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ladylouoflothlorien · 5 years ago

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Hello! May I please request a Spirit! Thorin x Female! Human! Reader where Erebor is in the process of being rebuilt after the events of BOTFA. R, who is helping overlook the construction, often goes to Thorin's tomb at the end of the day and often just talks and falls asleep there. Thorin has always been present, and R discovers this when Thorin figures out a way to speak to R. Maybe a bit of fluff/comedy to help the bittersweet angst, if you can. Thank you so much! Sry if it is too specific!

I’m so sorry this took so long to get up!! But here it is!! It’s probably a little angstier than you were hoping for as I couldn’t really find a way to insert any comedy in it, but still I hope you like it anon :)

Lay Your Ghosts to Rest

word count: 2684

“Honestly I thought they wouldn’t actually let me come down here.”

It was the first thing Thoin heard when he woke up. A woman’s voice, too high to belong to any of his kin, but not irritating enough to belong to an elf. A human woman, then. Thorin sat up. When he saw his hands and - horrified - looked through them, everything came flooding back. Ravenhill, his nephews, Azog, himself…

“I thought dwarves were supposed to be secretive. Then again, I suppose you were a public figure. Still, the grave of a King…”

Thorin looked at the woman finally as her voice trailed off and saw she was kneeling beside a solid stone coffin that, after a moment, he realised was his own. The sick feeling in his gut was not at all alleviated by the two similar coffins on either side of him. As exalted as he knew the company would now be, the only two members who would ever be buried beside him would be his sister-sons.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

The woman laughed quietly, presumably at herself, and then slouched. Her whole body seemed to deflate. When she spoke again her voice was much quieter, and Thorin had to strain his ears to make out the words.

“This is stupid, I’m talking to a corpse.”

Well, it was the truth, but that didn’t make it any less difficult to hear. The woman pulled herself up off the floor and seemed to collect herself.

“Well, I hope you’re resting in peace.”

He wasn’t.

With that, the woman appeared to be done. She turned and left the room without a second thought, completely oblivious to the ghost of the King she left behind.

Thorin could not leave the burial chamber. He could walk right through the stone of his own coffin, but he could not walk through the carved stone archway despite the fact that the only thing in his way was air. So far his afterlife had been long periods of boredom interspersed with brief periods of intense guilt and self-loathing.

A week had passed since the woman had first appeared, and he had not seen her since, but he’d had other visitors. Balin and Dwalin had visited together, and whilst the older of the two brothers had barely stepped foot into the room, Dwalin had made it a little further before all but falling to his knees as his strength left him and his whole body was wracked with sobs. Thorin had done his best to comfort his bâheluh, but just as the woman before them neither Dwalin or his older brother had even known he was there.

Bilbo had come too, a visit that was particularly difficult for Thorin, as he knew that where the others might visit him from time to time he would likely never see his little friend again. Mahal knew he had a lot to make up for where the Hobbit was concerned, and now he’d never get the chance. The burglar had tearfully promised - though no doubt didn’t truly believe Thorin could hear - to plant the acorn in his garden, that it would have pride of place, and when it grew into a tree he would name it Oakenshield after him. Apparently Hobbits were in the habit of giving names to the more established and important plants in their gardens.

Perhaps the strangest visit of all was the elf who came and cried over Kili’s coffin for the better part of an hour, closely watched by none other than Thranduil himself who hovered at the entrance of the room. Thorin had been able to make out bits and pieces of their conversation, though it had been in Sindarin - he’d been forced to take lessons before the fall of Erebor - and it had been something of a surprise to him to learn that Elves, though immortal, could die of heartbreak. It seemed that this elf would soon be leaving the shores of Middle Earth to escape that same fate.

The woman came to see him again, eventually. He watched her enter. She seemed unsure of herself, as someone who had been given access to an area normally off limits and still felt like they shouldn’t be there. Thorin was left to wonder how many people had free access to his grave, and how many had to ask permission every time they wished to enter.

She came and settled beside his coffin in the same position she’d been in when Thorin had first awoken.

“I... uh... I’m back.”

Well that was one way of starting what would be a very one-sided conversation, though clearly she was more trying to psych herself up to actually talk out loud rather than keeping her thoughts hidden inside her head.

“You know, it seems unfair. You risked everything to get Erebor back for your people, and now you don’t even get to see it being restored.”

The pause that followed stretched out far longer than was comfortable, but she seemed lost in her thoughts all of a sudden. Thorin found himself genuinely curious as to what she had to say, and he wished he had some way of prompting her back to reality. As it was, he simply had to wait. Patience was never a trait he’d been known for.

“I don’t really know why I feel the need to do this but… I want to come and tell you about how the reconstruction is going.”

She paused and rested a delicate hand on the edge of Thorin’s coffin, seemingly drawing strength from the cold stone. Still, Thorin’s attention was caught. He couldn’t think of a reason why a human woman would be so involved in Erebor’s reconstruction that she would feel the need to seek out the kingdom’s dead monarch and tell his corpse how it was going. Then again, he wouldn’t have turned his nose up at information, even if he could communicate with her in some way.

“I’m helping to organise it, the reconstruction I mean… It’s a big job, and there aren’t enough dwarv- dwarrow here to do both the building and the organisational work. There are some humans who are helping with the menial labour, but for the most part, anyone actually doing the task of building is a ‘child of mahal’, as you say…”

That was highly unexpected. Thorin hadn’t thought his cousin Dain capable of letting anyone but a dwarf within a mile of the lonely mountain, and here he was allowing humans to aid in its reconstruction? He strongly suspected that Balin had been an influence on that decision, pragmatic as he was.

She came back often, multiple times a week after her tasks for the day were done, and there were some days where she would fall asleep beside his coffin in what looked to be the most uncomfortable of positions. It made Thorin wish - as had almost become a habit - that he could have some kind of physical impact on the world around him, if only to spare her neck. He supposed that, as a ghost, incorporealism came with the territory.

Less and less people visited him. He didn’t blame them, not really. He could see the pain and guilt in his friends eyes every time they came to look upon the stone coffin. Visiting his last place of ‘rest’ naturally opened up wounds his friends were trying to heal from. Besides, it wasn’t as if they expected him to actually know they were visiting. What it did mean was that he clung to the woman’s visits more than ever, and rather surprisingly she had actually kept up visiting rather regularly even when all his other visitors slowly slipped away from him.

Again she was at his side, and he had settled on top of his coffin - how exactly he could sit on top of the blasted thing and yet also pass through it when he chose to completely eluded him, but he chose not to think on it too hard. The dead King had grown very fond of her. She was his only link to the world outside the stone walls of his burial chamber, and hearing about how Erebor was progressing towards its former glory filled him with a sense of satisfaction that he’d rarely felt when he was alive and an exile from his own kingdom. Normally the woman came and left alone, but this time was different.

After she’d been down with him for a few hours, Balin suddenly appeared at the entrance to the chamber. Thorin was surprised; the advisor hadn’t been down more than a handful of times. Balin had known and been close to Thorin and Thorin’s family for practically his entire life, Thorin understood that he would take his death especially hard, though perhaps not as hard as Dwalin, who had only been to him once since the funeral.

“Lass…” Balin began, and Thorin felt like crying when he heard that voice again. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed his company.

The woman sleepily turned and smiled at him.

“Hello Balin.”

Balin took a hesitant step into the chamber, and then paused to surreptitiously dab at his eyes.

“You should not speak to the dead, lass… they cannot hear you, and they cannot reply…”

It was clear that the words pained him to say, but that he believed them. The woman smiled sadly.

“Oh, I know that, dear advisor… but… I don’t know why, I just feel like this is something I need to do.”

Balin moved to where she was sitting on the floor and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder now that he had regained control of his own emotions once again.

“I was there, you know? I heard his speech to the people and the old master… he had so much passion. It doesn’t seem fair…”

The woman cut herself off and bit her lip, glancing furtively towards the snow-haired dwarf when she suddenly realised that her words could upset him, but he merely squeezed her shoulder and hung his head. It wasn’t as if he could disagree with her sentiment, after all.

“It’s not fair, lass, but Thorin… he knew the dangers this journey would bring. He was the best of us, and he died to give us back our home. Aye, I don’t think any dwarf could ask for a more honorable death.”

Thorin felt like crying to hear Balin say those words, to know that despite his spell of madness his friends still looked upon him with kindness and love, but though he truly wished to cry, the tears just would not come. Perhaps that was just another thing ghosts could not do.

“Perhaps you’re right Balin. Maybe this isn’t healthy… feeling like I have a friendship with a dead dwarf I never properly met…”

She did not visit him for two weeks.

The dead King thought she wasn’t going back, and he cursed his never-ending loneliness. Thorin raged in his burial chamber, trying beyond hope to have any impact on the physical world around him and failing. His muscles felt tense and ready to break anything he could get his hands on, but when he tried to ram himself against his coffin he merely stumbled right through it. Eventually, Thorin collapsed to the floor of the room and screamed till his lungs and throat hurt. When he finally stopped, panting, he noticed something wonderful.

With all the construction work happening around Erebor, the mountain had become rather dusty, and with no one other than the human woman coming to visit him, a layer of dust had slowly been settling on the floor without him noticing. As he sat crumpled on the floor, his eyes picked up on particles of dust dancing around him in the air before settling. Tentatively, Thorin reached out his finger and dragged it across the floor. The finger left a clean line behind it.

You knew you shouldn’t go back to Thorin’s chamber, but there was something inside you pulling you down towards the cold stone room. When you entered, you exhaled shakily and felt almost as if you were betraying Balin’s trust - he had spoken to you since finding you down there to kindly and sincerely ask that you not continue to visit Thorin’s chamber, not because he didn’t want you down there per se, but he was worried about your mental health. Despite your conversation with Balin, and a two week detox period, you hadn’t been able to get rid of your strange need to ‘talk’ to Thorin Oakenshield.

You settled beside the coffin once again, and for a moment you weren’t entirely sure what to say. It had been so long since you were down there… you almost felt like an apology was the first thing that needed to be said, even though that was ridiculous.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been visiting you lately…”

It really was such an odd compulsion to speak.

“Apparently people were getting worried about me…”

Having not done this for a while, the more you spoke, the more self conscious you began to feel. You felt stupid, like a child believing there was a monster under their bed or a fairy at the end of their garden. There was no need to speak; Balin was right, it wasn’t as if anyone was listening. You suddenly felt like crying. You had wasted so many evenings coming down to speak to a chunk of stone when you could have been spending time among your newly found dwarven friends. A tear rolled down your cheek and fell to the floor, but when you hung your head in shame at yourself, you froze. There on the floor you could see words drawn in the dust.

I am here, and I am listening.

The reconstruction of Erebor took many years, and with your strong work ethic combined with the obvious emotional attachment you had to seeing the mountain restored, you had been promoted several times and eventually reached a level of recognition in the mountain equal to that of the surviving members of the company. The dwarves of the Lonely Mountain had wholeheartedly embraced the human woman who seemed to care just as much about their home as they did, and your organisational expertise meant that the mountain’s restoration had proceeded at a pace even some of the more optimistic dwarves could not have anticipated.

However, whilst work proceeded quickly in comparison to the lifespan of a dwarf, it was not so fast from a human perspective. Your joints ached as you climbed down to the burial chamber that you had come to know as well as your own home, for today was a very special journey. By rights you should have retired years ago, but you couldn’t. Not until today.

No longer did you kneel by the side of the coffin - Balin had seen to that once he’d discovered you’d started going there again - and there was a chair in the room permanently for your use. In recent years, it had become especially useful. You weren’t sure you could actually get up off the cold stone floor by yourself anymore.

Despite how your bones protested, there was a smile on your face when you finally reached the room and sat down, for today was a day to deliver a very special message to the ghost king. Erebor’s reconstruction was finally completed. The dragon’s wholesale destruction of his ancestral home had been completely erased. You closed your eyes as you delivered your message, and you as you did you could have sworn that, for the first time since you’d heard his speech in laketown, you heard the voice of Thorin Oakenshield himself saying thank you.

A chill settled on the room for a moment, and when it was gone, you no longer felt the pull to the room nor the compulsion to talk. Thorin Oakenshield would finally be allowed to rest in peace and go to the halls of mahal, and you knew you would not be coming back to his burial chamber again.

The end.

bâheluh – my friend of all friends

Forever Tags: @sweeticedtea @cd1242 @strongandfreedc @pixierox101 @jotink78 @luna-xial @underthemoon-n

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legolaslovely · 5 years ago

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Hi! OMG! Happy Birthday Friend! 🍕🎂 !!! I didn't know - hope you had a good one - it sounds AWESOME! And on Kili KTuesday too! Yay! AND THE HOBBIT WAS ON!!! WHAT!? HOW DID I MISS THIS?! *poutyface* I LOVE THE HOBBIT!!! And now I must spam you - sorry in advance - I just have FEELS, y'know? Alright. *deep breath* DAAAAIN! OMG,DAIN IRONFOOT! Lord of The Iron Hills! Thorin's more reasonable Cousin! Cousin Dain! I LOVE HIM! ALL THE DAIN LOVE! Oh, when him and Thorin and Dwalin get together -

Hello friend! I am going to put your messages here under the cut! I wish asks didn’t have a word limit! But I’m happy to hear from you!

#2 - look out! And you thought Fili and Kili were bad!!! I know in alot of fics Dain is portrayed as the Baddie, and i get it - you gotta use SOMEBODY, and he's there and convenient and available, but it just hurts. I mean, c'mon, it's Cousin DAIN! All he wants is for Thorin to have a good life! And that's my rant about Dain. Now then. On to ANOTHER favourite slighted person. And you know who I mean. FILLLLLIIIIII !!! OH MY BOY, MY GOLDEN SINCERE EARNEST UNOBTRUSIVE STEADY CAPABLE BOY!!! WHY?!?!

#3 - WHYWHYWHY?!?! Yes the films did him dirty, buuuuut, they DID end up giving us such a gorgeous portrayer of him ( and no I'm not talking about the first Fake Fili - sorry, no offense, Rob, but just, no ). So there's that. But you are ABSOLUTELY RIGHT. WHY NOT MORE OF FILI ? I mean, he is so important! He's the M*F*ing Heir to Thorin Oakenshield, for Mahal's sake! I really think HE should've been the one to give that 'it's not in my blood' speech, I'll got to say the piece about the Laketown

#4 ( i think? ) - People having nothing. And I ADORE Kili, Small Sweet BB that he is, and I LOVE every minute of him that I saw and I am so grateful for all his screening, and yet ... i am sad for the lack of Fili. The unfairness of it. It doesn't sit well with me. Why couldn't they have divided the storylines between them? I mean, Kili got to confront Trolls, and have a scene in the Mirkwood cells, and then get shot with an arrow helping their escape, and then almost DYING from the wound,

#5 - and don't even TELL me about the alternate version where he has a big fight / death scene ( Orc propaganda - we all know Thorin, Fili, and Kili survive and live HEA ) Like, WHY couldn't they have shared some of that with Fili??? And to top it off, the one time Fili is Front and Center, in that same alternate version where they show Fili dying ( blatantly false, he is alive and well and kickin' butt and takin' names in Erebor ) it is the CRAPPIEST scene. But I do have to say, when they

#6 - show him alone, after he sent Kili off to search the lower levels, and he hears the drums and KNOWS he's trapped, with no escape, no way out, with no one to help him, oh God - THE LOOK ON HIS FACE - I could cry ( okay, I do ). I would rather they had used the scene you talk about, where he vows to get revenge on the Moria Scum, for killing his Little Brother. THAT is some mighty fine acting right there, is all I'm sayin'. Whew! *wipes perspiration off forehead* I THINK that's all for now!

#7 - is it 7? We'll call it 7 - I'm sorry for spamming you with all this, but I just couldn't help myself. I had to agree Very Strongly with you. And yes, give me more of the Boys!!! And hope your Birthday was Happy! And I love it when you're drunk! And I am not and I STILL ramble like a fool and can't type right! Anyhow, thank you for coming to my Ted talk and goodnight!

***

Thank you for the birthday wishes! I don’t even know what channel The Hobbit was on but I just turned on the TV and there it was! Fate! The channels apparently celebrate Kili Ktuesday as well! And who wouldn’t celebrate him? He’s a good babe.

I LOVE your idea that Dwalin, Thorin and Dain are troublemakers together! They’d give Fili and Kili a run for their money! Hilarious! Hmm... where would Dis fall... I think she’d join in and help terrorize her sons! Get them back for all their tricks and fall back into old times with her brother, cousin, and friend. Very sweet!

Even I have written Dain as the Baddie before! He’s an easy go to, but really, when you think about the books, he deserves so much praise. It’s an interesting change that they completely altered Thorin’s storyline with the orcs... I don’t know how I feel about it, honestly.

Yes. Fili is so ignored. I get mad about it all the time- we all do! But that’s what fanfiction is for! I think the “not in my blood” speech suits Kili. It’s SO clear that he’s very passionate and I think even that his temper is a little wild. I’m glad he got all the screen time he did. BUT. We could have had much more of Thorin and his heir. Thorin teaching Fili and discussing their travel routes and any problems- things that would have REALLY happened because you can’t convince me that Thorin would have been THAT despotic in the beginning of the journey. God forbid we get those little snippets of domestic gold! In my opinion, we should have had more Fili rather than the time with Radaghast and Galadriel and the orcs. I understand that it’s meant to tie into LOTR, but we know that. Yes, it’s a geek out moment, but good writers shouldn’t sacrifice characters for plots the fans already know. This is just my opinion. I will forever be salty for Fili, but at least we got the wonderful, soft, warm-hearted Deano to give our Fili the effort and love he did.

Thank god you guys deal with my drunken ramblings haha! Thanks for the support and your well wishes, and for dropping in and sharing your wonderful thoughts! Agreed!

#ask #answered #anon #anonymous

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centuryofdean · 5 years ago

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When Lightning Strikes - Chapter 3

Author Disclaimer:: The Hobbit, Middle Earth and its characters are not mine. I take no credit. The story line and even some dialogue–also not mine. Instead I claim my Original Character Laurel and the adjustments to the story line.

Summary:: From when Laurel Took was small she dreamed of a man. Every time she dreamed of him, he could not see or hear her. Over time they are able to communicate–but he’s been dreaming about her too. Finally after years of anticipation Laurel takes the leap and kisses him. Only for her to wake up and dread the real world. Then lightning strikes and she finds herself in a familiar place, with a familiar face.

Rated:: M for Mature. Please do not read this story unless you are 18+ At this point in the story there isn’t much, but later on the M rating will come into effect.

Warnings:: Language and Violence

Pairing:: Kili x OC (Laurel)

Kili

"Wake up Kili, it is time to leave The Shire."

No matter how hard I tried to hold onto the dream, sleep would not find me and bless my wish. Fili sat at the edge of the couch we were sharing for the night, pressing into my legs to wake me.

Laurel.

As always her face was a blur but the ache in my chest that went to sleep with me awoke with me; this time with vigor. It was surprising I woke this time with a smirk.

She actually kissed me.

The memory was still fresh in my mind, almost as if I could still feel her soft sweet lips upon mine. Sometimes I wondered if it were only just dreams. She speaks of how I am merely just an imagination, and everything I do and say is her wishes. If it were truly that way, which we are creating an image of each other, who is to say that she is not just an imagination of my mind? That would simply be unfair. If it were my choice, I would have not had her run from me. We would have been embracing and sharing kisses much sooner.

Not on the last dream I would ever share with her.

"What of Bilbo," Fili asked, grabbing his weapons and rising to leave. I followed his lead, placing two daggers in my belt and boot and grabbing my arrows and bow.

"All we can do is leave the contract. If he wishes to accompany us, he will find us," Thorin replied.

Together the lot of us rose and left the hobbit's home and quietly as we could. It was not my first time meeting a hobbit, though after I met Bilbo, the similarities between him and Laurel were strong. The greed I felt to see her again was almost stronger of that of the need of this quest.

Just outside The Shire we met a farmer with ponies for hire. Gandalf took lead on his stead and we were off on our quest.

Fili rode in the last of the line of ponies with me. Out of the thirteen dwarves, Fili and I were the youngest. For most of our lives we were raised by Mother, father had passed in battle with Orcs. Uncle Thorin was around for much of our childhood. We were told of the tales of our people and how our home was stolen from us by the fire drake Smaug.

It was only a few months ago that he approached my brother and myself, declaring that he, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, was going to take back the Lonely Mountain. We promised Mother we would return as princes of Erebor and bring her home.

"Did you see her in your sleep again Brother," Fili asked softly.

For twenty years, I dreamed of Laurel. I do not know how old she was when I started dreaming of her, but she was very small. Most the dreams I had were of her, doing something ordinary such as chasing butterflies and sliding down snow covered hills on a piece of colored wood of sorts. I watched as she attended a ceremony were all the humans cried and spoke of a man.

Each of these dreams she was unable to see or hear me. It was as if I were invisible.

There were dreams where Laurel was barely clothed, only small pieces covering her. These dreams I had to focus my attention on other things. It was not until she was matured into a woman that I encountered her in a dream, where she could see me and speak to me.

I was amused that she was hunting a deer to feast upon.

From that one encounter, we discovered that each of us dreamed of the other. This encounter led to similar dreams of no talking, but after a while we were able to speak again.

These times in dreams where I could talk to her, understand her and where she comes from, were some of my favorite times. The world that she lived in was one very different than Middle Earth. Each of us had our own questions, very confused of one another.

Over time I came to care for the russet haired maiden. Often times in my dreams I allowed myself the pleasure of braiding her locks and caressing her skin. When I looked into her pine colored eyes, it was if I were already home.

"Yes, I dreamed very fondly of her," I murmured, "though I am afraid it may be the last."

A chuckle came from my brother, "It may not. This journey will be long and eventually you will see her again. I am afraid that I am jealous of your maiden that does not exist."

"Laurel is a true beauty indeed," I murmured dejectedly, trying to hold onto the last traces of her face that floated in my mind.

"Why do you sound upset," Fili asked earnestly.

"I think she is a Hobbit," I muttered.

This brought a hearty chuckle from the blonde warrior.

Bilbo found his way to us, joining the company and continuing on our journey. Once given a pony, the poor fellow already tried to turn back around for a hanky. To say in the least this burglar was not much of an assistance to the quest. He spoke often about how he missed his Hobbit hole and the warm food he often ate on a regular basis. If anything he was more of a bother with his consistent complaining.

All of it made me more irritable due to the lack of sleep that uncle kept us on. Most of the time we were lucky to sleep for a few hours, he wanted to get to the mountain as soon as possible. Though I fully agreed, I wanted to sleep and try to see Laurel once more.

After seven days of travel with no real rest, the company set Thorin straight. Came nightfall the lot of us were camped out with a fire, a nice warm meal, and promised a full nights worth of sleep.

"Kili," uncle approached me, "take first watch. In a few hours we will have Fili switch with you so that you can rest as well."

"Yes uncle. I will wake the company if I hear or see of anything suspicious."

The hill that we found had a pleasant flat bottom to the south that we placed camp in. It also provided for a great vantage point to see from all angles anything that would try to sneak up on us.

I used the time of peace to reflect on the last time I slept and saw her. The ache in my chest returned at the thought, the last I can remember of her face is her pine eyes, everything else blurred into her silhouette. She was so scared of… me. If it were really only just a dream, she was not real, then why would I dream of her fear? I would dream of her desire for me! The fact itself was even more frustrating than Bilbo's complaining. There has to be more than just a coincidence that I dream of the same woman all these years.

The more I concentrated on trying to envision her face, the sleepier I became. Shortly I felt the drags of tiredness pull me into a soft sleep.

Covered in odd greens and blues, she was walking across sand. The green clothing she wore covered her head and hair. Blue waves crashed against the shore, water tickling her boot covered feet. This was one of the few times she was actually wearing boots.

I even felt the cold of winter's chill.

Happiness filled me, I had gotten my wish to see her again. It was not as exciting to know that this was not a time of meeting, but I could gaze upon her once more.

When she strode forward, I followed. Not much of anything was happening, it seemed that the walking continued on forever. Suddenly it started to rain. As if I were there, I could feel the cold pelting drops. It did not take long for them to become heavier and more furious. When the quake of thunder exploded around her she turned and started to walk the way she had come.

The water just on the other side of her lit up with the lightning of the sky. Laurel started to run.

I myself was running just so that I would not lose her. The sight of her face was already swallowed by the rain.

Lightning struck, blindingly, just in front of her. Fear grasped my heart.

"Laurel!" My voice was horse and booming, but fell upon deaf ears, almost deaf to my own if it weren't for the crack of thunder.

She turned to escape the danger, only to be pushed forward into it instead.

A loud crack of thunder awoken me with a gasp.

Laurel, she fell into electrifying lightning.

I looked up into the night sky instinctively to gaze at the storm here.

Something was falling through the air. Was it a bird? As it started to gain momentum the closer it got, I could see it was not a bird at all. It was something much larger. It was coming right for me actually.

With a start I jumped, reckless as I was, holding my arms out ready to catch the oddity.

The force of the drop and thing brought me to my knees, grunting at the impact. With all the gentleness I could bestow I rolled the object into the ground to inspect it.

A familiar ache burst through my chest as I saw a familiar woman. Wearing a worn green short tunic of various hues, and dark blue pants, she was soaked to the bone. Just as I pushed back the hood of her clothing, her russet hair tumbled out. The short breath was stuck in my throat.

Laurel?

"Fili," my voice bellowed across the valley.

My hands grasped her face, pulling her head into my lap. How could this be happening? Falling into lightning takes you to another world? Voices were vaguely heard coming up the hill. Was she even alive? I lowered my head to her mouth, listening for her breath. A faint inhale and exhale could be heard. Excitement started to bubble up within me.

"Kili, what is it," Fili asked kneeling down next to me.

A gasp left me, "She fell from the sky."

"She's soaked to the bone, we better find a dry space and start a fire for her to warm up," he whispered urgently. "Do you have her? I'll go start the fire."

Her weight was so light, I feared for her health as I carried her down the hill. Gandalf was persuading a fire to life under a cliff where the rain was not so heavy. With some of his powers he allowed a small bubble of clear air. I laid her gently against the ground, and then placed myself behind her with her head against my legs once more. Russet locks were soaked as well, causing me to run my fingers through them.

"Where did she come from," Gandalf asked.

"Quite literally out of the sky," I murmured. "I looked up and she was falling, right into my arms."

"We cannot let this halt our journey," Thorin muttered as he strode towards all the commotion.

A grunt of sorts escaped me. They would have to have a dragon breathe it's flames of death upon me before I will leave without her. "Uncle," I muttered, "we cannot just leave her in this condition. I will not leave her side."

Thorin crouched down to get a better look at her. Instinctively I wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her closer. Even if I did not want it to happen, there is always one being in this world that could stand between her and me, would be him.

"I know who she is," I muttered.

"If she is one of your whores—"

"Never," I growled, "she is of another world…"

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catbowserauthor · 5 years ago

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If By My Life or Death I Can Protect You, I Will: Hobbit AU Fanfiction: 1

So, my start of a AU Hobbit story has become a full story that is likely going to branch multiple chapters. I tried resisting it but I just couldn’t. Bilbo’s connection to the dwarves is some of my favorite fluff and found family so I must embrace it:

Arriving in Valinor at the end of Return of the King, Bilbo was supposed to find peace. His aching heart and body were supposed to heal. But the wounds and losses of the past will not stay buried and those lost on the Quest to Erebor haunt his thoughts. So, he makes it his mission to fix it, even if he has to appeal to Eru Himself.

Even if it costs him his own Paradise.

*****

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" Bilbo turned to his nephew and he lay a hand in his curled hair. The boy leaned into it, as he had done when it was just a small lad. There was a deep desire, longing in need in it now that made Bilbo's heart ache. If he had known that little golden ring would have caused so much heartache for everyone he loved… "Aye, it is, my dear boy. Valinor, the undying lands." "You used to tell me stories about them." Frodo remarked, one hand still over the old Morgol wound on his shoulder. It had begun to ease on the journey over the sea though a faint throb still remained. "I used to spend hours drawing and painting what it might look like but none of them came close to this. I don't think even if I had seen it, in some far off dream, would I have been able to replicate it." "Such is the wonder of Aman." The soft, almost angelic voice behind them gave way to a fading white light that was the Lady of Light, Galadriel. Her smile, as always, was welcoming and warm. She looked upon the two Hobbits down with grace and thanks even as her fingers brushed first Bilbo then Frodo's brow as she gazed out upon the land where she had first drawn breath. "As Middle Earth was meant to be once, before it was marred by Morgoth." She knelt and lay her hand over Frodo's, gently easing it from his shoulder. "I promise you, Ring Bearer, you will find comfort here. Aman is a land free of the poison of Morgoth; his grip over you will break on these shores." Frodo smiled but Bilbo saw the raw pain in those eyes. The pain that comes with leaving those you find so dear behind you. He had seen the tears and pain when Frodo watched the docks of the Grey Havens until they faded away, though he knew it was for the best that he left. Bilbo knew that pain all too well. It was not one healed, even by the lands of the Spirits and Gods. Loss of those dear to you was a wound to the spirit that no amount of time or magic could undo. It had been so long but the pain he felt in his heart when he thought of Thorin or Fili or Kili was as fresh as the day it had happened. He had learned to let the pain ride over him and pass but it only shortened in length, not intensity. Not things to haunt his nephew with. He had enough to try and recover from. The burden he had been settled with was unfair in the deepest measure. It was a cruel irony not lost on Bilbo. His first adventure that had given him the dwarven companions that were the nearest thing to family he had ever had was the same adventure that had snatched them from him, in one way or another. Then, when he had left this time, he had damned his nephew to a fate worse than death. The slow deterioration of the ring. If he had known… "Uncle?" Shaking himself from the somber thought, he set his nephew with what he hoped was an encouraging smile and was ever so grateful when the old wizard—one of his remaining oldest friends—appeared at the doorway. He gave a nod of encouragement and "Nothing to bother your head about, my boy" with a gentle nudge towards the stairs. Frodo met Gandalf at the door and followed him up to the deck. The ship had ceased its movement and soon, they would set foot on the land that they only knew in legends. To the Lady Galadriel, he waited and then, once alone, she spoke. "You wish something of me, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire?" It was more a statement than a question but he appreciated her consideration in awaiting his reply. "Aye, I do." He bowed lightly to her. "I would ask something of you milady." "Ask, dear Hobbit. I cannot guarantee anything but I shall listen and do what I can. You began the downfall of Sauron. A small ripple in an ocean of possibilities." Riddles. It must have had something to do with Aman. Seemed everyone from here spoke in riddles. He took a breath and locked eyes with her, "I would meet with Manwë if I could." She laughed, a lovely sound and not one done out of distain but rather out of genuine contentment. "Oh, Bilbo Baggins. Mithrandir is right to view all Hobbits but you especially with such high regard. You have not yet taken step on Aman and yet you request his counsel?" Again, there was a hint of lack of surprise despite her laughter depicting otherwise. "I do, Milady. As soon as I may. If he insists on refusing then do be so kind as to inform him that Bilbo Baggins will plant himself firmly as near to him as possible and will carry on a conversation as if he were by my side. And I will do so until he would acknowledge me." Galadriel smiled, again, that gentle, caring smile. "Not many would risk the wrath of Manwë, Bilbo Baggins." "It would be far more unpleasant to risk the wrath of Bilbo Baggins. I can name many a folk that can attest to that. Mortal though I am, it, in many ways, makes me far more adept at being unpleasant if it suits my fancy." "I have seen it for myself and it boils in your kin just as strong and nay, I do not believe the wrath of Bilbo Baggins would be welcomed by any, even a mighty Valar." The elven Queen offered her hand. "Come. I will appeal to Manwë on your behalf." "Many thanks, gentle Galadriel."

***

"Bilbo Baggins, I swear of all the Hobbits of the world, you are undoubtedly, the most obstinate." "I will not argue with you, dear Gandalf." Bilbo remarked as they took step by step together down the shore. "All the same, Lady Galadriel insists that I have been granted my audience." He folded his arms firmly, as if planting his commitment. "Out of pure curiosity, I am sure and no small amount of mercy." Gandalf shook his head. "My dear Hobbit, take care. Manwë, though having a deep heart of caring, is not openly hospitable. He was not thrilled at the prospect of non-elven kind on these shores but he has relented. You, while an honored guest, are a guest all the same!" "I shall not forget it, Gandalf. I am well aware of what a poor guest makes one feel." Bilbo assured him even as he stopped to gather his breath. "Nor am I ungrateful for what I have been given. But I must make my request of him alone. I hope you would grant Frodo some of your time. I shall return if I am able." The older wizard scowled and blew a puff of smoke on his pipe. "You are not aware of how truthful that statement may be, my dear Bilbo. Mind your tongue." "I will mind it as much as I do with others who are worthy of it." Gandalf shook his head but he lay one hand on the Hobbit's shoulder. "I do not know what you have to ask of him but do with grace." He frowned deeply. "And if I cannot persuade you against this foolishness…" "You cannot." "I thought as much. Peregrin Took was mere preparation to deal with you again, I see." "I shall be mindful of my manners, as a proper Baggins should but I shall be heard." "Yes yes but that Tookish blood runs fierce in you as well." But Gandalf left it at that and withdrew, leaving Bilbo at the base of Mount Taniquetil. His mutterings to himself was heard for quite some distance before it faded. That left the Baggins of Bag End in front of the mighty mountain of the world. It stretched above him far beyond what he could imagine seeing and he stood, still and silent for quite some time. Snowy fluffs could be seen faintly in the disrtance but it was hard to tell if it was from sleet or the clouds themselves engulfing the mountain tip. The very faint screeching of eagles or something similar to them in any event gave an eerie sense of a journey for a very different mountain, so many years ago and Bilbo found himself drifting in the memory far longer than was advisable. Finally, a figure approached him. He did not see where he had come from but he did not waste time pondering it. Rather, he stayed where he was, standing up straight and the man-like figure drew closer. Clothed in flowing robes of blue and purple, hair that spiraled long and soft as the clouds above, and eyes that pierced everywhere at once, the distance between them closed until it was simply Hobbit and Valar. One a mere ant in size and power to another. Bilbo's firm posture did not falter. "So, this is the Hobbit Bilbo Baggins that has the strength of heart and will to ask for me, is it?" Bilbo looked upward at him (and thought it quite rude that he had to arch his neck to do so when the Valar could certainly have adjusted his height to be more pleasant). "Aye, it is. Am I to take it that you are Valar Manwë, Lord of the Breath of Arda?" "So I am. What would you have of me, youngling?" The voice roared and whispered all at once, of all the winds of the world. Bilbo, despite his advanced age, chuckled, "I suppose to you, all things are young. I come to you with an unusual request though I suspect me coming at all is unusual enough." "So it is." There was no anger in that statement but no compassion either. It was a statement, nothing more and nothing less. The King of the Valar had no time for pleasantries, it appeared. "I am grateful for the gift that has been offered me. Aman is beautiful, beyond all account of measure and my spirit feels weary no longer among these shores." He paused and laid a hand over his chest. "But my heart is still heavy. I may have served my purpose in this war but there was more I could have done." "You and your halfling kin did more than even the Valar thought you capable of." Now, there was a hint of pleasantry and heart to the voice, though it did not lessen in intensity. "Your kind are favored of Yavanna and her pride in you has not been misplaced." "Perhaps but I am unsatisfied. I come to you with a request, Lord Manwë. A chance to correct those mistakes. I would ask that, in exchange for my remaining time, however short it may be, among these Blessed Lands, I be allowed to return to the time of the Quest for Erebor and set right my wrongs." There. He had said it. The sky itself seemed to rumble. "You jest, Hobbit." "On the contrary, Lord Manwë," Bilbo bowed again. "I am quite serious. Though it may be beyond your power, it is not beyond Ilúvatar's." "It is not customary for Ilúvatar to be granting desires of mortals when life does not go as they would wish–" "Not accustomed but He HAS allowed it." Bilbo set his fists upon his hips and settled his form to be as tall as he could manage. "As I recall, He allowed the adoption of the dwarves and has shown mercy to those whom carry true humility and sincerity within their hearts. He allowed the return of Lúthien as a mortal woman. I do not pretend to be as worthy as those but I am requesting that it be presented unto Him, all the same." Bilbo folded his arms, "If He does not permit it, I shall accept as such but I cannot rest until it is at least presented. If I am to be given any gift for my service to Middle Earth, I would wish it to be thus." "What drives such a desire," This question came from above. Not from Manwë. No, this was feminine and the stars above seemed to shimmer in a smile. It lasted but a hair of a moment before it was as if the darkness of the night sky had taken physical form before him in the tallest woman he had ever seen. With eyes made of pure starlight and blackness that wrapped around that was as much cloak and clothing as hair, her voice and the manner in which she spoke meant it could be none other than the Queen of the Valar. "Lady Varda, I presume. Or do you prefer Elebereth as the elves know you?" Bilbo gave her a bow of deep respect, as he had given her husband. "Either, young Hobbit. The name is of little significance." She spoke again, "My husband is not always best with words. Hence, I will speak in his stead. What drives such a desire, I ask you again." "The same desire of Ilúvatar, for his world, his children." Bilbo answered. "Love. I ask the chance to stop needless death, ease the pain of parting and to save those dwarves that are family to me. I once crossed Middle Earth for them. I shall cross Aman for them as well, for the chance to right a most egregious wrong." He took a deep breath. "I do not presume to be worthy of this chance. But I am asking for Ilúvatar's mercy in hearing me, all the same." The King and Queen of the Valar exchanged glances. Varda, in the flowing manner that was accustomed to her, wrapped her arms around her husband and spoke. "The Hobbit has a heart of valor, far more than many we see, Husband. And he speaks no untruth." "Nay." Manwë allowed. "He speaks nothing but facts. His heart is stout." Varda nodded and lay a hand on her husband's cheek. "We have appealed to Eru for less and we shall appeal to him for more. Bilbo has fought a long life, and yet, here among the Blessed Land, he seeks only to do more. The least we can offer is that his request be heard. Eru, in His wisdom, will make His decision. Only He knows how the music shall play." The King of the Valar was silent for a few moments more. He looked upon his wife, into her eyes of starlight and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away except for those two. Unspoken conversation, a thousand words in a gaze, passed. Manwë turned to Bilbo after what seemed an eternity. "Return to your rooms. I will speak to Eru on your behalf, Bilbo of the Shire."

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thetimelesscycle · 6 years ago

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The Hobbit Fanfic: The Heart of Erebor - Chapter 59

Summary: ‘He could stand the wild light in his uncle’s gaze. He withstood the crazed glint that entered the ravenous stares of his companions. He endured seeing the dragon’s greed take them all. But when that madness seeped also into the eyes of his own beloved brother, he knew something had to be done. He just wasn’t expecting it to be this.’-The gold sickness of Erebor claims one more, and the path of destiny is irrevocably changed.

Inspired by the following quote from ‘The Hobbit’: “So grim had Thorin become, that even if they had wished, the others would not have dared to find fault with him; but indeed most of them seemed to share his mind-except perhaps old fat Bombur and Fili and Kili.”

*Cover Art Courtesy of Toastytoastie

/THE HEART OF EREBOR\

ACT VI

-The King Beneath the Mountain-

Chapter 59

The Call of Home

Fíli had known before even setting foot outside of Ered Luin that the quest to reclaim Erebor would change his life forever. Without dwelling overmuch on the whispered doubts of those who had been convinced such a venture could end in nothing but disaster, he had sensed even then that the success of Thorin’s mission would inevitably rewrite the role he had spent the entirety of his youth learning. Thorin spoke of his old home too often, comparing Ered Luin always to its greater rival, for Fíli to believe that being the prince and heir of one would be the same as fulfilling those same duties for the other.

Such concerns had seemed distant things then, with the long road forward laid out before them and a dragon waiting at the end of it. What did it matter if he was ready to be Erebor’s firstborn if the mountain was yet to be won? Better to focus on the journey first, and worry about the destination once it was reached. Or so he had thought. It seemed almost folly now, to have not considered what he would do if they succeeded. Kíli claimed they could not afford to let their new roles change them, but they were already changed, and it did not take the Royal Council squabbling for days over things that would have been resolved within hours in Ered Luin for Fíli to realise that.

Despite the fact they had resolved not to officially involve the Seven in Thorin’s ascension, it quickly became apparent to all those concerned that there were a number of fairly important people who did need to be included, out of plain good manners if nothing else. Equally obvious soon after was the polarising difference in opinion as to who, exactly, counted as an ‘important person’. Everyone seemed to have their own thoughts on the matter, and very few of them were the same.

Bard was obviously among those who must be present, and the King of Dale’s inclusion was perhaps the only one that did not cause much strife amongst vying sentiments. The relationship between Dale and Erebor was critical to the survival of both, and mending bridges in the wake of Valin’s treachery was better started sooner rather than later. Dain and Svala had already done their utmost to make amends for the unfair accusations that had been leveled against the City of Men, and it was a simple step from there to include Dale in plans for Erebor’s future.

The subject of their former alliance with Mirkwood was another kettle of fish entirely, and quickly turned the discussion less than civil when Thorin absolutely refused to send any sort of message to Thranduil, either to request or deny his presence. Tyrth, of course, fully backed his lord’s stance when it came to the overbearing elf king, whilst Dain and several others sought to prevent a renewing of the old feud. Thorin’s adamance on the issue quickly led to a heated argument, and the standoff might have continued indefinitely had it not been for Kíli’s tentative reminder that Legolas had stood in support of Thorin’s cause outside Erebor’s gate, and that, were it not for Tuilinn, their victory would have been a cold and empty thing.

Still unwilling to have any dealings with the one who had so callously abandoned Erebor’s people to their fate, Thorin had nonetheless agreed to Kíli personally inviting Legolas… in recognition of the aid the elf prince had provided only, not as an envoy for his kingdom or his father. It was not the most diplomatic way to approach the matter, but, given his own treatment at the hands of Thranduil and his followers, Fíli wasn’t about to protest.

Though it was unlikely he would attend, word was also sent to Beorn, along with Thorin’s belated thanks for the part the skinchanger had played in the rescue of he and his eldest nephew. The courier charged with delivering that missive was to then ride on to Rivendell, with an invitation for the Lord of Imladris and another to be passed on to the Dúnedain, in solemn recognition of the shelter both had offered without thought of any reward. Tyrth, embittered still that any emissary of Mirkwood would receive an invitation, took a moment to question whether they really needed more elves meddling in what was strictly a dwarven matter, at which point Fíli felt compelled to intervene with a short, biting reminder that Elrond was half elven and the reason the entirety of the royal family was still alive.

To Jorunn and those who had remained in Ered Luin the news was sent via raven, a method that was also employed to inform the remainder of the Seven houses of Thorin’s return and imminent enthronement. There was some debate as to whether the latter was even necessary, but Steinn, speaking as a representative for his fellow houses, pointed out that they had a right to be informed of the goings on in Erebor even if their oath of loyalty was not yet required.

It did not end there, either. Almost as much time was spent deciding on the exact wording for each missive as was spent deciding to whom they were to be sent, and Fíli could not help but be impressed by the patience with which Balin composed the dictated words again and again until all were satisfied. It was tedious work, and if his forbearance was feeling stretched thin he could only imagine how Thorin and Kíli must be feeling.

Though, perhaps it was not only the task at hand that was causing his discomfort. Fíli was tired, and not necessarily in a way that would be helped by escaping the duties imposed upon him. He had hoped the weariness would pass once things in Erebor had settled a little more, but the constant unease that caused it was still his ever-present, exhausting companion. There were too many memories tied to this place, so much so that sometimes he could literally feel the weight of the mountain pressing down on his shoulders.

Thorin had not noticed his heir’s disconcertion yet, kept busy by all the trivial and simultaneously important things that needed to be seen to, but Kíli had. No doubt his little brother still remembered the fears he had shared during their stay in Nordinbad, and thought to use himself as a substitute for the glittering lake that had eased those fears then. It did help, just as Fíli’s newfound responsibilities did. Sometimes it just wasn’t enough, and a part of him worried it never would be.

He would not abandon Thorin to fight this battle alone, or leave Kíli to shoulder a burden that rightfully belonged to them both. Not willingly, at least, but he doubted his own strength. Doubted if his courage would hold when put to the test. When his mind turned on itself and shadows became monsters and Erebor a tomb waiting to claim them all.

A booted toe tapped against his ankle at the same time as Kíli leaned in close enough to speak in a whisper none would overhear. “Fi?”

“It’s nothing.” A lie. Did it count when Kíli already knew that? “I’m just tired.”

Tired. Sometimes it felt like he was speaking in riddles without even meaning to. The words he planned to say never quite being what he actually said. Kíli was quickly learning how to read between the lines regardless, often with more success than Fíli could claim to have himself.

“We have been here a long time.” The archer grimaced, flexing his bad hand as though the limb was stiff. “Do you want to step out for a moment?”

He wanted to say no. He should have been able to say no, to see this through; it was not as though it was difficult. But the idea was in his head now, and he found himself mutely nodding, listening in growing frustration as Kíli made their excuses – always excuses – to Thorin and earned his permission to leave the table. Thankfully, most of the others present were too engrossed in their argument over how long it would take to repair the flood damage in the guest quarters to pay much heed to the brothers’ departure, even with Fíli’s uneven gait ensuring it was not as fast as he would have preferred.

The Council Chamber was too far away from the Hidden Door to make a retreat to his favoured refuge possible, so Fíli set a path for the front gates instead, refusing to let the stairs deter him as he clambered his way up to the rampart above the wide egress. The guards on duty nodded to him as he passed – Dain’s men still – but they did not try to detain him with speech, and he reached the parapet unhindered. Kíli silently came to stand behind him as he drew in a steady, bracing breath of the crisp, mountain air, forcing himself to let it out slowly as he tried to quell the irrational panic threatening to take a hold in his chest.

He repeated the motion a few times more before the pressure slowly started to ease, the sun’s warmth against his face and the gentle touch of a mild breeze reminding him that this was not the deep shadows of Gundabad, or the violent, churning depths of a torrent threatening to sweep him away. He had triumphed over both, and still… still…

“What’s Bilbo up to, I wonder?” Kíli observed absently, gesturing to where the hobbit could be seen, perched on a protruding boulder downstream of Erebor’s front gate. Fíli squinted obligingly, but the Company’s burglar was too far away for him to venture a guess at what had drawn the Halfling out of the mountain.

“Maybe he’s grown tired of being surrounded by dwarves,” he suggested, only half jesting. Bilbo had been suffering the pleasure of their company for a very long time now; nobody would begrudge him a little solitude.

“You say that like we are not good company.”

“Are we?”

Kíli snorted. “I suppose that depends on who you ask.”

Fíli smiled a little despite himself, but his earlier somberness returned soon enough, dampening the mood Kíli had been trying to brighten.

“What am I doing, Kíli?” The archer turned, a questioning look mingling with the worry in his eyes, and Fíli shook his head, frustrated at how difficult it was to give voice to his thoughts. “It’s not getting better. How long do I go on pretending that it is?”

“You just need time,” Kíli protested, repeating old platitudes.

“We don’t have time,” he cut the other off, not unkindly. “This isn’t going to end with Thorin’s coronation. That will only be the beginning, and, for the first few years at least, there’s going to be all sorts of challenges and upheaval. I don’t know if I can… a lot has happened, Kíli.”

His brother was quiet for a moment, his gaze never drifting from Fíli’s own. “But what will you do?” he asked at length. “If you don’t stay here?”

Fíli shrugged, the gesture far more casual than he truly felt. “Go back to Ered Luin? I’m sure Jorunn wouldn’t mind the help, and there will be plenty of work to do there making the homestead safe with fewer to defend it.”

“Ma thinks more will come,” Kíli reminded him quietly. “When everything has settled down. Ered Luin may not have a homestead for much longer.”

“That won’t be for years yet.” Fíli shook his head. “Plenty of time for me to… come to terms with things.”

“Do you really think it will help?” Kíli’s face held doubts that did not quite make it to his voice. “Nordinbad is no Erebor, and still…”

Fíli turned away, his lips pressed tightly together. Kíli was right, of course. Leaving Erebor, fleeing to the familiarity of Ered Luin, would not change what had already happened. It would not be as fresh, perhaps, as ever present and undeniable, but would that make the horrors fade more swiftly, or simply act as a temporary bandage over a festering wound? He could not answer that question with any certainty. He had lost his grasp on certainty long ago, and sometimes it felt like he would never get it back again. Like he was lost in the dark still, pressed in on all sides and fleeing from gnashing teeth that snapped always at his heels.

“If you do decide to go,” Kíli spoke into the silence, and through his spiralling thoughts. “Then I will be going with you.”

“You can’t,” he said reflexively. “Thorin will need you.”

“Ma will be here,” Kíli countered, a familiar stubbornness ringing his words. “And you will need me more. I’m not just going to let you disappear, Fíli. Not again.”

Those last words were said with a shudder, and Fíli reached out on instinct to grip his brother by the arm, knowing the nightmare those few days after the battle had been for Kíli. It amazed him how easily the archer seemed to have bounced back from that torment, though a part of him registered that it was probably unfair to call any part of that journey ‘easy’. Kíli had fought his way back from the abyss of despair to rescue his uncle and brother, and had then swallowed his fears to return to Erebor and face the consequences of his hasty departure.

Confronted with such courage, could Fíli do any less? His heart said no, but his head remained a pit of uncomfortably swirling thoughts that refused to settle. Right now he wasn’t sure what he was even thinking, much less planning to do. Grasping for stability, for solid ground from which to take the plunge, he let those turbulent thoughts escape him to focus on what he knew to be true.

He knew Thorin was capable of ruling, of bringing the Seven back together, and stabilising a realm that had teetered for too many decades. He knew Kíli was more than ready to be a Prince of Erebor, supporting Thorin even when that meant disagreeing with him. He knew Erebor could be the salvation Thorin had always hoped it would be, providing a home for the displaced, and a bulwark for the beleaguered East.

He did not know if he believed in his own part in all of that. But he did believe that he would not have to face it alone, and maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now. Not to beat the shadows back entirely, but to make them bearable; a foe that could be conquered and overcome, even if it would forever be a long and wearisome fight.

“I don’t plan to disappear, Ki,” he uttered softly. “I just…”

Words failed him again, unspoken confessions scattering before they ever made it to his tongue. Was there any point in speaking such empty wishes aloud? He had done so before, they both had, recognising them for what they were even as they indulged the idle fancies of their minds. But he was Prince of Erebor now, and idle fancy had no place in this new world. He could not whisper ‘I just want to go home’ like it did not matter anymore. It all mattered now, another crushing weight added to the pile with no thought for the shoulders bending beneath.

He was just so tired.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Kíli told him solemnly. “You should stop.”

“Stop thinking?”

“Yes.” There was no trace of humour in his brother’s eyes such as he might have expected. “Stop thinking, Fíli. Just let things be for a moment. Stop worrying about Erebor and Thorin and ma and whether or not you’re meeting expectations as Thorin’s heir. The only thing you need to worry about right now is yourself. Do the selfish thing for once. Nobody is going to judge you for it.”

For a moment he simply stared, then a frown worked its way across his visage. “I don��t think that is strictly true.”

“Fine.” Kíli waved a hand dismissively. “Nobody we care about is going to judge you for it. Who cares about the rest?”

“Kíli.”

“No. They have Thorin, and me, and ma and Dain and Svala. They don’t need you right now.”

That… was almost insulting. “So now I’m unnecessary?”

“Don’t be a nyaff, Fíli.”

The laugh that escaped his lips surprised them both. “You have been spending too much time with Rin, little brother.”

“And you have been spending too little,” Kíli countered without pause. “Take some time, Fíli, let Rin show you an Erebor we can be proud of. I promise no calamity will occur if you step away for a few hours.”

Fíli mulled that over for a moment, considering, trying to stamp down the instinctive guilt he felt for actually wanting to take Kíli up on that offer more than he wanted to return to the council. Thorin needed him, and yet… “An Erebor we can be proud of?”

It came out softer than he had meant it to, a tentative question, but Kíli was already nodding. “Rin was here before Valin started ruining everything,” he reminded. “Seeing things through his perspective, without the taint of other memories… Even after everything that happened, he still talks about Erebor like we used to, Fíli. I… it helps. Sometimes, this even starts to feel like home.”

“It is home now,” Fíli said, as much a reminder to himself as to his brother. Oh, he could dream of fleeing back to Ered Luin all he wanted, but he knew it would not be the same as his memories painted it. Kíli had been right when he had said the changes were in them, not the land that had birthed them, and the battles he was fighting now would follow him wherever he went. He still did not know if he had the strength to win those battles, but he had the strength to try.

Kíli had made sure of that.

~The Heart of Erebor~

Planning a coronation took time, and a great deal of it, something Bilbo was coming to realise with the slow dawning horror of someone who really has very little to do. As Erebor abruptly shifted from disquieting watchfulness to a ceaseless flurry of endless activity, the Company’s burglar was, for the first time since the quest’s beginning, left entirely to his own devices. Once upon a time he would have welcomed such an occurrence. Back when an unexpected army of dwarves had first invaded his humble home in the Shire, he had been all but ready to beg for it. Now, though? Now the solitude plagued him.

So much had changed since his journey’s beginning. He’d proven himself far more a Took than the Baggins he had once professed to be; travelling the length of Middle Earth and back again, fighting in battles, speaking with a dragon, mounting an impossible rescue from an orc infested keep... It was all rather a lot to take in, and yet now that he finally had a moment or two to just sit down and think he found himself quite unable to do so. Inactivity no longer suited him as it once had. Whilst he still possessed a lingering ache in his chest for that familiar armchair and his shelves of books, he could not settle for being idle as his friends toiled around him.

He had scarcely seen Thorin or his nephews since they reclaimed the mountain. Thorin had been understandably preoccupied with the future of his kingdom, and Fíli had simultaneously seemed to want nothing more than to be away from Erebor. Kíli had been flitting back and forth between the two of them when his time was not claimed by Dain or one of the numerous others eager to hear the exploits that had brought their King home again, and that had all been before the arrangements for Thorin’s crowning had even begun. Bilbo had briefly found himself a role in keeping a recovering Dís company whilst her sons were elsewhere, but she had been just as hard to pin down since making her escape from the healers’ clutches, fully enmeshed in whatever preparations were required for a King’s coronation.

Tuilinn had taken her leave of Erebor shortly after Dís regained her strength, to the relief of many an uncomfortable dwarf, and to Bilbo’s great disappointment. The elf maid had been in the midst of teaching him the sign language that she used in the place of her silenced voice, a project he doubted he would ever get the chance to finish now. Gandalf, too, had been strangely absent ever since the confrontation at the gates, vanished back to Dale or Mirkwood with Bard and Legolas, or off on another of his mysterious, wizardly errands. Bofur kept him company when he could, as did a few of the others, but Thorin wanted them all involved in the impending inauguration, and the preparations for that seemed to be claiming more time than anyone had to spare.

Not wanting to get in the way, Bilbo had eventually borrowed some paper and ink and excused himself from the mountain keep, following the River Running a short way south of the front gates until he had a clear vantage point of Dale and the banners rippling in the breeze above its walls. Finding himself a comfortable seat on one of the large, round boulders at the river’s edge he then set about sketching a likeness of the City of Men, something to take home with him when his adventure inevitably came to its end.

It would not be far off now, he thought. The call of home was already taking a hold in his many idle moments, but he was determined to see Thorin take his rightful place first. A fitting end to the tale he would write when he was back in Bag End, nestled up warm next to a glowing fire, enjoying a nice cup of tea and a small bite to eat.

“You look a hundred miles away, Master Baggins.”

Startled, he raised his head to find Gorin standing a few strides off at the head of a small company of dwarves, packed and ready for travel. Those who had come with them from Nordinbad, he realised, even as he rose.

“I was,” he confessed, in answer to Gorin’s observation. “And you look like you mean to be as well.”

“I would like to stay.” Gorin nodded. “To see this thing through to the end, but my father’s wishes on this matter were clear. We have honoured our debt to Thorin, now we must look once more to the needs of Nordinbad, and the secrecy that has kept us safe through these dark years.”

“You don’t think it is safe now?” Bilbo dared to ask, out of curiosity more than anything else. “I mean, Smaug is gone, and with Thorin as King…”

Gorin smiled slightly, a gesture that was almost weary. “I fear the dangers that my father seeks to avoid will never be gone, Master Baggins. Nordinbad is not meant to be a part of this world of kings and treasure and power. Here, there are those who would call us traitors and cowards for what we did at Azanulbizar. Who would mock the life we have chosen and dismiss what we see fit to call riches. We have lived apart for all this time, I do not think we remember how to do otherwise.”

“I know what you mean,” Bilbo said, feeling a sudden kinship for these dwarves and their desire to simply be left in peace. It was a way of thinking that was quite universal in the Shire, even if he no longer shared in it himself. “Does Thorin know you are leaving?”

“We have spoken our farewells to our King,” Gorin confirmed, then, with a questioning look, he added, “But what of you, Master Hobbit? Do you seek further great deeds to raise forever the name of Baggins, or is it the call of home that beckons the strongest now?”

“I do not know if I ever sought great deeds,” Bilbo demurred with a rueful shake of his head. “In truth, they seemed rather determined to seek me out, no matter my wishes at the time.”

“Is that not the way of all great adventures?” Amusement glittered in the dwarf’s dark eyes. “They do not knock upon the door, but crash in through the window, arms aflail and screaming at the top of their lungs.”

“Well, I am not certain even the Company of Thorin Oakenshield was ever that uncouth…”

Gorin laughed, a hearty sound, and offered his hand. “Well said, Master Baggins. You do your people great credit, and I know I speak for my father as well when I say you are one burglar who will be forever welcome in the halls of Nordinbad.”

“I would be honoured.” Bilbo grasped the offered hand and shook it firmly, then tilted his head to the side in sudden suspicion. “So long as there are no dragons involved.”

“Ah,” Gorin said. “But where is the fun in that?”

#The Hobbit Fanfiction #The Heart of Erebor #Kili #Fili #Thorin #Dis #Durin Family Feels #Hurt/Comfort #Angst #Fix-It fic #Bilbo Baggins #Ensemble fic

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catbowserauthor · 6 years ago

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Hobbit Story: Principles

Another story in my "Durin's Line Endures" AU, a re-write universe of the BOTFA. In this piece, Thorin is finally meeting with the Six Fathers of the other Dwarf families to perform the King Select--the official ritual where the other Six Fathers must give their support for his claim to the throne before they can make it official. While Thorin has gained many followers, he also still have many doubters. His two sister-sons are all too happy to set them straight.

Fili was quite sure that he had never been quite so frightened in all his life.

The battle outside Erebor had been full of tension and fear but it had been tension and fear that he knew how to tackle. He knew from training with his uncle and Dwalin that you took the anxiety that war generated and molded it to suit your needs. He had done the best he could with that but the fear he felt now was entirely different.

Taking a deep breath, he let his reflection stare back at him.

In many ways, he looked the part. Formal but not overwhelming tunic and slacks, hair braided into the symbols of the Line of Durin and his feats as a warrior set amid the firmly set face. He knew that he would not look any better no matter how long he stared. The scars from the battle had healed and their marks would not easily fade.

He fingered the braid that hung by his face, empty without its mithril bead. While he knew that nothing could be done about it, it still ached his heart each time he saw the empty loose hairs. He hoped, prayed, that they would be able to salvage enough material, of some kind, to recreate it.

It had been the bead that his Uncle Frerin had left for him after his death and while he had never thought of the implications of it before, the idea that his uncle would not be able to recognize him in Mahal’s Halls without that special bead…it made him weary.

Turning on his heels, he slipped from his room into his brother’s, slipping through the small connecting hallway. He wasn’t surprised to find Kili flopped face down on the bed, his slacks and undertunic on but his outer shirt and boots flung on the floor. Kili had never been one to hide his emotions and stress reeked off him like a bad fever.

“Kili, c’mon.” He picked the outer shirt off the ground and gently twapped his brother’s rear with it. “The King Select is going to start soon and I really don’t want to make Uncle any more worried than he already is.”

After a moment pause, Kili sat up, paused and reached down to scratch Goldfire’s ears where the pup had remained since early that morning. He accepted the tunic from his brother and pulled it over his head. “Do you think the Dwarf Fathers will challenge Uncle?”

Fili sighed heavily. “I don’t know. The Firebeards are a stubborn lot—“

“They’ve got no right!” Kili snapped, fumbling with one of his braids. “They don’t know anything about what Uncle did. He’s earned the throne, more than anyone else ever will!” his face was a lovely shade of red and Fili would have not been surprised if steam were to rise from his skull if they’d been caught in the rain outside.

He spoke the truth though. Fili was glad that he had a younger brother to state what he was thinking. He knew this was tradition, the King Select, but as far as he was concerned, it was the most foolish and wasteful tradition. After all, what did these dwarf families know? They certainly hadn’t thought it necessary to support their Uncle’s claim before the death of Smaug. They had not been here these past few months to watch their Uncle build up from literally nothing. Now, with a lot of the work done, THEY had the right to determine their Uncle’s claim?

Unfair, all of it but all the same, they needed to support their Uncle, their King, not make it more difficult. “I know that and by the time this silly meeting is over, so will they, Kili.” He added, his voice firm. “We’ll make sure they know it.”

Frowning still, nerves quite evident in his face, Kili nonetheless nodded and worked, absently, on his left braid. He had done it at least three times already but each time, his nervous fidgeting resulted in more knots than anything. He had never been very good at doing his own braids though he did very well at others’.

“Here,” Fili took the mithril bead from his sibling and set a foot on the bedframe so he could lean over a bit. “Let me do it.”

The younger brother reached out, curled his hand over Fili’s. “You should use it, Fili. You’re representing the crown prince. You should use it for yours…” He gestured to the loose braid to his brother’s left side but Fili immediately frowned and shook his head.

“No. This bead was for you, not me, Kili.”

“But you’re supposed to be the crown Prince and…”

“And they can accept that one of my beads was lost on the journey here.” The sharpness to his tone made it clear that they weren’t discussing this anymore. The loss of Uncle Frerin’s bead was a sore spot and he would not accept his little brother’s. If anyone would be denied the acceptance of Uncle Frerin when their time came to move to Mahal’s Halls, it would be him, not Kili.

The younger dwarf relented, his fingers falling limp to his lap. The gentle lapping of Goldfire’s tongue on his hand was relaxing, in its own weird way, and he gave the small wolf pup a rub to the head in thanks. As childish as it might have been, he wished that they could bring the wolves into the meeting with them. Whether he wanted that because of the support they would bring them or so they could tell them to eat the other dwarf lords should they speak against their Uncle’s good nature he wasn’t sure.

“There.” Fili finished with a tightening to the bead and smiled, nervously. “Come on, brother. The last thing we want to do is make Thorin wonder if we decided to come late. He is anxious enough.”

Nodding, Kili stood and after a moment of scrutinizing one another (they both had forgone the more regal clothing as it was not proper until they were crowned; dark blue tunics with slacks and patterns of the Durin line were sufficient) the two dwarf princes left their chambers, nearly colliding with Balin in the hall. The white haired dwarf merely looked them up and down before giving them a warm smile, “You look the part of the Princes of Erebor, laddies.”

Fili nodded, his face having taken on the stoic look he had been trained into but Kili simply remarked “Good, because we don’t feel like it. Are they here? Where’s Uncle?” He was talking fast, a trait both he and Fili had when they were unnerved.

Smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring gaze, Balin replied, “Aye, they are here. Rather surprised us by coming as one group. Bilbo had the foresight to start sending in ale and meats almost as soon as we found a room. Hopefully, that will have loosened some of their attitude. They seemed less gruff when we moved them to the Meeting Rooms.” He answered the second question, “Your Uncle has already gone with Dwalin to gather in the King’s Council Chambers.”

The two younger dwarves nodded but they said nothing verbally, just started to follow the elder down the hall. This was it. This was what their entire quest was laid upon; as much as they didn’t think tradition was necessary (and indeed, how much most of the dwarves living here thought it superfluous) one of the things that being a ruler meant was having the support of your neighbors. That was what this was for; for their uncle to gain their support. For all the other dwarf families to acknowledge that their Uncle was right to lead them, to unite them, to bind them all together, as the Line of Durin had always done.

He was right for it but getting stubborn, hard-headed Dwarf Fathers to admit to it was another matter entirely.

Their walk continued without speech and everyone they passed in the halls would pause and give a bow of encouragement before going back to their work. It was both unnerving and encouraging. Perhaps the Dwarf Fathers had seen the devotion of everyone here, the way that everyone had been looked after, how Thorin had done everything he was capable of doing to provide shelter, food. It was impossible NOT to see it.

They spied Bilbo, just a hint of him, in the distance, sending in all manner of meats, breads and ale to the gathered dwarves. The scent of Bilbo’s famous sweet meat kabobs was unmistakable. Well, they HAD told Bilbo that a dwarf’s stomach was the key to friendships. Leave it to the clever hobbit to attempt to lighten the tension. They gave him a half wave of appreciation as they passed by.

Balin occasionally glanced back at the two younger ones who followed him without a peep of their usual mischief. While Fili kept his composure as Thorin had hammered into his head, Kili was not quite as good at it. He was being careful about his posture, his stance but the way he would twist his hands and chew at his lower lip, the nervousness was quite apparent.

They passed the throne slowly and took the pathway to the right. Both Princes looked over their shoulders at the seat where their Uncle would sit, where he would rule. The spot that he had told them about, how one day they would earn it back and that he would show them to wonder of their bloodline. How he would show them what the Dwarven People were capable of when they were not exiled and pursued.

The Dwarf Fathers _had_ to see that.

They had to _make_ them see that.

“Fili. Kili.”

Balin’s gentle inquiry shook the two princes out of their deep thoughts. The white bearded dwarf had stopped a few feet ahead, leaving the Chamber Door looming ahead, the seal of the House of Durin stamped into its golden sheen.

“Balin.” Fili answered the inquiry. The older dwarf had been their mentor in many things and much like Dwalin, had proved more than a teacher but an extended member of the family. The look of seriousness on his face demanded attention and while anxiety practically poured off them both like water, they set their eyes and waited.

“I won’t lie to you, laddies.” The elder dwarf tried to smile reassuringly, “This is not going to be an easy meeting. Your uncle is not without his allies but he is not without his critics as well.”

Frowning, arms folded over his chest, the dark haired Prince remarked, “They don’t have the right to say anything. They don’t know anything about Uncle. Not what’s important anyway. This is stupid.”

Fili nudged his brother with his elbow “But it _is_ tradition and that’s important to Thorin.” He hissed the name of their uncle with reverence.

“I know, I know…” Kili sighed heavily. “I just wish politics were less complicated.”

Chuckling a little, the elder Fundin brother offered, “Don’t we all, laddie.” He looked from KIli to Fili and back again a few times. “I know that my lessons on etiquette were not the most thrilling to either of you but—“ Balin offered.

“We’ll remember,” Kili insisted.

Fili added, “We may not have enjoyed them but we did learn, Balin. Anything we can do to help Uncle, we will.”

Warmth flooded Balin’s eyes and it spread to his smile behind his beard “Aye, aye, I know you will. Do not take their words to heart, particularly the red bearded one. Ol’ Firebeard will be the hardest on your Uncle.”

Fili nodded, resisting the urge to roll his eyes “We know, Balin. He showed up a few times when we were kids and I wish we had not. Always showed up, asking Uncle’s time and resources. For someone always showing up and asking for a favor, he was rather full of himself…”

Snorting, Kili remarked, “Full of himself? He was lulkh.”

Fili set his brother with a look. “Okay, no argument but I doubt calling him that will exactly win us any points, little brother.”

He pouted but nodded in agreement. “He still is one.”

The elder prince remarked softly, “Maybe but we can be better than that.” He addressed their elder with a wide smile. “We will win them over with truth, Balin. Nothing else be needed.”

Kili eyed his brother out of the corner of his eye. “And if they start dragging Uncle’s name through the mud, you’ll stand there and allow it?” He had seen Firebeard once or twice as a child and he had hated the dwarf both times.

Teeth clenched at mere thought, Fili retorted, “I will present myself honorably, as will you.” He eyed his younger sibling’s challenging look. “But I make no promises.”

The King’s advisor shook his head but reminded them, “You two are both strong sons of Durin. The loyalty and ferocity of our forefather burns in you both. You are Princes of Erebor, just as your Uncle is King.” He clasped each of their forearms tight a moment, “All we need do is show it.”

With that small spark of encouragement, Balin pulled from them, continued the rest of the way to the door and pushed them open.

The two younger dwarves followed.

They had seen the room. Thorin had shown it to them when they had begun to renovate the Throne Room but they’d never spent a lot of time in the Council Room. It was a wide open room with a broad table that was split into two half circles, with an elevated stone platform in between the two halves and three chairs on each half. It was where the King Select occurred and when it concluded, the selected would rise to the platform and the six clans would swear their support to him.

The strongest feature that stood out though was the carvings on the wall. Made of stone and created with all kinds of gems, there were faces of all kinds of Dwarves decorating the room. Past Kings, from Thror all the way back to Durin the Deathless. They circled towards the ceiling where a visage of Mahal gazed down at them.

It gave weight to the room.

The spied Thorin right away. He was dressed in the same dark blue that they wore, the colors of Durin’s line, but he had not worn the cloak nor the crown. Simple tunics, slacks, over tunics. Nothing regal about it and the type of look they had always associated with the strong energy of their line. Thorin was not seated but rather stood between the two tables, with the platform opposite him, to his back.

To his left, sat three dwarven lords and to the right three more. There was ol’ Firebeard, to the far left, looking as disagreeable as always. Fili suspected the old dwarf was incapable of being happy. Every time they saw him when they were little, he had that same look of sourness. The way he looked at Thorin though made Fili hiss through clenched teeth. This was going to be a lot harder than he initially thought.

Dwalin stood to Thorin’s left and while he wasn’t saying anything, you could feel the tension. The bald warrior looked like he was looking for any excuse to clobber one of the bickering Lords.

As the doors closed behind them, Thorin lifted his head and calmness flowed from him.

“Ah, here they are. Balin, my wisest and most trusted advisor and my two sister-sons!” He offered to the Dwarf Lords, “Fili and Kili, Sons of Durin’s Line.”

“Sons of Dis and Kalin,” Firebeard corrected Thorin with harshness. “Linked to you through your sister they may be, Thorin but it remains to be seen if we bestow the title of Durin’s Line upon them or you before the day is done.”

Thorin clenched his jaw. An insult no graver there was. This dwarf meant to imply his sister-sons were not worthy of the blood that flowed through their veins?! Especially after what they had done on this quest? The names they had earned? The feats that would have historians arguing over which moniker to grace them with? Oh, he would like to show him that which he dared insult…

“We may proceed,” Thorin finally voiced.

#hobbit fanfiction #BOTFA AU #Fili Kili and Thorin #Bilbo is mentioned #the line of durin lives #Dwarf Politics #Dwarf culture and lore #Thorin Oakenshield and the other six fathers #Fili and Kili are quite protective of their uncle #Protective Thorin #Protective Dwalin #Protective Fili and Kili #dwarf families #fluff

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catbowserauthor · 6 years ago

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Hobbit Story: Of Silver and Mithril: 1

So, this one follows my "Calling in a King's Favor" though you don't necessarily have to read it in order to understand it. I was feeling a need for some paternal!Thorin and I wanted to get some of my head canons on paper!

Red hair blowing in the wind, Tauriel waited amid the remains of Laketown. It wasn’t the most pleasant place to meet but it was certainly quiet and private. Not a lot of folk, be that dwarf, man, elf or otherwise ventured here. They had obtained and salvaged from the city what they could with the conclusion of the battle and so the once bustling port had been left to slowly fade away with time. Time…Her heart felt heavy in her chest the longer she waited. Being an elf, time moved relatively without consequence and yet these minutes felt to be millennia.

“Tauriel!”

Finally.

Emerging from the newly fallen snow was the brown haired prince of Erebor. Trailing at his heels was a white pup that she had heard much about as of late, Goldfire he had been dubbed. The loyalty the creature had already displayed was quite endearing. When Kili came to a stop before her, the wolf child laid by his feet but his ears remained forever tracking. It was appropriate, she felt. A wolf pup of innocence to match the Dwarven Prince who seemed to ooze innocence in all he did. His face, even now, was full of enthusiasm and starlight.

“Sorry, Tauriel.” He laughed, nervously and scratched through his scruff of a beard, “I may just be second heir but that doesn’t mean my uncle is slack with me. It’s just as important for me to know how to run a Kingdom as Fili, he says.” Honestly, it wasn’t so bad. Kili rather enjoyed seeing his uncle’s methods and when his suggestions were considered and even appreciated, he felt light as air. Already, with the kingdom rebuilding, his uncle would routinely ask him or his brother for input. While it was not always accepted, it was always considered. Oh, the pride that could burst in his heart.

It was nothing compared to being with Tauriel though. Her presence, her smile, the very essence of her just made him giddy.

Allowing a light smile to cross her lips, the elf woman remarked “Your Uncle is far wiser than he’s given credit for.” While her interactions with the Dwarf King had been limited, once the Gold Sickness had passed, he seemed a creature of high honor, at least by her standards. She doubted that he’d ever be trustful of elves but the fact he was willing to pursue an alliance despite personal feelings said a lot. With what she knew of the past between the elves of Mirkwood and Erebor, she could hardly blame either side for their reluctance. She doubted if another besides Thorin’s line had taken the throne if such alliances would have even been considered. Yes, for as much as the grouchy dwarf king could be infuriating, she had to give credit where credit was due.

Chuckling a bit and pushing the hair from his eyes, Kili agreed. “Yeah, he is. I’ve learned a lot but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss you!” The truth of that sentiment burned through his eyes like a flame.

Her heart sank again. “Kili, that’s why I wanted to meet with you.” She gave him a smile. “I understand your busy schedule now. Reclaiming a homeland has more work within it than most imagine.” While she had never reclaimed a kingdom, she knew that it took a great deal of work to run one. She was often busy simply being Captain of the Guard or she had been. “I’m almost glad to be relieved of my position as leader of the guard. For all its benefits, the amount of work involved never faltered.” Allowing another smile at the dwarf, she added, “I’m sure you and your brother have been finding that the title of ‘prince’ is not free.”

Laughing a little, Kili remarked “I think it’s been worth it so far though! I’ve never seen my uncle so happy and come spring, more of our people will be coming from the Blue Mountains! You’ll get to see my mother.”

Eyes warm, the elven maiden remarked “I’m sure she is full of strength just as the rest of her bloodline is.”

“She is. Her and Uncle together can be hilarious. Though they work well together.” He smiled and his whole face lit up. “She’ll like you.”

Tauriel took a breath and let it fill her lungs. “Kili, I’ve been meaning to return this to you.” She reached out, took his hand gently lay his stone talisman within it. He had granted it to her before the battle and while she had clung to it a while and made sure that no harm came to it, she knew it was time.

A low laugh came from his throat, one that clouded nervousness. “Tauriel, it was a courting gift. Amrâlimê means “my love” that’s why I gave it to you.” He held his hand back out to her. “It’s yours, Amrâlimê.”

She nodded “I surmised that it meant something along those lines. Your eyes gave all that away. Which is why I must give it back.” She gently folded his palm around it. “I cannot accept it.” She added “I…never should have accepted it.” Oh, the countless nights she had walked the wood, fingering the stone and wondering why she had not given it back. She should have given it back. Was it the moment? Was it the stress of the coming war? Was it a simple, childish desire of her own to fall in love? Perhaps it had been all three but she had no right to play his heart so, nor had that been the intention, but that had ultimately been what she had done.

She had to fix this.

Eyes wide, the Dwarven prince stared “Wh...what? I...I don’t understand...I...” Lost. That was all he looked like…utterly and totally lost. As if he were a forgotten child who was pleading amid the dark night for mother and father to return to him.

It hurt her heart.

“Kili.” Her tone was soft and gentle. “I truly do treasure you. I have lived my whole life among King Thranduil’s halls. I have only known the tales of stars and trees. Yet, here you came with stories of far away places, gems and stone. You carried such passion in your eyes and it was evident in all you did. I do treasure that.” She meant every word of that. Their small conversations in Thranduil’s dungeons had meant the world to her. She had spoken of starlight and moons and Kili had spoken of mines and caves where light sent every gem sparkling like its own fire. He had a deep heart to him and it had initially caught her eye.

Kneeling a bit so she could look him in the eye, she whispered “When I saw you, dying of that Morgul wound, I could only think that what a grievous loss it would be to see someone so full of fire slip away to shadow.” She paused, considered her words “I do care for you. Deeply. But not in the way that you seek.” It had taken her quite a few weeks of self-denial to come to that conclusion but facts were facts. She did care for him, as one might care for a deep friend, perhaps even a brother. She wanted him to do well, she wanted him to be happy, she wanted him to live a long life. Yet, there was not that desire to be one with him, to live out her life WITH him. She was meant to walk side by side with him, for a time, but their paths were not the same.

Kili felt like his world had dropped out from under his feet. “But...but Tauriel....the way we fought together. The way you looked at me. They said you wept when I fell and...” Had that meant nothing? Had their connection meant nothing? Had there been a connection at all? His entire world had become devoted to her. She haunted his every thought! His dreams were often clouded with her image and the image of a potential future (though he did not know how) and perhaps of children. Yes, he had dreamt of lovely children. He had dreamt of waking next to her and knowing the feeling of being wanted, accepted. He had thought she felt the same. The way she smiled, the way she had rushed to his side….had that been him seeing what he wanted to see?

It was breaking apart like shattered glass.

“I did.” She confirmed. “I wept at the unfairness of it. I wept at the possibility of so much passion being snuffed out. I wept for one I could call Elf-Friend. And I rejoiced to hear you survived.” Silence lingered. “But it was not as a lover weeps. I am not the Amrâlimê for you, Kili. That precious token should be saved for one who is.” She hoped deeply for him. He had a wonderful heart and it was a treasured thing to have been a potential recipient of it. When the time was right, she hoped that the world would give him one worthy of it. “You must save it for your true Amrâlimê.”

Willing his eyes to stay dry, for his throat to not construct, the dwarf prince locked eyes with her. She nearly wept herself at the pain in them. “Di...did I do something wrong?” His voice felt small and came out as a meek squeak. He looked like a kicked puppy. Her heart ached for him but Tauriel knew she could not give him what he desired.

“Kili, you did nothing to cause this. I must admit that after we first met, I pondered these feelings myself. As you are, I am young especially by elf standards. I was enticed by such a thought...by falling in love.” Standing back to her full height, she shook her head “Unfortunately, Kili, that’s what it was…I was in love with the idea of being in love. My feelings for you are strong…but they are not love, Mellon.” On that, she knew it. What Thranduil had said to her, about if her love for the dwarf was real, she had found that while yes, it was real, it was not the kind of love she thought it was. Much as she enjoyed his spirit, his spunk, she knew more about the allies they had made in Laketown than she knew about him. She knew she did not want him to die. She knew she wanted him to be able to achieve his dreams. She knew that she wanted him to be happy.

She did not feel an undying desire to be by his side to watch it happen. She did not feel that if he were to die, as all mortals would, that she would fade away. She would be saddened and would mourn but it would not kill her spirit. She did not feel that her own path was interlocked with his. “I want you to be happy, Mellon,” she said again, “But I fear the love you want is not going to be with me. Whomever you find it with is deeply blessed but…it cannot be me, Kili of Erebor.”

Head bowed, hair falling into his eyes, Kili managed a nod. “I understand, Tauriel. I...please don’t let this disrupt the alliance of our people.” It was hard, so hard. Each word was forced out, like choking on sand and fire. “I…still consider you dear to me and…our kingdoms…can learn much from one another. Do not let this…”

“Never, Mellon.” She bowed to him. “As I said, I do care for you and I do have the utmost respect for you. I wish I could give you the affection you seek.” She meant that. She had lain amid the trees, staring at the stars, seeing if her heart would change, if her thoughts would grow, if her desires would shift. She had pondered their conversations, wondered if they could grow into something more. She had felt grief when she thought he was gone and while it was deep and it hurt, it had not broken her. It had not made her ponder about the future with uncertainty. As it was, when the battle had been over, Kili had seemed sure that she would stay with him in Erebor but she had never had a desire. She had been grateful for peace, grateful for the safety of elves, men and dwarves alike but she had never felt more relieved than when Thranduil lifted her banishment. She had wanted to go home. With love, so she had heard, home became that person.

Kili had not become her home.

The young Prince of Erebor stared at the elven woman for a moment longer. Why, he didn’t know. She had made her point abundantly clear. Perhaps he was hoping for her to say it was elvish tradition, a test for endurance or purity or some other such nonsense. Yet, she just stood there, her face devoid of any emotion except sincerity. This was no deeper meaning, no trial. This was simply Tauriel giving him hard, cold facts. It hit like a hammer to the heart but what could he do? He could not change feelings, much as he would like to.

Nodding, as he did not trust himself to speak, Kili turned on his heels and headed back towards Erebor. Goldfire gave a low growl, baring his sharp teeth at the elf woman before trotting after his downtrodden master.

——-

The forges were hot which meant it was not unusual for your eyes to water after a time. You would drip buckets of sweat “if you’re doing it right” as Uncle Thorin often said. There was a reason that most dwarves stripped down to their barest clothes when working the metals in the fire. There were a choice few who would only wear a simple apron to defend against sparks. Thorin had taught Kili and Fili to avoid layers of clothing and they both took care to follow that rule. The forge, while a place of wonderful magic could just as easily turn disastrous.

The slamming hammers made it hard to hear and if you focused on the noises enough, all else was blocked out. Kili remembered his uncle telling him often that if his heart were troubled, he would lose himself amid the noise. Mahal would guide your hand in a craft and if you let your mind and soul drift away from the monotony of the day so that you only knew the rhytmn of the hammers, then there was often a surprise that would emerge beneath your hard working fingers. Lose yourself in Mahal’s presence, Uncle would say.

Kili relished in it.

He didn’t even know what he was making or even if he had an end product in mind. All he knew was that he needed to pound metal. When he’d made his way back into Erebor, he’d found his brother was having his first true meeting with the Dwarf Lords on his own, though he suspected his uncle was near to lend aid if need be. He wouldn’t interrupt that. He could not interrupt that. After all, it was not as if his brother could fix what was happening, fix the anger, sadness and pain that made every step feel like a hike through Middle Earth. Why ruin his brother’s moment for that?

The next best thing was the forge.

The huge fires and hammers of Erebor were luxurious over the small forges that he had grown up using. All the same though, fire and metal was fire and metal. Give a proper dwarf a hammer, fuel and metal and it was all he required. The scurrying of dwarves, here and there, breathed life into the place. It made you feel like you were one with the kingdom, with the spirit of the dwarfdom. The first time Kili had swung a hammer, with his brother, in making the knife for their uncle, he had grinned from ear to ear the entire time, even when his muscles began to ache so much, he swore they had caught aflame.

Now, all Kili could feel was the pain in his heart. He cursed in Khuzdul with each pounding of the hammer. He suspected if this had been the first rejection, he might have sobbed, vented and then moved on. After all, such was the way for love. In their race, with female dwarves being so rare, it was not uncommon for interest to not blossom as one might wish it would. There was concern, deep concern, that their women only bind themselves to those that made them feel whole. He could understand that and even appreciate it.

But it was not the first. Or the second or the third.

It was the sixth.

Each hammer pound triggered memories. One of his childhood friends, Sunna. She’d been one of the few friends he’d had, her and her brother. Usually, they were teased that she could pass as Fili’s younger sister, as she had the same golden shaded hair though she had the rare green eyes of her mother’s clan. They’d been good playmates and good listeners. While Kili could not say that they had never teased him for his unorthodox looks, he knew it was all in jest (or so he thought and hoped it was) until the time came when Kili began to seek out suitors.

He’d always had a love for a potential mate and children, not something all dwarves did. His uncle did not have it and neither did his brother. Their people called it ‘child-longing.’ When the time came to announce their chosen trade to the people, someone with child longing would always announce parenthood first and then their trade. Kili had yet to do his, as that ceremony was done on the old age of majority which had once been 80. Fili had announced his trade as metalsmith, same as his uncle. Fili, despite his looks, had never been interested in mates or children though he did love children, just never wanted ones of his own. Always teased that “if you make me an uncle, I’ll love it!” It was similar to the situation with Thorin, Frerin and Dis. Only Dis had expressed desire for children, her two brothers having been married to their duty, work and craft. It was easy enough to see the same thing in her eldest child. Dis had always teased that if the Durin Line was to continue, it would be through Kili.

Thorin and Fili had been supportive when Kili announced that the concept of parenthood was enticing. “Good, you can handle that part of the heir’s duties, little brother!” Fili had smiled. The years had only increased Kili’s realization that love, a relationship, marriage and eventually children would have to be in his future somewhere, somehow. He’d known it as a youngling and he only became more and more convicned over time. Each rejection and how much it had hurt, only told him that such a feeling was not going to go away.

Sunna was the first.

He’d been young, barely into the teen years by dwarf standards so Kili’d thought a close female friend might be a potential mate. He’d asked Sunna if she might consider it, if they might try to explore that angle. They’d both been young, barely understanding the emotions involved in a relationship at the time. All they had really known was from stories and songs but that didn’t mean they weren’t intrigued by such a concept. It would be a learning experience for them both, Kili had thought.

She’d blushed but politely refused him.

It was the first refusal of now six.

There’d been Friya, who had frequented their uncle’s forge and actually not dismissed his archery as “elf-like.” Hair of coal black and eyes of sapphire blue that had clouded in pity when she’d informed him that she wasn’t looking for “someone like him.” She never expanded to what that meant and he had been too disappointed to inquire. He had attended their annual celebration of Durin’s Day alone that year, sticking by his family and watching longingly at the budding couples among his age group.

There’d been Asjur , a spunky girl with brown hair and grey eyes, who had made a face and asked if he was serious before inquiring if his brother was free instead. That had been the end of that.

There’d been Sifa, a girl with red hair in long flowing braid with a beard to match, whom upon him stammering out his request had laughed in his face and she’d not stopped laughing for a good five minutes. When he had still been standing there after her fit, she had nearly lost her composure again and wheezed out “Not before the remaking of the world, elf-boy!”

The last dwarrowdam he’d asked had been ten years ago. A soft spoken lass named Idua whom had mirrored his looks if only in coloring (she had a beard that rivaled some males twice her age) that had gone with him on a few outings and then confessed that she would not be able to stomach the marriage bed with him because of his “unslightly” looks. She had tried to be delicate with her words but there really was no ‘nice’ way to tell someone you found them so unattractive that the thought of producing children with them was sickening.

Now Tauriel.

Maybe he should have expected it. After all, if the women of his own race rejected him then why would an elf of Tauriel’s status be intrigued by him? While she apparently was a ‘low-born’ elf, she still had her pick of a great many elven men. Why would a dwarf archer catch her eye? The more he thought about it, the more it made no sense. Why? Why did he think there was anything there? Because she was kind to him? Because she fought on his side in a war that expanded way beyond the realm of Erebor?

Because he wanted it to be more?

Kili’s eyesight was growing misty with unshed tears. The sight of the glowing hot metal blurred.

Why? What was he doing so wrong to be continually rejected? He knew he could be a bit of a prankster but he took care to never do anything deeply damaging and he had never tried such things on anyone he did not know intimately. He tried to take his uncle’s lessons on decorum to heart and he routinely told himself that he would honor any potential mate on the same level, if not more so than, than the honor he bestowed on his mother. He would treat them like a princess, no, like a queen!

He had done that with each of his previous attempts. He had brought gifts of well-being, of good intent. He had offered his aid, a listening ear, anything he thought might ease their own workload. He had done everything he could think of to do in order to show his sincerity, his devotion.

So why? All he wanted was someone to love and who would love him back. All he wanted was a family of his own, children to call his own. He loved his brother, his uncle, his mother. He wanted to be able to shower little dwarves of his own with the same kind of affection he had grown up with. He wanted a lady by his side that would smile at him, that would look upon him and love him for what she saw. What was wrong with him? It was one thing to have one, perhaps two rejections before finding your one. But…six? Was he cursed...?

“My Prince!”

The warning came a moment too late and the hammer, having narrowed the metal to hair thin, shattered the final fragment connecting it and metal splintered everywhere as the hammer connected full on with anvil, sending a vibrating pain up Kili’s arm that made his teeth chatter. The sharp pain from the metal cutting into his lower arm came a moment later. He dropped the tool and clutched his wrist, willing the sharp and intense pain to fade away. At least it blocked out those self-defeating thoughts for a moment…

“Your Highness!”

A cloth was wrapped hastily over the cut on his arm and Kili blinked, recognizing one of the dwarven smiths who had stayed when Dain Ironfoot went home, seeking a life in Erebor. Nice enough dwarf and devoted as one could be to the Royal family. He was older, had strips of silver starting in his dark black hair and his beard was more silver than black already. He was a warrior, well known for charging into the fray, a story that the scars over his face told well. Went by Audun if he remembered right.

“Prince Kili, are you alright?” The dwarf’s thick baritone cut through Kili’s daze. Looking down at his arm, which was only bleeding slightly, Kili nodded “I...I’m alright Audun. Just...distracted.” He gently moved his hammer from anvil back to the counter and went to scoop up the fractured pieces of shattered metal, blinking his tears away as best he could but Audun gently grabbed his shoulder. The older dwarf pushed his beard aside and stated gently, setting firm eyes on the younger one.

“If I may, my Prince.” He offered. “I’ll clean this up. Please, go tend your arm. It may not be deep but metal is never good to let linger in a wound.”

Yes. Yes, of course. Amateur rule. He should know this...

Nodding mutely, Kili thanked him “Of course, thank you, Audun.” He slowly walked out of the forges, and was glad to be rid of the eyes on him.

He likely should have stopped to see Oin but he had no desire. He’d clean it himself. It wasn’t the first cut he’d received from broken metal and it would hardly be the last. A forge-master that had no scars was no true master. If he had to patch himself up, the more he’d remember. Yes, yes, that would be his reasoning. The less people he had to interact with right now, the better. He even found he had no will to greet his pup when he bounded at him as he emerged from Erebor’s belly. He simply kept walking, eyes blank, until he got to the Royal Wing.

“Prince Kili?” One of his personal guard, Mahnar, addressed him gently. “Are you alright?”

For a moment, Kili considered telling him. Mahnar, while older than him, was no older than Ori. He’d actually wanted to come along on the journey to Erebor when Thorin had asked for aid but his family had been so against it and he did not wish to be disrespectful to their wishes. Such things could be tricky, especially among Dwarf families. You always wanted to be respectful to your elders and even if Mahnar wanted to lend his aid, he would not blatantly go against his family’s decision. Though, when they finally responded after Smaug’s death, Mahnar had been the first one out onto the rams. His ferocity on the battlefield had been rewarded and when Thorin had offered him a spot defending the royal family, he could not say yes quickly enough. It was a statement to his loyalty and skill to be trusted to defend Thorin’s heirs.

Kili had formed an understanding with Mahnar, a friendship of sorts though it could not be a true friendship. Hard to be close friends with someone when the very essence of their job included dying to ensure you lived.

Still, given their closeness in age, it was usually easy for Mahnar to sympathize with Kili. Talks between the two of them were not uncommon but today, not even Mahnar’s friendly and concerned face was a comfort. He ignored the inquiry and paused, briefly, hand on his door and then turned to look him in the face. Kili was the least formal of his family. It was something he could afford as he was neither the King nor the direct heir. He got the benefits without a lot of the responsibility.

In this case though, he meant to utilize some of the power he held but rarely used.

“I wish not to be disturbed.” Kili said simply, numbly, before walking into his personal chambers. “Not until I say otherwise. No one.”

“...understood.” Mahnar managed before the door shut entirely.

If Kili noticed his pup had not followed him in, he made no mention of it. He’d every intention of going to clean his arm. Instead, he made it as far as the bed, pulled the curtains tight around it and flopped down on the sheets. The youngest prince wept.

——

“Lad’s doing well,” Dwalin noted though he didn’t move from his recline near the door. The meeting would be drawing to a close soon and while Fili had shown no issue thus far, they really didn’t want to leave without warning. Dwarves were volatile folk and it would be all too easy for a seemingly perfect meeting to suddenly erupt into chaos. Much as they thought Fili could handle it, no point in throwing the lad to the wolves so to speak. Thorin in particular remembered such a thing happening when he was a young Prince and while the chaos had taught him well how to handle a sudden eruption of temper, he had always wished his father had not just left him to figure it out. He did not want to do such a thing with his eldest sister-son.

It was beginning to look as if his caution was for naught though. If the action from within the meeting room was any indication, the eldest heir of Erebor certainly needed no aid. Thorin offered a smile through his beard and gave another puff of smoke as he addressed his oldest friend. “He learns well and quick. I know sometimes it’s hard to believe but they both do.”

Chuckling, Dwalin remarked “I think my brother may challenge you on that, Thorin.” Though he moved so he was leaning against the wall next to his king.

Throwing a playful glare his way, Thorin amended “They learn quick and well when they wish to.”

Dwalin’s response was cut off when Thorin suddenly jerked to the side. Had he been any less of a seasoned warrior, the swift shift of balance might have knocked him over but as it was, he managed to grab the wall and remain upright.

“Mahal’s...” Thorin’s curse was cut off by the sound of a deep throated growling, in the form of a little white furred pup who had sank his teeth into Thorin’s boot cuff. “Goldfire, no!” The Dwarf King gently pushed the pup off only for it to then latch onto Thorin’s sleeve and jerk its head back and forth, not once relenting on the growls.

“Where’s your master, Pup?” Dwalin inquired simply, looking around for the youngest prince. He was rarely without his pet. That thing followed him around like an extra shadow. Fili was just as bad with his. The weapons master was well aware that the elder heir had a black furred pup sitting under the council table at his feet this very moment.

Goldfire was not persuaded. If anything, he became more insistent, shaking his head so violently that it threatened to tear Thorin’s tunic. The Dwarf King shoved him off, a bit more roughly. “Goldfire, I said no!”

The pup yelped a little before turning in several tight circles, sitting on its haunches and howling. He ran out the door then back in, scratched at the doorframe before running right in front of the two dwarves and howled again.

Continuously.

“You’re the one that said they could keep ‘em.” Dwalin felt inclined to remind his king.

Calling his friend a rude term under his breath, the Dwarf King was very close to considering making a hat out of the pup when Audun made his way up from the forges. Not too unusual and to be frank, Thorin was rather surprised that more dwarves were not pouring in, demanding that the annoying howling be dealt with. Audun was not one to be easily bothered though and when he saw the noisy pup, he seemed even more disturbed before setting his eyes on Thorin. Bowing low on one knee, as he was want to do whenever greeting the King, he spoke out, “Your Majesty, if I may inquire?”

“Stand, Audun, son of Audal.” Thorin said in response though he had to heighten his volume a bit to be heard over the wolf pup’s howling. Thorin was very tempted to have Dwalin toss the pup outside but Audun had the Dwarf King’s attention currently.

“Forgive me for interrupting, My King, but I wanted to inquire if Prince Kili was doing better.”

Blinking in surprise, Thorin asked, concern lacing his voice, “Doing better?”

“Aye,” the dwarf smith continued “Got a mild injury in the forge earlier and the lad seemed…distant. Distracted. Hard to tell sometimes with him but something was off. I assumed he came and found you or his brother…”

“Fili’s been stuck with the old dullards all afternoon,” Dwalin offered. “Lad probably decided to not bug us about it when he couldn’t talk to his brother.” Kili, and Fili too for that matter, could be quite infuriating at times. They usually were great supports to one another but while Thorin would easily stop a war to tend to his sister sons if need be, they were still hung up on ‘bothering’ him, especially now that the kingdom was getting back into its old glory again. Talked about not being a ‘burden’ to their uncle now that he was rightful king. Never mind that he never stopped being an uncle! Dwalin was half tempted to box their ears half the time for it. If they were up front about things, so much fuss could be avoided.

But then, that WAS the Durin Line stubbornness.

Thorin’s lips were pursed in a tight line “Any idea on what was on his mind?”

Audun shook his head “Couldn’t tell. Looked like he mighta been trying not to cry though.” He hated to add that, knowing all too well the pride of dwarves and especially of the Durin line but that was the very reason why he felt he needed to bring it up. Such a thing was surely a sign of horrific news!

Dwalin and Thorin exchanged a glance. While Kili was without a doubt the more sensitive of the two brothers, it was still rare for him to openly cry outside of the privacy of his own chambers. Even amongst family members, Kili usually reserved his tears for when he and his brother were alone unless it was something deeply troubling. In that latter case, he might allow Thorin to see him shed a few tears. It was rare though and the idea that he had been crying, or at least, trying not to cry, worried the both of them.

“I’ve not seen my youngest sister-son.” Thorin began and stumbled again when Goldfire once more began to tug on his boot before howling once more. “Is that why you are carrying on so?” he inquired of the creature who simply howled again in response. Glancing backward towards the council room, Thorin jumped a bit when Dwalin’s hand fell on his shoulder.

“Go find the youngest lad, Thorin. I’ll mind this one.” He jerked his head towards the council chamber. “Lad sounds like he’s wrapping up. I’ll usher ‘em down to the kitchens for some ale.”

Giving a nod, Thoirn stated “Tell him that I’ll be back to debrief him…and congratulate him as soon as I’m able.” Glancing down at the white wolf pup, Thorin declared “Alright, bothersome thing, please tell me that you can be of some use.”

With a half yelp, the creature took off for the hall and Thorin followed.

#the hobbit AND LOTR are awesome #The Hobbit movies had potential #the hobbit fanfiction #The Durin Line lives damn it #post BOTFA AU fanfiction #UNCLE THORIN #Fili and Kili are Thorin’s treasures #Thorin is a good uncle #Thorin knows more about parenting than he gets credit for #Kili is ugly by dwarf standards #Kili is also a sweetheart #heartbreak sucks #BOTFA fix it #erebor post BOTFA #Kili and Tauriel #Kili and Tauriel's relationship is not quite romantic in my head #Though I do like Tauriel

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catbowserauthor · 6 years ago

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Hobbit Story: Anchored 6

So, this story occurs before my “Calling in a King’s Favor” and it actually was the start of my AU universe. I plan on finishing my re-write/AU of BOTFA in the near future but this story is what started it.

A missing scene from the Jackson movies, following the first battle with Azog. Emotions comes to a climax while the company stays with Beorn. Thorin has been playing Leader and King for the entire journey but he sometimes forgets that Kili and Fili need him to be an uncle too…and that some things cut deeper among family.

Final Part of this story!

Dori looked up when the door opened and the three heirs of Durin slowly made their way back in. While he had a million questions, the soft look on Thorin’s face and the way he had his arms wrapped around the two younger boys stopped any questions dead on his tongue. Curious as he might have been, he understood an unspoken command when he saw it. So, a simple nod at them was all he offered before turning his attention back to his watch. If he gave the two younger princes a half smile as the threesome passed, then no one made comment of it.

As for the three Durin members, they slipped towards the back of the room, away from the rest of their company, though still close enough to be within earshot. The two younger members grabbed their bedrolls up on the way over and flopped down next to their uncle. Thorin shifted and laid down on his own cushions, shrugging off his thick fur coat in the process and remaining slightly propped up against the wall. Fili curled up close on his left side, with Kili mirroring him on the left, each one of them resting their temples on his torso.

Pulling his thick coat up, Thorin draped it over the two of them and relaxed, letting them settle.

“Are you calm now?”

Nodding, Fili remarked, “Thank you, Uncle.”

Kili added, “Sorry I yelled at you earlier.”

Chuckling low in his throat, Thorin stated simply, “It will hardly be the last time you do before your life is spent, my boy. You’re forgiven.” He went quiet and just focused on the gentle sound of the breathing of his two sister-sons. While they did not yet sleep, there was no longer that horrific trembling and agonizing fear seeping off them. That was enough. While he certainly did not want to deal with two slee-deprived nephews come the morn, the relaxing posture in their shoulders was an improvement to be certain.

“The time will come soon, my dear sister-sons,” Thorin’s voice rumbled with affection as evenly as it did with devotion. “When we will fall Azog for the crimes he has cast against our family line. When that time comes, we will face him as one, a united front of Durin’s blood.”

Kili remarked, looking up at his uncle and gently fingering one of the elder’s long braids. “We will be stand by your side, Uncle. We will be with you, always.”

Fili added, adjusting a bit in hopes of alleviating some of the pressure on his uncle’s shoulder. “You have trained us well and we will not forget WHY you have trained us.” He paused, seemed unfair. “All we ask Uncle is that you will not take him on alone. Let us lend you our strength and courage, even if you have no need of it.”

A warm smile, a full smile, covered the warrior’s lips. “I will always have need of it. I just tend to forget it at times.”

The younger of the two surmised, “Well, we won’t let you forget again, Uncle Thorin. We’ll be there when you drive Orcrist through that orc’s filthy neck!”

His older brother chimed in even though his eyes were beginning to cloud with the hints of sleep. “Aye, Uncle. We will make sure he feels its sting to his last moments! It is only proper for what he has done!”

While Thorin did give a nod in agreement to the death of his family’s mortal enemy, the leader of their company shook his head, “No, Orcrist will not end his miserable life.”

Blinking in surprise, both nephews asked, in unison “No, why not?”

Laughing, as he had in younger days, Thorin gently ruffled both their wild manes of hair. “Heed me well, sons of Durin. We go into battle and danger that you may not yet comprehend. The dragon is of utmost concern but my heart is focused on Azog. While Smaug, the wicked worm, has taken our home, Azog has taken those dear to us and with that, pieces of our lives. You should have another uncle to pester and love on and you do not. You should have a grandfather to spoil and pamper you and yet you do not. You should have a great grandfather to give you far too many sweets and you do not. For that, I cannot forgive him and I will not end his life with an elvish blade, no matter how much Gandalf may praise it.”

The Dwarf King reached into his tunic and withdrew a small knife, maybe six inches in length, that he unsheathed and admired. The metal was polished but had been hammered out by inexperienced hands. The fuller ran half the length of the blade and while straight, dipped more in some places than others. The wooden hilt had been treated well but was a bit off center, fashioned by sanding and carving that was not well practiced. If Thorin had held it on his finger, it would have dipped slightly lower on one side than the other, not being completely balanced. All the same though, the single edged knife was razor sharp and it showed in appearance alone. For Thorin though, it was a perfect blade.

Eyes wide, Fili inquired “You still have that thing?”

Kili added “It survived this long?”

“Of course,” Thorin responded. “I have not given it a First Cut.” First Cut among their kind referred to the first time a blade was used, aside from the testing phase that all blades went through. It was an important decision because the spirit of the knife maker was bound in the first cut. Whatever the First Cut was would have all the passion and energy of the makers released upon it. “I told you both when you gifted it to me that I would save its First Cut for something worthy of it. The devotion and love you put into this blade has kept it strong and firm. It is with your passion that I will slit that foul creature’s throat.” Thorin’s voice carried strong and hard. “It is by the line of Durin that he will fall.”

Sheathing the knife, Thorin slipped it back into his tunic.

Both young princes were quiet for a long moment. What could be said against such a thing? They had worked together to make the blade for Thorin when they were only 13 and 9 years of age, respectively. It had taken them three times longer than an adult. It had taken them seven tries to get the blade perfect. It had gotten them restricted to their home for half a year because they insisted on leaving the Blue Mountains to find the perfect earth, silt and sand for clay tempering. Nearly gotten them killed trying to get it and the look of horror when they saw their family again “do you know the worry you plunged into our hearts?” would haunt them much longer than anything else.

To know that Thorin meant to use that simple knife to slay their family’s worst adversary make their hearts fill.

Leaning back, just slightly, the elder dwarf advised, “Dawn will be upon us soon and I won’t have you two with no sleep. Close your eyes and rest.”

Sighing heavily, Fili did as asked, though he did not remove his head from his uncle’s shoulder. Kili was quick to do the same though he curled even closer and tightened his grip on the only paternal figure he had ever known. His heart was settled but he would not reject the closeness of his kin tonight. When Fili did the same, though with a moment delay, he relaxed a little more. As Uncle’s fingers began their old pattern of root to tip, again, he let his breaths grow heavy and shut his eyes. The gentle breaths of his uncle, the rise and fall of his chest was hypnotic.

Thorin watched the two of them a moment. So young, they both were. Probably far too young to be on this journey but he was secretly glad for their presence. As tonight had reminded him though, he had a responsibility to them as well as to his people. It would not do well for him to forget that again. The strength of their family was in its connectedness. Azog had severed so many from their line already that Thorin refused to let anymore follow, least of all these two loyal lads who would likely march into Mordor itself after him.

Swallowing deep at the sudden catch in his throat, Thorin stroked Fili’s braids with one hand while his other busied with Kili’s and his booming voice rang out in familiar rhythm

“The world was young, the mountains green. No stain yet on the moon was seen…”

While Misty Mountains had become the cradle song for his two sister-sons, Durin’s Song was always a popular request. His nephews could likely recite it in their sleep and he smiled happily when he saw the effect was still the same. Kili’s grip loosened and his eyes fluttered a bit, even while closed as dreams settled over his mind. Fili turned his head towards his uncle’s voice and let his eyes laze open until the muscles failed to keep them open any longer. His chin dipped into his elder’s chest and sleep took him.

Despite there no longer being any need, Thorin did not stop his song. He kept it soft and low but he could not help but think back with each word. Think of the little ones in his arms, of what he might have lost…

“Unwearied then were Durin’s Folk. Beneath the mountains music woke. The harpers harped, the minstrels sang and at the gates, the trumpets rang.”

His memory of Erebor was still strong. He remembered festivals of such dance and music and food that his sister-sons had never had. Feasts that these two dear sister-sons should have had. Songs they should have sung, dances they should have pranced to and laughed and finery they should have worn.

“The world is grey, the mountains old. The forge’s fire is ashen-cold.”

How long had it been since Erebor’s forges had seen the ringing of Dwarven hammers? How long had it been since the roaring fires caked faces in soot and warmth?

“No harp is rung, no hammer falls. The Darkness dwells in Durin’s Halls.”

Be it Erebor or Khazad-dum, his people wandered. His family wandered. They wandered, as his sweet boys had wandered this night. No comfort, no anchor.

“A shadow lies upon his tomb. In Moria, in Khazad-dum.”

The shadow of the Dragon would never leave his mind. Just as the shadow of Azog lifting his grandfather’s head would never leave his mind. Just as the shadow of Frerin’s last breath would never leave his mind. The retreating shadow of his father, the last time he lay sight of him, would never leave his mind.

“But still the sunken stars appear, in dark and windless Mirrormere.”

Kili shifted, slightly, and inched a bit closer, throwing his arms around Thorin’s waist, as he had done so many years ago. Fili shifted in response and mirrored him, the faint moonlight catching on his beads and shimmering like small lights. Thorin let his sight drift down to them and he stroked the hair away from young, brave faces. He let himself imagine…these two who had grown with the spirit of Durin in their hearts. He would finally reward their loyalty, their courage would win back their homeland and with that, he would shower them with the finery they deserved. Oh, how they would stand so strong and firm at his side, clothed in the colors of their line and the people would know, as he knew, that Durin’s Line was not easily broken.

“There lies his crown in water-deep. Til Durin wakes again from sleep.”

"Song of Durin" was written by JRR Tolkien and you can find it in the Fellowship of the Ring. Easily one of my favorite poems he does.

#The Hobbit movies had potential #The Hobbit fanfiction #The Hobbit AU #durin family feels #durin line #Thorin and Fili and Kili #Uncle Thorin #Thorin tries to be a good parent #He just needs reminders now and again #You don't watch someone you love almost die and just get over it #slight PTSD #Paternal Thorin #Because he's awesome

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centuryofdean · 8 years ago

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When Lightening Strikes - Chapter 3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

“Wake up Kili, it is time to leave The Shire.”

No matter how hard I tried to hold onto the dream, sleep would not find me and bless my wish. Fili sat at the edge of the couch we were sharing for the night, pressing into my legs to wake me.

Laurel.

As always her face was a blur but the ache in my chest that went to sleep with me awoke with me; this time with vigor. It was surprising I woke this time with a smirk.

She actually kissed me.

Not on the last dream I would ever share with her.

“What of Bilbo,” Fili asked, grabbing his weapons and rising to leave. I followed his lead, placing two daggers in my belt and boot and grabbing my arrows and bow.

“All we can do is leave the contract. If he wishes to accompany us, he will find us,” Thorin replied.

Together the lot of us rose and left the hobbit’s home and quietly as we could. It was not my first time meeting a hobbit, though after I met Bilbo, the similarities between him and Laurel were strong. The greed I felt to see her again was almost stronger of that of the need of this quest.

Just outside The Shire we met a farmer with ponies for hire. Gandalf took lead on his stead and we were off on our quest.

“Did you see her in your sleep again Brother,” Fili asked softly.

Each of these dreams she was unable to see or hear me. It was as if I were invisible.

I was amused that she was hunting a deer to feast upon.

From that one encounter, we discovered that each of us dreamed of the other. This encounter led to similar dreams of no talking, but after a while we were able to speak again.

“Yes, I dreamed very fondly of her,” I murmured, “though I am afraid it may be the last.”

A chuckle came from my brother, “It may not. This journey will be long and eventually you will see her again. I am afraid that I am jealous of your maiden that does not exist.”

“Laurel is a true beauty indeed,” I murmured dejectedly, trying to hold onto the last traces of her face that floated in my mind.

“Why do you sound upset,” Fili asked earnestly.

“I think she is a Hobbit,” I muttered.

This brought a hearty chuckle from the blonde warrior.

After seven days of travel with no real rest, the company set Thorin straight. Came nightfall the lot of us were camped out with a fire, a nice warm meal, and promised a full nights worth of sleep.

“Kili,” uncle approached me, “take first watch. In a few hours we will have Fili switch with you so that you can rest as well.”

“Yes uncle. I will wake the company if I hear or see of anything suspicious.”

The hill that we found had a pleasant flat bottom to the south that we placed camp in. It also provided for a great vantage point to see from all angles anything that would try to sneak up on us.

I used the time of peace to reflect on the last time I slept and saw her. The ache in my chest returned at the thought, the last I can remember of her face is her pine eyes, everything else blurred into her silhouette. She was so scared of… me. If it were really only just a dream, she was not real, then why would I dream of her fear? I would dream of her desire for me! The fact itself was even more frustrating than Bilbo’s complaining. There has to be more than just a coincidence that I dream of the same woman all these years.

The more I concentrated on trying to envision her face, the sleepier I became. Shortly I felt the drags of tiredness pull me into a soft sleep.

I even felt the cold of winter’s chill.

Happiness filled me, I had gotten my wish to see her again. It was not as exciting to know that this was not a time of meeting, but I could gaze upon her once more.

The water just on the other side of her lit up with the lightning of the sky. Laurel started to run.

I myself was running just so that I would not lose her. The sight of her face was already swallowed by the rain.

Lightning struck, blindingly, just in front of her. Fear grasped my heart.

“Laurel!” My voice was horse and booming, but fell upon deaf ears, almost deaf to my own if it weren’t for the crack of thunder.

She turned to escape the danger, only to be pushed forward into it instead.

A loud crack of thunder awoken me with a gasp.

Laurel, she fell into electrifying lightning.

I looked up into the night sky instinctively to gaze at the storm here.

With a start I jumped, reckless as I was, holding my arms out ready to catch the oddity.

The force of the drop and thing brought me to my knees, grunting at the impact. With all the gentleness I could bestow I rolled the object into the ground to inspect it.

Laurel?

“Fili,” my voice bellowed across the valley.

“Kili, what is it,” Fili asked kneeling down next to me.

A gasp left me, “She fell from the sky.”

“She’s soaked to the bone, we better find a dry space and start a fire for her to warm up,” he whispered urgently. “Do you have her? I’ll go start the fire.”

“Where did she come from,” Gandalf asked.

“Quite literally out of the sky,” I murmured. “I looked up and she was falling, right into my arms.”

“We cannot let this halt our journey,” Thorin muttered as he strode towards all the commotion.

A grunt of sorts escaped me. They would have to have a dragon breathe it’s flames of death upon me before I will leave without her. “Uncle,” I muttered, “we cannot just leave her in this condition. I will not leave her side.”

“I know who she is,” I muttered.

“If she is one of your whores—”

“Never,” I growled, “she is of another world…”

#the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit #kili #fanfiction #when lightening strikes #kili x oc

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