#grór

[mrkida-art]

Day 4: Crown

Thrór became the King of Ered Mithrin after his father King Dáin and his younger brother Frór were lost to the cold drakes

Prompt list below:

[milesasinmorales]

Me when I think about how Thorin was the eldest of three siblings (Dís and Frerin) one of which died horrifically at a young age (Frerin, age 42). About how Thror was also the eldest of three siblings (Frór and Grór) one of which who also died horrifically at a young (Frór, age 37). About how they both had to step up to be king when they were still so young because their fathers died in battle. About how both of them lost their homes to dragons. About how the ransacking of Ered Mithrin was probably just so much worse than the ransacking of Erebor because it lasted for 20 years. Thinking about how Ered Mithrin was attacked by the cold drakes so instead of dying by dragonfire all those dwarves died by tooth and claw. About how Thrór (and Grór) both had to watch their brother and father be barbarically torn apart. About how Thrór then had to see his greatest accomplishment, Erebor, fall to dragonfire. About how Thrór and Thorin were both SO MUCH MORE than the gold sickness…

[weheartstims]

Grór (LOTR) with dwarf-themed stims for @jazz-fr0g!

💎|🪨|💎 🪨|💎|🪨 💎|🪨|💎

[bluepickle36]

The Real Story Of Azog

(because the hobbit movies screwed it up)

sourced from appendix a of return of the king

Years after the dwarves were driven out of the Lonely Mountain, Thrór (the grandfather of Thorin) gave to Thráin (his son) his Ring (the last of the Seven Rings given to the dwarves) and went away with a single companion, named Nár.

Thrór and Nár traveled to Moria and found the Gate open. Nár begged Thrór to be careful but Thrór disregarded him and walked "proudly in as an heir that returns." Nár hid nearby for many days waiting for him, but he didn't come back. One day Nár heard a "loud shout and the blare of a horn.... A body was flung out on the steps." Nár, afraid that it was Thrór, "began to creep near". A voice called from within the Gate, telling Nár that there was no need to be afraid; the Orcs wouldn't harm him, as they needed him to carry a message.

The body was indeed the corpse of Thrór. As Nár knelt beside it, he heard the Orcs laughing. The voice spoke again, warning that any other dwarves who snuck into Moria would be subject to the same treatment. This was the message Nár was to carry back to Thráin. The voice continued, "'If his family wish to know who is now king here, the name is written on his face. I wrote it! I killed him! I am the master!'"

The name branded on Thrór's brow was AZOG.

Nár went back to Thráin and told him what had happened. Thráin sent messengers north, east, and west, summoning the Dwarves to take their revenge for Thrór's death, but it was three years before they were fully mustered.

The Dwarves then went to war against the Orcs, "[hunting] for Azog in every den under mountain." Eventually they drove all the Orcs to Moria. "Out of the gates [of Moria] poured a multitude of Orcs that had been held back by Azog for the last need." The Orcs outnumbered the Dwarves and had the advantage of the higher ground. The Dwarves suffered great losses.

Another force of Dwarves arrived "late and fresh to the field" and drove through the Orcs to the gates of Moria, crying out Azog's name as they went. The leader of this force, Náin, challenged Azog.

"Thereupon Azog came forth, and he was a great Orc with a huge iron-clad head, and yet agile and strong." Azog fought with Náin and killed him. Azog lifted his voice in a cry of triumph, but when he looked up he saw his forces routed by the Dwarves.

Azog "fled back towards the Gate". Dàin Ironfoot chased him, caught him on the very threshold of the Gate, and cut off his head.

The Dwarves put the head of Azog on a stake.

[little-hornetss]

one of the bigger alters ordered little stuff for our birthday!! it just got here today! lookit lookit!

!!!!

The raccoon is now names freddie mercury

Look how big mr freddie is!

Ah yes, meet me AND MY CHILD /ref

Thankies miss Hel!!!

~ Grór

[murderhornetss]

Personal intro time!

Sorry in advance, I'm really bad at this shit shdhsbss

╰┈➤ basics

Name: Grór, son of Dáin I

Age: I am 112!

Pronouns:

⇝ she/her/her/hers/herself

⇝ he/him/his/his/himself

⇝ they/them/their/theirs/themself

╰┈➤ source shit

Source: Tolkien + @/mrkida-art sjdbsbsb

Source talk: Sure!

Sourcemates: FUCK YEAH interact!! /gen

Doubles: You may interact haha :]

╰┈➤ boundaries

touch: sure! at least if we're friends :]

joking insults: friends, family, and partners only :)

compliments: always appreciated!

nicknames: Sure!

pet names: if we're friends, it's fine ^^

flirting: /p sure, /r no thanks

╰┈➤ likes

⇝ my kids <3

⇝ my dumbass brothers <3

⇝ all of my family, really <3

⇝ SURF ROCKKKK 🤘

⇝ "I'm A Believer" by The Monkees is my favorite song

╰┈➤ dislikes

⇝ getting /neg source memories and flashbacks (duh)

⇝ large fires-

⇝ you hurt my family, i come for your kneecaps <3 /legally a joke

⇝ vegetables >:þ ick

⇝ well not just vegetables as a whole, I like potatoes. I just don't like greens

Hope this was somewhat adequate! XD

[mrkida-art]

ADSHJADSHJDASHJFADSYTGHAS

I LOVE THIS!!! Thank you so much it really made my week ;u;

Blood-bond For @mrkida-art, and their inspired love of the Grey Mountains Crew.

Young Grór considers what it is to have a friend. Prince used as a gender-neutral term for dwarven royalty.

—

“There! Over there!” Grór, whose eyes had been slowly drifting shut, staggered to her feet and loped over to Ixil. The Stiffbeard had piss-poor eyesight; though a swing from their hammer could crush an auroch in twain, Grór still didn’t understand the point of putting him on watch duty. “No,” the dwarf prince intoned slowly, “that looks to be some kind of avalanche on a distant peak.” Ixil puffed out his chest and arched his eyebrow at the dwarrowdam. “Well — looked like it could have been a drake!” Grór shot him a withering stare. “Everything looks like a drake to you. Like that time you called out the guards from their dinner time because you spotted a very large eagle?” Ixil bumped Grór with his hip and the prince crashed into the side of the guard-tower wall. She gave as good as she got, though, and kneed her companion in the shin with the steel toe of her boot. “It was a very large eagle,” Ixil grumbled, wiping mud from his leg and staring at the ground.

At least Grór was awake now. The chill wind blew down her collar and tousled her long, auburn hair, tossing the thick waves beyond her shoulders. She picked up her axe and leaned heavily against it, eyes streaming with the cold as she stared outwards. Nothing ever happened here. Character building, King Dáin said it was. There was no nobler cause than to watch the endless stretch of grey, snow-capped mountains. Remember Scatha, the worm? Remember how the foul beast almost took the dwarves unawares? They’re breeding like rabbits, faster than our worm-hunters can flush them out. Two of them sacked Ugzarak less than a year afore now, and the rest and coming for us. Are you marking my words, Grór? She could hear her father’s words to her now, rattling around inside her head. They had all been on high alert since one of the Stiffbeard’s holds, the northernmost hall in the lonely outcrop of Ugzarak, on the edge of the Red Mountains, had been waylaid by two particularly nasty worms. More than a thousand had managed to flee, some of them picked off by cold and hunger, but a good many refugees came to settle in Ered Mithrin.

She remembered it as though it had only happened a month ago. Battered and weary dwarves, huddling around large fires which had been constructed deep in the mustering halls of the Grey Mountains, tended to their sick and vulnerable. It was the only respite they’d had for weeks, and the king had gone to each family in turn to ask of their welfare. Grór had hung back in the shadows, watching him silently. Prince Head-in-the-clouds Frór and Thrór called her. Bundushathûr, but less majestic and more scatterbrained than the lofty sacred peak. But Grór was one to watch, and study, and notice the subtleties of a dwarf’s interaction. It wasn’t that her head was in the clouds, but it was often elsewhere. She had noticed as her father lay a caring hand on a stranger’s yak-pelt covered back, to comfort shaking shoulders as they wept for their destroyed homeland. How he lifted an elderly dwarf, who was covered in blackened frostbite, from a makeshift bier and carried them to a soft bed. He had spent a long time tending to the dwarf, whose family had died along the way. Tender, calloused hands bandaged wounds, and the king shook his head when his aides called for him to leave. No — the doors of Thikil-gundu are always open for those in need. What am I, if not the host of this great house? Grór had watched her father until uncle Borin had scolded her for slacking. “Prince Head-in-the-clouds, at least be of use and fetch more bandages!”

Grór studied Ixil. He was squinting into the sunlight again, his raven-dark heavily braided hair wrapped around his head into elaborate patterns, decorated with an assortment of multi-coloured sparkling beads. His face was proud and calm, and he seemed to not have a care in the world, a strange tune rumbling from between his lips as he hummed in vague, broken notes. He had been one of those bruised, cold, tired dwarves who had fled on the back of sledges into the bitter winter. He’d lost family, watched friends die. And how had she helped? Mocked his eyesight and kicked him in the leg? Is that what her father would have done? Suddenly, she felt guilty.

“Hey — you,” she said awkwardly, sidling up next to him. Ixil smiled and covered his forehead with a hand almost as broad as hers, peering over against the sharp sunlight. “What?” What did she want to say? What could she possibly say? Anything that came into her head sounded too contrite. Too insincere. “I like you. I mean I… I’ve never really… except my brothers. But they’re not like you. It’s good to have a friend to talk to. Being on watch can get boring, I mean—” That definitely wasn’t what she’d wanted to say. Horrifically, she felt blood creeping into her cheeks and her eyes widen in embarrassment. She’d meant to tell Ixil that it was good to have him here, as a friend, and that she was pleased he made it to the stronghold after such a disaster. That she would be there for him and his people when he needed her. That she was a proud daughter of Durin’s Folk, and that she kept her oaths. Ixil smiled widely and shuffled a little closer. The wind was screaming at both of them, forcing them to take a step back under the tower roof and press in tighter. He laid his hand against her shoulder and squeezed it. “It is good to have you to watch with, as well. I may mistake everything I see for a dragon, but know that I’ll be ready to fight one, if one comes. You Longbeards took me in. I vow to defend your home until I lose my legs or my breath doing so.”

It took Grór a while to find her tongue after that. In the short time they had known one another, she’d discovered that Ixil was an uncompromising sparring partner and appreciated rude jokes at the mess-table as much as she did. But she was taken aback by the gravity of his words, as though her friend had suddenly grown a new face that she was noticing for the first time. She thrust her arm forwards and found his hand with hers. Their fingers were numb, but they interlocked them clumsily. “Grór, daughter of King Dáin, first of his Name, at your service.” “Ixil, son of Izbar, at yours and your family’s.” He didn’t look away. A fiery intensity, a resoluteness, smoldered deep in his eyes as Grór held his fingers so tightly she thought his hand would snap. Then they parted. Something between them had changed, or maybe something inside her had shifted forever. “I will still turn you into mulch when we next wrestle,” Ixil said lightly. Grór’s eyes narrowed at the wicked grin spreading across his face. “How much do you want to bet on that, Skinny-Arm of the Stiffbeard Clan?”

Perhaps some things would stay the same between them, after all.

[sansukhcomic]

Who are the dwarves asking Thorin about their sons in the most recent pages? Inquisitive minds want to know

The dwarves pictured come from this passage of chapter two (edited for breviety):

His grandfather's dear friend, the stoic and dependable Nár (who had braved Moria for love of Thrór)... His old Great-Uncle Grór, first Lord of the Iron Hills...His Great-grandfather Dáin the first, slain by a cold-drake before Thorin's birth, grinned at him from ear to ear... His cousins Náin and Fundin, both Burned Dwarves of Azanulbizar, ...His old cousin Farin, father to Fundin and Gróin, was quiet and calm...Gróin was the worst of the lot, however.

[mrkida-art]

Grór is flirty

[milesasinmorales]

Me crying on my knees: please I beg of you, don’t forget the dwarves that came before Gimli, and Thorin and his company. Please talk about Thrór, Grór, and Frór more! Please please give the dwarves the history jrrt never did! Dwarves are actually super awesome and cool and have so much potential for their cultures because we were given barely anything!! Not to mention the petty dwarves!!!!!!!

[sotwk]

Historical Event in the SotWK AU:

The (Non)Involvement of Thranduil in the Sack of Erebor

Could Thranduil have helped kill Smaug and save Erebor?

Disclaimer: The content in this post is mostly headcanon created for the SotWK AU, founded on canon details from the books and movies.

Context: Timeline of Thranduil's History in the Third Age

c. TA 1000-2000 - Thranduil, his family, and their people spend one thousand years fighting and enduring against the rise of Dol Guldur and the darkness and evil creatures that have infested and overrun the southern regions of Greenwood the Great.

Alas, by TA 2000:

Nearly all the woodlands south of the Old Forest Road had been abandoned.

The Woodland Realm's population had been reduced to nearly half of the great number it reached during the Golden Age of Thranduil's rule.

Many Silvans were killed by the onslaught of spiders, orcs, and other dark creatures or poisoned by the sick forest itself (air, water, food). A few even faded from grief and despair, which never before happened to the resilient Silvans.

The Silvans' famously high birthing rate dropped to nearly zero, leading to a "lost generation" and fears of gradual extinction.

TA 2063 - Crown Prince Mirion dies in direct combat against the Necromancer, resulting in Thranduil's vengeful razing of the fortress (SotWK HC), and the Council of the Wise's investigation (through Gandalf), all of which forces Sauron to abandon Dol Guldur. This begins the period known as the Watchful Peace. 

During the 400 years of the Watchful Peace, the Silvans regain hope and courage, and with that, their ability and desire to have children again.

TA 2210 - Thorin I abandons Erebor to join his kin in the Grey Mountains in TA 2210. The Lonely Mountain is abandoned for three-hundred and eighty years. 

TA 2460 - The Watchful Peace ends. Sauron returns with increased strength to Dol Guldur.

TA 2509 - Princess Itarildë’s mother, Nimeithel (oc), dies trying to defend her cousin Celebrían from the Orcs. Lady Celebrían sails to the Undying Lands the following year, and Queen Maereth is devastated by the loss of her two dearest friends.

TA 2589 - When their halls in the Grey Mountains come under attack by Cold-drakes, Prince Arvellas dies attempting to aid the Dwarves (defying his father's orders for the only time in his life). Dáin I and younger brother Frór are both slain, and Thrór inherits the kingship.

TA 2590 - King Thrór returns to Erebor with the Arkenstone to re-establish the Kingdom under the Mountain. Thrór's younger brother Grór leads others to the Iron Hills.

TA 2601 - Prince Turhir leaves Mirkwood, unable to cope with the trauma and guilt over his brothers' deaths. (Further details withheld to avoid fic spoilers.) His departure strains Thranduil and Maereth's marriage in a way it has never suffered before.

TA 2746 - Thorin (Oakenshield) is born in Erebor. Maereth sends gifts to honor the birth of the new prince, in an attempt to heal the friendship with the House of Durin that was broken after Arvellas's death. The gifts are accepted, but the rekindled friendship remains tenuous, especially since Thranduil has lost his desire to remain allies with the Dwarves he holds responsible for Arvellas's death.

TA 2760 - The continuing strain on their marriage forces Maereth and Thranduil to agree they need time apart. Maereth leaves Mirkwood to reside in Imladris for several years. (This is the only separation they have in the 2,900 years of their marriage.)

TA 2765 - Thranduil (trying to prove to his willingness for peace with the Dwarves again, as Maereth wants of him) commissions the jewel-smiths of Erebor to make a necklace from the White Gems of Lasgalen. However, when he comes to claim the finished necklace, he is turned away by Thrór, who (under the influence of dragon-sickness) claims that the gems were ill-begotten treasure from Khazad-dûm, and belonged to the Durins by birthright. Thranduil holds in his anger at the insult and does not press the matter, not wishing to completely sever the alliance that means so much to his wife.

TA 2770 - Smaug lays waste to the town of Dale and captures Erebor with all of its treasure.

tldr: Thranduil was not at his best when Smaug came to attack Erebor. He had many problems of his own, and he had very legitimate grievances against Thrór and his kin.

Unfortunately, Thrór was never forthcoming with his grandson, Thorin, about the deep history between the Durins and Thranduil's family, so as far as Thorin and his people believed, the Elvenking and his family just "lacked all honor". Nothing could have been further from the truth.

How did Thranduil react upon hearing of the attack?

The Elvenqueen was still in Imladris during the attack, and was therefore not present to give Thranduil council. Because of their separation, Maereth's mind was closed off to Thranduil's, and so she could not be reached through ósanwe. The younger princes, Gelir and Legolas, lacked the ability to telepathically communicate across that great a distance.

It was Gelir and Legolas who pushed their father to ride out with their army to help the Dwarves. Even though the bitterness of Arvellas's death still remained, Thranduil heeded his sons.

They had a solid plan to kill Smaug.

Thranduil had fought against fire-breathing dragons during the War of Wrath, and he knew what it would take to kill one: nothing short of a hero's self-sacrifice.

There was one weapon in Mirkwood that was surely powerful enough to pierce dragon hide and flesh: the great broadsword (or claymore) of the late Crown Prince Mirion.

Mirion's sword was forged by the prince himself (he was the best bladesmith in the realm), and was made from a special steel sourced from Khazad-dûm centuries before its fall. (Thranduil's sword was made from this same steel, which was also crafted by Mirion and given to his father as a gift.)

The sword was so large and heavy, only three people were known to be able to wield it: Mirion, Thranduil, and Turhir. Only Mirion had the strength and sufficient practice to wield it single-handed when needed.

Therefore, any attack using the sword would have to be carried out by the Elvenking himself.

For reference, Mirion's broadsword is about as massive as "Ice", Ned Stark's Valyrian sword from Game of Thrones.

In order to defeat Smaug, Thranduil's strategy would have been to attack the dragon himself with the sword. Gelir, Legolas, and the rest of his army would provide enough diversion to allow the Elvenking to get close without being burned by dragonfire.

What actually happened during the attack?

Thranduil was gripped by indecision and did not act as soon as he received the news of Smaug's descent. He already knew that any action they take against the dragon would mean loss of life for his people, and that made him hesitate, which caused some delay.

But he DID gather his army, his last two sons (who refused to be left behind), and marched out with the intention of engaging.

However, once Thranduil saw with his own eyes he fiery wrath of Smaug and the destruction he was capable of, and sensed the dragon's greed and evilness, the reality of the situation and the weight of old memories crashed down on him full force.

He remembered how he almost died from dragonfire, how painful those burns were, and how long it took him to recover from the physical and emotional scars. (And he only survived due to Valinor-level healing!) Did he want his soldiers to suffer the same, even if they survived?

He remembered that he had already lost one son (Arvellas) to dragons, who gave his life to help these same Dwarves, and received little gratitude for it in return. Was he ready to risk his last two sons?

And lastly, Thranduil realized, with almost full certainly, that killing Smaug would cost him his life. Was he ready to leave his wife a widow, his sons fatherless, and grandson saddled with the burden of kingship in such dark times?

The answer to all those questions was NO. So he made the difficult decision to turn back.

Thranduil's real mistake (that you can fault him for. Maybe.)

An argument could be made that even if Thranduil didn't want to directly engage with Smaug, he could still have sent his army to shield the Dwarves of Erebor and the people of Dale and help them get to safety. Less civilian lives could have been lost.

They didn't have to completely turn around and go home. They could have still tried to to something--as his sons (especially Gelir) would argue later on.

However, at that point, Thranduil choked on his reluctance to risk anything any further, after everything his family and kingdom had already been through. His sons were especially chomping at the bit to slay the dragon, and things could have easily gotten out of hand if they stepped into the same field as Smaug.

By retreating completely, Thranduil eliminated all risk.

And yes, the bitterness of Thrór's treatment (those damn jewels), and the way Arvellas's death was handled (the Durins never properly honored the prince's sacrifice) still lingered. It certainly factored in the decision to (selfishly?) leave the Dwarves to their fate.

Thranduil HAD warned Thrór "of what his greed would summon", especially after the fatal attack of the cold-drakes on the Grey Mountains. And Thrór certainly did not listen.

What was fair, then? How much responsibility still fell on Thranduil to help the Durins, given all these facts?

Aid was delivered in the aftermath; but the Dwarves considered it "too little, too late".

When Smaug had finally locked himself up in Erebor with his precious treasure, Thranduil did send out aid to the refugees of both Erebor and Dale. When Elvenqueen Maereth finally returned from Imladris, she spearheaded this effort.

Mind you, it's not like Mirkwood was swimming in excess resources at this time. But they still gave whatever they could to the thousands displaced, including medical aid, food and clothing, and even temporary shelter.

The men of Dale accepted the aid and help in finding new dwellings, including resettling in Esgaroth.

The Dwarves accepted the Elves' aid, but only to some extent.

Thrór wanted Thranduil to prove his allegiance by helping them to force Smaug out of the mountain, which of course Thranduil flatly refused to do.

The proud and angry Durins therefore declared him and his people faithless, and chose to move south to Dunland, instead of accepting Maereth's offer to help them rebuild near Mirkwood.

The Elvenqueen's final attempt to reconcile her family and people with the House of Durin would be during the War of the Dwarves and Orcs (TA 2793). However, her tragic death only worsened the divide between Thranduil and the House of Durin; we see this in Thorin's anger during his capture in the events of The Hobbit.

It all ends happily.

Healing and reconciliation would finally be achieved a century and a half later, during the Battle of Five Armies (TA 2941), where the Elves of Mirkwood play a role in saving the lives of King Thorin and his nephews. Once Erebor is reclaimed by the Durins, the two kingdoms become fierce allies and remain so for the rest of their histories.

(Yes, the SotWK AU is proud to be a Durins Live AU. &lt;3 )

This HC post was written in response to an Anonymous request for a "Family Historical Event" submitted back in July 2023.

For more Thranduil/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist

Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @acornsandoaktrees @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @conversacomsmaug @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @fizzyxcustard @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @quickslvxrr @spacecluster @stormchaser819 @talkdifferently6 @tamryniel @tamurilofrivendell

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

Fanfiction Masterlist

Fanfiction Request Guidelines

[ironfoot-mothafocka]

Blood-bond For @mrkida-art, and their inspired love of the Grey Mountains Crew.

Young Grór considers what it is to have a friend. Prince used as a gender-neutral term for dwarven royalty.

—

“There! Over there!” Grór, whose eyes had been slowly drifting shut, staggered to her feet and loped over to Ixil. The Stiffbeard had piss-poor eyesight; though a swing from their hammer could crush an auroch in twain, Grór still didn’t understand the point of putting him on watch duty. “No,” the dwarf prince intoned slowly, “that looks to be some kind of avalanche on a distant peak.” Ixil puffed out his chest and arched his eyebrow at the dwarrowdam. “Well — looked like it could have been a drake!” Grór shot him a withering stare. “Everything looks like a drake to you. Like that time you called out the guards from their dinner time because you spotted a very large eagle?” Ixil bumped Grór with his hip and the prince crashed into the side of the guard-tower wall. She gave as good as she got, though, and kneed her companion in the shin with the steel toe of her boot. “It was a very large eagle,” Ixil grumbled, wiping mud from his leg and staring at the ground.

At least Grór was awake now. The chill wind blew down her collar and tousled her long, auburn hair, tossing the thick waves beyond her shoulders. She picked up her axe and leaned heavily against it, eyes streaming with the cold as she stared outwards. Nothing ever happened here. Character building, King Dáin said it was. There was no nobler cause than to watch the endless stretch of grey, snow-capped mountains. Remember Scatha, the worm? Remember how the foul beast almost took the dwarves unawares? They’re breeding like rabbits, faster than our worm-hunters can flush them out. Two of them sacked Ugzarak less than a year afore now, and the rest and coming for us. Are you marking my words, Grór? She could hear her father’s words to her now, rattling around inside her head. They had all been on high alert since one of the Stiffbeard’s holds, the northernmost hall in the lonely outcrop of Ugzarak, on the edge of the Red Mountains, had been waylaid by two particularly nasty worms. More than a thousand had managed to flee, some of them picked off by cold and hunger, but a good many refugees came to settle in Ered Mithrin.

She remembered it as though it had only happened a month ago. Battered and weary dwarves, huddling around large fires which had been constructed deep in the mustering halls of the Grey Mountains, tended to their sick and vulnerable. It was the only respite they’d had for weeks, and the king had gone to each family in turn to ask of their welfare. Grór had hung back in the shadows, watching him silently. Prince Head-in-the-clouds Frór and Thrór called her. Bundushathûr, but less majestic and more scatterbrained than the lofty sacred peak. But Grór was one to watch, and study, and notice the subtleties of a dwarf’s interaction. It wasn’t that her head was in the clouds, but it was often elsewhere. She had noticed as her father lay a caring hand on a stranger’s yak-pelt covered back, to comfort shaking shoulders as they wept for their destroyed homeland. How he lifted an elderly dwarf, who was covered in blackened frostbite, from a makeshift bier and carried them to a soft bed. He had spent a long time tending to the dwarf, whose family had died along the way. Tender, calloused hands bandaged wounds, and the king shook his head when his aides called for him to leave. No — the doors of Thikil-gundu are always open for those in need. What am I, if not the host of this great house? Grór had watched her father until uncle Borin had scolded her for slacking. “Prince Head-in-the-clouds, at least be of use and fetch more bandages!”

Grór studied Ixil. He was squinting into the sunlight again, his raven-dark heavily braided hair wrapped around his head into elaborate patterns, decorated with an assortment of multi-coloured sparkling beads. His face was proud and calm, and he seemed to not have a care in the world, a strange tune rumbling from between his lips as he hummed in vague, broken notes. He had been one of those bruised, cold, tired dwarves who had fled on the back of sledges into the bitter winter. He’d lost family, watched friends die. And how had she helped? Mocked his eyesight and kicked him in the leg? Is that what her father would have done? Suddenly, she felt guilty.

“Hey — you,” she said awkwardly, sidling up next to him. Ixil smiled and covered his forehead with a hand almost as broad as hers, peering over against the sharp sunlight. “What?” What did she want to say? What could she possibly say? Anything that came into her head sounded too contrite. Too insincere. “I like you. I mean I… I’ve never really… except my brothers. But they’re not like you. It’s good to have a friend to talk to. Being on watch can get boring, I mean—” That definitely wasn’t what she’d wanted to say. Horrifically, she felt blood creeping into her cheeks and her eyes widen in embarrassment. She’d meant to tell Ixil that it was good to have him here, as a friend, and that she was pleased he made it to the stronghold after such a disaster. That she would be there for him and his people when he needed her. That she was a proud daughter of Durin’s Folk, and that she kept her oaths. Ixil smiled widely and shuffled a little closer. The wind was screaming at both of them, forcing them to take a step back under the tower roof and press in tighter. He laid his hand against her shoulder and squeezed it. “It is good to have you to watch with, as well. I may mistake everything I see for a dragon, but know that I’ll be ready to fight one, if one comes. You Longbeards took me in. I vow to defend your home until I lose my legs or my breath doing so.”

It took Grór a while to find her tongue after that. In the short time they had known one another, she’d discovered that Ixil was an uncompromising sparring partner and appreciated rude jokes at the mess-table as much as she did. But she was taken aback by the gravity of his words, as though her friend had suddenly grown a new face that she was noticing for the first time. She thrust her arm forwards and found his hand with hers. Their fingers were numb, but they interlocked them clumsily. “Grór, daughter of King Dáin, first of his Name, at your service.” “Ixil, son of Izbar, at yours and your family’s.” He didn’t look away. A fiery intensity, a resoluteness, smoldered deep in his eyes as Grór held his fingers so tightly she thought his hand would snap. Then they parted. Something between them had changed, or maybe something inside her had shifted forever. “I will still turn you into mulch when we next wrestle,” Ixil said lightly. Grór’s eyes narrowed at the wicked grin spreading across his face. “How much do you want to bet on that, Skinny-Arm of the Stiffbeard Clan?”

Perhaps some things would stay the same between them, after all.

[murderhornetss]

Thank ye! Love it :)) -Grór

Grór (LOTR) with dwarf-themed stims for @jazz-fr0g!

💎|🪨|💎 🪨|💎|🪨 💎|🪨|💎

[thetinyblossom]

Hiya! My name is Grór (she/they) ^^ I'm an alter in a system!

Would it be possible to get a mining/dwarf themed stimboard? Particularly Middle-earth stuff, such as LOTR & The Hobbit.

If you can't do that, it's fine! I would love a Valais Blacknose sheep one instead if the other isn't possible ^^

I can totally try to do it!

⛏️ Dwarf (LOTR/The hobbit inspired) Stimboard⛏️

That was so fun to do !!!! If you want the Valais Blacknose sheep just send me another “ask me” with that request! <3

[murderhornetss]

Hello Grór! Tell us about yourself?

Hello Grór! Tell us about yourself?

Which one? 👀 There's three of us >:3

Big Grór (me) - she/he/they

Little Grór - she/it

LITTLE little Grór (baby!) - she/her

I'm kind of assuming you meant me though 👀 I'll make a separate post!

Link!

-Grór (she/he/they)

[the-harvest-child]

Exceptions (Thorin x reader)

This is my first post on Tumblr and I'm a huge fan of romance so of course, I wanted to start off strong with a Thorin post, since I know for a fact he's someone who is hard to truly fall in love with.

This takes place after the last hobbit movie, with the exception that everyone lives in the end (I don't know what happened after the battle of the five armies so I just made up whatever lmfao)

Notes: Slow burn, Thorinxfem!reader, Alternate Universe (nobody dies), takes place after Battle of the five armies, eventual romance, eventual smut, fwb, Lord of the Rings, PLOT HECK YEAH, storyline

Let's get into it!

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4,400+ words - 11/30/22

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Thorin.

Son of Thrain, Son of Thror.

King under the Mountain.

Dáin II Ironfoot.

Son of Náin, Son of Grór, youngest Son of Dáin I of Durin's folk.

The person who trusted you most to heal his people in times of need, and to keep back pesky beasts, and to tidy up after his battles, both politically and emotionally.

You were trusted among your friends- as Dáins' right hand woman, as Bards' helpful acquaintance, and as Legolases ally. As a runaway half-elf, you did not make good impressions on your kind being around dwarves, and yet it didn't make a good impression on those dwarves being around an peredhil.

Yet Dáin took you in when you had been mindlessly traveling the lands with a lost sense of purpose.

Bard first had sent you off with a tentative goodbye. He didn't want to keep you confined to being his second in command when he saw how wistfully you looked out across the landscape, how much you looked as if you'd run away. Almost as if to ignore the possibility, about being left behind without a further notice, he bid you away, leaving in your memorys a heartwarming and genuine goodbye, and you knew in that moment he knew about your desires.

You left Dale with a purpose, but you were nothing when Dáin found you.

Through numerous attempts, you finally agreed to follow Dáin to the Iron Hills. Willingly. Dáin was well acquainted with Thorin, you learned, who was partially acquainted with Bard, who was your friend and once leader. Dáin was quick to figure out that you were not romantic partners, simply from how you spoke of Bard. He had poked and teased fun, simply out of mischief, and growing jealousy. He wanted that same bond with you, to be on that level of trust. But a runaway peredhil and a dwarven Lord being friends? His people didn't look kindly upon you. Despite you dedicating your time to the dwarves of the Iron Hills, they still saw you as a threat, quite like Thranduil.

It took about a year of this treatment for it to finally get to you, and even Dáin could tell. For such a calm, joking, and collected person, he'd sensed an underlying pressure laying heavily on your shoulders. As much as he treasured your company, he preferred you happy and healthy, not in this wretched state of mind. But you yourself, felt worthy healing and protecting his people, yet they held distaste for you. His solution?

Send you to Erebor. Visit Bard, see how Dale is doing. Then visit his cousin, Thorin Oakenshield. And then, offer your loyalty to him.

Did you agree with the idea? Not really. But Dáin had a way of convincing you to hope for the best, despite your pessimistic personality. Of course saying goodbye was painful, mostly on Dáins part. You saw him shed tears for the first time the entire year when you saddled your horse and took off towards Dale. It made your nostalgia worsen. Dáin had never been a romantic interest, but as your friend, he would be greatly missed. You tried to remind yourself you'd see him again, but time as an elf, even just as a half-elf, seemed to pass so slow and yet so fast all the same.

Your travels to Erebor would not be fruitless, you knew this. At first you had been worried about Thorin straight up sending you back to the Iron Hills, or if he was in a good mood, off to live in Dale (you hadn't the best impression of the dwarf leader; you did your best not to make assumptions, though), but Dáin reassured you the dwarven king was reasonable (most of the time), and he even sent a letter of recommendation (more like commanding his cousin to take you in) to Thorin through one of his subordinates.

As you made your way up to Dale, you were hoping that that very letter reached the King under the Mountain.

~•°•~

The usual cheer of the Dale you once knew had quieted into peaceful chatter, until you arrived on horse back, wielding the brand of the Iron hill dwarves on your sleeve. The people recognized you, but newcomers were highly confused what a peredhil pretending to be a dwarf was doing in, well, human lands.

The stone walls greeted you eagerly as you trotted into town, the townsfolk either cheerfully welcoming you or giving you slightly strange and judgemental like. Arching cobblestone and brick weaved it's way from building to building, and Amoros huffed, his hoofs beating against the ground in excitement. He seemed to recognize this place. He'd been a loyal horse ever since the battle of the five armies, and even though he loved mindlessly running along the hills of your old home, this home was even more important to the both of you. Achingly sweet nostalgia washed over you as you made your way through the small city, stalls bustling with activity and children running about. A clear blue sky ruled above it all, with a gentle breeze blowing the slightly reddening leaves that clung desperately to the limbs of their trees branches. Oh how you had missed Dale and it's small wonders. The people were hardworking and strong, their wills ironed after dealing with the deaths of quite many of their people just over a year or so ago. Your hands tightened around the rope guiding Amoros just thinking about their suffering. You admired them for their perseverance, and your loyalty had long been split between the people of Dale and the dwarves of the Iron Hills. Perhaps you had made a mistake befriending either group.

But it was a mistake you would gladly make again if you were given the choice.

You didn't bother interacting with those around you. As you made your way to your once headquarters, you felt an overlying sense of dread. The air felt somewhat heavy the closer you got to the heart of the town, but from what you could, it was necessary tension, not angered tension. Even from outside you could sense an aura of thick, pressing rigidness.

You had considered letting Amoros wander freely, but due to your growing concern of the aura hanging over the home of Bard, you tied the horses reigns to a nearby post before letting yourself into Bards very official-looking abode.

Walls of oak and brink greeted you, neatly framed photos and sourveiners scattering the walls. Wooly rugs tempted you to enjoy their fluff, but you ignored the temptation and continued your way deeper into the house. The near smell of quality craft booze and fine meat mingled with some sort of earthy scent in the house as you looked about for Bards children, yet didn't spot them. Perhaps they were at school. They should be, it's the middle of the day, you thought to yourself. There were however many servants dashing about, looking anxious and worried, which caught you by surprise. The people you had known would be talking and interacting with eachother and those who walked in. They were usually friendly, not rushed. Knights would stop people and question them, yet the halls were barren of their protectors. You saw a few familiar faces glance your way, offering a strong nod or wave of recognition, but otherwise, no one stopped you when you walked up the stairs.

It was when you reached the top of the stairs that you finally spotted the knights. They seemed stricter than ever, protecting the upper halls and lining the walls around what you remembered as Bards meeting room for official business. Which meant something was going on.

A few of them tried to stop you on your way down the hall.

"Sorry, ma'am. No one is allowed-"

"I am former second in command of Bard the Dragonslayer. You dare block my path?"

Your voice was strict and beyond it's joking tone. You knew the knights were simply doing their duties, but you also knew they recognized you, so you had every right to continue your way. And you did, since they readily lifted their swords away from the path and let you through. Other knights observed, giving you the respectful nods you deserved. A small sense of satisfaction would have struck deep within you if you weren't anxious about what environment you might've been stepping into.

You reached the doors of the meeting room, hearing normal murmurs and chattering from within. As normal as irritated murmuring was. The knights glanced at you, a look of warning in their eyes. They could possibly get in trouble if you didn't properly behave in that meeting room; suspecting that Bard was meeting with another ruler, the potential of him being judged by your adrupt apperance was high, especially when they had had security for a reason.

You sighed, waiting outside for a few minutes. The anticipation was eating you up inside, and when the meeting still hadn't come to a close, you left behind reasoning and entered the room of your own violation.

The murmurs came to a started halt as heads looked up from their dreary stances. Your gaze briefly swept over them until it met Bards, who had a brief smile of shock on his face before nodding you over, realizing he was supposed to be upset for you interrupting what look to be a very serious matter. He was leaning over the table, like all where, pushing little tabs across a concerningly dull map. You bowed to the group, seeing as they looked at you with curious eyes.

"Pardon my intrusion, gentlemen," You lifted your head as you walked over to stand next to Bard. Many offered you nods of acknowledgment, a few tentative smiles reaching your own. You were quick to envelope yourself in their discussion and picked up details as they talked. Some sort of trade had gone wrong through Mirkwood, and from what you knew, Bard and Thorin (whom you hadn't matched a face to) were grouping together to figure out why trade had been messed up on its way to Thranduils kingdoms. You looked mindlessly around the table as they spoke, trying to match names to faces. Dáin had explained all their features for each dwarf, but guessing all of them wasn't so easy.

There was Fili and Kili, the dwarf brothers, one blond, one black-headed. They both looked like charmers, and judging by the ring on who you assumed was Kili, one definitely had charming ways. Then there was Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur, a strange trio but entertaining folk according to Dáin. Their playful manner seemed to seep through the cracks of the serious conversation, and nobody stopped them. You appreciated the lightness of their mannerisms, since the room had been tense and their commentary helped release it. Dori, Nori, Ori, Glóin and Oin were ones you struggled a little more to place faces to. You wondered if they were at all related because of how tragically dull their names were. They didn't seem any different to the other dwarves- loyal, hunky, and bearing beards. A cleanshaven dwarf you were yet to see. And then there was Dwalin and Balin. Dwalin you had already admired from the moment you entered the room. He was armed, alert, and conscious. Probably the most violent and strict of the group, you felt yourself drawn to him in the way he acted like an older brother. As for Balin, you sensed some sort of grandfatherly whims about him, and as they talked you were reminded of his wisdom Dáin had more than readily informed you about. If Thorin had fallen through, Balin would've made a fine leader.

Ah, Thorin. Of course the last for you to lay your gaze on, and when you did, your eyes narrowed on instinct.

The dwarven king obviously held control over the conversation, and over his loyal friends. He was a logical and reasonable man, yet an air of mystery hung over his head, which looked burdened by a thousand responsibilities. According to Dáin, his cousin had worked hard to rebuild Erebor and restore it's glory, which was a long process, you were aware. His face looked worn from war, his body covered in the furs and armor and traditional clothing of a dwarf.

So that's what that rich earthy, stony scent was. Despite standing next to Bard, who smelled of expensive beer and jerky, you could smell the Erebor scent wafting off of the group of Dwarfs.

Thorin spared you a look, at which you tipped your head in a respectful manner, lowering your eyes. His gaze had pierced you for a moment, like when lightning strikes the ground. Goosebumps crawled on your arms. When you glanced back up he had briefly nodded his head in your direction before returning to the conversation. It was good to know that he didn't have the same sense of ego that many wealthy people did. Despite never having met you, he recognized you as an improtsnt figure, which meant he was observant not only in battle but in politics.

You were glad to have required the ability to make assumptions from small gestures.

You hadn't been paying attention to the conversation, more observing how stressed a majority of the group looked. Dwalin and Balin looked equally as focused as Thorin, with Fili and Kili following close behind. But you could feel the tiredness behind everyone's words.

"We haven't any evidence of an obstruction, unless that fool of a king has decided interacting with Dale was a bad idea-"

"Thranduil isn't that mindless of his people. At the very least he would've discussed it with us. Something must be going on within the kingdom." Balin cut into Dwalins sentence, his finger tracing the map. They seemed to have discussed this before.

"Surely we would've heard of it by now," Bard chimed in, reminding the group of his status as King of Dale.

He had made a good point, and even this conversation was tiring you out just from listening. Kili looked exceptionally worried, almost as much as Thorin was hiding in his eyes. Balin was stroking his beard in thought and the rhyming quadruplets were looking at eachother and the map nervously. An unsettled and distressed silence had quickly fallen over the meeting, and you sighed inwardly, straightening your back.

"I think it's appropriate to bring this meeting to a close," You said, your voice taking control of the room. Bard glanced at you in thanks, while the rest looked to Thorin as if asking permission to be allowed to leave. "Perhaps you can stay for dinner. Drink will be provided." Another appreciated glance from Bard. Thorin looked up in thought, and you would've thought him foolish if he decided to turn down such an offer. Thankfully, due to the murmurs of Balin, he didn't, just nodded and mumbled a very well.

"Why're you back?" Bard didn't hesitate to question you as soon as the dwarves had started gathering their things to migrate to the dining room.

"Not even a hello?"

"You crashed my meeting."

Despite his retaliation, he gave you a very tight hug, and you sighed in relief, feeling the stress of your adventures fade away for the time being. He pulled away, leading you out of the room and into the hallway. The knights stood guard loyally at the doors, shutting them tightly behind the two of you.

"You have been missed."

"I'm sorry I ever left. Let us talk over dinner," You said with a sobered smile. You had missed this place greatly, and you had many things to tell Bard.

"Why are you back anyways?"

His question hung in the air for a few moments. Contemplation stung your tongue, freezing it in your mouth for a few moments. Would you actually have time tonight to tell him? About everything?

"Dáin sent me to be employed by Thorin." You lowered your voice, casting as glance over at the group of dwarves. You decided the most important info must be spoke first, and to your dismay you saw Bard visibly tense when you made your way down the stairs, following the tired rowdiness of the dwarves. Words quickly fell out of your mouth as an attempt to distress him. "I do not have time to discuss my reasons. What we should be doing is celebrating my return." You put on a brighter smile, and Bard risked one of his own.

"Very well, daughter of Tiyle. I am glad you are back, at least for now." The tension lifted. For now.

The two of you entered the dining room, settling yourself at the dining table. You sat next to Bard, immediately regretting your decision as Dwalin sat beside you. Thorin seemed to attract Dwalin and Balin wherever he went, and as the dwarven leader sat before you, Balin sat next to him, across from Dwalin who was, let me remind you, next to you.

Servants filtered into the dining hall, providing food and drink. You were hungry but your anxiety of keeping a good image pressed on your neck like hot iron. This dinner could be make or break, depending on how drunk these dwarves would get. Chances were Bard would house them, since surely they could not traverse back to their home in drunken states.

Without another word the dwarves merrily dug into the meat and potatoes, the greenbeans and peas and corn, while you sat aside with bile boiling in your stomach. Bard gave you a glance of concern, which you briefly returned with one of reassurance. You could always eat in the morning, when you felt less sick to your stomach. Social interaction had never been your best strong suit, and yet you were so good at pretending your confidence was beyond you. At least, most of the time. During dinner, you kept to yourself, simply gazing over the table as the people drank their worries away, all save for Thorin, Balin and Bard. They seemed to be in their own conversations, while the others were starting to cheer up. All seemed to be able to handle their alcohol, but you could tell by the eagerness in the refills of the dancing dwarves that they wished to forget the stress for at least tonight.

You idly munched on a bread roll as the dwarves started to lose themselves, who of which you looked upon in amusement while keeping your composure.

"Peredhil," A gruff and strict voice called your ethnicity, which mads a slightly distasteful look surface onto your face. Regret filtered into your emotions as you realized it was Thorin who had beckoned your attention. You couldn't blame him for calling you by your race, as you hadn't properly introduced yourself at the meeting. Thorins eyes looked over you as if you were an experiment, but the harsh look in his gaze made his examiantions more demeaning than you figured he'd meant it to. "What is your name?" You could feel Dwalins eyes on you beside you, and you kept your gaze steady on Thorins as you said,

"I am Y/N, daughter of Tiyle." Bard was keeping a steady look over this slightly tensed conversation was you spoke, almost glaring at Thorin.

"So you are the one Dáin recommended." The kings rougher voice would've been attractive had you not been slightly intimidated by it.

"That I am." You decidedly returned his energy. If you were to get on good terms with this King, you had to match his wits and reasoning.

"What skills have you that my dwarves don't?" Eyes of steel settled on yours, and your instinctual reaction was to return the judgemental gaze.

"I'm quite faster than the lot of you, with hearing exceeding the average humans. Skilled with staffs and long bows, and I have experience in the field of politics, which some of your dwarves seem to lack in," Your tone almost turned demeaning without you meaning it to, due to how Thorin was talking to you. You were very aware that your half elf features probably put him off, as the dwarves and elves were never made to get along, but even a King didn't have a right to treat a seasoned warrior such as yourself as if you didn't deserve a position with his people. Then again, their loyalty was fiery and passionate, and as Dáin had told you, it would take a while to gain the trust of Thorin Oakenshield. "I think you need me. Healing is my expertise. My ability to heal wounds within minutes and my personality can brighten those with a depressing predicament."

Bard chimed in, adding to your case. "Y/N has experience with leadership. She was in charge of the social job network within Dale when we rebuilt our town, and she has proved a reliable peredhil-"

The sudden coldness of a blade was felt against your neck in the middle of Bards sentence, who immediately shut up. Everyone at the table knew it was a test, and you retained your calmness.

Thorin studied you with analyzing eyes as Dwalin held his dagger strictly up against your throat. Your emotions had been dulled over your journey, but in one swift move, cunning surfaced up into your words.

"Such a test is pitying," You looked Thorin straight in the eyes, a plan forming in your head. You saw his eyes narrow, but he remained silent. A few of the dwarves looked over, falling quiet and focusing on the exchange between you, Thorin, and Dwalin. "You must've been betrayed by many, weren't you? So much so you must test everyone you come across. I saw the way you studied me during that meeting, scanning for insecurities and weaknesses. What did you find, Thorin Oakenshield? Sorrows you could comprehend, weaknesses you could take advantage of?" You delivered blow after soft blow, piling each accusations on top of one another. You didn't lessen it until you saw how Thorin was starting to clench his jaw. "You look at me as if my words are foolish. But do you expect me to sit here and let your subordinate slice my throat while you've had the freedom to mindlessly slander my name?"

The table fell into a dead silence, the dwarves staring at you like you were an enigma. Thorin himself seemwd to be enlightened of your abilities, but his own honor stopped him from praising your tactics. You casted a cold glance at Dwalin, whose hand was shaking in effort not to swipe it across your neck. You could tell his leaders hidden anger was projected in him, which he gladly wore. But you weren't afraid to look down on him.

"I'm aware you are quite willing to harm me, but if you wish to kept your leader on good terms with Bard, I suggest you return your dagger to it's sheath."

A glance was shared between Dwalin and Thorin, a silent treaty. The steel was removed from your neck, and you took a shaky breath through your nose as the dwarves looked on in shock. The king under the Mountain didn't spare you any glances, ignoring your eyes as they pierced into his skull. A wave of relief washed over as the wiser dwarf spoke up.

"... She's quite like Bilbo." Balin's sentence held a tone more of humor. You recognized the name as a hobbit who had helped Thorin and his dwarves on their journeys. Based on the nods and reactions of the dwarves around you, he must've been a cunning little thing.

"Yeah she is! Bilbo always got us out of dangerous situations through talking or another form of, uhh, emotional manipulation!" Oin said, eager to lessen the tense atmosphere. People started to relax, including yourself. The slight trepidation still crawled up your spine as Thorin gave you a stony look of calculation, but the dwarves began to laugh and chatter again.

"Good work, Tiyle!" The Dwarves merrily patted you on the back, Fili giving you a friendly grin and Bombur offering you some fine mead. You indulged in them, smiling and joining their conversations. Maybe you would be able to forget how Thorin looked ready to murder you on the spot through the will of his subordinate.

Bard looked on in fondness before he gave a glare to Dwalin, who in turn looked at Thorin to avoid the gaze the enraged King of Dale. His piercing gaze shifted from the loyal warrior to the steadfast king under the Mountain, who met his gaze against his will. Even Bard was scary sometimes.

"If you let such a thing happen again to my second in command I will see to it personally that Dale is no longer connected to Erebor." The icy edge in Bards voice was enough to make Thorin scowl, but regardless, he nodded. An apology lied in his eyes which Bard readily accepted, because despite their arguments, they were still friends, politically or otherwise.

The two kings reconciled silently before Thorin spoke up, making an observation to cut through the quiet corner.

"She's a keen one." The dwarf glanced your way, watching you wildly chattering with his friends, drinking and dining as if you all had been friends for lifetimes.

"She is. . . She would make a loyal friend and a fine wife," Bard cast a teasing glance as Thorin, who gave him a shuddering look. You wouldn't think that just moments ago Bard was threatening to cut ties with Erebor all because of the treatment given to you. Thorin looked about ready to cut something ad Balin chuckled, patting his friend on the back.

"I think she'd be a fine match, Thorin!" The wiser dwarf commented. Oakenshield couldn't bear to glare at his friend, so he instead gazed upon you. He did admit, your strange behaviour and manner was something he found himself wanting to figure out what you had gone through to act the way you did. Not many had the ability to talk so calmly under pressure, much less irritate the enemy and manipulate the scenario the way you had.

Thorin gulped down a pint of mead.

"Fili would fit her just fine," The king murmured lowly. Dwalin and Balin looked over at you, seeing how well you got along with the others. Fili was quite obviously taken by her, and she didn't seem to mind.

"Fili does seem fond of her... Perhaps he'll take after his brother." Bard knew well of the brothers, especially of how Kili had caught the attention of a certain Silvan lady from Mirkwood.

"Be quite funny if Fili fell for a half-elf," Dwalin snorted, unasmued by the thought despite saying it would be funny. Thorin stayed silent, and he looked over at you in distasteful thought.

"Fili can like who he wants, leave him be." Dwalin glanced away obediently at his kings words. Thorin looked upon the flirtatious advancements the blond brother of Kili made. The king didn't think anything of it, simply looking on at the sweet interactions. A smile was heavy on your face as you laughed with his friends, teasing Fili and obliging him in a dance. As Thorin observed the scene, he couldn't tell if you were reciprocating Filis advancements, if you were even interested-

She would make a loyal friend and a fine wife.

Another pint of mead went angrily down Thorins throat.

He wouldn't think anymore on this matter. Or try not to. After dinner it would be expected of him to bring you back with the group to Erebor, to the sleeping quarters of the dwarves.

Dwalin had engaged in the festivities, but the looks Thorin gave you did not go unnoticed. Balin and Bard shared a glance of amusement and secrecy. Bard would never force you to get with his friend, and he even detested the idea. Perhaps he had wished to poke fun as Thorin. But Balin, oh, Balin would readily marry you two. And if it took some work, so be it. Thorin, as Balin knew, needed someone to be there for him emotionally, someone he could open up to. You obviously had a way of picking up on silent ques, which intimidated those who catched that talent of yours. Such as Fili, Glóin Balin, Dwalin, and of course, Thorin. Just because some of the dwarves were idiots didn't mean all of them were.

A sigh left the dwarf leaders mouth as he mindlessly kept an eyes on the windows and doors, his natural instinct to be on guard surfacing as he witness his friends getting drunk as all hell. Cheers echoed out of the dining hall, a late night ahead for both those drinking and those watching on in disdain. . .

Hope y'all enjoyed <333 part 2 will be out at some point :DD