#thorin my beloved i think you might need glasses

[megalomari]

some ??? moments from the hobbit movies that make me laugh

#The Hobbit #Thranduil #Bard the Bowman #Bilbo Baggins #Thorin Oakenshield #Tauriel #Legolas #thorin my beloved i think you might need glasses #legolas im sorry i laughed at your trauma dumping but it was so sudden asdfghjh #and thranduil is just. a softie... kind of? idk he's so interesting to me...

[awkwardly-sitting-in-the-corner]

Dwalin's life in the modern world.

Chapter 1

The streets of Dale were bustling with people, an autumn breeze blew, just as Dwalin stepped out from his small house straight onto the street.

‘Even at this ungodly hour,people are everywhere’ Dwalin looked around, walking across the road to a small, glass fronted building. 

Sticking a hand into the front pocket of his hoodie, he fumbled around, grabbing hold of a set of keys. Unlocking the door, he quickly walked over the alarm system.

“Yeah, yea I hear ya” He quickly punched in the code, all the while angrily whispering to the inanimate object.

He flicked on a set of switches, conveniently placed next to the alarm system, light flooded the room and an annoying up-beat, high tempo song began playing. 

Dwalin looked around, taking in the room. ‘My gym, Sons of Fundin.’

Spotlights shone on treadmills, rowing machines, stacks of weights. Everything you could think of was in this room. It was bigger than one would expect from looking at the outside.

Walking further into the room, the stale smell of sweat hit him.

‘I need to clean this, maybe the air-con needs looking at’ 

Dwalin continued thinking endless thoughts of how to improve his beloved gym, as he made his way to the kitchen.

Walking into the tiny kitchen area, if you could even call it that. He made a beeline for the cupboard. Grabbing his protein shaker and the large tub of protein powder, he began to make his first of three protein shakes.

Looking down at the fitbit on his wrist. ‘Half 6, they open at 7. Plenty of time to clean up before I go’ taking a big chug of his shake, he grabbed a box with 'cleaning' scrawled on the side in red sharpie.

Cracking his neck either side and stretching his arms above his head, he began cleaning the gym.

“Damn, that took too long” Dwalin finally finished. Placing the last spray bottle into the box, he stood back, admiring his work. 

“Shit what time is it?” glancing at the time, he grabbed his hoodie he had taken off at some point during his cleaning montage. 

“Half 7, it won't be too busy.” Dwalin tried to reassure himself. Running out of the door and down the street.  

Dwalin ran the whole length of the street before coming to a dead stop outside a pale pumpkin coloured building with a dark green door. The sign above the door, in elegant writing, said The Shire. 

Slowly pushing open the door, Dwalin walked in.

“Hey Mister Dwalin” A cheerful voice called out. Turing, Dwalin saw the familiar long, black haired, young man sitting at one of the tables, next to him, a slightly older man, with blond hair a similar length to the other, waved.

“Kili, Fili, how ya’ doin” Dwalin smiled walking over to them. “How's Thorin been lately?”

“We’ve both been good, uncles been getting on fine as well, how's business at your gym been ?” Fili asked “I see you’ve got some clothing with your logo on. Dori’s was it ?”

“Business has been good, yeah” Dwalin nodded his head as he spoke. “ The clothes are just hoodies at the minute, great logo though isn't it.” Dwalin laughed, pulling his hoodie straight so he could better see the logo of two axes. “And of course ya’ can't, not go to Dori, he’s great with that printer thing.”

Fili nodded his head in agreement. “Ki here just got some new stuff printed himself, show him Kili” Fili elbowed Kili in his side to get his attention.

“Huh… oh yeah look, I love them aren’t the cool Mister Dwalin.” Kili jumped up, flicking his black hair over his shoulder he showed of the sweater.

“Kili’s archery and gun range” Dwalin read out. “I like it, looks very professional now”

“Me and Tauriel have already sold a few” Kili beamed in excitement. “Oh Mister Dwalin, no line at the till, better go quick before it gets busy”

“I will. Fili, tell Thorin I said Hi” Dwalin walked to the till, waving goodbye to the two young men.

Dwalin stopped at the till and browsed through the bars on the counter top. 

‘There is alway a nice selection of protein bars here’ Dwalin picked one at random ‘it doesn't really matter which i get, i've had them all’

“Ah Dwalin, good morning, you're a little later today then normal.” Dwalin looked up, a man walked up to the counter from the kitchen. He had golden brown, curly hair. He was wearing green pants, a cream top and a burgundy apron but it somehow all looked right on him. 

“Yea sorry Bilbo, I got caught up with some work”

“It’s ok” Bilbo waved him off with a smile. “ I have the couple boxes of bars you asked for, just came this morning”

“That's great, I’ll pay for them along with this, and can I order my usual for lunch”

“Certainly, I already have you down for the food Dwalin. You get the same thing every day, would you not change it up a bit.”

“Muscles, Bilbo, Muscles”

“Alright, staying with the usual salmon, rice, avocado with an egg on the side.”

“Let me go grab the boxes and the receipt, I put it in with my regular food order so don't worry about any extra cost” Bilbo turned and walked back to the kitchen. Stopping before he got to the door he turned back around. 

“Oh did you hear”

Dwalin looked at him slightly confused.

“Hear what”

“Dori and Ori have a brother and he’s in town. I would say they will bring him by when they come grab their morning drinks” Bilbo spun back around and carried on into the kitchen.

“A brother?” Dwalin whispered to himself, still confused.

Plonking the boxes on the counter top, Bilbo grinned.

“Interesting, isn’t it. I never knew there was another brother. I’ve known those two for, gosh about 7 years now and not one word about him did they mention.” Shaking his head, Bilbo handed Dwalin the receipt. “I wonder if there was a reason he has never been mentioned. I know I have a few relations I don’t like to talk about.” Bilbo continued “Lobelia Sackville-Baggins” he trailed off in an angry whisper. Glancing over at the cutlery tray. 

Dwalin passed over the money ‘ I wonder if there is a reason he hasn’t been mentioned’ he thought, a feeling of suspicion beginning to grow in his mind. 

The door to the cafe opened, Dwalin not paying much attention until the people who entered were standing directly behind him.

“ Ahem, Mister Dwalin, Bilbo, I would like to introduce you to my brother, Nori”

‘Speak of the devil, so they say’ Dwalin turned around

“Hello Dori, Ori” Dwalin nodded at them both before turning his head to properly see this mysterious brother. ‘He is closer to Ori in his looks, they have the same reddish brown hair and willowy bodies’.He looked him over, then held out his hand. “ It's nice to meet you Nori, as your brother said, I am Dwalin, I own the gym down the street, two doors down from your brother's shop.” 

Nori shook Dwalin's hand, an almost impish grin sliding onto his face.

“Well, Mister Dwalin, a pleasure to meet you. I don’t suppose you would like to let me rent your apartment that Dori told me about would you?” Finally letting go of Dwalin's hand.

Dwalin turned to Dori, eyes narrowed. ‘The fucker, he has two spare rooms himself’

“Mister Dwalin, you see, Nori prefers his own space and so I informed him of a friend who was trying to rent out a one bed apartment above his gym.”

“Did ya now, no other places ya thought of looking at before mine, ya know my apartment is tiny.” Dwalin was still annoyed at the situation, having something like this dumped on him, he just wanted to collect his protein bars in peace.

“ Well you see, that's where we have a slight issue”

Nori decided now was the time to step in and save his brother from Dwalins Glare.

“Mister Dwalin, the slight issue as Dori put it, is that I used all my money from my last job moving from one side of the country to the next. That means for the next few months, while i get my accounts sorted, I shall be working from paycheck to paycheck. Most places won't agree to that. They need three months rent up front, which I cannot do. Do you understand my problem?”

Nori looked at Dwalin expectantly. 

Dwalin glanced back at Nori’s brothers, they were both staring at him hopefully. Breathing out a puff of air, Dwalin nodded.

“Thank you Mister Dwalin, I’ll make sure to tell Balin how helpful you have been.”Ori quietly piped up from the back.

“Well come on, get ya drink and i’ll show ya the place.” Dwalin grumbled still entirely happy and feeling he might come to regret his decision.

Standing there munching on a protein bar while Dori ordered a drink, Bilbo caught his eye from behind the counter. Dwalin could see Bilbo the whole situation hilarious, sticking his middle finger up he turned away and walked to the door.

A few minutes later Nori walked up to him.

“I’m ready to go” He grinned

‘Does he ever stop grinning? It’s like he knows something I don’t.’ Dwalin and Nori began walking to Dwalin’s gym. ‘I’m so going to regret this.'

@lathalea

#the hobbit #fanfiction #fanfic #dwalin #nori the dwarf #romance #mystery #Hobbit #my fic #hobbit fic

[haremofhetepheres]

My Gold of All Gold

~ 𝓢𝓴𝔂 𝓯𝓾𝓵𝓵 𝓸𝓯 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓽 𝓱𝓮𝓻 ~

Part 2 || Part 3

Jovially, royals and guests from across Arda, had gathered into the Great Dining Hall. They had all been spread out through the entire hall; many dwarves drank their mead while guffawing at silly tales and stories. 

Beside them, their Ones, gossiped, also laughing merrily. Despite for the fact of being hardworking, dwarves loved to gather to tell stories after a drink or two and roar in laughter, even if it were for no special occasion. But this evening it was different. This evening there were two occasions why everyone was so content.

The first event was that Erebor had been finally reclaimed and restored to its glorious peace. Thorin was crowned King Under The Mountain, right after the defeat of Azog the Defiler and the rest of the Company had a place to call home.

The second reason as to why there was such a grand celebration was because Fíli was married to his beloved wife, Sigrid, daughter of Bard. The guests that had arrived, had also brought with them lavish and magnificent gifts from their lands for the happy couple. Along with these gifts, they had also brought their cheerfulness.

Of course, everyone was happy that day. It was a celebration, hence the name of it. But you were not...or at least, you forced yourself to be. How selfish that must sound, right?

However, you had a truly painful reason not to be, content that is. And it was quite difficult to think of it, without it bringing tears to your eyes. It had to do with the dwarven prince. The one who was married.

As you thought of him, your eyes wandered over to the dais where the royal family and their friends were dining. Fíli had sat beside Thorin’s right and holding his big calloused hand, was Sigrid. She was pretty and in her white wedding dress, she looked even prettier. Her rich, dark hair had been curled up and a beautiful braid was very much evident, as it had been purposefully tucked behind her ear. Her skin seemed as pure as the first thick blanket of snow while her emerald eyes gleamed with joy.

You watch the pair of them as Fíli leans over to whisper something in her ear which earns a soft laughter from Sigrid, rendering Fíli’s features to be graced with a handsome smile. Even her laugh was lovely. You thought to yourself before you stared down at your plate, sighing sadly.

“It is an insult to have to sit below a human.” A dwarrowdam hissed behind you. Slightly, you turn your head to see her speaking with her friend as they, both, cast their eyes to Sigrid like you had done a few moments ago.

“We cannot complain, Freida.” The other replied bitterly. “She is married to the prince, in time, she’ll become the Queen.”

‘She’ll become the Queen...’ You repeated those words in your mind, like a mantra as if you wanted to continuously torture yourself. To torture yourself for having so foolishly fallen in love with the dwarf prince since the beginning of the journey. 

You had tried to keep your distance from Fíli during the journey so that you would all focus on what was more important than your measly love interest. Yes, you talked and sparred together many times but you were keeping your feelings hidden from him. You had decided to let him know of what you felt for him after the reclaim of Erebor, but it seemed you were too late.

Fíli, your sweet, darling dwarf, had fallen in love. And it was not with you.

You were truly happy for him but in your mind, you continuously cursed the day when you lay in tears on your aunt’s lap and she reassured you, “You will have love, sweetheart. He will come, your prince will come. You simply must be willing to open your heart and let him in. Let him love you.”

Well, apparently, you had opened your heart, your feelings, and your emotions and you regretted more than ever. Because like your previous aching heartbreaks, the dwarf prince was never going to love you. Looking over at the royal table, you decided upon something that you would most definitely regret later on. But it was too late as you had reluctantly begun to walk over to the royal table.

The Company turned their attention to you as you ascended the steps, slowly. You folded your trembling hands tightly together and with a shaky voice - trying not to cry - you whisper, “Kili, may I please speak with you?”

The dark-haired dwarf’s orbs bore into your own as he snaps out of his daze. “Sure, sure, of course. Let’s head out to the hallways where it would be more quiet and less overwhelming.”

You nod as you wait for him to come around the table and join you out at the hallways. As you wait, uneasily you decide to cast your eyes one last time to Fíli, who surprisingly you caught to have been looking at you with an expression you could not pinpoint. His blue eyes resembled the colours of the ocean, shimmering and crashing beneath the sunset. Looking into his eyes was not only hypnotizing but it seemed as if though you were staring at a fragile piece of turquoise glass, which laid in the sand, glistening in the bright sunlight.

You offer him a final smile and turn to Kili, who lightly grabbed your elbow and led you out of the Great Dining Hall. At the entrance, you stopped and his eyes were laced with concern and confusion. You could not take it anymore so, you let the tears cloud your vision as they quickly trickled down your cheeks. From one then, it continued like an endless waterfall.

Alarmed, Kili widened his eyes and took a hold of your hands, “What’s happened, (Y/N)? Why are you crying? Should I be getting my bow and arrows?”

You laugh through your tears as Kili lightens the tension and mood. The young dwarf smiles and brings his thumbs, wiping your tears away. “No, Kili. I don’t think this time would be a wise choice.”

“Then, perhaps not,” he agrees. “But tell me what is bothering you?”

You sigh and momentarily shut your eyes before finding the courage to tell him. “I am going to leave Erebor. After all, this marks the end of my adventure.”

“What?” Kili says as his eyebrows instantly knit in confusion. “Why? Please, do not do this (Y/N) or at least rethink it. Listen to me, if this is about the time uncle said those terrible things to you, you must know that he was - ”

“No, Kili, this has nothing to do with Thorin.” You reply, swallowing uneasily. There was an uncomfortable few minutes of silence and when you lower your head, Kili gasps, comprehending the sudden meaning of your answer. “(Y/N),” He whispers but you shake your head, not wanting him to say anything about it.

“Please, do not make this any more harder than it already is.” You plead as you reach from under your sleeve, producing a stone with a dwarvish engraving that said kidhuzel, which meant ‘gold of all gold’. That was the first and only word that you learned in Khuzdul. It was a word that Fíli had taught you and he made you promise to remember it while thinking of him.

“Please, return this to your brother. Not today. I don’t want him to think of this on his happy day. Maybe when you deem it to be right.” You say, placing the stone on his hand as Kili ran his index finger over it. “Gold of all gold.” He read and you squeeze your eyes shut, forcefully pushing your tears back.

“Wouldn’t he want you to keep this?”

“Yes, he would.” You reply, breathlessly. “But every time I look at it, it makes me tear up.” He nods understanding and looks back to you. “Kili, tell him I will forever remember and keep the promise. Tell him I loved him even if he might not have loved me in return.”

Fresh tears began to sting your face and the sadness you felt seemed to float  through the atmosphere. “Let him know that I thank him. For making me believe in love...again. Even if he did not feel it, it was quite real for me.”

Kili nodded once more and reached to embrace you. You wrap your arms around him and rest your head upon his shoulder. For a while, you remained like that, in a comforting silence as he soothes you by rubbing circles on your back. You sniffle and let him go. “And I thank you for all those silly stories and pranks that seemed to aid me from my worries and overthinking. You are a good friend, Kili.”

“Nonsense, you do not need to thank me, lass. I had known from the start, you’d helplessly fall for my charming personality.” He replies, winking mischievously as he did so, rendering you to laugh wholeheartedly.

“Well, I will miss you, my charming dwarf.” You say, placing your hand on his shoulder.

“As I, you, my little Thumbelina.” He replies, using the nickname from the stories you had told the Company and implying that you were short for a human. Sighing, you turn to leave from the Southern Gates, not believing this was truly how it was to end. You had dreamed of it to be much more differently...and happier.

“Oh and Kili,” You call to him before he’d enter the Great Dining Hall. He turns and regards you with a curious expression. “After tea with Bilbo, you are welcome to come to my house for dinner.”

He smiles widely and bows, “I’d be honoured, lass. And so would the Company.”

You watch him till he retreats back to the noisy hall and you walk away slowly, each footstep resonating in your head as you thought of the reoccurring memories of the journey you had taken apart in. Your tears, once again, clouded your vision and you let your sadness engulf you while you headed out to the Gates.

#the hobbit #the hobbit imagine #fili #fili durin #fili imagine #fili durin imagine #fili x reader #kili #kili durin #kili imagine #kili x reader #the hobbit films

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Dáin, Lord of the Iron Hills

Before the Unexpected Party in Bag End, Thorin Oakenshield travelled north, to a meeting of the Lords of the Seven Clans. Among them sat Dáin, cousin-kin, and Lord of the Iron Hills, the settlement of Thrór’s younger brother.

This is his story.

Staring at his cousin – Thorin had always been a master of speeches; a skill Dáin had often envied – Dáin already knew what the rest of the Lords’ Council would say to the King of Durin’s Folk in Exile.

“The plan is ludicrous!” King Hargo – King in name, mostly, the Stonefoots were a small clan and he would defer to King Ranvé, who held the true power over the Orocarni from her seat in Red Peak – exclaimed. Dáin had to agree, though he kept his silence, seeing what it cost his cousin to do the same. Why had Thorin not spoken to him before this meeting? At least, he would not have been so blindsided by the sudden proposal.

“Reclaiming Erebor would take an army larger than the one any of us could muster alone,” King Ranvé said, as always calm in the storm of the tempers around her.

“Which is why I wish to call all of you to our cause,” Thorin replied, “the Wizard, Tharkûn, has urged me to march on Erebor, and the portents read for the venture agree that it is time.” Several dwarrow scoffed at that, and even Dáin had to agree that the art of reading portents – apparently cousin Óin had the skill – was a diffuse and inaccurate science at best. Cracking a stone to tell the future had never seemed wholly sane to him, but then again, when last he met cousin Óin, he had not struck Dáin as being wholly sane. Brilliant, mind, in his field, but one did not need to be entirely sane to be a gifted healer. As always, the thought of healers made him think of his beloved Thorunn, and he missed a few heated arguments thinking about her smile, the way she would stroke her belly when the pebble moved. He ruthlessly forced his attention back to the goings-on around him, before the gently smiling dwarrowdam in his head could be replaced with the pale and bloodless corpse she had become mere hours after little Thorin’s birth.

“How do you propose to slay the beast?” Lord Jarrin– a Broadbeam from the northern parts of Ered Luin, Dáin remembered, and technically their host – asked snidely. “What weapons do you now possess that you did not have in the glory days of Erebor, which – need I remind you – did you little good then?” Dáin felt his own temper flare at the remark.

“I suppose a wizard would help, Lord Jarrin, as would knowing what enemy you mean to fight,” he replied, before Cousin Thorin had even opened his mouth. “After all, the armies of Erebor had no time to prepare, and still their sacrifice allowed so many to flee the dread wyrm.” Lord Jarrin looked fit to protest, but Dáin found unexpected support from the gentle tones – hiding a core of mithril, he knew from experience – of King Ranvé.

“My Lord Dáin is correct, Lord Jarrin, and – as I have – so you must have heard tell that the invasion of Erebor took place in a very short window of time.” She said, her rebuke soft, but nonetheless stinging. “I would wager – again, based on the stories I have heard – that the warriors fighting had no more than their everyday weapons and armour; and – at least in my Realm – guards do not commonly wear the armour suitable for an army of warfare.”

“I saw it only from afar, coming home from a hunting trip, King Ranvé,” Thorin replied lightly, “but no, I do not believe Smaug spent more than an hour subduing my grandfather’s warriors and slaughtering our people before he had gained the Mountain – and the Arkenstone.” Dáin’s heart bled for those lost, even as he stared at his cousin in horrified sympathy. No matter how many times – or with how much detail – he heard the tale of the coming of Smaug, he would never experience less than profound dread at the thought of seeing the wyrm in person. And yet, his cousin, a green lad of only 24 winters, had gone back into the Mountain, trying to find his family, to get as many people out as possible. Dáin did not think he could have been that brave. He was called brave, of course, for his actions in Azanulbizar, for killing the mighty Azog, but Dáin knew better. That had not been bravery; that had been incandescent rage at the death of his kin, his father, combined with more pain than he had ever experienced before resulting in a need for everything to just end. He didn’t even remember striking the killing blow, though he remembered the glow of flames from within the Gates terrifying him more than ever before. He shuddered. His had been the voice that stopped King Thraín from entering ancient Khazad-dûm, his words had swayed the Lords and commanders from pursuing the fleeing orcs… and he still wondered if his cousins held a grudge for it.

“The matter must be put to a vote,” Princess Isavænn proposed. Dáin had been surprised to see her accompanying her amad, but the white-haired Heir to Red Peak had proven to be a keen conversationalist; his discussions with her during dinner the night before had led him to consider opening trade of iron to those further away than Red Peak, using the Orocarni merchants as middlemen for selling his people’s wares to the Men of the far south. King Ranvé nodded.

“As always, the vote must be unanimous, if King Thorin is to call any armies,” Lord Hargo added, and Dáin already knew what his vote would be.

“I recuse myself from this decision,” Dáin said, “as King Thorin is also my King. I will abide by the will of the Council.” Thorin mastered his face quickly, but Dáin saw the grimace that flashed across his face. Once more, he wished Thorin had broached this subject before making it the final topic of the talks; there was no way Dáin could stand behind him like this, and Thorin had to know it. Dáin would not risk his people against a dragon, not even for all the wealth in Erebor.

 The outcome was just as Dáin had expected: a resounding no. Some – like King Ranvé, whose throne had once been attempted usurped by her own grandmother and uncle – were sympathetic to Thorin’s plight, while others, like Jarrin, were almost gleeful at the thought of denying his plea. Privately, Dáin felt certain that Thorin had expected this very outcome when he pitched his proposal, but he could see that the rejection still stung. Dáin understood; he did not wish to send his people off to a battle he was certain they could not win, no matter what portents that old coot Óin claimed to have read.

“I would have you stand by your oaths-“ Thorin began, but he was interrupted by the shrill voice of Lady Bjarga, the Firebeard representative; Thorin might be High King of Durin’s Folk, which comprised the Longbeards along with most of the Firebeard and Broadbeam descendants of those who had fled the Breaking of the Blue Mountains, but some families had not fled their ancient homes, and Bjarga and Jarrin were the leaders of the communities left in the northern range of Ered Luin.

“Those oaths were sworn to the holder of the Arkenstone!” she cried, to general nodding. Dáin scowled at her, but she was too pleased to be getting one over on Thorin – some grudges could be kept so long that they became part of a people, Dáin thought – whom she had always resented; a grudge harking back millennia, and truthfully aimed at those the left-behind Firebeards and Broadbeams felt had abandoned them, rather than the Line of Durin which had offered them shelter and accepted them under the rule of the Mithril Throne.

“Lady Bjarga has a point,” King Ranvé replied mildly, her dark eyes glittering with what Dáin would have sworn was amusement. “A caveat, then, King Thorin.” The corners of her eyes were crinkling as the golden clasps in her blue beard revealed her smile by moving slightly, “If you do manage to obtain the Arkenstone, you may call upon the armies of the Seven Fathers… and we will answer.” Her pronouncement had the expected effect of starting a loud argument, but Dáin felt a smidgen of hope. Thorin’s face gave nothing away, but Dáin had often imagined being in his older cousin’s boots, and his heart broke for the stoic Dwarf before them.

“I thank you for your time.” Thorin bowed and left quickly.

Thorin bowed stiffly, taking his leave in the confusion. Dáin followed. Even though King Ranvé – her status as the ruler of the richest Kingdom of the Dwarrow afforded her a fair amount of excess influence – had pronounced that they would honour their old oaths, Dáin felt sure as mithril that possession of the Arkenstone would do about as well as a glass hammer in a forge at persuading the leaders of the other Dwarven Clans to stand behind Thorin and aid him in routing the dragon. Privately, he felt equally sure that his stubborn arse of a cousin was perfectly aware of that little fact – as was King Ranvé, but perhaps she had a plan for such an eventuality; Dáin wouldn’t put it past her shrewd mind – and Thorin was probably equally aware that the actions of his predecessors had – if not everything – then probably a lot to do with the Council’s refusal. The endorsement of a wizard meant little to leaders who remembered the lamenting after Azanulbizar, the culmination of seven years of warfare that had truthfully caused them nothing but losses. At the time, they had all agreed that Thrór ought to be avenged; after all, they were Dwarrow and their tempers ran hot and fierce. At the time, bringing death to the orcs who had slain the King of Durin’s Folk had been a matter of pride to all Dwarrow. Thrór had been a symbol, a symbol of a time when Erebor was still theirs, and in the wake of the tragedy that was Smaug, the race had felt keen sympathy with the once-mighty Dwarf. Some had remembered Thrór’s father, Dáin’s death, and although dragons had plagued their race ever since the awakening of the Seven Fathers, the abandonment of the Grey Mountains still rankled. Grandfather would have gone to war with them, Dáin was sure, if he’d been well enough, but his lung-sickness made travel in winter impossible; instead, the command of their forces had fallen to his adad, who had died, and grandma Katla, who had refused to let him go off to war alone.

“Thorin!” Dáin shouted, running after the dark-haired cousin who seemed intent on walking all the way back to Thorinuldûm tonight. “Thorin, wait!”

“What do you want, cousin?” Thorin almost spat the word, making Dáin wince. He was sympathetic, but he could feel the flames licking at the edge of his temper. His refusal in Council did not mean that he did not wish to see Erebor reclaimed, to see once more Durin’s Line stand proud in its halls, nor that he begrudged his cousin the dream of sitting on the Raven Throne.

“You are determined to do this, cousin?” he asked quietly, catching hold of Thorin’s blue-clad arm, trying to keep a lid on both their tempers. Thorin simply nodded.

“It is time, Dáin. I have to at least try. Our people are dying in Ered Luin, dying by inches every year. I must do something.” Dáin knew it was true; the broken mountains were no fit home for good Dwarrow, and the mines were nearly exhausted. He knew better than to offer aid, however, knowing that his cousins were too proud to accept what they considered pity. “Even if I must kill the Dragon myself, it would be worth it to see my people’s children with the round cheeks they ought to have.”

“Then I wish you luck, cousin.” Dáin said, squeezing Thorin’s arm. “If you make it, send word to me. My army will keep your mountain safe until they can arrive. I daresay you may find yourself with a population increase if you manage to regain Erebor.” Even though a great part of the diaspora had been forced to wander the wilds of Dunland and seek work in towns of Men before Thorin had managed to settle them in the Blue Mountains, many had joined his own population, too. He knew that if he sent out the call that the time to return to Erebor was nigh, a mass exodus would happen in the Iron Hills, and he could not send that many to their doom. Better to wait than to offer false hope to those still yearning for the green stone of Erebor, he thought. Thorin chuckled, and Dáin considered it a small measure of forgiveness; his words had not been meant as a jest, and Thorin wouldn’t consider them so, either.

“It is home, Dáin,” he murmured, “and not just for me.” Dáin nodded. He might not understand entirely – he had never even seen Erebor, but the longing in his cousin’s voice was unmistakable. Dáin sighed. Stealing a stone from a dragon seemed impossible with an army, but protecting a mountain from looters and the like until the rest of their kin arrived was not only his prerogative, it was his duty. His own father, Náin, as well as grandfather Grór had told him stories of Erebor’s splendour, and Dáin had always wanted to see it for himself, even if he could not imagine leaving his home to live there. The Iron Hills were more than enough to keep him busy, and his people were happy. Of course, more beautiful crafts could have been made with the gems and the metals mined in Erebor, but on the whole, living in land that would pretty much only produce iron ore was hardly a detriment to the creative urges of their race. His people boasted the best weapon and armour smiths, the best metal sculptors, and what their base material lacked in value and delicacy, it more than made up for in durability.

“Just… try not to die, will ya?” Dáin clasped Thorin’s arm, and when his cousin finally looked up, the fire that burned deep in his eyes seared itself into Dáin’s heart. Thorin’s blue eyes, so alike his own, burned with the fire of almost divine purpose. “If anyone can do it, it’s you, ye mad bastard.” Dáin could not help but feel hopeful, against all odds. Thorin had always been more than a little reckless. “Go get that Mountain, cousin. Mahal tadnani astû, sanzigil tamkhihi astû.[1]” Thorin nodded, returning the strong grip.

“I will, cousin. I will even invite you to my coronation!” Thorin laughed, before setting off once more. Dáin looked after him, shaking his head in fond exasperation.

“Mad bastard,” he muttered to himself, before turning on his heel, hurrying towards where his party was housed.

 When the young Dwarf caught up with Thorin Oakenshield, he could hardly speak for awe of being in the company of such a hero, but he managed to deliver the parcel and letter he carried, staring at Thorin as he read it.

 Cousin,

I know there is little time before you set off, and less provisions you would accept for your journey, but I cannot see you off to such danger without offering at least a little protection. I meant it as a Name-Day present, but you may as well receive it now.

Congratulations(early) on becoming another year older, and give my best to the lads when you see them, as well as my cousins.

Again, I implore you, when you reach the mountain, send me word and I WILL come.

 Your cousin,

Dáin, Lord of the Iron Hills.

 Thorin frowned, opening the cloth-wrapped parcel. The scales glinted in the low sun-light, each made from the best quality steel the Iron Hills could boast, and crafted by a master armourer. Thorin smiled. Slipping out of his coat, he pulled his old mail over his head, and let the new gift take its place, marvelling at the perfect fit.

“Tell Dáin thank you,” he said, when the young Dwarf held out his sur-coat for him. “Tell him to keep an eye on the horizon.”

“Yes, Thorin Uzbad,” the youngling stammered, bowing nervously, holding Thorin’s old mail as though it was a precious treasure. Thorin swung himself back onto Beryl’s saddle, a light smile playing around his lips.

“Go on, now, lad,” he murmured, waving the young squire off with as much kindness as he could muster.

  When he was handed the old shirt of mail – it had been kept in as pristine a condition as Thorin could manage, his Craft-Spark would never have allowed otherwise, even if his life had not been depending on it through many travels – Dáin smiled, sending a quick prayer to the Maker and the Stone Mother that his cousins would find safety on the roads they chose.

 When he returned home, he gave orders to have a dwarf stationed looking west, towards Erebor, and began the tremendous task of making at least his personal gangbuh[2] ready to march with little advance notice; though he tried to keep Thorin’s Quest secret, knowledge slowly trickled through the ‘Hills, and a sense of almost-incredulous hope spread among those members of Durin’s Folk who still remembered the gentle voice of the Lonely Mountain.

 [1] Mahal guide you and mithril find you. (Good Luck)

[2] gangbuh (”march-company”) - regiment - a force consisting of 10     maznakkâ (= 490 dwarrow), plus ten officers.

@life-is-righteous @pandepirateprincess

#Dáin Ironfoot #thorin oakenshield #Lords' Council #meeting in Ered Luin