with what It won't hurt to just admit a little He's lying I trust him. Always.

Bilbo sighs, and considers his words carefully. He trusts Thorin, just... some things don't need full explaining. "When... when I got separated, from you all. I tried to follow behind. I don't know what I thought I could do at that point, really, but I hoped I could do something. I barely got a step into following when a goblin attacked me."

"We got into a scuffle, but well," Bilbo huffs a laugh out, his mouth twitching with ingenuine amusement. "Well, it was basically the two of us flailing about with blades in our hands. And we... we ended up falling, far deeper down into the caves than we'd already been."

Bilbo thinks he's starting to shake a bit, but if he's being honestly he doesn't... feel fully present, anymore. The room seems too dim, now, and the blankets feel like slimy fungus just barely hiding him from sight, sight, that creature's all-ensnaring sight-

Thorin rubs Bilbo's hand with his thumb again. "What happened after you fell?"

Bilbo takes a breath, twisting his hand so that now he was holding Thorin's back properly. "When I woke, I was... terrified. I'd fallen into a patch of mushrooms as big as my head, bigger, even. They'd broken my fall, I think, because the goblin laid a bit away and... I thought the fall had killed it. And I was stuck. Just stuck in place. And then this... thing..."

Glowing eyes creeping ever closer in the dark, ragged and wet breathing, that terrible voice...

"It... crept in. On all fours. Like... like a beast. But it was frail, or I thought it was looking at it. It looks like a corpse, nothing but-but thin, bloodless skin over jagged bone. And it's eyes..."

He grips Thorin's hand tighter. "They glowed, Thorin. Or-or reflected light, maybe. But they were... unnatural. I... I daresay-" he swallowed the thick fear creeping up his throat, trying to stop the memory spilling into his mind and threatening to overwhelm him. "-I daresay they were worse, than Smaug's."

Thorin stiffens. Worse than Smaug's. Bilbo's sure Thorin can't even begin to imagine eyes worse, and maybe he wouldn't think Gollum's eyes as horrifying as Bilbo does.

Thorin brings up his other hand to gently cup Bilbo's cheek, his thumb moving in soothing strokes across Bilbo's cheek. Bilbo realizes it's because he's started shaking rather badly, to the point of teeth chattering. Thorin looks into his eyes. "And this creature saw you?"

Bilbo shakes his head, not breaking eye contact. Thorin's own cold blue eyes... they chase away Gollum's, perhaps similar in terms of color spectrum, but the two pairs of eyes could not possibly elicit more different emotions in him.

"It saw the goblin, Began to drag it away. Spoke of... of eating the goblin. Raw. And then the goblin woke and they bashed at each other with rocks and-"

His breath catches as he remembers the glint of light leaping from Gollum's pocket, the way The Ring threw itself right into his path, right into Bilbo's life...

The Ring still clutched in the fist Bilbo is now presses against his mouth to muffle sobs.

"And I-I had no choice but to follow it." Bilbo sees Thorin's eyes go to his fist for a moment, and remembers the whole point of sharing this in the first place.

"Along the way I... kicked something." Because how could he explain the strange little feeling that he had to look down? That something important was resting on that nightmarish cave floor? That something had called to him?

"I didn't know what it was, not in the dark. Small, and-and metal, but that's all I could gather. But it was something other than stone or rot, and I... suppose I needed the comfort."

The lie slides out with startling ease, that faint not-heartbeat of days before louder than Bilbo's own heartbeat in his ears. And when he glances at Thorin...

Thorin's eyes hold only a sorrow, a desire to protect, a grief he hadn't been there when it had happened.

No distrust. No suspicion. No disbelief.

There's a twist of satisfaction in Bilbo's chest, a nasty feeling that he swallows and ignores as he lets out a shuddering breath.

"We played a game of riddles," he says with a hollow laugh. "A game, in the dark, because I had a sword and couldn't see, but it could see and had no weapon. If I won, it would show me the way out. If it did...

If, Baggins loses, we eats it whole.

... Fair enough.

"If it won, it would eat me."

"And you won." Thorin sounds so sure, proud even. "What cave-creature could outwit you in a game of riddles?"

"Well, yes, I did. But it thought I had cheated. And then-"

HE STOLE IT! AHHHHHHHHHH!

"-a-and it chased me." Bilbo feels himself blanch at this memory, and sees Thorin's face lose blood similarly. "I only found my out, because-because I knew that the thing I'd found could not have come from the goblins, or from that lake under the mountain the creature lived in-"

"Lake? ... So that's why the drip bothered you."

Bilbo gives a shaky nod, closing his eyes again. "It was almost one of the last sounds I ever heard."

"... But you found your way out. Because of this item?"

"I... trusted, the hope, that the item gave me. And I was right to."

"... So what is it?" His voice is so gentle, so coaxing, like he thinks of Bilbo as an easily frightened animal...

And maybe he's right to, because something twists in Bilbo's chest at the question, some feeling of betrayal hissing to life. How had he forgotten that the whole point was to learn about his Ring? That this wasn't for his benefit, but his exposure?

He forces his expression to stay neutral. "It doesn't matter." He sees Thorin still, and then slump a little at the words. Bilbo feels another stab of wicked satisfaction, and again buries it deep, deep down. This isn't fun. It's just... unfortunately necessary. He wouldn't lie like this unless he had to, had to. "It's not the thing itself. It's the... feeling. The... luck."

"Luck," Thorin scoffs, still holding Bilbo's hand and cheek. "Did I not tell you I don't believe in luck? That we make our own?"

Bilbo frowns, brow furrowing. It sounds somewhat familiar. "When was this?"

"Mirkwood. Just after crossing the stream. I'd have thought you, of all of us, would remember what happened in that place. You seemed the most... aware."

"Ah." Bilbo has to stifle a yawn just thinking about it. "Well, I wasn't so aware all the time, you know. But either way, I cannot deny the luck my pr- my trinket, has given me."

"Or, perhaps, it's only given you the confidence you needed in your own skills."

"Even if that's the case, it's means quite a lot to me."

"Indeed? Then why throw it into the moat?"

Bilbo looks down, at their hands clasped together.

Why throw it into the moat?

He can't really say, now. Some silly feeling. Some silly, ungrateful, feeling. It came to him, and he tried to toss it away? All because of some... imagined slights?

It's just a ring. It can't have intent.

So Bilbo looks Thorin in the eyes again, and a sort of... calm, or... even coldness, settles over him, and he thinks it shows, because Thorin's brow creases in concern.

"It doesn't matter, Thorin. It was a mistake."

Thorin's eyes search his. "... Was it?"

...

Was it?

...

...

...

"Yes, yes, it was. Now, if you don't mind, I think I need to rest."

Bilbo slips his hand out of Thorin's and rolls over, facing away from the king. His face stays warm where Thorin's hand had been for only a few moments.

It's a long time before he hears Thorin get up and leave the room.

And it's longer still before he actually to sleep.