#thorin mention

[mrkida-art]

Thrór helping his son Thráin with Thorin's homework

[johnmurphysgirl]

Thorin: *gasp* why you bring me a hobbit

Gandalf: *le shrug*

Thorin:

Gandalf:

Thorin: can I keep him?

[sapphoismymuse]

okay this is a bit of a shot in the dark but i read a (probably) bagginshield fic a few months ago, the dwarves (probably fíli and kíli) are bored and restless on their journey to erebor and bilbo tells them to listen. they start listening to like the sounds around them on their walk but also to little things, like two of the dwarves flirting at the back of the group and start noticing little things about their friends they didn't know before and the other dwarves do it too.

anyways i think about it regularly but i can't find it and now i need it for a school assignment

[possibly-a-table-or-just-gay]

Everytime I see Hobbit fanart where Thorin has a shrink-wrapped six pack I get a little closer to drawing Thorin shirtless just to prove that NO HE WOULD HAVE FUCKING MEAT ON HIS BONES HE'S A FUCKING DWARF HE'S BUILT LIKE A FUCKING TANK. HE WOULD NOT HAVE A CONCAVE STOMACH AND INHUMAN-LY DEFINED ABS HE WAS BUILT TO SURVIVE WINTERS IN THE MISTY MOUNTAINS. HE'S FUCKING BROAD AND HAIRY AND HE HAS FAT OVER HIS MUSCLE. THERE IS MORE THAN ONE WAY FOR A MAN TO BE ATTRACTIVE GODDAMMIT. this applies to all the dwarves btw

[bitterseaproduction]

The Hobbit’s official movie books really push the original timeline as the film one (despite 0 aging of characters in flashbacks pfft) BUT they also present Balin as the most ‘aged’ of the Company in both appearance and description at 178, despite Thorin — visibly far younger — being 17 years older than him.

It’s a conundrum, but I got an idea when I noticed Dwalin in the books supposedly lives to 340, even though a dwarf living to just 300 is supposed to be as rare as a human making it to 100! There’s been arguments that that was just a ‘typo’ on Tolkien’s part, but what if it wasn’t? What if we roll with that? Dwalin did look shockingly younger than Balin even though he’s just 9 years younger! That’s just 3 if you take it in human years!

So, using that 340 as inspiration and a base line, what if we say the direct line of Durin the Deathless plus the occasional offshoot like Dwalin just age slower than the typical dwarf? That their max baseline is closer to 300-350 or even 350-400 versus the usual 250-300? Because, if we go with, say, 400 as Thorin’s base max, suddenly we go from ‘Thorin should look older than Balin’ to ‘he’s in the human equivalent of his late 40s,’ and that seems much closer to the slightly aged up Richard Armitage we got in movies, doesn’t it?

This would also mean Thorin IS older than Balin despite their dynamic, but hey—sometimes your younger cousin is just wiser than you. 😂

[ink-stains-and-constellations]

I usually write and post Undertale fanfiction on a different account, but I kept seeing those time-travel The Hobbit fics and I really liked the premise, so I wrote a small bit of one. I have no idea what else to do with it, soooooo here have the random fic I wrote at like 1 AM.

(Quick disclaimer, I'm not actually super well-versed in Middle-Earth lore. I've read and loved The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, but I haven't gotten around to reading The Silmarillion or anything yet. I probably got some stuff wrong in terms of lore, so sorry about that. This was written for fun and I'm not planning on making it into a longer fic, but I thought I'd share it because why not.)

Bilbo was dead.

He knew he was dead. He had died in the Undying Lands, finally succumbing to the age of his body, surrounded by Frodo and Gandalf and the elves as he drifted off into his very last adventure. He had lived a long life. A good life. One with regrets, of course, but also one with much joy and love.

Hobbit-lore had never said much about their afterlife - not like the lore of elves, dwarves, or even men - but Bilbo had always supposed it would be something like this, the comfort of home. For he had found himself back in his hobbit-hole, back in Bag-End, seated at his table with a lovely-looking tea spread out before him.

His aches, his weariness, were gone. His joints and back moved easily, without any pain to speak of. His eyesight was perfectly clear. Even his bald patches had vanished, his head and feet covered once again in thick bushes of curly hair.

"Why, I don't feel a day over fifty," he marvelled under his breath, grinning a little.

Leaving his food on the table, he explored his home, running his fingers along the backs of chairs and rifling through drawers. Most things were exactly as he remembered it - better, even for he had not seen his silver spoons for decades, yet there they were, sitting neatly with the rest of his cutlery. The only objects unaccounted for were the things from his adventure; Sting, the coat of mithril, the chests of gold and silver, and the ring (he caught himself a moment before thinking 'his ring'). But he had given Sting and the coat to Frodo anyway, the ring had been destroyed, and he didn't suppose he would need gold or silver in the afterlife, so he paid it no mind.

He had just sat back down to his tea when the doorbell rang. He was not expecting visitors, of course, as he had only just gotten to this hobbitish afterlife, but he was not nearly as fussy about that sort of thing as he had once been, so he got to his feet and went to greet his guest.

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it hadn't been a dwarf, and it most certainly hadn't been a very familiar dwarf with a long beard and a dark green hood, worn and stained from travel, his bright eyes glittering from beneath its hem.

The dwarf hopped inside as soon as the door was open, hanging his hooded cloak on one of the pegs, then sweeping into a low bow. "Dwalin at your service!"

Bilbo was frozen, one hand still on the polished brass doorknob, staring at his old friend, who now looked decades younger and was wearing the same clothes he had been the first time they had met.

"Dwalin?" he asked. "What are you doing here?" Even if the dwarf was dead too, he surely wouldn't be here, wherever here was.

Dwalin frowned slightly. "I am here for the meeting, of course."

"Meeting?" he echoed, mystified.

"Yes, the meeting." Dwalin gave him an odd look, as if he should have already known. "And, er, whose service do I have the pleasure of being at?"

Bilbo blinked. "What?"

"Your name," Dwalin elaborated.

After a moment of mutually puzzled silence, Bilbo took a closer look at Dwalin. The clothes. The appearance. The expression, politely confused. Asking for his name.

I don't feel a day over fifty.

He swallowed. "I - Bilbo." Slowly, he bowed. "Mister Bilbo Baggins, at your service." He straightened, gesturing to the hall behind him. "I, uh - I just set out tea. Please, help yourself."

Dwalin nodded, bustling off down the hall. Bilbo did not follow him, but sat down on the ornamental chair by all the hooks and put his head in his hands. This... wasn't possible, was it? He couldn't be back then. He had died, for goodness' sake.

Before he could get very far with his thoughts, the bell rang again. He sprang up, nearly wrenching the door open to reveal an old, red-hooded dwarf, who immediately hopped inside.

"I see they have begun to arrive already," he noted as he hung his hood next to Dwalin's. He then bowed, giving Bilbo an entirely unnecessary introduction.

"Balin, at your service!"

"Bilbo Baggins at yours," Bilbo replied, bowing in return. "Dwalin is inside - please, go join him, I'll bring out more tea. Unless you would prefer a little beer?" he added, remembering his old friend's preferences.

Balin smiled. "Yes, and some seed-cake, if you have any."

"Yes, lots."

Balin set off down the hall to join his brother, and Bilbo went to the pantry to collect the beer and seed-cakes.

Well, that settles it, he thought, a tad grimly. I am back at the very beginning of it all. He wasn't entirely enthusiastic about the prospect, given that he knew what lay ahead, but he resolved to do his very best with this second chance. To make their journey better with his knowledge. Maybe he could even save...

He shook his head and quickly delivered Balin's food and drink, right before the bell rang a third time and he had to rush back to the door.

It was Fili and Kili this time, and Bilbo's heart started aching when he saw them, young and whole and alive, their yellow beards clean of blood and grime, their eyes sparkling and clear.

"Kili at your service!"

"And Fili!"

He took their hoods and bags, setting them carefully to the side, and bowed back, fighting the urge to pull them both into a hug. Somehow, he managed to speak past the lump in his throat. "Bilbo Baggins, at yours and your family's."

"Dwalin and Balin here already, I see," said Kili cheerfully. "Let us join the throng!"

Bilbo nodded and stepped aside to let them pass. He very firmly set aside his grief, his questions, his racing thoughts, and fixed his mind on the task at hand - namely, preparing enough food, drink, and chairs to host a company of fifteen.

While the four dwarves settled in and got to talking, he hurriedly set out more places at the table, then started raiding his pantry, bringing out everything from the wine to the cheese wheels. Halfway through, the bell rang again, and he practically sprinted to the door - in fact, he got there fast enough that Gloin had only just come puffing up to the doorstep.

Introductions were short, and the five newcomers soon joined the others at the table while Bilbo went back to emptying his pantries before they could do it themselves.

He had almost finished when a loud rapping echoed down the hall, the knock of wood against wood. Bilbo sighed heavily, thinking mournfully of the dent in his nice green door that he had never quite gotten around to fixing, and, whisking one last plate of food onto the table, set off to let his guests inside for the fifth and final time that night.

He made sure to open the door very slowly and carefully, so as not to repeat his mistake from all those years ago and end up with a pile of dwarves on his doormat. This time, all four of them hopped inside without incident, and Gandalf ducked through the doorway a moment later.

"Hello, Bilbo," he greeted with a smile. "I hope you do not mind terribly that I brought guests to our tea."

Bilbo sighed again, casting a glance in the direction of his depleted pantries. "Not at all, Gandalf."

"Excellent!" The wizard clapped his hands. "Now, allow me to introduce you to Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and especially Thorin!"

There were the usual bows and "At your service"s from Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur, and none at all from Thorin, not that Bilbo had expected any. He gave all four of them a deep bow in return.

"Bilbo Baggins." He glanced up, meeting Thorin's proud gaze and ignoring the pang of grief, an old, old pain that had never really gone away. "At your service."

Thorin merely turned to toss his sky-blue, silver-tasselled hood onto a hook beside the others.

"Now we are all here!" declared Gandalf, hanging his hat at the end of the row of hoods. "Quite a merry gathering. I hope there is something left for the latecomers to eat and drink!"

"Yes, there's plenty," replied Bilbo, gesturing for the group to follow him down the hall.

Gandalf fell into step beside him, peering curiously down at him. He opened his mouth to ask something, but Bilbo quickly interrupted.

"Be careful of the -"

Thunk.

"Rafters," Bilbo finished with yet another sigh, watching Gandalf rub his head.

"A little low, these ceilings," the wizard commented, grimacing.

"Or maybe you're just a little tall!" called a grinning Fili from the dining room. "We seem to be managing just fine."

"Impertinent dwarf," Gandalf grumbled, hunched over to keep from hitting his head again.

Bilbo darted ahead to pull out a chair for Thorin, the grandest chair he could find in his little hobbit-hole. Thorin paused for a moment, then slowly sank into it, nodding his thanks. Bilbo gave him a quick smile and took his own place at the table, which he had made sure to include this time, as he didn't want to miss out on all the food again.

He wasn't much for conversation, as he didn't want to slip up and reveal all the things he knew, but he didn't bother asking if they would stay for supper after the meal was finished. Already knowing the answer, he just made to collect the plates, and didn't protest when the dwarves sprang up to clear them away instead.

The dishes were soon cleaned and put away, and the dwarves came back to find Bilbo watching Thorin and Gandalf blow smoke-rings around the room.

"Now for some music!" Thorin declared as his company filed into the room, snuffing out his pipe and setting it aside. "Bring out the instruments!"

There was a rush for instruments just as Bilbo remembered, and he sat back in his chair to listen to the dwarves' music. It was enthralling as it had been the first time, and he felt as though he was indeed fifty all over again and feeling a great desire for adventure. He found himself humming quietly along to the familiar tune.

It eventually stopped, of course, once dark had fallen, and Thorin stood to begin his speech.

"Gandalf, dwarves, and Mister Baggins! We are met together in the house of our friend and fellow conspirator, this most excellent and audacious hobbit - may the hair on his toes never fall out! All praise to his wine and ale!"

The ache in Bilbo's heart increased upon hearing his friend's typically long-winded beginning, and he barely managed to reply, "You are very kind." His voice came out with a funny choked quality to it, as if he was about to cry. Which was, of course, absurd, he thought as he blinked furiously against his burning eyes.

Thorin stopped, staring at Bilbo, his brow furrowed. "Is something the matter, Mister Baggins?"

Bilbo quickly shook his head, scrubbing away the tears that were leaking down his cheeks. "Nothing at all, Thorin," he whispered, unable to help the familiarity that slipped out with his friend's first name. "And, uh -" He cleared his throat, speaking a little louder. "Please, call me Bilbo, all of you. It seems appropriate if we're to - uh, work together."

Slowly, Thorin nodded, although he did not continue with his speech. He just... stared at Bilbo, a puzzled divot between his heavy brows, until Bilbo shifted uncomfortably, worried that he had made a mistake.

"Tell me, Mister Baggi - Bilbo," said Thorin suddenly. "Do you have much experience in the matter of burglary?"

Bilbo felt his lips twist into a humourless smile as images flashed in his mind. A golden cup. A large gemstone that could be called white, if you ascribed the same colour to the stars themselves. Before that, a set of keys, countless morsels of food, even the very dwarves who now sat in his dining room. All done while invisible, of course, but perhaps this time he could be a burglar before he found the ring as well as afterwards. (He was a little reluctant to take possession of the ring again now that he knew what it was, but he also knew that it had been an invaluable asset on their journey, and besides if he hadn't found it, it wouldn't have been destroyed, so he resolved to pick it up again as he had before.)

"Yes. Quite a bit, in fact."

A murmur of surprise went around the room. Even Gandalf's bushy eyebrows raised, although he stayed silent, still puffing on his pipe.

"How about travel?" Thorin asked, evidently set on grilling him now. "Fighting? Sword or axe, what's your weapon of choice?"

Bilbo sighed yet again. "I'm rather skilled at darts, if you must know, and I quite enjoy a good hike now and then," he answered, voice dripping with sarcasm that he never would have dared back at the beginning, but he was rather used to being treated with the indulgence afforded to eccentric elderly folk, so he didn't think much of it at all until Thorin snorted and he realised that the dwarf had taken his words seriously.

Another outbreak of muttering spread throughout the room, and amidst all the questions about his sincerity, he caught the fated words, murmured by Gloin to Oin.

"He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

Bilbo's teeth gritted, and he addressed Thorin again, discarding the sarcasm this time. "In all seriousness, I favour a sword, although seeing how I am not currently in possession of one, the question seems moot."

Thorin looked him up and down, as if trying and failing to imagine him using a sword. "I see."

Electing to ignore the dwarves' doubt, Bilbo stood, heading towards the hallway. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I am going to -" His toes snagged on something, perhaps a hole in the carpet, and he stumbled, a hand darting out to steady himself upon Gandalf, who happened to be the nearest solid object.

"Oh, terribly sorry, Gandalf," apologised Bilbo, looking quite a bit less flustered than one might expect. "As I was saying, I am going to fetch a light. I will return in a moment."

"Excellent idea," replied Gandalf, peering down at Bilbo. The dwarves may not have found his stumble suspicious, but the wizard was well aware of the surefootedness of hobbits and suspected Bilbo to be up to something, which, of course, he was.

At fifty, Bilbo Baggins had been polite to a fault and wholly inexperienced in theft. However, having lived over a hundred and thirty years before his death, he now considered himself a fairly seasoned burglar and quite disliked being doubted or mocked. So when he saw the opportunity to prove himself, he took it, and by the time he returned with a lamp, Gandalf was rifling through his pockets in search of a map he was certain he had had on his person.

Bilbo placed the lamp on the table and tilted his head curiously at the wizard, struggling to conceal a grin. "Is there something wrong, Gandalf?"

Gandalf's shrewd eyes snapped to him, and he gazed intently for a moment or two before explaining, "I seem to have lost a rather important map. You wouldn't happen to have any idea of its whereabouts, would you?"

"Not the foggiest clue," Bilbo replied, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Oh - wait, what is this?" With a - perhaps unnecessary - theatrical flourish, he withdrew the map from his waistcoat, holding it up. "Well, it appears it's right here in my pocket. How odd." He dropped it onto the table in front of Gandalf, his grin breaking through his attempted poker face.

Gandalf stared at the map for a few seconds, then chuckled loudly and suddenly, patting Bilbo on the back. "Very impressive, my friend."

Bilbo laughed and went to sit back down, not noticing the suspicious look Gandalf shot him behind his back.

"Now, then," the wizard began, spreading the map out on the table. "This was made by Thror, your grandfather, Thorin. It is a plan of the Mountain."

Thorin glanced at it, then shook his head, disappointed. "I don't see how this will help us much. I remember the Mountain well enough, and the lands about it. And I know where Mirkwood is, and the Withered Heath where the great dragons bred."

"There is a dragon marked in red on the Mountain," put in Balin. "But it will be easy enough to find him without that, if ever we arrive there."

"Unfortunately so," Bilbo murmured to himself, his shoulders curling a little inwards.

"There is one thing you haven't noticed, and that is the secret entrance," pointed out Gandalf. "You see that rune on the west side, and the hand pointing to it from the other runes? That marks a hidden passage to the Lower Halls."

"It may have been secret once," Thorin countered, "but how do we know it remains so? Old Smaug has lived there long enough now to find out anything there is to know about those caves."

"He may, but he can't have ever used it. It is far too small for him - 'five feet high the door and three may walk abreast' say the runes, and Smaug couldn't have crept into a hole that size even when he was a young dragon, let alone now, after devouring so many of the dwarves and the men of Dale. In any case, the door should be closed and hidden, made to look exactly like the side of the mountain, and therefore kept secret from the rest of the world, if not from Smaug."

Bilbo leant closer to get a proper look at the map, which he had not seen for decades. The Mountain drawn in dark ink on the paper seemed a lot smaller than the Mountain of his memories.

"Also," Gandalf went on, "I forgot to mention that with the map came a key, a small and curious key. Here it is!" He presented it to Thorin, a key with a long barrel and intricate wards, flashing silver in the lamplight. "Keep it safe!"

"Indeed I will," replied Thorin, taking the key and fastening it upon the fine gold chain that hung around his neck. "Now things begin to look more hopeful. This news alters them much for the better. So far we have had no clear idea of what to do. We thought of going east, as quiet and careful as we could, as far as the Long Lake -"

Bilbo had heard Thorin's ramblings before, of course, and if this was an ordinary meeting with friends, he would have tuned him out. However, he was acutely aware of just how precious his time here was - every second with Thorin and Fili and Kili alive, every second with the others smiling and in good cheer, every second unburdened by deep, heavy grief - so he listened quietly to the voice he'd spent so many years missing.

"- but we none of us liked the idea of the Front Gate. The river runs right out of it through the great cliff at the south of the Mountain, and out of it comes the dragon too - far too often, unless he has changed his habits."

"That would be no good," added Gandalf. "Not without a mighty warrior, even a hero. I tried to find one, but warriors are busy fighting one another in distant lands, and in this neighbourhood, heroes are scarce, or simply not to be found. Swords in these parts are mostly blunt, axes are used for trees, and shields as cradles or dish-covers; dragons are comfortably far-off, and therefore legendary. That is why I settled on burglary - especially when I remembered the existence of a side-door. And here is our little Bilbo Baggins, the burglar, the chosen and selected burglar. So now let's get on and make some plans."

"Very well, then," agreed Thorin. "Supposing the burglar gives us some ideas or suggestions." He turned to Bilbo with mock politeness, although it was a bit less mocking than it had been the first time around.

Bilbo drew himself up, meeting Thorin's gaze with a determined look. He was the only one there who knew what was in store, and over the course of the night, he had come to the decision that he meant to bring them all through the journey and out the other side alive and more or less intact, if at all possible. "Certainly, Thorin," he answered briskly. "I should think that we ought to focus on actually getting there and finding the side-door before we worry about dealing with much else. I take it there is quite a lot of treasure?" he added, although he already knew.

Thorin nodded. "Yes, halls upon halls of it."

"It will be impossible for me to move it all by myself. I will be able to perhaps steal one or two pieces before the dragon notices us, so I would suggest you give some thought as to which pieces you should like." A large white gem glimmered in his mind again before he pushed the image away and forged on, ignoring the echoes of dread. "I would also suggest -" His voice trembled, and he cleared his throat, trying to keep his words steady. "I would also suggest that we take a moment to consider the possibility of things such as dragon-sickness, and how it may be overcome once the Mountain is in our possession."

"Sage advice," said Gandalf approvingly, filing away his suspicion to deal with later and patting Bilbo on the shoulder.

Bilbo threw him a quick smile, though he was unable to hide the hint of tiredness to it. He found that he didn't particularly want to speak of their journey anymore, not with the knowledge of what was to come weighing on him, heavy as a sack of dragon-guarded gold.

"And, well, don't you know, I think we have talked long enough for one night, if you see what I mean. What about bed, and an early start, and all that? I would appreciate some help with breakfast tomorrow, if anyone would be so kind."

"You're the host, are you not?" replied Thorin, raising a dark, heavy brow. "But I agree about bed and breakfast. I like six eggs with my ham when starting on a journey - fried, not poached, and mind you don't break 'em."

Bilbo crossed his arms, staring at the dwarf expectantly, until Thorin reluctantly added, "Please."

Bilbo nodded and grabbed a small notebook that had been laying on the mantlepiece, quickly jotting down Thorin's preferred breakfast. "Anyone else?"

The dwarves and Gandalf all ordered their breakfasts, and Bilbo managed to get a 'please' from every one of them. Afterwards, he had to find places for all of them to sleep, which was thankfully a much shorter affair than last time, as he had his previous experiences to go by. He did have to dig extra blankets out of the linen cupboard, and set several dwarves and Gandalf (who was much too tall for his spare beds) up on couches and chairs, but he eventually got them all stowed away and retired to his own little bed. The shock of finding himself back in the past, along with having to host thirteen dwarves and a wizard, had left him rather exhausted, despite the renewed strength of his younger body. Before he collapsed into bed, he remembered to leave a sliver of his curtains unclosed, so that he would be awoken by the rays of dawn.

He fell asleep to the sound of Thorin's humming from the bedroom next to his, and this time, it was comforting.

The Hobbit was created by J.R.R. Tolkien.

[lesbianwyllravengard]

My ship type is when they're both girl parents

[lotrfanig]

when you scroll through bagginshield stuff and make yourself cry when you remember that Thorin dies and he and Bilbo dont get to just go and live happily ever after-

[conkers-thecosy]

Bagginshield-tober / Day 6 / Recovery

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

You can also find these little snippets compiled into one fic on AO3 - day seven is posted there too, but it's only a short one!

This one is a liiiiittle angsty, so be warned, but as always there's an element of hurt/comfort and a fluffy end, which hopefully balances it out.

Hope you enjoy!

~*~*~

It had been three weeks since Thorin and Bilbo had begun to share one another’s beds.

It was perfectly innocent, of course, and Bilbo had gone out of his way to explain that in hobbit culture it was more than acceptable to share a bunk with friends or family for comfort. Co-sleeping, he called it. In truth, it wasn’t the first time they had done so, as on the road to and from Erebor, they had often slept side by side for warmth and safety. Not just the two of them, either - all of the company had piled in wherever there was a space.

Now in Bag End, they never began the night in bed together. They would say goodnight as they always had, then head to their respective bedrooms. It was September now, and much cooler, so they were able to shut their doors once again. Still, since that first night when Thorin had been incapable of ignoring Bilbo calling his name in such distress, they had both come to an unspoken agreement; if one had a nightmare, then the other would knock on their door and quietly ask if they wanted company.

It seemed to settle them both, and often once they were in the same bed, feeling the weight and warmth of the other beside them, they would both settle into a much more peaceful slumber than if they were apart.

Tonight it was Thorin who had cried out, and Bilbo who had come to him, quietly asking if he had need of him. Thorin had accepted the comfort, wishing he was confident enough to ask the Hobbit to start the night with them sharing a bed, and spare them both the distress. He would only say it was platonic, and of course it would be, but in his heart he wished fervently that it might turn into more, that it might in turn answer another question that he longed to ask, but dare not.

He was shocked and shaken to wake again the same night from another nightmare, despite Bilbo already being beside him. Awakening with a muffled cry, his body taut and chest constricted, he was confused for a moment to find a small hand pressed gently over his heart.

“It’s alright, you’re alright,” Bilbo shushed him softly. “Just a nightmare, Thorin. It’s not real.”

Thorin looked up with wide eyes as Bilbo leant over him, sleep-tousled and concerned, and felt immediately ashamed. He didn’t know why, couldn’t hardly think straight, but it felt like some kind of failure to still be woken so, even with Bilbo as close as he was. Like he was too broken, too used up to ever recover, that he would always be haunted by the horror of his own actions.

“Try to breathe,” Bilbo pressed, his voice quiet, as though afraid they might wake others despite being the only ones in the smial. “It’s okay.”

“I’m fine,” he grit out, turning on the mattress so his back was to Bilbo.

There was a long pause, and Thorin squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe normally again through sheer willpower and shame alone. Then Bilbo spoke carefully.

“Would you like for me to leave?”

Thorin’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest. Had he frightened Bilbo? Did he want to leave? But no, surely if that were the case, the Hobbit would simply have gone without a word. He had been trying to offer comfort, and Thorin had snapped at him for it, but only because there was something so unsettling to be looking that the version of Bilbo that tormented his dreams, and waking to be faced with the same visage, only soft with concern for one who did not deserve it.

Still, Thorin knew he was greedy by nature. Selfish. Hateful. He could not help but reach for the things he wanted, even when it was wrong to do so.

“No.”

Another silence followed, shorter this time, before Bilbo sighed quite quietly. “I will not be offended if you wish to be alone, Thorin.”

“No, please,” Thorin shook his head against the pillow, hating how pathetic and weak he sounded. “Please stay.”

Bilbo immediately settled himself back on the bed, and the dwarf was surprised when, instead of simply laying side by side as they always had, not touching and being very careful of one another’s space, an arm was draped carefully over his waist. His heart jumped again, only for a different reason, and he felt the Hobbit press his soft, warm body flush against his broad back.

“I’ll stay as long as you like,” Bilbo promised, his breath puffing against Thorin's shoulder and disturbing his hair very gently. It was hard to breathe again.

Thorin didn’t know how long they lay like that, Bilbo holding him as a lover might, his small hand finding its way back over his heart, the warmth of it seeping through his sleeping tunic and into his skin, into his very bones. His breathing became even again, and he knew that Bilbo was still awake, if only from the way he was still holding him almost protectively. There was a time not too long ago where he would have scoffed at such a notion, but now… now he felt safer than he had in a long time.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” Thorin murmured into the night.

“Don’t apologise,” Bilbo replied, his words like a caress against Thorin’s skin. “You’re still healing, and it takes time.”

Thorin closed his eyes and sighed. “I may never heal fully.”

He felt Bilbo offer some approximation of a shrug from where he was pressed up against his back.

“Maybe, but it will get easier, I’m sure of it,” the Hobbit said. “And I will be here to help, no matter how long it takes. I will be here for the duration, I promise.”

There was such conviction, such earnest faith in his words, that Thorin had no choice but to believe him. He did not remember falling asleep after that, but he must have done almost immediately, the lingering promise of forever giving his fraught mind the peace he so craved, and a fresh hope for eventual recovery.

[harrypoppinss]

Empty promises

Kili Durin x afab!reader

Warnings: heavy angst, established relationship, mention of character death, pre BOTFA

Summary: With the battle closing in and Thorin fighting the dragon sickness, you seek comfort in your one.

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The past few days have been rough to say the least. You had successfully made it to Erebor, and it has been reclaimed by Thorin the only problem was that he had fallen into the same sickness that his grandfather had. The dragon sickness from the gold that was claimed by Smaug after the fall of Erebor all those years ago.

The Orcs were near, you had a feeling. Thankfully though, Kili had lived through getting a poisoned arrow in his thigh and he was now in Erebor with his brother and the others that had been comforting him through the incident. Now here you were, wandering the halls of Erebor in search for your one.

You had never known a castle to be so confusing until now, but luckily you had spotted your brown haired boy sitting along the gigantic hole in the wall, gazing out at the lost city of Dale. You walked up behind him, before gently taking a seat beside him and like clockwork, his hand found yours.

“How are you feeling my love?” You asked him, being his knuckles up to your lips as you kissed his hand softly before allowing it to fall into your lap, still grasping onto your own. Kili sighed as he moved closer to you, his head finding your shoulder as your head rested on his. “As well as I can,” he said in a soft tone, his gaze not wavering from the empty city infront of Erebor that used to be so full of life and love.

The two of you sat like that in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound reaching your ears was his gentle breathing and the sound of the crickets singing in the tall grass outside. As you gazed out into the landscape, you couldn’t help but let a feeling of pure fear wash over you. Soon you would all be fighting for you life against Azog and his troops for middle earth.

“Amrâlimê?” Kili said in a soft whisper, making you glance at him as he lifted his head off of your shoulder to meet your gaze. “Yes love?” You asked back, your free hand grasping his other one has your thumbs rubbed over his knuckles. His eyes fell to your hands before he lifted then back up to look at you. “Are you afraid to die?” He asked you, catching you off guard completely. You looked at him like he had grown two heads, he had just been on the brink of death with the arrow and he was asking you if you were afraid to die?

“Well…” you said as you looked back out into the now peaceful landscape that you knew would be filled with blood and death soon. Sighing softly you looked back at your lover, a sad expression covering your face. “I am,” you said after a moment, before you brought both of his hands to your lips this time, kissing his knuckles once more. “But, I’m more afraid of losing you to the hands of the Orcs.” You said as you dropped his hands back into your lap as his eyes scanned your face.

“Oh Amrâlimê,” he sighed with a soft smile as he saw the faint tears building in the backs of your eyes. He reached out, bringing you into his chest as his hand ran along your hair gently. You arms wrapped around his neck as you nuzzled your face into his shoulder, the tears fall from your eyes staining his shirt temporarily. “I will never leave you, not in death nor in glory,” Kili whispered to you softly. “I would rather spend a thousand lifetimes fighting for you than allowing myself to be taken away for you in such a way.” He finished, tears of his own spilling down his cheeks as he pulled away from the hug to rest his forehead against your own.

“Promise?” You croaked out, your eyes meeting his brown orbs as you watched the corners of the crinkle softly as he couldn’t help but allow a small smile to overtake his features. “I promise, in this lifetime and the next.” He said, before he leaned in, placing a gentle kiss to your lips. If only he knew in the end, that the promise he made would have to wait until the next time you two meet again, until the next life when your souls will bound together as one again.

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Amrâlimê - My love; love of mine

[pinkyjulien]

Tagged by @arcandoria MMWAH Thank you bb 👁👄👁

Rules: Make a poll with five of your all-time favorite characters and then tag five people to do the same. See which character is everyone's favorite!

▶ Tagging, no pressure in doing it 🤏 @lokiina - @elvenbeard - @wraithsoutlaws - @cybersteal - @teddys-shion

[fili-lionofdurin]

Fili hadn't been avoiding his uncle, but he did need to take some time to come to peace with his conflicting memories. It would possibly be a much longer time for him to come to peace with his end; but for that, he blamed no one but himself and Azog himself. The prince slowly approaches his Uncle in a quiet space in the park. "Uncle." He simply says with a soft respectful nod of his head. "I've remembered..." @rainbowmuses

[witchofthewild]

Lady Dís, daughter of Thráin son of Thrór, last of her line.

[aquitainequeen]

The Hobbit: Thorin Oakenshield was laid to rest with Orcrist and the Arkenstone upon his breast. And Fíli and Kíli were buried alongside him.

Eight year old me: Wait, Fíli and Kíli are dead? When did that happen?

The Hobbit: They had fallen in defence of Thorin during the battle-

Eight year old me: Oh. Okay then; don't know why you waited until now to tell us that-

The Hobbit: -for he was their mother's older brother.

Eight year old me, spit-taking whatever I was drinking at eight years old (probably Ribena): I'm sorry, he was what?!?!

The Hobbit: It was said forever afterwards that the Arkenstone would glow-

Eight year old me: WHY DID YOU WAIT UNTIL NOW TO TELL US THAT

[greeneyed-thestral]

[rogueapologist]

i think i'll NEVER recover from this, thorin's death absolutely broke me to pieces, i spent half an hour crying and this didn't happened before for so long over a fictional character

also the way bilbo's never fully recovered is so visible and it HURTS, a lot.