#I might do bilbo + the company next | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luna-writes-stuff · 1 year ago

Text

Eternally Missed, Bilbo Baggins

Song link

Fanfic, fem! reader

Fluff, mutual pining/oblivious reader

Word count: 3295

Tw: Not proofread. Race not specified, but could be implied as dwarvish. Self-degrading thoughts, mutual pining. Will they, won’t they. Slight angst. Misinterpreted feelings and actions. Oblivious reader, oops. That’s it?

Summary: Ever since laying eyes on your first, Bilbo knew it was you who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He tries to make this clear incredibly quick, fully aware of how little time he may have. But you were as oblivious as they came, and dismissed his proposals as platonic gestures. Until finally, he snaps, and just decides to tell you.

Buy me a coffee/force me to write more

“Chase your dreams away.

Glass needles in the hay.”

Throughout the journey, you could only be described as truly oblivious. Maybe not in your eyes, but definitely in those of the company. Their beloved burglar had fallen absolutely head over heels with you, yet there was something within you that simply seemed to not acknowledge it.

In hindsight, you might have seen it, or might have had a slight idea of what was happening, but the last thing you wanted to do was to get your hopes up. Thus, it was mere matter of a polite smile and dismissal without making it sound like a dismissal. You didn’t want to let him down, even though you had no idea of his true intentions.

You see, during the entire time of your travel to Erebor, Bilbo has tried to make it abundandly clear how fond he is of you. But between the running from imminent death, enemies luring around every corner and getting imprisoned every once in a while, the moments were never opportune enough. It didn’t mean that he didn’t try, but clearly, the ambiance was wrong. If he ever wanted to court someone, he’d propose it in his garden, under the clear nightsky of Hobbiton with a warm breeze in the air. Not after recovering for breath after having to run for thirty whole minutes, or in the dirty atmosphere of the Goblin caves. But fate did not seem to be on his side whatsoever. But he was nothing if not adamant.

“The sun forgives the clouds.

You are my holy shroud.”

The first time wanted to make his intentions clear during your stay in Rivendell. The dwarves had been bathing when he approached you, doubt and anxiety apparent in his features - but then again, when wasn’t it?

He had sat down next to you on one of the balconies, talking about anything but the mountain and the now known presence of the orcs. He had spoken about his home in the Shire fondly, recounting many tales of friends and neighbours. It was a nice distraction after the adrenaline of the travel had worn off.

In turn, you had spoken about your home and those waiting for you. He remembered the hesitance in his voice when he asked you about a suitor. You hadn’t even properly answered him at that to begin with. At first, you began to laugh, and talked about your parents. He thought you were mocking him, even though that was extremely unlinke you. But when you continued to rant and talk, it appeared to him that you had no idea what he was actually asking you. And he didn’t have it in him to correct you or to properly ask you. Perhaps it was a bit too early. You just met a handful of days ago.

Fortunately, he did not leave it at that.

“I just don't care if it's real.

That won't change how it feels.”

The second time he tried was when the group was making their way out of Rivendell. He had gotten some good rest and found himself comfortable enough to bring the conversation back up.

But you were distracted. He couldn’t tell back then, but he certainly could now. The talk with Bilbo had left you somewhat homesick. The comfort of Rivendell was almost begging for you to stay. You wanted to help the dwarves - more than anything, but you understood the comfort hobbits sought in their own homes.

You had given him brief, one-worded answers, your gaze absent. It had broken his heart that day. If you weren’t making your disinterest clear the day before, you certainly had then. It caused him to be silent for the rest of the travels until you crossed the mountains. Much to his relief, you stayed close to him, and didn’t part during the fight of the giants, but the new hit of adrenaline caused him to cling to you the entire time, a mutual action. Neither of you had realized how close the two of you were until you were roughly separated after a rough boulder collided between the two of you.

“I just don't care if it's real.

That won't change how it feels.

No, it doesn't change.”

That night in the cave you kept circling Bilbo. He had almost fallen from the cliff if it hadn’t been for Thorin. And the idea made you inexplicably sick. You liked Thorin, even as he had been harsh from the start, but the fact that you weren’t able to dangle off the cliff to save Bilbo had left you feeling somewhat powerless. And the only comfort you could offer the hobbit was your company and your tales.

It had caused his hopes to resurface again. Of everyone out there, you wanted to sit with him, and talk with him. Perhaps your absent answers were simply because you were tired, or too focused.

He didn’t know how to bring the topic back up, though. It had caused an awkward silence after you finished your talk. He still couldn’t quite tell if he was grateful for the floor to - literally - fall through or not.

“And you can't resist

Making me feel eternally missed.”

The first time he swore he could have kissed you, was after Azog’s confrontation with Thorin. The battle had left the king defenseless, and you had rushed to his aid. At your actions, Bilbo blindly followed, making sure his eyes were on you constantly. The eagles had come just in time to sweep you off to safety, but the entire flight had left him nauseous. If it wasn’t for Gandalf, both you and Thorin would have lain on that floor, completely lifeless. To make matters even worse, you had landed on a different eagle. So, Bilbo had no choice but to simply sit there with a heavy feeling in his stomach until he could finally stand again.

And when he did, he rushed towards you. This could have been his moment. He could have swung his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him, his lips finally touching yours in a manner he was only able to dream off, but when you stood a few inches from him, something in him had told him to stop.

In that moment, you swore he was going to kiss you. Instead, he gave you an uncomfortable hug, followed by two brief pats on the back. He had turned around immediatelym refusing to let you see his reddening face, leaving you with a slight frown. If he was going to kiss you, you might have just let it happen.

“And you can't resist.

And you can't resist.

Making me feel.”

The rest of the journey had been awful for him. In his mind, that awkward reunion kept lingering. His chance had been right there and he refused to take it for whatever reason. And to top it all of; you seemed to grow more distant from him, and it hurt him deeply. It bothered him so much, that eventually, the company began catching on. Fili was the first one to notice, and had given him a good talk about courtship and whatnot. It was all in good nature, but it had left Bilbo with more details than he might have wanted.

But simple hints in conversation seemed to not do the trick. And maybe dwarven courting ideals weren’t the best, but they were certainly worth the try. When he made his first move according to Fili’s advice, more dwarves began to catch on.

“Chase your dreams away.

Glass needles in the hay.”

He had taken his sweet time hunting down anything he could find. Food, especially for you, to prove that - in Fili’s words - he could provide. But when he had a chance of slaying a rabbit, he didn’t have it in him. Instead, he came back with fresh mushroom, some non-poisonous berries and leaves that would make an excellent soup. It wasn’t hunting, but it still gave him the idea that - yes; he could provide.

You didn’t think much of. You find it nice, and thanked him fondly for it. Yet, there were others in the company that might have been hungry, so you gave it to Bombur, so he could use it in his meal for the group. Bilbo had told you this was okay, but he couldn’t help but feel slight heartbreak when you asked him.

He wasn’t being clear enough. Stupidly enough, he seemed to take comfort in Fili’s words, so he had returned to him that same night, telling the dwarf about what had happened. He agreed that you might just need some bolder insinuations. So, it was time for the next part.

“The sun forgives the clouds.

You are my holy shroud.”

It was at Beorn’s house when he approached you with a small wooden sculpture he made. It couldn’t have been bigger than your palm. It was sloppy and crude, and nowhere near the excellent craft of the dwarves, but Fili assured him that it wouldn’t matter if the feelings and intentions were true. He had tried to create the birds you mentioned in your tales about home. You would speak about them fondly when he asked how your place was.

Again, you accepted the gift with much glee, thanking him an endless amount of times. A warm hug was shared - one that would remain in Bilbo’s mind for a long time. It was soothing, unlike the uncomfortable embrace shared upon the rock. This was heartfelt, and genuine. He remembered thinking that this was it; you had accepted.

But, you stuffed it in your pocket, promising to keep it close, before showing it off to the rest of the company. And that was it. No other words mentioned to him, or even slight hints that you were catching on. You seemed to remain oblivious. Now, Bilbo truly couldn’t tell whether this was because you simply had no idea what was happening, or if this was your way of letting him know you weren’t interested.

“I just don't care if it's real.

That won't change how it feels.”

There were so many more times where he tried to make his feelings clear. Countless conversations were held, more gifts were shared, he fought at your side, he would continue to bring you food, even if it was to be shared with the company. And you didn’t seem to catch on to anything.

What Bilbo hadn’t known was the true moment of the defeat you held whilst imprisoned by the woodland elves. Bilbo hadn’t known how you had been sitting against the wall in your cell, your knees up to your chest. He didn’t hear your own degrading words circling around in your mind about how you were just making things up. About how someone as sincere and kind as Bilbo could never show true interest in someone like you. How you had cursed yourself to stop thinking every gift he gave you, was to show you he wanted to court you - even though you were right to think those things.

The dwarves didn’t dare to speak about it. They didn’t know your words, but they knew your looks. They wouldn’t intervene. They knew how precious and fragily courtship was; one wrong word and it could cause huge grief on either side. Women were most treaured in their culture, and they’d rather die than see your heart break into a million pieces if Fili were to slip up or Ori would say something out of their norms.

They didn’t dare to let Bilbo know how helplessly you had told them that Bilbo wouldn’t come for them. That he was off to safety - as you had wished.

“I just don't care if it's real.

That won't change how it feels.

No, it doesn't change.”

It wasn’t until Smaug had finally been slain that Bilbo decided enough was enough. It wasn’t until Thorin had gone completely mad, that he decided that now would be the excellent time to share yet another one of your precious conversations.

Somewhere in the treasure chamber, you had collapsed behind a huge golden pile. Here, Thorin couldn’t see you. A brief break would surely escape his eyes.

You had shot up at the sound of footsteps, pretending to be searching through the endless piles of jewels. You were tired; your muscles were aching, your head was pounding from the golden light, you were starving and you felt as if you were going to fall asleep if you were to lie down again.

When you noticed Bilbo’s form approaching on top of the mountain you were working on, you uttered a sigh of relief, collapsing once again, knowing he wouldn’t dare to alert Thorin of your short break.

“And you can't resist

Making me feel eternally missed.”

“There you are,” He spoke, not needing to lower his volume, as the clattering of gold bounced off the walls, drowning out enough noise. You looked up at him with a kind smile: “Not much else to go to.” He frowned, sitting down beside you as he studied your features.

“I’m sorry, Bilbo,” You sighed, rolling your shoulders. “I’m exhausted.” “I can tell.” He muttered, worried evident in his eyes, a glimpse you caught. “Sorry.” “No, it’s fine.” You dismissed, knowing he had no ill intentions. Silence fell over the two of you, though this one wasn’t uncomfortable. In the weirdest location, it brough some sense of peace.

Bilbo fished into his pockets, placing a piece of bread and a small flask on your lap. “I brought you this.” Your heart warmed at the sight, a feather-light feeling entering your chest: “Thank you,” “I couldn’t sneak a full plate in. Thorin would notice.” “This is fine, Bilbo,” You assured, immediately starting your small meal. ”Thank you.”

“Yes,” he mumbled.

“You can't resist.

You can't resist.

Making me feel.”

He didn’t quite know what to do when you were eating. He came here with the intention of being honest with you. No turning around anything, no sugar-coating, just the proposal. If it was to be brief and boring, than so be it.

But, once more, something held him back. It didn’t seem right. He was going to run off this night for the Arkenstone, so if you rejected him, he wouldn’t really have to face you afterwards. But a hurtful rejection followed by betrayal might not have been the smartest move either. He was too much in his head when the words suddenly flew out, even surprising him: “Do you like me?”

You stopped chewing at the words, swallowing harshly as you looked at him, confusion in your eyes as your eyebrows furrowed together: “Beg your pardon?”

“You can't resist

Making me feel eternally missed.”

Bilbo recovered quickly, coughing slightly as he tried to defend himself. “It’s just that, throughout the journey, you keep creating distance between us. And we were so close at the beginning.” You nodded your head at that, cursing yourself silently for giving him the completely wrong idea. “Yes,” You hissed. “I do like you, Bilbo. And I apologize if I gave you the wrong impression.”

A huge weight lifted off his shoulders at your words, his chest suddenly feeling a lot less restricting than it suddenly had.

“You can't resist.

You can't resist

Making me feel.”

He watched your hands wander to your pockets, pulling out a familiar pebble as you anxiously toyed with it. Bilbo had given it to you after your escape from Mirkwood. You seemed to not be there completely, so he gave you a rock from the river so you had something to fidget with while Balin talked to Bard. He hadn’t known how much it actually soothed you, if only for the simple though of it.

“You kept that?” He asked curiously. “Of course I did,” You smiled, taking the pebble out of your pocket and laying it in the palm of your hand. “It was a gift. What did you think I would do with it?” “I don’t know.” The hobbit spoke honestly. “I’ve never seen them after I handed them to you.”

You breathed an ‘ah’ of understanding, before storing it back in your coat. “I kept them in my bag. Most of it has been stolen by the elves now, but some things still remain. You didn’t think I’d get rid of them, right?” When he didn’t answer to that, your hands found his, unconsciously sending goosebumps up his arm: “I would never. Not voluntarily.”

“Thank you.” He muttered.

“And you can't resist

Making me feel eternally missed.”

“Bilbo,” You began, retreating your hands as you thought over all that he had done for you. You might have been oblivious, but you weren’t stupid: “I do not wish to give you any unwanted impression of anything, but…” You trailed off, holding your breath as a bad kind of butterflies entered your stomach. “You have given me many things and kept me safe a numerous amount of times, and my gratitude exceeds my words, but…”

You didn’t know what to tell him. You didn’t know how. And there was no way to bring it lightly. Thus, with a hard swallow, you threw it out. “You do know that your actions look an awful lot like dwarven courting customs? I am pretty sure the company is convinced I am your spouse.”

His breath hitched at that. He came here to tell you, and now you were starting his conversation. What was he going to tell you? Honesty seemed so difficult now, but there was something in your eyes that hadn’t been there before. Some faint glance of recognition. And it gave him confidence: “They are.” He breathed, before quickly correcting himself. “Courting customs. Fili taught me.” “Oh,” “Yes,”

A second silence laid heavily, and neither of you really knew what to say to the other. So, per usual, Bilbo took the lead after a handful of hesitant seconds. “Um, but I’ve probably gotten the wrong hints from you so-”

“No,” You denied. “No, no, no. It’s simply that…This was intentional?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,”

“And you can't resist

Making me feel eternally missed.”

“But I understand if the feelings aren’t returned.” Bilbo added, already standing up from his seat. He was about to leave when your voice forced him to turn around: “Why me?” He couldn’t help but let a quiet scoff of confusion out. “I’m sorry?” “Of all the people out there, why me?”

Why you? He really couldn’t tell. He hadn’t met anyone in the Shire, and the way his life would have gone if it hadn’t been for Gandalf showing up, he might have never found anyone. Why you? He didn’t know. And he was honest to voice it: “I just know.”

“Oh,” You repeated, the sound coming out more as a breath than a pronounced word. “I am sorry. I wasn’t blind, though I doubt that will make you feel better.” You admitted. “I didn’t want to imagine things that weren’t there.” You didn’t see the way Bilbo’s face softened at that, or the way his heart fluttered when you finally spoke those words. “Thought I would save myself the heartbreak.” “You didn’t have to.” He sighed. Once more, he prepared to leave. And once more, he was interrupted by you.

“Bilbo?” “Hm?” He hummed as he turned around, a faint glimpse of hope in his heart. It only grew as you asked him your next question: “Once we get out of this, where will we go?” A bright smile came from his face as his breath hitched significantly. “Home, I suppose.”

You copied his smile, nodding your head at him.

“I’d like that.”

“And you can't resist.

And you can't resist

Making me feel.”

#november writings 2023 #the hobbit #tolkien #Bilbo Baggins #Bilbo #bilbo x reader #Bilbo Baggins x reader

224 notes · View notes

bitterseaproduction · 6 months ago

Text

Angsty Bilbo dying Bagginshield art giving me another story idea~ 😂😭💕

But no, seriously? A play on the popular time travel fix-it, but one where Bilbo dies protecting Thorin during the Battle of Five Armies? And Thorin is inconsolable, I can’t even. And he might pull himself together long enough to stabilize Erebor, but there is No Way he can be a good ruler in his grief, so he has to pass it on. (I was going to say to Dain just to twist that knife a little harder, but actually there are reasons hinted below on why Fíli & Kíli must have lived.) And Thorin just… he wanders, probably. A shell of himself for the rest of his days.

And yet, when he inevitably passes away, he awakens on the road to the Shire. And he’s younger. And he’s so confused, quickly suspecting he must be dead and this is nothing like what he was taught to expect. But then his instant impulse to check Bag End has him walking in on that same meeting from so many years ago, his Company intact, the wizard smiling at him, introducing him to… to…

Bilbo. His Bilbo. The sight of him makes Thorin want to weep and hold him and never let go again, but he is instantly terrified to do anything, because is this a dream? Will he wake? What happens if he says something new, will ‘this’ be ruined somehow? He doesn’t want that, doesn’t want to change anything, save for the end. The very end.

But, even as he strives to mimic himself, he knows something is wrong. He’s off-script from the start purely due to his shock, but he tries to recover, get back on track, and within words, he’s managed it. The discussion is righting itself, and no one there could possibly know the difference, right?

And yet, Bilbo stares at him. From the instant Thorin walked in, Bilbo was staring, looking lost. As he had before, that first time, but it wasn’t the same. Bilbo had been confused then as well, but it had been a light, anxious uncertainty then. This time? He was frowning, his expression tense.

His eyes haunted.

Because Bilbo has also lived that night before. Just once as far as that night was concerned, but it was familiar to him. So familiar. That first night had haunted him for decades, to the very end of his long, long life, when he thought he might know rest, and perhaps — if he was truly as lucky as some once claimed — he might get to see his friends again. See Thorin again.

Instead he had slept, drifted away, and awoken to a battle about to start.

And he had questioned it, had stumbled that first time, but he adjusted. He tried to save Thorin. To save them all.

And he failed. Again.

Then, when he finally slept for the first time afterwards, he awoke to the battle starting again.

And again.

And he tried, over and over, day after the same horrid day to find a way to get through. And sometimes Thorin lived. Sometimes the princes did. Sometimes, new people died. The wrong people.

Once, in his darkest moments, he thought that perhaps someone was trying to teach him humility, teach him to accept fate as it was and not try to fight it, not change anything. And so he went through the motions as well as he could remember them after all those years, following them to the letter, save for when he sobbed all the harder when it was done.

He sobbed again, the relief bone-deep, when he awoke again the next day, the battle still awaiting him.

He lost count of his attempts, and no one could rightly vouch for his state of mind when he finally resorted to the one thing he had refused to try: Not since that fourth (or fifth?) time, when he managed to be there for the fight and threw himself in Azog’s way, but Thorin pulled him out of the way, and screamed at him with such outrage and fear and despair in the few beats he bought by pushing Azog over, that Bilbo never attempted it again.

Until that final day. And that time, Bilbo didn’t give Thorin a chance to stop him.

And it broke a heart Bilbo thought long since shattered to hear Thorin scream, to feel him pick him up and hold him close and hear his voice like that. But the words faded soon enough, and he couldn’t feel anything, nothing except for regret and acceptance, because this was different. He felt it. This time, he would not awaken again, and that was fine. He had saved his king, kept all of his dwarves safe that last time. If that was to be the last, then that was all he could ask for. It was alright. He could sleep.

Then he woke up.

Not outside Erebor, but inside a hole. His hole. Bag End.

He walked outside, stood in the sun, and watched a wizard walk up the road to his door.

He did not understand.

#bagginshield #the hobbit #thilbo #ANGST #cw character death #(though they get better)#story ideas #xD; that got away from me #but yes—if it isn’t clear the Bilbo is from the canon run but looped back. and Thorin’s come back from the loop Bilbo died in.#because why have 1 angst touched time traveler when you can have 2?#and my one sadness with most time travel fix-its is one member (usually Thorin) often doesn’t remember the original time line #and i love canon bagginshield bonding! so i went for a take where both would recall it #queue your bets: do they drag out the unknowns the entire quest #or does one or both sus out the other before the first night is even over?#whenever the truth comes out—do we get screaming crying or the most dramatic moulin rouge-level confessions ever?#(spoilers: it’s all three. probably in that order. with repeats potentially.)#i kinda wanna name this one but best i can think of now is—#twin echoes au #the art that inspired this is just below btw!

103 notes · View notes

mithrilhearts · 26 days ago

Text

Maeve's 4k Follower Event

Battle of the Plot Bunnies

2024 has been a great year of finishing up fics for me, so it's time to unveil some new ones! I'm so excited to be able to do this, and have you guys help me essentially decide which fic gets tossed into the actual WIP pile next! Which is to say, THANK YOU for your continued support!

There are eight plot bunnies I've plucked from my Ideas list that I'm interested in developing further. Some of them have drabbles already, some have a little outlining attached, and some have barely even a working title.

Each fic will have a small summary and some bullets of information attached to it so you get an idea of what the plot/concept is!

✨ Feel free to ask me about any of those fic ideas for more information if you like! I will provide what I can!

First Round

Battle of the "Modern" ideas

Battle of the "Erebor Never Fell" ideas

Battle of the "Based on another story" ideas

Battle of the "Maeve's Choice" ideas

Semifinals

Battle of the "Cottagecore vs Dragons" Themes

Battle of the "Soulmate vs Time Travel" Tropes

Finals

Battle of the "Cottagecore vs Time Travel" Ideas

‼️Fic Summaries/Information below!‼️ All information below is subject to change as the fics develop

Modern AUs

Courtesy Call - Rated Explicit

While trying to make a most courteous call to pull his RSVP from his cousin's birthday party versus not showing at all, a misdial directs him to a particularly spicy line that's all about receiving a good time with oneself. The man on the other end is both baffled and challenged by a sudden new caller to his private line, but takes the challenge with everything his voice can provide. - Outdated Ficlet

Sweeter Than Honey - Rated Teen+

Bilbo Baggins runs a successful honey farm on the west side of the Brandywine River. His peaceful days of honey handicraft grow tense as a new logging company, owned by one Thror Oakes, draws closer to his land. It’s how he meets Thorin, a lumberjack living under the thumb of his grandfather, the owner. They should have been adversaries - the two are on opposite sides of nature, but as it is so often said: opposites attract. - Outdated Ficlet - Basic Information/Ideas via ask game

Based On Another Story

No Place Like Home - Rated Teen+

Smaug the Terrible was destined to be slain by a hero in king's armor. To prevent such a fate to pass, Smaug, an enchanter of great power, invaded the kingdoms of Erebor, Dale, and the Greenwood, stripping its citizens of their memories, and taking the throne. Banishing the three kings in an attempt to secure his safety, Smaug took the best part of each king, making them more vulnerable than ever. No one was smart enough, nor brave enough, or had enough heart to stand in his way. Until a most unlikely creature tumbles in. - Influenced by Alice in Wonderland & The Wizard of Oz - Basic Information/Ideas via ask game

Forged in Dragonfire - Rated Teen+

Durin the Deathless is a legend to every dwarf that knows the tale. A king, a dragonslayer, and one who possessed great power to do so. The blood of the dragonslayer was to pass from firstborn to firstborn, but as the war calmed, such rumors fell to myth, and those myths became lost with time, even as Smaug sought retaliation some generations later. A retaliation that was deadly, just as it was successful. Erebor had finally fallen. After many years of hardship, a wizard shows himself in Ered Luin, seeking the only dwarf who might be able to rekindle a little dragonfire in his blood to take down one of the world's deadliest creatures. One who is hellbent on claiming every kingdom in Middle Earth beneath his claws. - Influenced by Skyrim - Basic Information/Ideas via ask game

Erebor Never Fell

Heartstones - Rated Teen+

It’s believed that dwarves are blessed in one of two ways: by their heartstone, or their heartcraft, both a calling of the soul. When Thorin is convinced he has neither, a quest for his happiness takes him far beyond the Misty Mountains to the West. It’s in the West that Frerin is convinced they’ll find Thorin’s calling. Be that a happiness of the heart or the craft. - Outdated Ficlet - Basic Information/Ideas via ask game

Thief of Hearts - Rated Mature

Bilbo retired from his life of gentle burglary years ago to care for his ailing mother. With Belladonna's illness getting worse, he seeks out the aid of an enchanter, who is said to give people anything they want in exchange for a little task. Bilbo's task is to burgle one little stone from one lonely mountain under the nose of its king. Lucky for him, Erebor is preparing to host a grand party in hopes of finding a spouse for the oldest prince. It's the perfect distraction, and no one will see him coming.

Maeve's Choice

Twice In A Lifetime - Rated Mature

Just days before the siege on the Dimrill Gate, Thorin voices his guilt about 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. - Outdated Ficlet

Wretched & Divine - Rated Explicit

After the battle, Bilbo continued to keep the Arkenstone close to his chest to protect those around him. He suspects that there’s more to this ‘Dragon Sickness’ than just the gold, and must figure out how he can save Thorin from his madness. All of this while trying to deal with the dwarf’s fascination with him with an intensity that rivals the obsession of finding the Arkenstone. Or: What if Bilbo had never given away the Arkenstone to Bard and Thranduil, and Thorin never kicked the gold sickness. - Outdated Ficlet

#bagginshield #thilbo #bagginshield fic #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #maeve writes #maeve wips

30 notes · View notes

nostalgicnarrator · 29 days ago

Text

𝔽𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝔸𝕗𝕒𝕣

───── ༻ 𖦹 ༺ ─────

Word Count: 883

Parings: Thorn X Bilbo.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Secret surprise, happy Halloween, this might be all you get from me this month. I am trying. I was told this was a little wordy but I’m too tired to care much, I tried to make it feel like Thorin x Bilbo but sometimes i forget how people interact with each other. Friend helped me fix this and said to mark it as established relationship instead but its fine. Thank you @midnightstar789

───── ༻ 𖦹 ༺ ─────

The trees danced slowly as the wind bristled through them making the leaves rustle like a distant laugh. The deep oaken branches reached for the darkened sky like nimble fingers atop deftly hands. Thorin reached up for the nearest branch pulling himself atop it and looking farther up the large tree. Dwarves, you see, were not meant for climbing trees. They are ground dwellers, crafted of stone and deep rock. To ask a Dwarf to climb a tree, to be off the ground where he could not hear the stone, is to ask an Elf to lock themselves underground, to forget their forest and trees and the like to which they all seem so fond of.

Thorin reached for the next branch and pulled himself higher, the branch creaked at his new added weight. The shadows shifted freely between him and the tree’s branches as if the shadows were playing a game amongst themselves, they turned and twisted, climbing the branches as far as they reached only to tumble back down the tree's deep brown bark. Thorin looked up and wondered, if he too would tumble down, he caught glimpses of the gleeful stars as he made his way higher. They played too, dancing between the lowly tree’s leaves.

Amongst the playing shadows and peeking stars, rests a Hobbit hiding in the shadows, he brushed his hand over a knot where old branches once were, he wondered if it was old pruning scars or if the tree had simply lost its braces in a storm. Bilbo glanced down at the firelight as it flickers below the trees’ billowing stump offering a good light to illuminate the Dwarves below, laughing and smiling- he looked up to the stars who seemed to laugh too. He sighs and looks back to watch the Dwarves, instead he has a face full of dwarf.

Bilbo yelps, nearly losing his balance as Thorin’s hand shoots out, steadying him before he could fall.

“Th-Thorin! I mean Master Oakenshield-” Bilbo squeaked; the panic was settling as he clung to his branches.

Thorin chuckled softly, the sound low and rumbling, before pulling himself up to sit beside the Hobbit. “Master Burglar.”

Bilbo blinked, still flustered. “Ah- um, how may I help you…?”

Thorin glanced at him sideways, his expression softer than usual. “You tell me. You are the one hiding in a tree. What has upset you enough to drive you… here.”

Bilbo shifted uncomfortably, his fingers tightening on the branch as he averted his gaze. “Oh… it’s nothing, really. I just-” He paused, looking down at the dwarves laughing around the fire below. “Sometimes, I find it's easier to watch from afar.”

Thorin furrowed his brow as he turned to look at Bilbo, after a moment Thorin’s gaze followed Bilbo’s, his blue eyes briefly lingering on the company below before he turned back to the Hobbit. “You’ve fought trolls and goblins, yet you hide from Dwarves?” Thorin’s tone was laced with amazement and curiosity.

Bilbo flicked his gaze to the dwarf next to him, he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. Bilbo shrugged and fiddled lightly in his pocket at the sudden reminder of what had occurred not too long ago, he finally spoke. “Technically…never fought a goblin, you all did that…I, I ran away.” Thorin was looking at him now, curious, waiting to see if the hobbit would continue, and unsurprisingly he did. “I don’t quite… belong, do I? I’m hardly what one would call fit for the wilds.”

Thorin kept silent for a long moment, wondering if he was allowed to respond, when Thorin finally spoke again, his voice had lost some of its usual gruffness. “No one expected you to understand the ways of the world outside your warm hearth and armchair right away, Master Baggins. But you are learning, and that’s all one could ask for is it not?”

Bilbo looked at Thorin and blinked in surprise. “I- well, thank you. I didn’t think you noticed.”

Thorin’s lips quirked into the faintest of smiles. “I notice more than you think.” He shifted on the branch to look out at the horizon. “You do not need to ‘watch from afar’ anymore, Bilbo. You are part of this company, you ran out that door, you made the leap into this world and despite the circumstances to turn around, to go back to your armchair and books, you stayed.”

Bilbo sat quietly now, the stars above them peeking from behind the leaves and when he looked back Thorin was looking right at him with a much larger smile. Bilbo’s breath caught for the briefest of moments as the two sat in silence, the wind rustling softly through the leaves above them.

Suddenly Thorin stood, easily balancing himself on the branch. “Come, Bilbo. The stars will still be here tomorrow. For now, let us join our company.”

Bilbo hesitated but nodded slowly, following Thorin’s lead as they climbed down from the tree. The fire shifts and pulls the shadows deeper into their game, they brush dangerously into the light only to slip away into the surrounding darkness. The wind shakes the branches once more, the leaves jostle like softly ringing bells. And Bilbo could feel a warmth from something he hadn’t felt in a long time…

───── ༻ 𖦹 ༺ ─────

How was it? Tell me what I did wrong what I could do better, I sometimes. this is often what my works look like before I start shaving them down to be less flowery. I fixed it- kind a probably.

#I gave up at the end #the hobbit #fanfic #bilbo baggins #the hobbit bilbo #the hobbit thorin #thorin x bilbo #lord of the rings #thorin company #thorin oakenshield #bagginshield #i’m writing #here we go again #established relationship #writing

24 notes · View notes

heliads · 1 year ago

Note

LISA YOU DID NOT GIVE ME TIME TO PREPARE FOR THIS!!! However, I already had a few ideas in mind for the next time you opened requests, so:

May I pretty please request a Thorin Oakenshield + gender-neutral reader where the reader is a fairy who comes along on the journey to Erabor because Gandalf thought they needed another magic-user? Reader is a very sweet sunshine who gets along great with all the other party members, but because Thorin doesn’t trust fairies the same way he doesn’t trust elves (because they didn’t assist the dwarves after Erabor fell the first time) he refuses to let them get close to him. However, he does start to get closer to them and develop feelings for them as time goes on, but after the Battle of the Five Armies (where everyone lives, obviously) they can’t find the reader for a while and Thorin is terrified they might be dead. And when they finally find them relatively unharmed Thorin freaks out and confesses his love because he doesn’t want to lose them, and then there’s a very nice fluffy ending??

Of course, if you don’t want to write this, that’s totally cool!! Thanks and I hope you’re doing well!! <3 <3

YESSSS i am ascending to a higher plane thank you for this SUBLIME request

masterlist

The water is wide, the mountains high; no journey worth taking was ever meant to be easy, so you may assume from the first few treacherous days of your travels towards the Lonely Mountain that this quest of yours will be quite worthy indeed. It is not in your nature to spend much time musing on the unhappiness of a time, only to find its merits, but, well, there are far more sources of unhappiness than happiness on this particular journey.

It would not be too much of a leap for even your optimism to be brought down a notch or two, to say the least. Already, your smiles are lacking a little at the seams; your jokes, not among your finest work. Patience is stretched thin amongst the company, and the shadow of Erebor is no closer to the tips of your boots than the Shire far behind you.

The Shire was not your home, though, only the starting point. The last member of the company was Bilbo Baggins, your burglar, and he took quite a bit of convincing before he was willing to set a single foot beyond the familiar confines of his home. You’re not sure he was wrong to question the idea of the quest, though, nor if he regrets it already or not. Danger dogs your heels like a bloodhound, plus the rest of the company is nothing like any of the hobbits Bilbo has ever met.

Bilbo Baggins would not be the only one confused by his company, however. As a faerie, you’ve had the opportunity to travel far past the bounds of your city, to meet characters both kind and cruel. The Fae cluster in settlements like elves, but they disperse themselves to the winds, too. Most of you end up tossed to the whims of Fate soon enough, anyway. This was your chance to get to know the world you inhabit, and it appears you’ll get far more of a tasting of it than you ever expected.

It’s not terrible. That should go without saying. You are not unhappy that you are here, nor bitter that you signed the contract to join the company of Thorin Oakenshield when you could have stayed at home to rot. It is a good cause, this, and it will bring you both glory and treasure, should you want it.

The biggest problem, if you were going to be completely honest with yourself, would be that dwarf tasked with managing all of you, Thorin. You get along splendidly with all of the other dwarves, and Gandalf has been a friend of yours ever since you wowed him with a particularly ingenious magic trick when you were small, but for some reason you have never been able to win over Thorin himself.

That is not for lack of trying, not in the slightest. Gandalf was the one who requested that you join the company, certain that having another magic user on their side would not be the worst thing in the world as you passed through dangerous territory and had to take on a dragon later on. You showed up to meet the company with the best and purest of intentions, but Thorin seemed unable to accept the fact that you really wanted to help.

In truth, you don’t think he wanted to accept it. Thorin is displeased with the faeries the same way he’ll never forgive the elves, for the same reasons he’ll glare icily at humans. When Thorin’s kin fell along with Erebor, the faeries didn’t help. Thorin begged for aid, but the faeries did not respond. You’ll never fully know why, nor were you personally responsible for the betrayal, but that does not stop Thorin from treating as if you were the linchpin keeping support from his people.

It doesn’t matter, though. It doesn’t have to matter. Thorin’s personal feelings are not why you signed onto this quest. You joined because an old friend asked, and because the idea of helping to liberate the dwarves’ homeland from a dragon seemed like a good thing to do and a fascinating way to pass the time. Faeries don’t take things seriously. They never have.

So, you let your caution with Thorin fly away from you on an eagle’s strong wings, and you throw yourself into helping whenever you can. Gandalf is pulled away from the company soon enough for a myriad of causes, and even Thorin can admit that your magical skills come in handy soon enough. You save all of their lives dozens of times over, and you find real friendship in the company while you’re at it. Nothing a little optimism can’t handle.

Some of the nights get long, though, and the warmth of a covert campfire can only keep your tired frame from shivering for so many hours. They say the bones of the Fae are hewn from diamonds, your blood, the eternal nectar of the gods, but at this moment, you want only the mysticism and riches of a good meal and clothes that actually protect you against the chill. The mountains only get colder as you travel through them, and you don’t think you’ll be able to shake the prick of gooseflesh for decades if not centuries.

You’re on watch at the moment, scanning the dark horizon around you for monsters or orcs while the rest of the company rests. You’ll have another hour or two before you have to wake the next guardian– Bilbo, actually, who’s still snoring with the rest– so you should have plenty of time to yourself until then.

You should, at least. You don’t, because someone here is still awake. You had cast a spell on yourself to amplify sound and sight at the start of your watch so you could spot intruders that much more quickly, which is why you’re aware of one heartbeat other than your own that isn’t in the lull of sleep. When you tilt your head to the side just enough, you can make out someone staring in your peripheral vision.

Thorin. Who else? At first, you feel a rush of indignation bubble through your veins. There’s no reason for him to be awake on a night like this. Everyone is exhausted from weeks of hard travel, but he’s forced himself to forgo rest so he can make sure you are actually doing your job. After all this time, he still doesn’t trust you to do watch properly. It’s infuriating.

Sick of pretending like you don’t notice, you turn abruptly to stare him dead in the eyes. You expect Thorin to do something: address you, maybe, or do something to acknowledge that he’s been caught, but instead he just holds your gaze coolly for a moment longer before turning on his other side. Half an hour later, he’s asleep.

Heroes. You’ll never understand them. The Fae are not the stuff of legends; your people prefer to linger in shadows and sunlight both, existing for themselves and for the glory of magic. Heroes, quest-leaders, warriors, they were never someone you grew up with. They have different motives, ones you don’t understand. They think they need to watch your back just because it’s the right thing to do. It confuses you, makes you believe things that might not be true. You don’t need someone like Thorin messing with your head right now, but he seems perfectly content to do it anyway.

The rest of the night passes without issue. You finish your watch shift without anything impactful, and rouse a deeply annoyed Bilbo to take over after you. Thorin doesn’t trouble you again, and indeed, the next day he seems perfectly content to act as if nothing had ever happened.

No self-respecting faerie would ever let themselves drop a grudge, though, so you manufacture a way of bringing it up before long. The company disperses in a long line, the slower ones trailing behind while Thorin keeps up the charge at the front. You make your way up to him, waiting until everyone else behind you is sufficiently far away so as to not hear a word of the inevitable quarrel, then cast Thorin one sidelong glance.

“Would you like to tell me why you’ve been watching me?”

Thorin actually stumbles while he’s walking, but manages to right himself just in time. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

You weren’t expecting him to outright deny it. This past night hasn’t been the only time you’ve caught his eyes on you. It has happened from the very start of the quest, actually. At first, his gaze was pinned to you like a wanted poster, full of judgment and suspicion. Recently, the hostility has gone down, but that doesn’t make him any less willing to look away. His gaze chases your heels as you clamber over rocks, lingers on your fingers as you fight. All this, and he still wants to act as if nothing has happened.

You scoff. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Let’s discuss last night, then. You keep staying awake during my watch. Why? Do you really trust me that little?”

Thorin shakes his head, keeping his gaze firmly trained on the horizon. “I do trust you.”

This does actually come as a surprise. He hasn’t been able to admit it aloud, likely because that would contradict his whole idea that faeries are selfish creatures who left his people to die in the fall of Erebor, but apparently he’s made an exception for you.

“Then why not let me conduct my watch in peace?” You pry.

Thorin jerks a shoulder up and down once, a taut and tense version of a shrug. “I don’t want any lapse in judgment to injure the people I care about.”

You feel your relatively good mood drop. Thorin lashes out often, most frequently when he’s sure he’s only leading his company towards their imminent destruction, so you shouldn’t take it personally. Kind of hard not to, though.

“So you think I’m blind to attackers and I’ll get everyone killed, is that what you’re saying?”

“No, I’m just worried that there are things out there worse than one of your spells,” Thorin argues, but he doesn’t sound too convincing anymore.

You shove your hands into the pockets on your coat. “You know, I just don’t get it. If you’re this opposed to faeries, why did you ever let Gandalf convince you to let me join your company?”

“I didn’t want to at the start,” Thorin begrudgingly admits, “but that was at the start, like I said. Things are different now.” He pauses, voice heavy with secrets as of yet left unsaid, then adds, “We’re different.”

You think this might be the most honest thing he’s ever shared with you. It makes you feel– a lot, actually. It makes you feel things you have not considered until now. Thorin does trust you and he does have reasons he wants to keep you around. In fact, he might even be counting you among the people he cares about and wants to protect.

You don’t have much time to think about it, not on the road and not even after you reach Erebor and immediately have to contend with an infuriated dragon. Thorin shows you the place after you have a moment of relative peace, pointing out the details his ancestors built into a home that has not been his in quite some time. It is as if he wants you to remember all of it. It is as if he wants it to be yours as well.

Peace does not last forever, it never does. One day, you’re exploring every room and corridor of Thorin’s home beneath the Lonely Mountain, the next, you’re watching army after army pour over the surrounding hills. No one likes power when it isn’t theirs. The thought that Thorin might finally have claim to his ancestral land wasn’t well favored by anyone in the vicinity, apparently.

That only means that you’ll have to fight twice as hard to keep Erebor in the hands of your friends. Even when the elves ride up to your doorstep with the humans, even when the orcs arrive out of nowhere, you stay and fight. Always. That’s what you do for the people you care about.

Thorin had asked once if you were going to leave. He’d posed the question slowly, hesitantly, eyes on any other object in the room except you, but you’d still had the perfect view of the relief on his face when you told him you would stay until it was done. There was still an open question of what you would do when it was over, but surviving a battle of this magnitude was the first crisis to deal with. Anything else could happen later, once everyone made it through alive.

That alone seemed like an impossible task, and by all accounts, it should have been. Never before in your life have you cast so many spells of such strength, saving the lives of your friends and ending those of your enemies all in turn. When it is over, you are covered in blood and ash, utterly exhausted, and injured, but your heart beats, at least, and that is enough.

You were separated from the rest of Thorin’s company during the progress of the battle, drawn out to find the best vantage point from which you could cast your spells. At first, you were going for long distance attacks, lobbing fireballs and extensive charges from a crumbling rooftop, but orcs quickly descended upon you and you were forced to resort to closer quarter magic instead.

Perhaps that is why they thought you were dead. When they could no longer see your spells from across the battlefield, there was no way to tell for sure if you were still alive. You were far away from them, fighting off the last of the enemy, and you didn’t find them for a while.

More specifically, they didn’t find you for a while. Later, you hear that Thorin had been in a sort of frantic haze, going over every rock and stone in his path in an all consuming quest to find you. You weren’t with Fili and Kili, who were immediately folded into the search party, nor were you alongside the other dwarfs. Bard had not seen you. Neither had some of the elves. By all accounts, you were gone. Vanished from sight.

That was the one thing Thorin wanted to hear the least. A body is something you can handle, a final decision. If he could not see you, he assumed you were either dead or about to be, and only his actions could save you. He would run himself ragged trying to find you and stop your death before it happened. He would have forced all the orcs in the land back to the fiery hellhole they came from, fought every monster and defeated every enemy, if it would have stopped a sword from piercing your heart.

And so, when he finally stumbled over a rocky outcropping and saw you calmly casting a spell of healing on one of his cousin’s soldiers. You had turned upon hearing him approach, and the last of Thorin’s terrors left him in one fell swoop. You were alright. He was alright. Everything, although damaged and broken and wholly consumed with ash and blood, would somehow end up okay.

Not much was said. Both of you lacked the words. Too many friends had been lost, not enough saved. Erebor would be protected, though. You swore that oath at the start, back when you joined the company for the first time, and you promise it again now. The Fae will have to wait a little longer to welcome you back. You would like to stick around a for a while.

requested by @starlit-epiphany, i hope you enjoy!

tolkien taglist: @rogueanschel, @retvenkos, @gods-fools-heroes, @crazyhearttragedy

#thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield imagines #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield oneshot #the hobbit #the hobbit imagines #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit oneshot #tolkien #tolkien imagines #tolkien oneshot #the hobbit thorin #the hobbit thorin imagines #the hobbit thorin x reader #the hobbit thorin oneshot #thorin #thorin imagines #thorin x reader #thorin oneshot

249 notes · View notes

bagginshieldlibrary · 8 months ago

Text

SUNDAY FIC REC LIST

This week's selection is Hurt/Comfort. So get your Blankies, snackies and a trusted stuffed companion, because this is going to hurt your feelings.

First up is Teach Me Your Ways by airebellah

Summary: Thorin sat in a bookstore reading to his nephews. He struggled to read the foreign English text, but he would do anything to please his nephews. Including humiliating himself in front of a cute man with a small boy of his own.

Thorin Durin, forced from his home in war-torn Erebor, struggles to adapt to England’s language and customs. Bilbo offers to help, and amongst many a cultural confusion, their relationship quickly grows beyond simple language lessons.

Rating: Gen

The summary says it all. :)

(you need and account to read it)

Next Up is Bad Blood by @conkers-thecosy

Summary: Bilbo patted Gloin awkwardly on the back, once, and was glad when the dwarf let go. It had only been a fraction of the time Thorin had held him for on the Carrock, and he was glad for it. Somehow it had been different, and perhaps until now, until he had been hugged fast by another of their company, held as a friend expressing gratitude, Bilbo hadn’t quite realised how different.

The thought of their leader caused Bilbo’s gaze to drag across to where Thorin was standing, restrained firmly by two elves, and he was embarrassed to find those blue eyes fixed upon him quite unblinkingy. His expression was unreadable, as it always seemed to be, but there was something fierce in his gaze. Something barely contained. Hidden, but so close to the surface that Bilbo still got a sense of it. Like a shadow, or smoke reflected in glass.

***

Or: How might the events of Mirkwood unfolded if Bilbo hadn't had the ring?

Rating: Teen and up

Angry protective Bilbo. Biting. Feral acts of violence against elves. Nobody's secrets are safe. Conkers I love you for this one.

In third we have, A King's Bond by Mordelle

Summary: King Thorin felt like Mahal Himself had swung his mighty hammer and cracked it right between his dazed blue eyes. The vibrations from The Strike shook his very being from his skull to his heart and then out through every nerve in his body. His eyes rolled back, his lungs expelled every breath of air, and the King Under the Mountain swooned so violently that his chair tipped backward with a loud crash, leaving everyone in the room silently gaping at the head of the table where only a pair of royal boots could be seen. His One had finally returned his Call.

Rating: Mature

(just imagine a string of crying emoji's here.) there's fading, there's parental rage, there's slow burn. They love each other your honor.

Our 4th fic is Wild Wings by DomesticGoddess

Summary:

Wounded and stranded in a strange forest, Thorin finds himself in the care of a lovebird, a reclusive and mysterious race. He’s not impressed. His host appears backward and primitive. But Bilbo seems content enough to play caretaker while Thorin heals, and that is a mercy. Isolated with the halfling, Thorin has little to do besides navigate the barriers between them and learn more about his host. The more he learns, the more he finds himself drawn to the selfless, hardworking hobbit.

But how can he be sure that this growing attraction between them is anything more than an intimacy brought on by isolation? Besides, Thorin’s a king. He’ll have to return to his kingdom, and Bilbo has never left the forest.

Rate: Explicit

WING FIC!! WING FIC!!!! WING FIC!!!!! That is all.

And lastly we have Through the mist (I find you) by MiraHerondale

Summary: Bilbo returns to Erebor two years after the Battle of the five Armies, invited by his friends to join the Durin's Day festivities. With his last memory of Thorin being him dying on the ice of Ravenhill, he worries he might not be entirely welcome. After all, he never heard about his banishment being revoked. What he finds, is simply much more devastating.

Rate: Explicit

Thorin's lost his memories. Bilbo's desperate to get one last taste. I apologize for the hurt, but also You're welcome for the rest!

#bagginshield #thilbo #bilbo x thorin #thorin x bilbo #bagginshield library #hurt/comfort #fanfic #the hobbit #sunday fic list

45 notes · View notes

ragingbookdragon · 1 year ago

Text

Bilbo hadn’t really understood why the dwarves had hated the elf so much, but of course, Bofur had quietly told him of why they were so distrustful of her, but it wasn’t entirely personal, they’d distrusted all elves, even the ones in Rivendell. He’d become rather fond of her, but only because she was much more mannered and polite. She favored two daggers over the typical elven choice of a sword and bow, which Bilbo found odd, as he’d always heard stories about elves and their almost perfect skill with bows and swords. Even Lord Elrond of Rivendell carried a sword, which he had no doubt that the elven lord was lethal with it.

But while Bilbo had come to recognize that the dwarves were offensive fighters, she was defensive, and it’d taken quite a while for him to understand that any time there was danger, she was always next to him, keeping close so that nothing could hurt him. But he’d also seen her when she was sneaking behind enemies, watching as she’d taken down more than the dwarves who were in the thick of it.

The night had called, and Bilbo found himself unable to sleep, tossing and turning over the hard ground while the others snored around him. He lie there for as long as he could before he sat up with a quiet sigh, discontent flooding him as he threw the blanket off before rising from the bedroll. He assumed a short stroll might tire him out, not too far of course—the last thing he wanted was to end up like he’d been with the trolls.

As he neared the edge of the camp, his keen eyes saw a flash of silver in the low branches of a tree and he blinked, squinting at the figure sitting up there. It was their resident elf, still as the dead, watching over the camp and around them. It was a rather flustering amount of time before Bilbo realized she was staring right at him, and he felt his cheeks redden as embarrassment flooded his body. Still though, he walked over to stand somewhat beneath her, enough that he could crane his neck and look up at her.

“What are you doing up there?” he asked quietly, though he’d already known the answer.

“The better question is what are you doing awake?” she countered, and he shifted on his feet.

“I couldn’t sleep. I miss my bed,” he added, unable to hide his homesickness.

She nodded, turning to look out towards the land shadowed by the night. “Understandable. The ground is rather hard. Good for your back though, believe it or not.”

“I think I shall agree to disagree. I like my soft bed and fluffy pillows.”

She chuckled lowly and with a bit of grace, shifted and rolled off the branch, landing in front of him without so much as a noise. “You should try to sleep though, Bilbo. Our journey will only become much more difficult if you are exhausted.”

He felt shame creep up his neck, and he looked at his feet. “I…I’m sorry I’m not much help.” He was in fact not a help at all, always getting in the way, not even able to fight, not able to—

“Bilbo,” she calmed, kneeling down, and placing a hand on his shoulder; she looked at him with kind eyes. “I didn’t mean you would make the entire journey difficult. I meant your own experience would be uncomfortable because of your exhaustion.”

“Oh…” he said, feeling a bit foolish.

“While some of the others might think you a burden, rest assured that I do not, Bilbo, and I think you are wonderful company on this adventure.” She gestured for them to sit down against a rock, far enough from the dwarves that their talking wouldn’t disturb them, but close enough that she could see over them.

“Bilbo,” she started, gently wrapping an arm around him, pulling him close. “No one is expecting you to become some great warrior.”

He shifted around in her grip until he was as comfortable as he could be. “I know, but sometimes I feel like I am weighing us all down.”

“As you will, you’ve no prior experience in battle or on any type of business where it is this dangerous. But you’re learning, and that’s the most important thing. If you weren’t, then we would be considering shoving you in a barrel and floating you back up a stream to the Shire.”

He blinked, a smile on his lips as he laid his head against her side. “Where do you come from?”

She fell silent for a long while before she murmured, “I originally hail from Mirkwood.”

“The kingdom that Thorin’s family dealt with?”

“That would be the kingdom.”

“How did you end up here?” he asked, and she let out a long breath. The question was more than obvious. How did one of Erebor’s greatest enemies end up on the adventure to take back Erebor?

“I’m old, Bilbo. Very old. I’ve been on this earth longer than many of the elves around, save Elrond and Lady Galadriel.” She turned into him closer. “I was King Thranduil’s guard captain when Erebor was at its height of power. When Erebor fell to Smaug, we had marched to the carnage. Thranduil refused to help the dwarves.” She frowned. “Even in his grief, anger, and greed, we are still called to watch over Middle Earth. His refusal to assist innocents in their greatest peril went against my very purpose. I wasn’t going to stand for it.”

Bilbo listened to her, and asked softly, “What happened?”

“I abandoned my post. I refused to follow a king who wouldn’t put aside his pride in favor of helping a group of refuges who’d just lost literally everything they had. There is no honor in letting people die. Especially the innocent dwarves who had nothing to do with the issue between Thranduil and Thorin’s grandfather.”

“I can’t assume you left without a fight?”

“Oh, I didn’t,” she deadpanned. “For an entire week, I fled through the land from Erebor, chased by the very guards I trained. At every turn, I engaged in battle with my men and women. I was wounded beyond belief.”

He looked up at her. “Obviously you survived, but how? If you were so injured…?”

“I made it to Rivendell.” She met his gaze with a grin. “I am not even kidding, I was on the bridge at Rivendell, fighting for my life.”

“And?” Bilbo was practically on the edge of his seat.

“I made the mistake of going high when my enemy went low. The blow knocked me back into the staircase where I lay, ready to be beheaded, when Rivendell guards swarmed around me, raising weapons against the elves of Mirkwood.”

“Really?” he asked in disbelief.

“Really. Lord Elrond appeared, a sword in his own hand and commanded they leave at once, or any further aggression would be considered an attack on Rivendell and his guards would respond with force.” She smiled. “I passed out, but when I came to, I was in a bed in Rivendell, Lord Elrond watching over me.”

“He seems a very wise elf.”

“Oh, he is. Very esteemed by us all, respected among everyone, even men, dwarf, and hobbit alike.” She breathed deeply. “He allowed me to recuperate and stay for some time before I left.”

“How long did you stay?”

“Fifty years.” She answered. “I fell into quite a depression over my lack of helping during Erebor’s fall. I felt at fault for not even trying to assist the dwarves.”

Bilbo started to blink slowly, eyelids beginning to droop. “Where did you go after?”

“Anywhere and everywhere away from Mirkwood. I became a bounty hunter. Honed my techniques and abilities.”

“Hmm…does…” he breathed deeply, trying to stay awake. “Does Thorin know?”

She looked down in shock. “What?”

“Thorin…does he know?”

“No, I do not believe so.”

Bilbo hummed again, curling up into her side. “Should tell him…may…forgive you.”

She simply watched as he fell asleep before picking him up, carrying him back towards his bedroll; as she put him down, she pulled his blanket up just under his chin and smiled sadly down at him—if only it was that simple.

As she carefully stepped between the sleeping dwarves, heading back towards the tree she’d been in, she couldn’t help but feel like she was being watched. She paused, looking around at their sleeping faces, and when she shrugged, going back towards the tree, Thorin opened his eyes once more, gazing at her back as she did, imagining the weight of the world upon her shoulders just as his was then all those years ago, and now.

#thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield x reader imagine #thorin oakenshield x reader imagines #thorin oakenshield imagines #thorin oakenshield imagine #thorin x reader #thorin x reader imagine #thorin x reader imagines #thorin imagines #thorin imagine #thorin #thorin oakenshield #bilbo #bilbo baggins #the hobbit #hobbit #king thranduil #thranduil

301 notes · View notes

conkers-thecosy · 1 year ago

Text

Bagginshield-tober / Day 4 / Company

Hey folks! Here's my offering for day four of the lovely @smolestboop's "Bagginshield-tober" prompt list 💛

You can also find these little snippets compiled into one fic on AO3

*Warnings for nightmares and light trauma symptoms.*

~*~*~

It took a lot to break the will of Thorin Oakenshield.

The madness of his grandfather had not broken him. The dragon and destruction of his home had not broken him. The years of wandering and starvation, and leading a grieving and desolate people had not broken him. Not even the death of his younger brother, nor the loss of his father had broken him.

Immovable. Headstrong. Unyielding.

His mother had often called him pig-headed, though with the love and fondness that came from one who knew it would be the source of great strength for him over the years. His sister had called him muleish, though with more exasperation than their mother ever had. Strong-willed, Balin had told him, kindly, and with great sadness before he had left to head back West with Bilbo.

Bilbo.

Nothing had ever swayed Thorin from a decision he had made, no one could talk him out of a course of action that he had become set upon. He would always plant his feet and stand firm, determined and unwavering in the face of all things… save for one small Hobbit.

“No… no, please… don’t…”

Sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, and hands in his hair, Thorin could only listen to the quiet cries of his dearest friend and greatest love from the room next door. It was agony to feel so useless, to be so close, and yet unable to do anything. He had promised himself he would give Bilbo the space he needed to deal with his trauma, knowing full well it had come at Thorin’s own hands in the first place. He shook with the silent desperation of wanting to make this right, of needing to offer comfort, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He shouldn’t.

It might even make things worse, he tried to reason with himself, as another small whimper sliced through his already broken heart. For Bilbo to dream so fearfully of what had passed between them on top of the ramparts, Thorin deep in his madness, twisted by the lure of the Arkenstone. It would be cruel for him to awaken to the face of his aggressor, who so haunted his nights. He would wake soon, anyway. He always woke himself, then settled fairly quickly afterwards. All Thorin had to do was wait…

“Thorin!”

At the terrified cry of his own name, he could not help himself. He was on his feet and through Bilbo’s door before he even registered what he had done, and the Hobbit was awake, his eyes wide and fearful and hurt, and Thorin knew he had made a mistake, but he had been seen now, he was here, and what was he to do…?

“Thorin,” Bilbo said again, looking right at him with the fear melting away to be replaced by something akin to relief. His hair was a mess, sticking out wildly in all directions, his sheets rucked up, and one of his pillows had fallen to the floor beside his bed from where he had been shifting about so restlessly. Thorin saw all this, but it was eclipsed by Bilbo reaching out a small, shaking hand to him, and speaking with a tremor in his voice. “Please?”

Again, Thorin moved on impulse, unable to ignore such a plea. He walked quickly to Bilbo’s bedside and took the outstretched hand as gently as he could. Bilbo grasped him with both hands then, and pressed his knuckles to his forehead in an oddly reverent manner.

“You’re real,” he whispered, almost to himself. “You’re alive, and you’re here.”

“You… you feared me dead?”

Bilbo didn’t look at him, didn’t move even a muscle save from the trembling of his small frame. “I dream of it all the time. That I was too late to warn you on Ravenhill, that I stayed to argue with Gandalf instead of immediately coming to find you. I dream that… that Fili and Kili… that they died horrifically and senselessly, and that you… you were… on the ice, bleeding to death, and I could do nothing but hold your hand and watch. It… it feels so real, Thorin. I am so afraid that I will wake and it will all be real, and you won’t be here.”

Thorin could hardly believe what he was hearing, even as the words came tumbling out of the still shaking Hobbit like a shameful confession. He knelt, very slowly so as not to startle Bilbo, clasping his other, much larger hand over the two small ones still holding onto him tightly, as if afraid he would vanish otherwise.

He wanted to ask if Bilbo truly meant what he said, if it was not Thorin’s rage and threats at the gates that caused him to cry out in the darkness with fear, but he already knew the answer. Bilbo was not a liar, and even if he stretched the truth occasionally, there was no way even his quick tongue could have fabricated such sorrow and heartbreak in such a manner. It was so earnest and true, there could be no questioning the sincerity of his words.

All this time Thorin had stayed away, thinking his presence would only make things worse, when in fact proof of his life and continued existence was what would bring the Hobbit comfort most. He felt like a prize fool for not asking, simply asking, too stuck in his own guilt to offer what aid he could.

“I could stay, if you would like?” he offered quietly, then shrank back a little as Bilbo looked up in surprise. “Only if you would like me to. I could fetch a chair and sit by the bed until you fall asleep?”

“Oh,” said Bilbo, still wide eyed, though his face a little darker from the blush that would be staining his cheeks. “Well, I would feel terrible making you sit up so that I might rest…”

“We both know I’m not sleeping, anyway,” Thorin brushed this concern aside with a wry smile, immediately feeling better for acknowledging their shared troubles. “If you would like my company, I would be more than willing to stay.”

Bilbo fidgeted a little, then released Thorin’s hands slowly. For a moment the dwarf thought he was about to be told no, that he had misread the situation after all, and was perhaps over-stepping some kind of personal boundaries, until Bilbo scooted across the bed and patted the mattress beside himself in invitation.

“I’ll not have you in a chair all night, but perhaps we might both sleep a little better for some company?”

It took a lot to break the will of Thorin Oakenshield, but in this instance, he found no will to be broken - only a relieved acceptance, as he passed the night beside the one he loved, and they both found a little peace.

#bagginshield #the hobbit #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #bagginshieldtober #bagginshield-tober #cw: trauma mention #fluffy #hurt/comfort #co-sleeping #slice of life #reshirement #conkers-theficwriter #mild angst #stealing moments moments away

83 notes · View notes

middleearthpixie · 8 months ago

Text

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Ten

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory.

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it.

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 5.3k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @legolasbadass @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

Nina shared up at him with green eyes gone almost perfect round as she said, “I—I’m afraid I know not what you mean.”

“It took me a bit to figure it out,” he went on, “but you were there. That night my Company and I attempted to break into the armory and were caught. You were in the crowd, near the front, not far from where Bilbo stood.”

“No, I—I’ve never been to Esgaroth and I’m afraid I’ve no inkling as to who Bilbo even is.”

“Of course you don’t, for he was with me. But, I remember you, Miss Nina. You and another woman who bore a strong resemblance to you. You stood out, both of you, because of your hair.”

As he spoke, he reached out to catch one of Nina’s wild corkscrew curl between his fingers. He couldn’t help it. He’d never seen hair that deep, almost burgundy color before and since she first joined them, he tried to remember where he’d seen it before. It wasn't until he came into her chambers and saw it loose about her face that the memory of a beautiful red-haired woman in the snow leaped to the forefront of his mind, for that was just how she looked that night. Her hair a wild tangle about her face, about her shoulders, with snowflakes dotting it like seed pearls.

She shook her head. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

“No.” He let the curl slip through his fingers. It was soft, almost silken, and he had the maddest urge to gather it in his hands. “It was you.”

“Your Highness, I—”

“I know it was you, Nina. Tell me, what became of the woman who was with you? Who was she and what she to you?”

“She was my sister. She…” Nina’s eyes shone with tears as she met his gaze and his heart sank as she finished with a whispered, “she died in the inferno. I found her on the opposite shore the next morning and please do not make me tell you more about it.”

“I am so sorry,” he murmured back. “I did not mean for the dragon to take his anger out on your people. That was never my intention. It was the last thing I would have wanted.”

She pressed her lips together as her eyes overflowed, tears streaking over the curve of her cheeks. Without thinking, he brushed his thumbs along her cheeks, sweeping the tears from them. “Forgive me,” he whispered, cupping her face in his palms, tilting it toward his. “I know that means nothing, that my words are worthless, but I am so very sorry my actions led to the death of people you loved.”

Her lips trembled and she leaned into him, her head coming to rest against his chest as she dissolved into tears. He wrapped his arms about her, tucked her close against him and let her cry, his rough-hewn henley growing damp against his chest.

Finally, she went still against him and when she lifted her head, her eyes were red and puffy. “I beg your pardon,” she whispered, swiping at her nose with the back of her hand. “I didn't mean to blubber all over a king.”

“Worry not about it,” he told her. “It is the least I deserve.”

“I just…” She drew in a deep, if somewhat shaky breath, and then offered up a sad smile. “It’s been a while since I allowed myself to think of Lenna. She was my dearest friend in the world and I miss her. So very much.”

“If I could go back and do that night over,” he told her, sweeping his thumbs along the remnants of tears still streaking her skin, “I would do things so very differently. And in the aftermath, I’d have honored my word without question.”

This time, when he met her gaze, he felt the oddest thing. It was almost as if the air were suddenly charged, as it felt before a lightning storm. But he heard no rumble of thunder and as the leaves shifted above their heads, it was to show a clear night, the black sky spangled with thousands of stars glinting like gemstones against a bed of black velvet.

Her eyes were bright, brilliant emerald beneath their silvery veil of tears, but they drew him in just the same, and in a way he’d never felt before. That crackle in the air grew stronger and then he realized what it was.

He wanted to kiss her.

He remembered seeing her that night in Esgaroth. Her hair caught his eye, that deep, glossy burgundy color and wild about her face, as it was now. He could not hear her, but he saw her look at the woman beside her, her sister Lenna as he now knew, and when she smiled, he’d swear he actually felt his blood grow warmer. That smile, so pure and raw in its joy, did something to him and he made a promise to himself that he would find out who she was and when he rid the world of Smaug and returned to honor his word, he would make certain someone introduced him to her.

Of course, that wasn't how things worked out.

But now he had a second chance and he would not make the same mistake.

His thumbs went still against her soft skin. Her lips, full and no longer trembling, were more inviting than any he’d ever seen before. And when the tip of her tongue flicked out against her bottom lip, he almost sighed with the sensuality of it.

She held his gaze easily, and as he leaned toward her, she lifted those full, inviting lips in anticipation of their first kiss.

“Thorin, are ye in there?”

Dwalin’s voice broke them apart, had him leaping backward as if touching her stung him. Gathering his wits about him, Thorin cleared his throat. “We are, yes. Come in.”

The door swung open and Dwalin said, “I thought we were going to supper?”

“We are.” Thorin glanced over at Nina. “I just came to fetch Miss Nina.”

Dwalin arched a single brow. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is fine,” Thorin told him as he caught Nina by the elbow before she had the chance to refuse to join them. “Shall we?”

Fortunately, she did not speak up about not wanting anything to eat, and with any luck, no one would notice the hint of color along her sharply angled cheekbones, or that he’d probably not be able to stop staring at her.

All through supper, Nina felt Thorin’s gaze on her. Actually felt it. Although she’d heard people say this, she’d never experienced it for herself until now.

And if that wasn't enough, her doubts about her plan had grown tenfold since he stepped out onto her terrace.

He was going to kiss her. And what was worse?

She was going to let him.

What was wrong with her? How could she capitulate so easily?

Because he apologized.

And he meant it. She saw the agony he carried in his eyes, heard it in the softness of his deep, almost growly voice, felt it when he’d wrapped her in his arms. He wanted to take her pain from her and for a moment, his embrace had done just that.

She had heard of dragon sickness, as whenever talk of the Lonely Mountain circulated through town, accompanying it was the speculation that the King Under the Mountain had succumbed to it for a time. No one ever came out from it though. Or at least, that was what everyone said.

Yet, he had.

He sat beside her at the long table they shared with Thranduíl and his son Legolas. From the corner of her eye, she saw him lean toward Thranduíl, who sat, of course, at the head, as they chatted. Dwalin across from them, alongside Legolas and while he on joined in Thorin’s conversation with the elf king from time to time, he mostly spoke with the younger elf.

Nina, who knew none of them, remained quiet, concentrating on the delicious supper of venison and root vegetables in a spicy sauce. It was the most food she’d seen in her life, even more than had been presented at Rivendell.

She was in a quandary now. For so long, she’d thought of nothing but revenge on Thorin Oakenshield. She’d planned her life around it. She'd longed for the day when she took him out of the world and got paid a pretty penny to do so.

This was a twist she had not seen coming, and it left her at a loss.

The Thorin she had imagined was far different from the one she was coming to know. That Thorin was a monster in dwarf form.

This Thorin was anything but.

Conversation floated around her, yet their hosts paid her no mind. They didn't know her, of course, where they’d had dealings with the dwarves before and of course, Thorin and Thranduíl shared the bond of kingship, although their relationship seemed formal at best.

“So, how did you come to be in the company of dwarves?”

This came from across the table, from an elegant she-elf with red hair several shades brighter than Nina’s own. Tauriel, she thought her name was. She seemed to know Thorin and Dwalin already, judging by the warm greeting they’d each given the other when they first arrived in the open air dining room.

“Me? I simply happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

“She leapt between me and an arrow,” Thorin broke in, setting his fork down to lift his napkin to his lips.

“Leapt between you and an arrow?” Tauriel’s dark eyes widened. “Where did this happen?”

“On the road to Rivendell,” Thorin explained. “An orc pack happened upon us.”

“An orc pack so close to Rivendell?” Thranduíl asked, his forehead furrowing slightly. “They do not normally come so close to either there or here.”

“Elrond said they’d been having a bit of trouble lately,” Dwalin explained, reaching for his tankard. “In their disarray, they have come bold.”

“They are no longer in such disarray.” Tauriel shook her head, bringing her napkin to her lips before adding, “The rumor is they are under new leadership.”

“Is that so?” Thorin asked. “Who?”

“I only know his name is Tarog and he is somehow related to Azog, but I know not how.”

Dwalin let out a heavy sigh. “Wonderful. One more thing for us to worry about.”

His gaze alit on Nina and she hoped no one at the table saw her stiffen. When she met his stare, it was to see his eyes were those cold slivers of ice once more. Forcing what she hoped was a reassuring smile to her lips, she said, “You needn’t worry at all. Extra eyes and an extra blade, remember.”

“Aye, I remember,” Dwalin replied evenly.

“We will be fine,” Thorin said, reaching for his tankard. He lifted it for a long drink, then set it back and wiped his mouth before pushing away from the table. “Now, if you will all excuse me, I am going to go and get some much needed sleep. I bid you all good evening and will see you in the morning.”

Dwalin also rose. “I think that sounds like a good idea.” He looked over at her. “What about you, Miss Nina?”

Her impulse was to say no, that she wasn't tired, but she had the feeling that would arouse suspicion, so she forced a smile and got to her feet. “Yes, that sounds like a good idea. Good evening, Your Majesty,” she directed this at Thranduíl, then bid the others a good evening as well.

Dwalin fell into step with her as they left the dining room. “Why was Thorin in your chambers earlier?”

“You would have to ask him what prompted it,” she told him with a shrug. “For I haven’t a clue.”

“It’s a bit concerning, about this Tarog, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know one orc from another,” she replied as offhandedly as she could manage. “Just as I don't know who Azog is or was. My dealings with orcs are only when they cross paths with me. I do not go in search of them.”

“Still, it’s odd, that they grow bolder, supposedly have a new leader, and yet, you just happened to be where they were as well.”

She stopped then. “What is it you accuse me of, Dwalin? Of being in league with this Tarog, whoever he might be?”

“I am saying it is a strange coincidence, is all.”

She glanced at Thorin, far enough ahead of them that he apparently didn't notice the whispered confrontation going on behind him, then turned her attention back to Dwalin. “Tell me, do you think it odd that I am supposed to be in league with that filth, and yet you saw me cut down as many as I could?”

“I saw nothing of the sort, lass. I saw you just happen to be between Thorin and an orc arrow.”

She rolled her eyes as if he’d obviously lost his mind. “And yet, he lives still and there is no sign of any orc pack here, is there? You should stop being so blasted suspicious, you know this? I’m growing tired of being accused of playing you false when you have no reason to accuse me at all. Now, if you don't mind, I’ll bid you a good evening.”

She shoved by him and marched to her chambers, and much as she wanted to slam the door, she didn’t. Instead, she just closed it by, dropped the latch in place to lock it, and moved to the terrace once more.

The air was cold now, despite the fact that the earlier breeze had died. She sat on the wide railing, staring out into the dark forest, trying to calm her mind enough so that she might try to get some sleep.

Her plan was in shambles now. She could still feel Thorin’s massive hands against her cheeks, could feel how gentle his touch was as he swept the tears from her skin. She had the feeling his kiss would have been just as gentle. Gentle, but tinged with hints of fire. And had Dwalin not interrupted…

Dwalin.

He could prove to be a problem, though. He knew she wasn't as she presented herself, he just didn’t know how right he was to be concerned. At least, up until that night, anyway. Now, as she turned her gaze to her sword, still propped against the wall just inside the door, she had the feeling she would not be able to raise it against Thorin.

But he could never know the truth of why she was there, of how she came to be in his company, and why she offered her services to him.

With a low sigh, she let her head fall into her hands. How did it become so complicated? She had always thought that no matter how many times Thorin might apologize for that night, she would never forgive him. Her hatred of him and the anguish caused by what he had taken from her was simply too great.

So, why did she only want him to kiss her so badly?

She was tired, that was all. Tired and worn out and it had been a long time since anyone held her. Come morning, after a good night’s rest, her resolve would renew and things wouldn’t be quite as complicated as they seemed right then and there.

At least, she hoped they would’t.

It was amazing what a decent night’s sleep in a comfortable bed could do for a body. Her mind might still be a jumble of tangled thoughts, but as she lay there, atop a soft mattress, tucked between smooth, fresh linens, Nina could forget, if only for a moment, everything else.

A hint of jasmine hung in the air, wafted through on the light breeze that wound its way into her chambers. In the distance, birds chirped and the sunlight that filtered through the canopy of leaves was almost pure gold in its radiance.

She stared up at the woven vines and limbs that made up the vaulted ceiling in her chambers and she smiled as several birds flittered through to nestle in those branches. For a moment, she didn't care if she ever left Mirkwood. For a moment, everything was perfect.

She stretched, then snuggled back into the pillows, which were as soft as the linens. Thorin had made no mention of when he planned to depart, and she rather hoped they’d stay a few days to regain a bit of their energy.

That hope was dashed a moment later when there came a firm rap at the door. “Miss Nina?”

Thorin’s low voice sent a shiver through her, one that was equal parts delicious and disturbing. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

She sat up and tossed back the quilts, then got to her feet to pad over to the door. As she tugged it open, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him on the opposite side of the threshold, looking just as refreshed as she felt. “Did I wake you?” he asked.

“No. I was just being lazy.”

His eyes widened as they moved over her and she almost smiled. Her night rail was thin, but not immodest, although the pale blue ribbon holding the neck closed had loosened while she slept. Although the cotton parted, it did not show much more than just the beginning of her décolletage. Still, it was somewhat amusing, watching those pale blue eyes, fringed with such thick black lashes, widen, and seeing the hint of color that swept along his cheeks, above the dark hair of his beard.

When the silence stretched between them, this time she did smile. “Thorin?”

He started, then offered up a sheepish smile. “I beg your pardon, of course.” He cleared his throat. “I came to see if you were planning to come to breakfast.”

Her stomach rumbled on its own, and she smiled. “I don't suppose you would believe me if I tried to say no, would you?”

“Not likely, no.”

“Then, give me a moment to dress and I’ll be out.”

“I’ll wait outside.”

He didn't wait for her reply, but bobbed his head and left her to dress in peace.

It only took her a few minutes, since her meager wardrobe was little more than two changes of trousers and tops. Perhaps, if they would be there a few more days, she could sneak off to one of the streams and wash at least one change of clothes. The trousers had become conspicuously baggy.

So she dressed in the not-so-baggy (although a bit dirt-spattered) trousers and the cleaner of the two shirts, then swept her hair back into a loose knot and secured it as best she could, which took some doing, as she only had a tiny handful of pins.

Thorin waited for her, as he said, just beyond her door and she smiled. “You did not actually have to wait. I could find the dining hall.”

“I know but I dislike walking into a room alone. Especially here.”

“Why?”

They strolled along the walkway and he glanced down at her. “They stare.”

“Oh, no. Not that,” she drawled, nudging him with her shoulder. “How dare they.”

“I know, it sounds silly, but… My relationship with the woodland elves is rocky at best. Thranduíl and I are civil to one another, but there is no great love between dwarves and elves.”

“Why?”

“It’s a long and rather dull story, and one I’d rather not rehash, if it’s all the same.”

“I understand.” She stepped off to the edge of the walkway. “It’s so pretty here in spring, when everything begins to bloom. I’ve never been here before, and I had no idea what to expect.”

“The last time I was here was in autumn.” He joined her, resting both hands on the woven wood. “And it was anything but pretty. The air even seemed different. Dark and heavy.”

“I hear this place is enchanted.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw him nod. “It is, indeed. In some places, the enchantments are harmless, but in others? Dark magic is woven through them, so one has to take care.”

“Dark magic? Here?” She turned to him, her hip bumping against the rail. “Where?”

“One of the streams is said to be heavy with it, but I don't know which one. It’s best to assume they all are and avoid them. I know one is imbued with some sort of sleep magic. It knocked Bombur out cold.”

“You say that name as if I am to know who or what a Bombur is.”

That earned her a smile. “He is one of my people. We passed through here on our trek to Erebor.”

“And found out the hard way to avoid at least one stream. Why not just ask Thranduíl which ones to avoid?”

“At the time, he and I were not on speaking terms.”

“And yet he let you pass through his realm?”

To her surprise, a hint of color rose along his cheekbones. He shook his head, a sheepish smile coming to his lips. “Not exactly. We tried to get through unnoticed, but were attacked by spiders.”

A shiver rippled through her. “Spiders?”

“The size of houses, yes. The elves came to our aid, although I highly doubt that was intentional.” He linked his fingers, leaning on his forearms as he turned his gaze to the woods around them. “So, in the end we were not so much guests as we were prisoners.”

“Prisoners? One king to another?”

A dry laugh bubbled to his lips, one that was deep and low and although it contained no humor, it was hardly an unpleasant sound. And for the first time since they’d left Rivendell, he wasn’t dressed for the elements, but instead looked far more relaxed in trousers and a simple black rough-hewn henley. He’d pushed the sleeves up, stretching them about his thick forearms, and she had the strangest urge to trace along the muscle that ropes those forearms, to trace along the leather bracelet woven about his left wrist.

“I was a king in name only, remember. My kingdom belonged to a firedrake from the north named Smaug. So, no, it was not one king to another. We would probably still be in the dungeons, had Master Baggins not thought to swipe the keys or had he not come up with the idea of using wine barrels to escape.”

“Wine barrels?”

“It was quite the sight, I’m sure. All of us crammed into those barrels, bouncing down the rapids, at the will of the currents.” His smile faded. “Orcs found us here and Kíli was wounded in battle against them.”

“Kíli?”

“My nephew. My younger nephew, to be exact. He was struck by a morgul shaft.”

“What? Did it kill him?”

“It might have, had it not been for one of Mirkwood’s captains, Tauriel. She recognized the symptoms and knew what to do.”

“He was lucky she was there.”

“Indeed.”

She shifted, leaning on one elbow as she smiled up at him. “I cannot picture you riding in a barrel, though. Especially downriver.”

“Had I not been there, I’d agree with you. But that was how we escaped imprisonment. We paid Bard to smuggle us into Esgaroth and then—” He cut himself off abruptly, turning back toward the woods. “Well, you know the rest.”

“I do,” she moved closer to him, “but you can speak of it, if you wish. I always wondered how you managed to get into Esgaroth without the Master knowing.”

“The same barrels. Only Bard hid us beneath pounds upon pounds of fish.”

“Ew.” Her nose wrinkled at the image. “That must have smelled awful.”

“Awful is not the word for it. But, we survived.” He went quiet again, just staring off into the woods.

“Thorin?”

“What?”

“Were you lying at the time? When you promised to share the wealth of Erebor with us?”

He didn't say anything for a long time, but looked from the woods, to her, and back again as the silence stretched between them. Then, he drew in a deep breath, and exhaled in a long, slow sigh. “Yes.”

She thought as much but it still stung to hear him admit it. Before she could say anything, though, he went on. “I would have promised anything if it meant convincing the Master to aid us. My quest meant that much to me, to my people.”

He turned to her then, his eyes serious and dark, “But know this, it was never my intention to bring harm to anyone in Esgaroth. We tried to kill the beast ourselves. Tried to drown him in the gold he so coveted. But we failed and for that, I can never be sorry enough.”

She straightened up. “We should go to breakfast.”

“Nina,” he caught her by the arm as she pushed away from the railing, “you must know I mean every word.”

“I do, Thorin.” She looked up at him and nodded.

“Good. And I hope one day you’ll be able to forgive me as well.”

“I’m not angry with you. I’ve made my peace with what happened that night and I’ve gone on. You should as well.” Without thinking, she reached up to lay her hand against his solid shoulder. “But, you should also be careful. There is still a bounty out on you, you know. It did not die with Azog.”

His eyes widened, then sharply narrowed. “How did you know about that?”

“I overhead two men discussing it at a tavern in Bree. Why do you think I offered my assistance to you?” She glanced down at the huge hand still on her arm, and then met his gaze once more. “I don't know why he hunted you, but someone will look to collect on it. From what I understand, he offered a substantial amount so…”

“So… you were there… in the clearing… intentionally?”

She nodded, although her heart sped up as she waited for him to ask which side she was on, protecting him or collecting on the price on his head. “I was. I tracked you from Dunning. I tend to blend with my surroundings when I wish to, and no one pays what they think is a boy any mind, so I could slip through crowds and the like with ease.”

But apparently the thought never crossed his mind, for all he said was, “You followed me?”

“I followed you. I thought about approaching you at the Grey Bear, but then had a bit of a to-do with the owner and by the time I freed myself from it, you were gone.”

“A to-do?”

She nodded. It almost frightened her, how easily the lies rolled from her tongue. At one point, she’d have burned with shame for lying on so grand a scale, but at the same time, she couldn’t very well tell him to truth, either. “He thought I was skipping out on my tab. I just wanted to catch up to you and offer my service and he didn't want to hear that, so…”

He smiled. “You are full of surprises, do you know that?”

“I have my moments, I suppose.”

A soft laugh bubbled to his lips, his eyes going from sapphire to cobalt once more. “I imagine you do, Nina.”

He said it softly, the air between them crackling with a mysterious electricity. The fingers on her arm tightened. He pulled her closer. He bent to her.

His lips were warm and soft as they captured hers, the coarse hair of his beard tickling against her skin. He released her arm to slip his about her waist, to the small of her back, and tightened to pull her flush against him. His body was every bit as solid as it appeared, heat rising from him to sink into her as his mouth moved slowly against hers.

One hand slid up, along her back, into her hair, where he dislodged several pins. Her eyes closed as he bent her back, his lips parting, the tip of his tongue brushed her lips and the sensation had her snapping open her eyes, and she abruptly pulled away from him.

Guilt twisted her insides at the confusion in his eyes. “Have I overstepped?” He let out a mirthless chuckle. “No, forget I asked that. Of course I’ve overstepped. And for that, I truly apologize.”

“Please don’t,” she told him, catching his hands in hers. “You didn’t overstep. But—”

She stopped, pressing her lips together. She’d been about to tell him the true reason why she was there, why she was in that clearing, but the words died on her lips. He would be furious and she would not fault him in the least.

And truly, the only thing she wanted was to fall into his arms, to lose herself in his kiss, to fall into his arms and lose herself in him. Forever, if that was even possible.

If only it was.

“But what?”

She drew in a deep breath. “But… it would be a mistake for either of us to let anything happen, for either of us to even think anything could happen. A terrible mistake.”

She braced herself for his anger, just as she had for any of the boys of Esgaroth who thought to try to steal a kiss from her, only to find her shoving them away from her. More often than not, the boy in question blamed her for not allowing him to take liberties, although she made herself perfectly clear what would happen if any did.

But there was no anger, just a sense of resignation about him as he slowly exhaled and nodded. “As you wish.”

“We should just go and get breakfast and pretend this never happened.”

“Again, as you wish.”

A heaviness settled about her. “On second thought, I’m not very hungry. Do go on though, and eat.”

“Nina—”

“Please. Just—just go.”

Darkness slid through his eyes. “Very well. Remember what I said about this place. Do not do anything foolish.”

“I will. You needn’t worry.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

With that, he turned and without another word, resumed his stride toward the dining hall. She stood there, rooted to her spot, and just watched him until he rounded a bend and she could no longer see him. Then, she turned back to the rail, bending to rest her forearms on it, just as he had only minutes earlier, and let her eyes close as her shoulders slumped.

How had this happened? It was all so simple. Find Thorin Oakenshield, end his life, collect the bounty from Tarog. That was it. That was all she had to do.

Curse it all, why had it gotten so blasted complicated?

Because he was not the monster she’d built him up to be in her mind. He was no more that monster than she was. He was actually the opposite—a fair-minded, competent leader who put his people before himself. He’d learned from his grievous mistake and was trying to do right.

He no longer deserved her anger, for he truly regretted what he’d done. She saw that for herself. Heard it for herself in his voice and his words.

So now what?

Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Crying would solve nothing. It was a waste of time and energy and she had other things with which with to concern herself and a tryst with Thorin Oakenshield was not one of them.

There was still plenty of ground between Mirkwood and the Long Lake. She would do what she set out to do and be done with it. Then she would collect her money, find somewhere she hadn’t been before, and begin anew there.

But, even as she made her decision, she had the feeling she was about to make the worst mistake of her life.

#Richard Armitage #AU #The Hobbit #Thorin Fic #Thorin Oakenshield #Is it hot in here?#Hobbit Fic #Romance #Hobbit Fanfic #Thorin x OC #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

22 notes · View notes

heyitsjustmoi · 2 months ago

Text

First in Bag End

The path had led him through the green, rolling hills of the Shire, with its freshly tilled earth, gardens teeming with life, and flower boxes brimming from windowsills. He took it all in, but found it difficult to describe the peace and tranquility of this land—an unfamiliar feeling for one who had seen much strife.

He had never heard of the Shire, not by name nor by reputation, and upon his arrival, the lush landscape overwhelmed him. It was unexpected, this calm, this peacefulness—a far cry from the dark and sorrowful halls of the Blue Mountains.

A small, elderly hobbit, burdened by a sack of rice, stumbled near him. Thorin reached out instinctively, steadying the sack with ease.

"Thank ye, laddie!" the hobbit exclaimed, his weathered face lighting up with gratitude.

Thorin held the sack a moment longer. "Where shall I take this for you?" His voice held a quiet uncertainty, for his garb and stature drew the eyes of curious onlookers. He was an outsider here, and the gaze of the Shirefolk upon him felt both curious and judgmental.

"Oh, there's no need, none at all! I can manage from here," the old hobbit replied, tipping his hat in thanks before reclaiming the sack with a slight bow.

With a sigh, Thorin breathed in the fresh air. Gandalf said I would know Bag End when I saw it, he mused, his eyes drifting to the peculiar homes of the hobbits—each one built under the hills, their round doors set like jewels in the earth. It amused him to think of the dirt that must settle within, though the people themselves appeared anything but unkempt.

One door in particular caught his attention: a perfectly round green door with a brass knob set squarely in its center. He paused momentarily before moving on, continuing his search through the village. His feet carried him toward the market, where laughter and lighthearted chatter filled the air. The spirits of the Shirefolk were infectious, and Thorin felt a flicker of something he had long since buried—hope.

Amidst the market's bustling energy, a voice caught his ear. "Now, I don't suppose you've seen a Wizard lurking about?" The voice was that of a finely dressed hobbit, polished and perhaps a touch arrogant in his manner.

"A tall fellow? Long, gray beard? Pointy hat?" the farmer replied, shaking his head. "Can't say I have."

Before the conversation could unfold further, the hobbit rushed off, leaving Thorin to ponder. A Wizard… Could this be the one Gandalf mentioned? He followed the hobbit at a distance, careful to remain unnoticed, for he had no desire to make a poor impression on the fourteenth member of their company.

Soon, Thorin found himself standing before the same round green door he had passed earlier. As he examined it closely, he noticed a symbol etched discreetly upon its surface. He nearly groaned aloud—he had walked right by the very place he sought. So much for my directional sense.

He watched as the hobbit entered the house, and Thorin, unsure of his next move, sat quietly on a small bench nearby. For a moment, he allowed himself to breathe in the stillness, the tranquility of this place. A fleeting thought crossed his mind—could he one day live in such peace? Perhaps, when Erebor was reclaimed and his crown secured, he might retire to a small home here, far from the weight of the throne. The idea brought a rare smile to his face.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the Shire, Thorin rose and approached the door. He knocked firmly, and after a moment, it creaked open to reveal a hobbit, staring up at him with wide, startled eyes.

"Uh—who—"

"Thorin Oakenshield," he introduced himself with a small nod. "And you must be the hobbit."

The hobbit blinked in confusion. "Hobbit? Well, yes, I am indeed a hobbit, but... do we know each other?"

"Not yet," Thorin replied with a faint smirk. "You haven’t given me your name."

"Ah, yes! Bilbo Baggins," the hobbit replied, offering his hand hesitantly. Thorin took it, his grip firm.

"Now we know each other," Thorin said. "May I come in?"

Bilbo stepped aside, still clearly flustered. "Well, I suppose so, though I must apologize—I’m not expecting any visitors, and my dinner preparations—"

Thorin stepped inside, shedding his cloak and handing it to Bilbo. The hobbit took it, unsure of where to place it, before hanging it on a nearby peg. Thorin surveyed the hobbit-hole, his first impression upended. Despite being under a hill, the walls were not earthy, but lined with polished wood, the air warm and inviting. It felt... homely.

"You have a fine home, Master Baggins," Thorin said, genuinely pleased.

Bilbo, still a bit taken aback, smiled faintly. "Thank you."

"Where’s your kitchen? I might lend a hand."

Bilbo hurried after him, protesting. "No, no, you’re a guest—uninvited, perhaps, but still a guest!"

Thorin ignored the remark, already inspecting the small kitchen. "You’ll want to prepare more than this, Master Baggins. There will be more guests later this night."

Bilbo’s eyebrows shot up, his voice rising in pitch. “More guests? Who—? Wait! Wait! That’s the pantry!”

Thorin, undeterred, had already begun rummaging through the pantry, pulling out supplies with the practiced ease of a man accustomed to hard work. “Bombur alone could devour half this larder, so you might want to prepare more than this block of cheese.” He placed items on the table. “I’m no master chef, but I can manage slicing and dicing.”

Bilbo stood frozen for a moment, mouth agape, before throwing his hands up in resignation. “Fine! Fine! I suppose you're right.” With a deep breath, he took charge of his kitchen once more, pointing Thorin toward a cutting board and handing him a knife. “Slice these vegetables—thinly, mind you—and mind the pots while I prepare the bread.”

Thorin obeyed, a rare smile playing at the edges of his lips. There was something oddly pleasant about the hobbit’s kitchen, about Bilbo himself, in fact. For the first time in years, Thorin felt the weight on his shoulders lift, if only for a fleeting moment. He worked with surprising ease, the rhythm of the kitchen a welcome distraction from darker thoughts of dragons and distant mountains.

As they worked, Bilbo’s flustered chatter filled the room, though Thorin found it rather amusing.

“What is this even about?” Bilbo finally asked, stirring one of the simmering pots. “I’m preparing a meal for a gathering I know nothing of, and for strangers, no less! Forgive me, but I barely know you, Mister Oakenshield!”

Thorin chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I take it Gandalf neglected to inform you.”

“Gandalf?” Bilbo exclaimed, nearly spilling the soup. “That old wizard! He did say something about an ‘adventure’ this morning, which I very clearly declined.”

“Declined?” Thorin’s brow arched in surprise.

“Yes, declined! I don’t imagine anyone west of Bree has much use for adventures. Certainly not me! Do I look like the sort to go gallivanting off into danger?”

Thorin looked him over appraisingly, eyes twinkling with mirth. “No, if I’m being honest, you look more like a grocer.”

“Well, that wasn’t very nice,” Bilbo muttered, though he couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t look like a grocer! I could be an adventurer if I wished. Did you know that my great-great-great-great-uncle Bullroarer Took was so large, he could ride a real horse?”

“Is that so?” Thorin indulged him.

“Yes! In the Battle of Green Fields, he charged the goblin ranks, swinging his club with such might that he knocked the Goblin-king’s head clean off! It sailed a hundred yards and landed down a rabbit hole, and thus the battle was won, and the game of golf invented at the same time!”

Bilbo’s pride in the tale was evident, and Thorin couldn’t help but smile, amused by the hobbit’s sudden enthusiasm for adventure—despite his earlier protests.

“Here, taste this,” Bilbo said, interrupting Thorin’s thoughts as he offered a spoonful of the soup.

Thorin leaned in, tasting the broth, and hummed appreciatively. “That is fine soup, Master Baggins.”

“Family recipe,” Bilbo said, clearly pleased with himself.

As the preparations continued, Bilbo busied himself with more tales, and Thorin, to his own surprise, found that he enjoyed listening. It was peaceful, listening to the hobbit’s stories of a life so far removed from his own. Here in this little kitchen, with the warmth of the fire and the simple task of preparing a meal, Thorin felt a rare contentment.

At last, when the table was set and the food prepared, Thorin turned to Bilbo, his tone more serious. “Master Baggins,” he began, startling the hobbit from his task, “I would tell you my story now.”

Bilbo blinked, then nodded, taking a seat as Thorin gestured for him to do so. Thorin sat opposite him, the flickering firelight casting long shadows across the room.

With a deep breath, Thorin recounted the tale of Erebor—of the dragon Smaug, of the desolation wrought upon his people, and of the long, bitter years spent in exile. As he spoke, he watched Bilbo’s face change, amusement giving way to concern, and finally, fear. He couldn’t fault the hobbit for his reaction; it was a story filled with loss and peril.

“I cannot guarantee your safety,” Thorin admitted solemnly, his voice low. “Nor will I be responsible for your fate. But if you are to be what Gandalf believes you can be, we will need your help to reclaim what was stolen from us—our home.”

For a long moment, Bilbo was silent, his small frame hunched under an invisible weight. Thorin could almost see the thoughts turning in his head, the quiet struggle within him. Though they had only just met, Thorin found himself liking the hobbit. He was unsure yet whether he could trust him fully, but if they had met under different circumstances, Thorin thought he might have enjoyed getting to know Bilbo better. Perhaps, in time, they could even have been friends.

“I—I don’t know,” Bilbo stammered at last, his voice shaky. “I’ve never left this place, not once.”

Thorin nodded, thoughtful. He understood the appeal of the Shire, its charm, its tranquility. He even envied it. For all his efforts to make the Blue Mountains his home, they had never truly felt like one. And though Erebor was his birthright, the truth was he no longer knew if it would ever feel like home again.

“At least hear the others out when they arrive,” Thorin said, offering a small smile. “I will not hold you to anything if you choose to decline.”

When Bilbo remained silent, Thorin found himself continuing, his voice tinged with a longing he didn’t quite understand. "But in other circumstances, Master Baggins, I would love nothing more than to sit here, share a cup of tea, and listen to your tales for hours on end.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment, the doorbell rang. Both hobbit and dwarf turned to the door.

“They’re here,” Thorin said, standing from the table. He crossed the room and opened the door to greet his company, his expression turning more serious.

As the others filed in, filling the quiet of the place with noise and movement, Thorin found himself wishing for a little more time—just a bit longer with Bilbo, in the peace of his home. But the road ahead called him, with all its dangers and responsibilities. Such peace, he knew, was too much to hope for.

---

So this was inspired by my own musing. Once I have more ideas, I'll probably turn this one into multiple chapters. But for now, I hope you enjoyed this one! ---

Now posted in ao3 as well! xoxo

#bagginshield #the hobbit #fanfic i wrote

16 notes · View notes