#kíli durin

[tondw0o]

[planetvries]

thorin is feeling so normal, good for him

[pilkypills]

Kili’s micro-expressions during the “We are sons of Durin” scene are SO. AUGH. MY GOD. The unsure look in his eyes. The lip wobble. The scrunch in his nose when Thorin gently headbutts him. My god he was just a kid. Just a boy who wanted to do the right thing.

[fili-urzudel]

Jumbled - Kíli Durin x Reader

A proper, full-length fic featuring our favorite little brother! I'm not the most proud of this but it's finished and I think I should put it out there. No one requested this, but it's to tide you over until I put the finishing touches on the last few requests :)

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: a lot of being oblivious and dumb, but other than that we're good.

There were no words to describe Kíli Durin. That's what you were thinking as the top of your quill lightly brushed your bottom lip, gazing out the inn's drawing room window. This was the last town you would all stop in for a long while, and those of you with families had made the choice to write letters to your families back home as quickly as possible. You told them how you were doing, that you were tired but making progress and eating well, and keeping good company among thirteen dwarves and a hobbit.

You told them a bit about Bilbo and his odd little ways that you found quite endearing, if not annoying at times, and about Glóin, and his unabashed love and pride in his family. You told them about the golden-haired Prince Fíli, who was always a gentleman and had fast become your friend. You told them how Thorin was usually a big grump, but you had seen evidence from time to time, usually in relation to Bilbo, that it was all just a front. But the one dwarf you wanted to tell them about, you found yourself tongue—er, pen-tied over.

There were no right words to describe how you felt about Kíli Durin. Perfect wouldn't really do him justice, with his uneven bangs and his dazzling lopsided smile and stubbly beard that he cursed to the end of his days. Neither would ethereal, with the way his scent of pine sap and the feel of the callouses on his hands were so very grounded and real. Princely didn't fit his flippant attitude and his unceasing laugh and his never-ending jokes that had your lungs cramping at times.

Perhaps the real problem was that there wasn't enough paper.

You sent the letter off without writing exactly what you wanted about the soon-to-be prince of Erebor, save for his best wishes to any female member of your household. He didn't think you would write it down, but there was just enough room for a postscript. That would show him.

And before you knew it, you were on your way again. You readjusted your pack on your shoulders as Fíli dropped back to walk beside you. "I don't suppose you confessed your undying love in that letter by any chance?"

You blushed and nudged him with your elbow, too untrusting of your own balance to attempt kicking him. "Do you have to be so loud?"

"I can assure you it's all lost in the thunderous stomping, my friend," he smiled. "But that's probably for the best. Better for the object of your affections to know first, don't you think?"

"Stop trying to push it, Fíli," you groaned. "I already feel horrible for avoiding him for so long. I just... I can't be normal around him anymore, I—I don't know how to get the words out. This is all... so weird."

Fíli gave you a pointed glance. "If you're worried about him rejecting you, there's no way in all of Arda."

"Is that verified intelligence?"

"I'm his brother."

"Fair enough. I'll try."

"Tonight?"

"...Soon."

You didn't even have to approach the prince that evening, as he sought you out to have supper with. "Hello," you said with a nervous smile, scooting to make sure there was plenty of room for him on the log you had claimed. I hope he doesn't think I'm trying to get away from him.

"Hey," he returned a bright grin. "I just figured I'd better take my chance to spend some time with you while I can. We never seem to be near each other anymore."

"Hah, yeah," you answered awkwardly. "Sorry about that."

"Have you been avoiding me?" He asked, suddenly serious.

"What?" You asked with wide eyes, horrified. You looked to Fíli, sitting just a few yards away, and he gave you a look that said, just tell him.

"No—no, I wasn't trying to avoid you at all, it's just, you see, well—" gods you were a mess—you sighed. "I just realized, fairly recently, that I'm... in love, and it's made it hard to focus. I'm sorry if I was avoiding you."

That was a terrible confession by any standard.

Rather than looking relieved or hopeful, Kíli looked... pained. Almost angry, and Kíli was never angry. "Oh. I'm happy for you," he said flatly, before picking up his stew and heading elsewhere. He took a seat near Dwalin and Thorin, silently listening to their intense conversation.

You gave a desperate look to Fíli again, and he just shrugged. "I'll try to talk to him," he mouthed, and you nodded in gratitude.

You spent the rest of the evening in silence.

You loved Fíli. Of course, you loved Fíli, Kíli thought as he wandered the outskirts of camp, kicking a rock from one boot to another. Just one look at the two of them could have predicted that clearly enough. He was tall but broad, properly muscular for a dwarf. He had thick, curly hair and enough braids to make Thorin jealous. He had a full beard. He forged enough knives to supply an army and carried half of them on his person.

What did Kíli have compared to that? Bangs he had cut for himself on impulse so that people would have something else to look at instead of his pathetic excuse for a beard? A small game bow that was useless when anything came up close? A sword that he needed help to make?

There was no contest, really. Even if Fíli was engaged, what would that do to stop anyone from seeing his merits?

"You're sure he didn't say anything? Didn't make any significant noises or... grunts or anything?" You asked, on the verge of tears. It had been three days since your terrible confession, and Kíli hadn't so much as glanced your way.

"Nothing. He hasn't said anything to me since, either," Fíli said dejectedly.

There were only two explanations: he had horribly misunderstood you, or he knew you were in love with him and was so disgusted by the concept that he decided to avoid you entirely. As foolish as it was, you were inclined to believe the latter.

"What about what I said would make him hate me?" You murmured.

"Hey now, he may be giving you the cold shoulder, but he does not hate you. Kíli's not like that. You'd have to do something terrible, like... kill me, to get him to hate you," Fíli assured you.

That drew a short laugh from you, and you rubbed your nose on the back of your hand. "I hope you're right," you sighed. "I just wish he would at least look at me."

That night, like the previous two, you sat away from the fire, holding your soup close to your body to stay warm, despite Balin's many good-natured attempts to get you to join them. If Kíli didn't want to be near you, you wouldn't force him.

It was still light out when you decided to lay out your bedroll for the evening, the sun just starting to dip behind the trees. Apparently Thorin had decided you all needed the extra rest.

You glanced up at the sound of footsteps, and your eyes were met with boots. Kíli's boots. "Kíli!" You said, surprising yourself with how... shocked your voice was.

"Are you alright?" He asked, and though he sounded concerned, there was a hardness to his eyes. "People who are in love don't normally appear so sad."

"Well, they do when the object of their affections makes it so clear that they are not interested," you replied glumly. "You don't have to pretend—"

He made a frustrated sort of huff, and you looked up at him in confusion. He had never made a sound like that. "I am sorry for your heartbreak, but forgive me if it frustrates me as well. It is clear to all the world by his disposition, his words, and most importantly, his braids, that my brother is taken. He has promised himself in marriage to a dam he loves, and there is nothing my brother is if not loyal. And I can understand his appeal, but have I not also been a friend? Have I not also tried to be kind and—and charming and gentlemanly and make you laugh? I am not my brother but I would like to think I have my own merits so why are you lovesick over him when I am right here?"

You gazed at him with wide eyes, a smile breaking across your face. "You... think that I love your brother?"

Kíli's brow furrowed. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"Fíli! Kíli has declared me hopelessly in love with you!" You shouted, and the golden prince unceremoniously spat out a spray of his soup, narrowly missing Nori.

By this time you were full-out laughing, and everyone in the company was staring at you, especially Thorin.

"Will you please tell me what's going on?" Kíli asked, all the hardness having vanished from his eyes.

"Kíli, I may have been... fantastically terrible at saying this, and I'm sorry for that, but I was trying to say that I'm in love with you," you explained, taking his hands.

"You're... in love with me?" He breathed hopefully.

"I love you, Kíli, and if your recent outburst was any indication, I'm feeling very optimistic about my chances of you loving me as well," you confirmed.

"But—but I'm short and uncouth and—and I can't grow a proper beard—"

"You were just touting your many good qualities, and I agree with those more," you teased.

"You love me?"

"Yes."

"I love you too," he finally admitted. "May I kiss you?"

"You may."

[corrosivegrl-blog]

[mediocre-tumble]

Hobbit headshots

Bofur

Long haired Bilbo- I like to think if he stayed in Erebor he would let his curls grow more

Kíli with an undercut that has an arrow shaved into it gives me life

[nostalgicnarrator]

Over Hill and Under Mountain

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Word Count: 6,003

Parings: Thorn X Bilbo

Description:

Bilbo wakes up…

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Warning:

No one’s getting horribly mangled, murdered or deep-fried just warning.

Note:

Guys I’ve edited this and edited this and fixed it a million times and I am convinced I’ve lost all meaning to words, if there’s anything wrong or anything that doesn’t make any sense at all let me know.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Bilbo found himself waking up to the soft sounds of a distant waterfall and the chirping of birds. His body felt heavy with exhaustion, but the sheets beneath him were light and soft, the air was filled with a familiar faint floral scent mingled with the sharper smell of herbs. 

He blinked slowly, the room around him coming into focus, a gentle light filtering through the sheer curtains, there was a gentle breeze brushing through the room.

Bilbo turned his head away from the light, feeling a dull throb coming from his head and a tender pain in his side. He squeezed his eyes shut with a groan as he tried to sit up. Suddenly, a wave of nauseating dizziness washed over him.

Bilbo let out a whine of pain. A rough hand found its way to his chest and back, steadying him. Bilbo opened his eyes quickly and followed the arm until Óin appeared at his side.

The healer offered him a kind look, his rough hands surprisingly gentle as he helped Bilbo into a more comfortable position. “Easy there, lad,” Óin murmured. “You’ve been through quite a bit. No need to rush things.”

Bilbo nodded, his gaze drifting to the window. Outside, the world seemed so serene, the river glistening in the sunshine, its surface like glass. 

He suddenly felt worlds away when he remembered his tumble down that slope. The thought of it sent a shiver down his spine. He shook his head and decided to look around.

“How long have I been here?” Bilbo asked, his throat felt dry and scratchy from disuse, he tried to clear it but found it no use.

Óin disappeared from his side for a moment before returning with some water. “Three days,” Óin replied. “I’ve done what I can with a little elven healing on the side.” He said as he helped Bilbo drink. 

The water was cool and refreshing as it eased the dryness in Bilbo’s throat. He let out a small sigh of relief. “Thank you, Óin.” Suddenly a memory hit him and his brows furrowed. “Gandalf, I-I was traveling with him…Óin, Is he-?”

“He’s fine lad! Knew you were a little out of it from the fall didn’t think it was that bad-” Óin chuckled. “He’s outside, keeping an eye on things. You gave everyone a scare.”

Bilbo managed a weak smile. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.” 

“Nonsense,” Óin said gruffly. A kind look found the old healer's face as he spoke.“Just focus on getting better, alright?” And Bilbo couldn’t help but nod.

But as the days passed and his strength slowly returned, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that settled in his chest, that something was wrong or misplaced.

And being confined to bed was driving him mad. He began wanting for a distraction, for something to take his mind off his new weird feelings.

One morning, after a lot of “please, Óin!” and “I promise, Óin,” and “just for a bit at least! You won’t be far away, I’ll call for you if I feel sick suddenly,” Bilbo finally managed to convince Óin to let him have visitors.

Bilbo felt his face light up when Gandalf entered the room, carrying a stack of books from Elrond’s library, a familiar glint nestled kindly in Gandalf’s eye.

“I thought you might enjoy some light reading,” Gandalf said, setting the books down on the bedside table. “I’ve also brought a friend.”

“A friend?” Bilbo echoed excitedly, was it Thorin, was Thorin here and the Dwarf was simply not allowed to see Bilbo yet?

But a bit of that hope flattened when a small black shape fluttered through the doorway, it was Hugin. Bilbo smiled kindly all the same though as Hugin perched on the bedpost. The bird ruffled his feathers and tilted his head at Bilbo.

“Hugin!” Bilbo said as excitedly as he could. “It’s good to see you.”

Hugin flapped his wings once, hopping in place a bit. “Good to see you too, Master Baggins! I had delivered your letter and then all of a sudden I was sent here!”

Gandalf smiled at the two and excused himself to speak with an elf who called for him at the door, leaving Bilbo and Hugin alone. 

Bilbo leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Hugin, do you know if Thorin is coming? Did you hear anything when you delivered my letter?”

The raven blinked thoughtfully. “Well, I delivered your letter, I had a nice time there, Thorin keeps all kinds of tasty treats but nothing like you Master Baggins”

“Hugin, call me Bilbo, I’m not anything’s master” Bilbo said, rattling it off like he had said it a dozen times before.

“Right, yes, of course Master Baggins.” And Bilbo sighed loudly as the raven continued. “I was then sent away here with a letter from King Thorin. He looked really upset…” 

“What did it say?” Bilbo whispered to the raven, he felt his stomach begin to tie knots.

“I didn’t know, but I do remember that King Thorin said it was about you.” Hugin did his best attempt at a shrug. “I flew here as fast as I could and handed it over to the wizard when I saw him. After that Óin showed up!”

“Just Óin…he showed up alone? Do…do you think Thorin is mad at me? I am sure I am very late by now.”

“Master Baggins! How dare you suggest that! King Thorin cares for you very much! Thorin didn’t seem mad so maybe he’s already on his way to visit! And maybe Thorin is running late- oh! Or got lost! You know how he gets”

Bilbo chuckled and nodded, “yes I do, thank you Hugin…is there anything else…?”

“Yes! There was much whispering and fussing between the wizard, the healer, and the Lord of Rivendell; it started a few days after Óin showed up.”

Bilbo’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, whispering?”

Hugin nodded vigorously. “Aye, secretive talk. They all acted a bit strange, As if they were waiting for something… maybe something bad…?”

Before Bilbo could press further, Gandalf returned with a gentle smile. “I see you two are catching up,” he said lightly, though his eyes seemed to be studying Bilbo carefully.

Bilbo nodded, dropping the line of questioning for the moment. “Yes, it’s been quite nice. Thank you Gandalf.”

Gandalf simply nodded, settling back into the chair by the bed. “Now, tell me, Bilbo, have you read up on Rivendell’s history? I thought you might find it fascinating.”

Bilbo smiled, letting the conversation shift, but a seed of unease had been planted, it made Bilbo feel something, something weird. Bilbo felt something, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. His unease was growing, and he knew that something was about to happen. He was sure of it.

A few days passed, and Bilbo was feeling well enough to sit up for longer periods.  Lord Elrond came to visit him in his room, Elrond smiled as he greeted Bilbo “How are you feeling, Master Baggins?” Elrond's voice was gentle as he took a seat by the bedside.

“Lord Elrond! It’s good to see you again! And I’m the master of nothing, call me Bilbo, as I had asked several times before.” 

Elrond chuckled and smiled, "Forgive me, Bilbo. It has been a long time since I have seen you, and old habits die hard." Bilbo grinned back, “Now tell me, how are you feeling?”

“Oh! Well, Óin says I'm getting better,” Bilbo replied. “Though, I do wish I could get out of bed. I feel horribly useless just lying here.”

Elrond chuckled softly. “Rest is a form of healing too, my friend. Your body needs time to recover.”

Bilbo gave Elrond a playful glare “I know that rest is a type of healing, but, I’m a restless hobbit!”

“Didn’t Mithrandir- Gandalf steal away some books for you?” and Bilbo could not stop himself from sighing at the elf’s words.

“A few, yes, but there is only so much reading can do for you! I’ve already read them twice over-“ Bilbo glared at the books that were now on a table across the room, he had read them not too long after Gandalf left. 

“Twice! You just got them only a few days ago, how in the name of Ennor did you manage that?” the elven lord raised a brow as he asked. Bilbo thought it looked a little out of place on the elf's face.

Bilbo huffed and snuggled back into his bedding, “I like reading…” he looked up when the Elven lord laughed. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“No- no! you misunderstand, you are such a curious hobbit, I’ll see about getting you something more to read soon” Elrond said after he calmed down.

Bilbo huffed and crossed his arms with a grumpy pout “I like histories and botany books”

“Of course” Elrond offered him a kind smile and Bilbo found himself smiling back. They settled into more boring topics as they spoke for a while longer. 

Sometimes turning the conversation to discuss Rivendell and the beauty of the valley. It felt all perfectly regular and Bilbo could feel some of that unease wash away from him.

Not long after Elrond left, Hugin came fluttering through his room window. The raven circled around for a bit before settling down on Bilbo’s bed.

The raven greeted Bilbo with a cheerful caw hopping over excitedly before dropping a small blue flower onto his lap. “I thought you might like this, Master Baggins,” Hugin chirped.

Bilbo smiled, picking up the flower. The color reminded him of Thorin, he brushed one of its petals with a soft smile. “Thank you, Hugin. It’s lovely.” He paused, ‘…Thorin.’ He heard his mind echo to him.

He sat up a little straighter, as far as he could stand without help, “Hugin” Bilbo started trying to keep his voice even and quiet, “can you tell me more about this letter you delivered from Erebor? Did you talk to Thorin?”

Hugin tilted his head. “Of course! I stayed in his chambers for a while, it was too cold on Raven hill.”

“You did? Can you tell me about him? How is he?” Blibo asked, it wasn’t the line of questioning he had meant to ask, but it was to late.

Hugin hopped into Bilbo’s lap and settled down comfortably, “Thorin looked fine, he looked like he always does-well, his Beard is getting long! He had a bead in it-“

“It’s already that long? Last time I saw him it was still short. Do you think he looks handsome like that?” Bilbo tisked and rolled his eyes, he reached to scratch Hugin’s head. “I told him if he grew his beard out he’d look handsome- always complaining about how ugly he is, can you believe that?”

The bird cooed at the scratches, Hugin huffed when Bilbo stopped, but decided to answer one of Bilbo’s questions “Thorin did kinda seem upset about something, but not mad. More worried, he was always pacing. I think he misses you, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo’s heart ached at the thought. “I miss him too,” he whispered. “I hope I see him soon…”

“Master Baggins, I told you, he’s gonna visit you, just give him time. Be patient!” Hugin cawed at him.

“Say you, you nearly had a fit when I told you dinner would be in a few minutes” Bilbo teased the bird.

“I had already waited hours!!” Hugin whined as he fluffed up

Bilbo gave a look he was sure his mother used to give him when he was acting out. “You had just finished eating less than an hour before!”

“But I was so hungry!” Hugin whined, the bird flopped over onto his back and looked at Bilbo “you were trying to starve me!”

“Hugin!” Bilbo laughed as the Raven kept whining. He couldn’t help but find it funny. And he gladly welcomed the change of topics. At least for now.

One afternoon, Bilbo had to convince Óin again, swearing he’d be fine. And after some more promising Bilbo found himself in a chair on a balcony.

It was a very nice day, strangely warm and the way the sun hit made Bilbo stretch out as much as he could comfortably in the chair he was in.

Bilbo smoked on his pipe peacefully. He blew a smoke ring and watched as it peacefully drifted away in a soft breeze. “I remember when we first came here, I spent most of my time exploring.” 

Bilbo looked over to the wizard next to him, Gandalf was giving him a soft smile, “I believe you did if I remember correctly. I believe I also remember you and Thorin disappearing for a time; I wonder what for.” The wizard hummed.

Bilbo’s heart skipped a beat, he ignored the last part of Gandalf’s sentence, he spouted whatever came to mind first. “Do you think he’ll come?” 

Gandalf raised a bushy brow at Bilbo as he smoked his own pipe, Gandalf blew rings that floated around him. Each ring a different color, they curled and weaved into one another.

“Who my dear boy?” Gandalf asked after blowing another ring.

“Thorin, do you think he’ll come…?” Bilbo rolled his pipe in his hands nervously.

“Ah….” Gandalf hummed for a moment, seemingly hesitating before smiling widely at him. “Perhaps? Though this seems more a question for Óin.”

“Óin…?” Bilbo echoed back, he looked over at Gandalf again.

Gandalf simply hummed and nodded his head before going back to smoking his pipe, Bilbo nodded to himself and decided he’d ask the Dwarf later.

When Óin agreed Bilbo’s health had improved enough to be allowed to explore the Last Homely House east of the sea. Though he had been there before, had already explored, He couldn’t help but find himself wandering the halls and gardens.

He remembered his first time there all over again. How the places felt like a haven to him. Other feelings he felt then came back to him, though not all were good feelings the sense of wonder was felt the most. 

With each step though the Elven halls, it brought relief to his crowded mind. He had begun to worry more over Thorin, his feelings for the dwarf and if everyone else was right.

He wanted to see Thorin badly, he had to see him. And as much as he wanted to ask Óin he couldn’t. He was scared of what the healer would tell him.

What if all his worries were true, what if Thorin really didn’t want to see him, ‘what if he hates me?’ Bilbo stilled at the thought.

‘What if he hates me…?’ Bilbo ran a hand through his hair. ‘What if he send another letter and he tells me he never wants to talk to me again? Tells me I should had stayed in the shire?’

Bilbo shook his head trying to chase the thoughts away again, he tried to focus on the feeling of the magic that was wrapping around him like a warm hug.

It brought with it memories that began to replace the foul thoughts in his head. Thoughts of home, of distant moments when he would come home with sticks and leaves in his hair, trailing in mud and fireflies.

His mother would march him off for a bath with the promise of stories of elves and all her adventures if he were to listen to her. Memories of how she would wrap him nicely in a warm towel.

Memories of his father and watching him sit at his desk, writing for long hours, Bilbo remembered how he would walk over and try and watch them his father would pull him to his lap and let Bilbo read as he wrote.

Memories began to mix, and change into different memories, ones that were not as distant of memories. Most were of a raven haired king, of how he was wrapped in a warm embrace.

He looked out over the garden, his mind wondered back to when he had last seen Thorin. The days they spent together when he visited, were lovely.

They had spent long hours walking the winding roads of the shire, telling stories and having a wonderful time.

He smiled widely as he stepped foot onto one of the garden’s paths. He began to trail slowly through the garden, the flowers still bloomed despite the cooler weather. Bilbo wondered if it was strange magic there that allowed them to.

Bilbo sighed and brushed his fingers along some vines that bloomed beautifully with flowers. He stopped at some soft blue flowers. He felt like they were glaring at him.

And then Bilbo was reminded, reminded of everything he was worried about and the growing unease that had begun to take root within him. And from there it only got worse.

It started with the small things, as all problems seem to do. He began to notice how Óin had begun to sneak away to speak in hushed tones with Gandalf or the Elves. 

And had even frequently caught the dwarven healer staring at him, his brow furrowed in thought, or pacing the halls while muttering to himself. 

The more Bilbo began to notice, the more he watched, the stranger things seemed, and he felt that something incredibly important was being kept from him.

One afternoon, Bilbo took a chance to explore more of Rivendell on his own. He wasn’t meant to be up that day, but Óin was preoccupied, so Bilbo took the moment to escape. 

That’s how he found himself in a dining hall, where an open letter lay on the table. Clearly forgotten by the elf lord or otherwise. Unfortunately, curiosity got the better of him, he leaned over and read a few lines.

Bilbo’s heart sinking as he read and learned, the letter spoke of dark forces gathering in the Gap of Rohan and spreading towards Mirkwood. 

Bilbo felt the uneasy feeling climb higher, something sick scratched and clawed inside him. Bilbo couldn’t understand it, didn’t want to, he was afraid but why? The issue was so far away and he was among eleven magics.

But before he could pull himself into a true panic, Óin spoke from behind him. “What do you think you’re doing, Bilbo?” Bilbo could hear the concern in the healers voice even when he tried to mask it with gruffness. “Didn’t I tell you to rest, Lad?”

Bilbo felt a wave of guilt wash over him. “I’m sorry, Óin. I just...”

Óin sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Aye, lad. But some things are best left alone until the time is right. Come, let’s get you back to bed.”

As Óin guided him back, Bilbo’s mind raced. ‘What else were they not telling me?’ He thought desperately, ‘Was this something that had to do with Thorin?’ ‘Was he okay?’ ‘Where was he?’ ‘Will he be here?’ ‘Was he even coming?’ His thoughts swirled around his mind.

Bilbo had to shake his dizzying thoughts away, he wondered vaguely if he should have asked Óin more, if he should do as Gandalf suggested.

Then the opportunity presented itself a few days later, as Bilbo sat by a small fountain with his eyes closed, listening to the soothing sound of the water, he heard the familiar sound of heavy footsteps approaching. 

He opened his eyes and smiled up at Óin as the older dwarf joined him, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Good morning, lad,” Óin greeted him, “You’re looking better today.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo replied with a nod. He let a comfortable silence fall between them, feeling the cool mist from the fountain on his face. 

After a moment, he decided that the time to question the dwarf had come. Trying to keep his tone light, he said, “I can’t help but notice you seem very busy lately. Is something the matter?”

Óin paused, his hand hovering over the pipe he was pulling from his pocket. He looked at Bilbo as if searching for something.

Then Óin sighed heavily before sitting down beside Bilbo. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before you asked,” he said, beginning to pack his pipe with tobacco.

Bilbo’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

“Thorin was supposed to come with me lad,” Óin spoke loudly, though he often did. “We were to travel together, but he took too long…I feared I was out of time, so I left ahead. When I last saw him, he was waiting on Kíli and Fíli. We were supposed to meet in Mirkwood.”

“Then what happened…?” Bilbo asked, his anxiety creeping into his voice.

Óin shrugged. “Things didn’t go as planned, I assume. I came ahead.” He took a drag on his pipe, the smoke curling around his face. “After I arrived, we started getting a few letters from Erebor.”

“Letters?” Bilbo pressed, hoping for more information.

“Aye,” Óin nodded. “Letters, mostly from Balin. They’re meant for Thorin when he gets here.”

“So… so he is coming…?” Bilbo muttered, Óin gave him a confused look and Bilbo suddenly remembered that Óin was hard of hearing and he wasn’t facing the hobbit to be able to read his lips.

“Thorin is coming?” He asked, trying to be a bit louder.

Óin gave a small nod. “I believe so. He and others will be here soon enough.”

“Others?” Bilbo asked, trying to keep his hope in check.

Óin hummed and nodded in agreement as he took another puff from his pipe. “Most likely Fíli and Kíli, Nori and probably Dwalin- maybe Bombur but I doubt it, he’s waiting on his Brother and cousin  to come back. That group is bound to be slower than I was, especially with the princes.”

“How-how long ago was that…?” Bilbo’s voice cracked as he asked, he would tell you it was because he had to be louder than he liked.

Óin looked down at Bilbo and sighed, placing a comforting hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. “Traveling on any road isn’t without danger. But I’m sure they’ll be fine, lad.”

Despite the reassurance, a flowering anxiety bloomed in Bilbo’s chest. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong.

The next day Bilbo skipped First breakfast, he couldn’t eat anything and if he did he began to feel sick. He decided since he was unable to do anything he’d go find someone to bother.

He very quickly found Gandalf strolling through the gardens. The leaves rustled softly in the breeze, and birds sang in the trees. It would have been very pleasant if Bilbo didn’t feel like throwing up.

He fell into step beside Gandalf, who greeted him with a warm smile. “Good morning, Bilbo. Feeling restless today, I see.”

Bilbo nodded, his hands fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt. “Gandalf,” he began hesitantly, “do you think they’re alright? Thorin and the others, I mean.”

Gandalf’s expression softened, and he paused in his walk, placing a gentle hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “I do,” he replied calmly. “This is Thorin we are talking about. You should know better than anyone, that they have faced far worse than an unwilling path.”

Bilbo nodded again, but he still felt the sickening anxiety twisting within him. “I just… I can’t help but worry. I suppose I am truly turning into an old fool…”

Gandalf sighed.  “ you have always been a foolish Hobbit Bilbo, have no doubt on that”

“Thank you Gandalf, you know you must work on your reassurances”

Gandalf chuckled and nodded “ I suppose so, have patience, my dear boy. They will come. I’m certain of it.” He patted Bilbo on the back before walking again. 

Bilbo quickly followed beside the gray wizard. Gandalf spoke again “In the meantime, take solace in the peace of this place. Rivendell has a way of healing more than just the body.”

Bilbo managed a small smile at the attempt of comforting words. As they continued their walk, he tried to focus on the beauty around him, but his thoughts still remained with his Dwarfs

Bilbo had been doing his best to occupy his mind, focusing on light walks through Rivendell or engaging in pleasant conversations with whomever he could catch.

Unsurprisingly it was often Gandalf or Lord Elrond who kept him company, though sometimes Hugin would follow him around. They felt almost like a temporary balm to the unease that had been growing slowly within him.

But then, without warning, it happened. It was a perfect afternoon, well a nearly perfect one, at least. The sun had bathed the garden in a kind golden light.

Bilbo found himself alone among the flowers, their bright colors almost too bright in the light of the day. He couldn’t help but marvel at the delicate petals. He inhaled deeply, trying to savor the sweet, earthy scent of each flower.

Suddenly, Bilbo’s world tilted. The sturdy earth beneath his feet shifted. A sharp pain stabbed through his chest, stealing his breath away.

He tried to breathe in air, but his lungs refused to cooperate, leaving him gasping, each breath undoubtedly ragged, in a desperate struggle. The once calming warmth of the sun turned sharp and burning.

His hands instinctively grabbed at the ground, as he fell to his knees. Bilbo’s fingers dug into the soft soil wanting for an anchor to keep him in reality. 

Panic surged through him, cold and swift. He shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness that clouded his mind, but it only made things worse. The vibrant colors of the garden; the reds, yellows, and blues of the flowers he’d been admiring, began to blur together, their edges softening and darkening.

Darkness slowly dug its claws into him and the edges of his vision. Bilbo felt his arms tremble, his strength had left him almost completely. Bilbo glanced around, his eyes still wild-eyed, searching for someone, anyone, who could help him.

But the garden was deserted, and the realization struck him, and struck him hard. He wined and Bilbo could feel tears blurring the rest of his vision, he was alone.

A strangled sound escaped his throat as his arms finally gave out. He buckled, and crumpled to the ground, the impact sending a jolt of pain through him. 

Panic swelled within his chest, mingling with the suffocating sensation that gripped his lungs. ‘I’m gonna die here’ his mind all but screamed. 

He tried to get up, but his body stubbornly refused, limbs failing to obey any of his frantic commands. His thoughts were a jumbled mess of terror and confusion, ‘I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die’ ‘help, please no’ ‘wheres Thorin?’, they all swirled together making it impossible to think clearly.

He tried to scream, to call out for help, but the sound that came out was pitifully weak, barely more than a desperate whisper. He blinked away his tears as his vision began to narrow. 

He had no sense of time, no way of knowing how long he lay there, struggling to breathe, to move. It could have been seconds or hours; it all blurred together in a haze.

Then, through the fog, he heard it, the familiar sound of boots thumping they’re way up the path. Bilbo’s heart leaped with a flicker of hope, and with a desperate strength, he forced his body to move. 

He rolled over onto his side, dragging himself forward with trembling arms. The effort was agonizing, and a scream tore from his throat, louder this time, ripping his throat raw.

Before he knew anything else Óin was there. The healer knelt beside him, his hands moving swiftly. “Stay awake for me, lad,” Óin muttered, his voice gruff but concerned.

Bilbo whimpered in response, the pressure in his chest easing away slightly as Óin worked. Bilbo gasped, drawing in a deeper breath than before, but it wasn’t enough. 

The darkness was still there, hovering on the edge of his vision, wanting, clawing for him. He felt Óin’s arms scoop him up.

“Keep your eyes open, now.” Óin’s panic was clear, “you’ll be alright lad, come on.” Óins panic pierced through the haze that was clouding Bilbo’s mind.

Bilbo tried to hold on, really he tried, but it was no use. The darkness was too strong, its grip tightening around him. Óin’s voice became a distant echo, fading further and further away until there was nothing but silence. 

After that Óin refused to leave his side, and if he did it wasn't for long, more then once Bilbo would devolve into random fits and when he’d come to and Óin would be holding him tightly.

Bilbo’s fever had returned, worse than before, and the wound on his head began to fester strangely. Dark thoughts crept into every corner of Bilbo’s mind as the sickness took its hold.

Bilbo struggled to remember what happened, or how to keep his memories straight but he remembered when he began to hear the whispers.

they would come and go from him, often more at night. They seemed to come from the walls or the deep inky shadows that crept and shifted in the darkness. 

The few things he could remember was how the whispers were soft, lullingly quiet and almost relaxing. But then they grew louder, the whispers began to change and warp, to something he had never heard before. 

He could hear snatches of an otherworldly melody, haunting and distant, followed by a deep, resonant humming that sent shivers down his spine.

“Do you hear that?” he asked Óin one night.

Óin frowned. “Hear what, lad?” Óin asked as he slowly stopped what he was doing and made his way to Bilbo’s side

“The voices… the music,” Bilbo whispered.

Óin exchanged a worried glance with Gandalf, who too began staying at Bilbo’s side. “There’s no music, Bilbo,” Gandalf said gently. “It’s just your mind playing tricks, you’re alright.”

But Bilbo was not convinced. The whispers, the singing grew louder, sometimes forming words he could almost understand, other times dissolving into soft laughter or high-pitched, eerie tones that seemed to bounce off the walls. 

“Am I…am I going mad,” he whined as he looked at Óin, clutching the sheets tightly. “I don’t want to go mad Óin make the music stop, make it stop, stop, stop!.”

Bilbo had gripped at his hair desperately, he felt rough hands take his and untangle them from his hair “don’t do that lad. yer not going mad, I promise I’m not going to let ya go mad, okay?”

Bilbo didn’t remember what he said after that, the next thing he did remember was how he felt as if he were being watched, at all times, but whenever he turned to look, there was nothing there. He felt unseen eyes burning into him, watching his every move.

He remembered how his sleep became restless, filled with nightmares of dark corridors and shadowy figures. He would wake up drenched in sweat, gasping for air, his heart racing.

One  he could remember vividly, he didn't think he could ever forget. He dreamt of Thorin, standing tall as he always did, his blue eyes piercing and determined. 

But then, the dream shifted. Thorin was surrounded by orcs, their dark forms swirling like a storm around them. Blood, thick and dark, oozed down Bilbo's arms. 

Bilbo tried to run, to get to Thorin but his feet wouldn’t move. Suddenly, a sharp blade sliced through the air, embedding itself into Thorin’s side.

Thorin reached out to Bilbo, his eyes wide with pain and fear. “Bilbo…” he whispered before collapsing to the ground. Bilbo screamed.

He woke up with a start, screaming still. “No! No! Thorin, no- wait, please, no! You can’t!” He thrashed against the sheets, tears streaming down his face. 

Someone grabbed his arm, the voice spoke softly, rumbling in tone. but their voice was lost in the roaring thunder in his ears.

Suddenly, Gandalf was there, his arms wrapping around Bilbo, pulling him close. “It’s alright, Bilbo,” Gandalf whispered, his voice steady but filled with concern. “You’re alright. Hush now. What you saw isn’t real; it didn’t happen.”

But Bilbo shook his head frantically, the tears coming faster. “No! It happened, Gandalf! I saw it -I saw it happen! I saw it!”

From that night on, Bilbo’s fever worsened. It became even harder for him to distinguish between his dreams and reality, Bilbo's mind was beginning to blur memories and images, facts and fictions.

He had lost all meaning to any sound other than the whispers. The walls seemed to close in on him, and the shadows danced just out of reach, taunting him.

He felt as though he were sinking, the weight of his own body pressing him down. He tried to move, to speak, but his limbs felt heavy, like lead.

Bilbo’s mouth refused to form the words. He felt trapped in his own mind, a prisoner to the fever that burned through him.

In his fevered state, he often found himself standing in an endless void, a blackness so deep it seemed to swallow all light. He would whip his head around desperately for anything familiar, but there was nothing, just the dark, endless void. 

Then the ground beneath him would shift, and he would feel himself falling, spiraling down into an abyss with no end.

He heard chanting, deep voices singing in a language he didn’t understand. The sound was everywhere and nowhere, vibrating through him, filling him with a strange mix of dread and awe. 

He tried to cover his ears, but the sound was inside his head, reverberating through his very bones. “Gandalf,” he whimpered, “make it stop. Please, make it stop.”

Gandalf was always there, by his side, whispering soothing words, but Bilbo could hardly understand them. The words began to sound like rolling thunder, and soon even Gandalf’s voice was lost in the noise.

Bilbo felt himself slipping further away, the world around him growing darker, colder. The room spun, and Bilbo felt panic grip it's cold claws into him again. He didn’t want to lose his grip on reality. He didn’t want to fall into the darkness that waited at the edge of his mind. But he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t fight it. The darkness was pulling him down, down into its cold embrace.

He could hear his own heartbeat slowing, the music growing louder, consuming him. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, there was only the music, the haunting, terrifying music.

Just when he thought he couldn’t bear it any longer, he heard a new sound,a clear, strong voice cutting through the chaos. It called his name. “Bilbo!” the voice rumbled, filled with fear and urgency. “Don’t ya dare, lad! Come on! Damn it, breathe!”

Bilbo’s eyes snapped open, he took a deep breath as his surroundings began to come back to him, he couldn’t help the cry that escaped him as his chest throbbed in pain, someone took his face in their larger hands.

“That’s it, breathe, deep breaths. Come on, stay awake lad” Óin’s voice rumbled close to his ear. The dwarf let go of his face and turned to Gandalf. “Keep him with us, Gandalf.”

Gandalf’s face appeared in Bilbo’s blurred vision as the wizard held his arms tightly. “Fight for us, Bilbo. Come on. You must fight it. Think of Thorin! The blasted dwarf is always late, isn’t he?”

But Bilbo was so tired, so very tired. His body ached, his head throbbed, and he felt as if he were being pulled in a thousand different directions. 

The world around him blurred again, and he felt himself beginning to drift. “I’m tired… Gandalf,” he whispered softly, his eyes fluttered as he tried to keep awake.

Gandalf held him tighter. “No! No, no, no, hold on, Bilbo. Hold on!” He glanced over his shoulder, panic flickering in his eyes. “Óin!”

But it was too late. The darkness came again, enveloping Bilbo in its cold, endless embrace. And it was horrible.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Note:

I’ll be editing chapter 5 if you need me. Have a good day/night.

@m4yh4ps @bllbabaggins

[ekurie987]

having fun + full of whimsy + yay

[ironmandeficiency]

the company + helping their s/o with insomnia

characters included: thorin, fíli, kíli, dwalin, bofur

word count: 941

summary: how a few members of thorin’s company help their s/o with their insomnia

a/n: again, i wrote these at an ungodly hour even tho i had important things to do today

thorin 🪵

with his duties as king, thorin is quite the night owl

he tends to stay up late working on important documents, reading through correspondence, doing everything but resting

you keep him company on many of those nights, humming softly as you read novels or tend to your own royal duties across the room when sleep evades you (which is nearly always)

he’ll notice when you start to sink further in your armchair, taking that as his cue to put you to bed

“come, my queen, we must rest for the night” he whispers, sliding his arms under your back and behind your knees to carry you to bed

your indignant grumble is met with a soft chuckle, your husband reassuring you that he is joining you

once you’re tucked in, he slides himself under the blankets with you and hums lullabies until you both doze off

fíli 🗡️

despite how long fíli has known you, he will never understand how in mahal’s great mines you are so elusive after sundown

during the day, he knows exactly how to find you and never worries about where you happen to be. but under the light of the moon, you slip through his fingers and seemingly vanish with the breeze

he knows that you like to go on walks to burn off energy you didn’t use during the day; without your evening walks, you’re tossing and turning like mad

you’re almost never in the same place twice; he’s found you roaming the mines chatting with bofur, reading books by the light of the forges, and on one evening you were in the kitchens with bombur chowing down on midnight snacks

tonight he finds you in the royal library, drool escaping from your lips onto a book older than the both of you combined

he spots balin and the old advisor grins at the sight of you snoozing on the dusty tome

your golden prince gently slides the book from under your head, adjusting your body so he can carry you to bed without much jostling

kíli 🏹

you’ve known that kíli was a massive cuddler since you were children in the blue mountains

he had a penchant for being able to sleep nearly anywhere growing up, and since you both were glued to each other by the hip since pebblehood, you were his permanent best friend and cuddle buddy no matter where you were

the older you got, sleep began avoiding you like a plague unless you had kee by your side. it was such a problem that he lived with you in every way but by name, having his own side of the bed and a good chunk of his clothes in your dresser

when he went on the quest for erebor with his brother and uncle, your insomnia returned with a vengeance that rivaled the angriest dwarf

reuniting with kíli in erebor was what kept you energized once everyone heard the news, your body running on willpower and dís’s mothering

when he saw you for the first time in the newly reclaimed kingdom he was concerned. he told thorin in no uncertain terms that he’d be spending the next few days helping you find the rest you’ve been so desperately missing

if there were confessions of love and kisses and beads exchanged between the naps, no one needed to know

dwalin 🪓

the best way he knows how to help someone sleep is through physical exertion. as a seasoned warrior, he knows with absolute certainty that waving hefty weapons around for long enough will get anyone an immediate audience with the sandman

when he feels you tossing and turning in bed, he’ll coax you out to the training grounds and spar with you until your eyelids begin to droop and your stance gets sloppy

you’ll be dead on your feet as your husband scoops you into his arms, silently carrying you back to your rooms with a fond smile (the smile is for you, his signature glare is for the guards under his command daring them to say anything disparaging about you)

laying you on the bed, his callused hands remove your clothing piece by piece, massaging your muscles as he works your tunic over your head and trousers down your legs

a soft nightgown is eased over your head before he bundles you up in the blankets. he joins you and simply runs his hands along your skin soothingly

it doesn’t matter what time it is, if dwalin can help you find rest, he will do whatever he has to do

bofur ⛏️

either bofur doesn’t see how some of the other miners stare at him, or he simply doesn’t give a flying fuck

most nights while he works, you’ll be found in a smallish rolling bed nearby where he’s working. you’re not always sleeping, sometimes simply resting or reading a book while you wait for your dwarf

it was an idea bifur had when bofur lamented to his brother about your discomfort and lack of genuine rest, and it helped a lot

there are occasional breaks in his work, bofur always taking a moment to kiss you sweetly and relay some of the fresh miner’s gossip (honestly, they rival the midwives with how much they talk)

when bofur is free from his duties, he’ll rouse you from whatever state you’re in and guide you back home with a steady hand and a smile

as you walk, he’ll update you on all the juicy rumors and drama and only half-finish his stories as you both fall into bed for the night

nothing anyone can say will convince him to not show you how much you are loved and appreciated

[basil--and--sage]

modern au, where Kíli and Tauriel ask Fíli to move in with them, because they love him and he's the only one, who knows how to clean the dishwater filter

[tondw0o]

Look at all the cute little pets they found !!! Had to draw this cute idea of @silvermoon-scrolls ❤️

[pilkypills]

[vigilantegreen]

Walked past two people with their feet up on the table and a bowl with the dregs of batter in it, cakes surrounding them. I overheard one of them say "ooo I don't feel good" and the other say "I think I ate too much of it" and all I could think is that's so Fíli and Kíli.

[fili-urzudel]

If you could write any scene to add to the Hobbit movies what scene would you write and why?

Ooh that's a good one! I think they're pretty good as they are. I've been reading the book and while there are things that are left out in the movie, there's also a lot of things that the movie adds that makes the background dwarves feel more real and fleshed out. I don't even care if they're like, every basic character trope at once, it's so fun

One thing that always makes me mad is how Fíli is overlooked so often and sometimes it seems like they give his lines to Kíli just because he's "the cute one" (he is but so is his brother!!!) and they want him to have more screentime. The instance that always sticks in my head is Kíli confronting Thorin shortly after he's been freed from the dragonsickness, like Kíli has every right to say that but Fíli doubly so, considering he is the heir to the throne of Erebor. So I would add more Fíli content (speaking of which I should write more fics exploring his personality since none of the writers wanted to give him any apparently).

I might add something about how often Bilbo ends up having to be carried on someone's (often Dori's) back, or a glimpse into the society of the Eagles like we get in the book. If and when I finish the book, I'll reblog this and let you know if there's anything else I want added lol

[corrosivegrl-blog]

[mediocre-tumble]

I like to headcanon that the reason movie!Kíli’s hair is so short is because he dyes it brown, which negatively affects his hair growth.

He dyes it because Thorin and others used to mix him and Fíli up all the time.

It was Bilbo who pointed this out to him in Rivendell.

I’m pretty sure he’s described as having blonde hair in the books as well, so. . .