#( private glory of ruin | mirkwood )

[everardentarchived]

tag dump two !!

#( sorting the orders | tag dump ) #( visit the fun tour | friendo p. ) #( not always on the throne | self p. ) #( evergrowing library | reference ) #( clarion call | answered ) #( unidentified caller | anon ) #( in codes & courts | isms ) #( through the ages | headcanons ) #( exploring genres | verses ) #( if only if only | wishlist ) #( the coldest kingdom | underworld ) #( glittering above the clouds | olympus ) #( so many places to be | scenery ) #( at the office | bau ) #( private glory of ruin | mirkwood ) #( for a peaceful life | the shire ) #( the golden wood | lothlorien ) #( of councils and books | rivendell ) #( dwarven stronghold | erebor ) #( came from dale | laketown )

[spacewhalewriting]

Of Legends and Fire: Dragonsickness

As they entered the mountain Silwen was struck once more with the beauty of all that glittered inside the stone. Heaps upon heaps of it, the floor barely visible under scintillating jewels and shimmering gold. Thorin was there, safe- in the middle of it and dressed in kingly robes, striding through his kingdom as if reclaiming his birthright with every blessed step. Bedecked in gold, he seemed unlike himself to Silwen, and as they grew closer there was a light in his eyes that she had never seen before. A fever. He did not seem to know that they were there.

“Gold.” He began, softly. “Gold beyond measure..... Beyond sorrow and grief.” He paused then as if contemplating these concepts. Then looked up to where they stood. “Behold - the great treasure hoard of Thror.” Suddenly, he flung something high into the air towards them- Fili was the fastest and caught it before it landed, holding it to the light. A blood red jewel the size of a man’s fist. “Welcome, my sister’s sons, to the kingdom of Erebor.” He said, flinging his arms out so they might feast upon this glory as he did. Silwen wanted to shrink from the treasure- to run screaming from this wretched temptation, but instead she went to Thorin. It seemed a battle to recognize her as he had known her, and she knew that something in him knew.

“Would you speak with me?” She asked. He cast a look to the others as if he were the one keeping secrets, taking her thankfully by the good arm and ushering her away as if what must be said must be kept private. Nervously, she followed him- partially unable not to because his grip was iron. Once they were in an adjoining tunnel he released her and there was silence between them.

“What manner of agent of darkness are you?” He accused, finding words.

“None!” She protested; she went so unwillingly towards anything that was not him, how could he not see that by now?

“What honey coated lies have you fed me so easily this whole time? Slipping so easily into my company, into my bed.”

It felt like a slap in the face.

“You pay me insult when I’ve-? Please! You must believe me!” She strove for words but none could truly come to her rescue. He was maddened.

“How can you speak of insult when you’ve kept this from me? How many days? Until we are devoured as we sleep?” He snarled, grabbing her by the collar of her coat and slamming her against the stone wall. Her wrecked shoulder absorbed most of the shock, a throbbing wave of feverish agony radiating outwards through to her other injuries- she tried to scream, but she felt so weak that it came out a whistle from somewhere in her throat. Lifting trembling fingers, she fumbled and managed to unbutton enough of the coat to show the beginnings of her injuries hidden beneath. The claw marks in her shoulder had mercifully stayed proportional to her body, but the flesh around the angry red wounds was starting to puff and turn white. It was turning ill already. Seeing it, Thorin immediately released her collar and she sighed with relief from some of the pain, tears of pain slipping silently down her face.

“Did you not also contract a sorceress? A bowman in Laketown felled Smaug as I held him ready for the shot. Your mountain is won also with my pains.....as I promised.” Her voice was low. She had little left in her to fight Thorin right now so begging him seemed to be her only option. Even if he could be reasoned with, there were things that were he of sound mind he would still find displeasing about her. “I want none of this gold, and none of the sickness it puts inside me.” She pleaded, “I swear, I didn’t know until I saw it, and I chose you over it.”

Somewhere inside her she had the horrible notion that she always might have known- that it had always been lurking inside her, just beneath the surface. Maybe. It was unclear if what now bubbled through the murk was imagination or if it was simply too horrible that she must deny that it could be true memory. But her loyalties were true. Through an age and through battle with the foulest of creatures she had not fallen, but to this king she bowed, for he had captured her thoroughly and she would not give him up now. Never before in all her days had Silwen begged, but she did now.

“Thorin....I have held to every word; do not abandon me, not now.” She pleaded, reaching out to touch his face. Her fingers halted as if afraid that he were only a shade and touching him would break the spell, but as she searched within his eyes she saw him. A look came into them as if inside him there were a man with a lantern raised, somewhere deep within a tunnel. He was far off, but he could see her through his haze. She stiffened when he sought sought the edges of her coat again, but his rough hands merely grasped the extra fabric of the too-large sleeves and brought her gently in close, not quite hugging.

“Oh, Silwen...” He breathed, mumbling a soft phrase in Khuzdul. “I am so sorry...Amrâlimê...forgive me for doubting you.” Again she was wrapped in his voice as if nothing were amiss. She worked her fingers through the furs slung about his frame, grasping tightly. She would not let him go to the same madness that had threatened to take her. “Leaving you behind maddened me.”

“Trust you cannot be rid of me, Oakenshield.”

fingering affectionately through her hair, but he seemed to notice one more thing out of place in her ragtag apparel and battered appearance.

“Your braids. Where is your bead?” He asked. There was no hesitation in her voice, for it was not a lie.

“The elves, they took my things from me.” Carefully, she took his hand. It was not the hand that she was accustomed to, bedecked now with noble rings, but she placed it upon her heart nonetheless. “I beg that you see me worthy of their reproduction.”

He smiled and his blue eyes were warm in the torchlight. It had been long since she had seen him smile, before they had reached the borders of Mirkwood.

“Worry not, I will adorn you with any decoration here that you desire.” He said, and worry she did. He was beginning to slip away again into the grasp of the hoard. “Come,” he said, “I’ll have Óin help you attend to your wounds. We all must rest and recover our strength.”  

She nodded, wiping away the tear marks that betrayed her true injury.

____________________________

Half starved and on her last leg, Silwen slept deep and long once she had eaten and her injuries were bound. Some unknown time later, she awoke alone and to a sense of foreboding heavy on her mind, arm and back stiff. Óin had found the herbs she required, but she was too weak to perform any magics upon herself and was thus condemned to the long and unsure wait of natural healing. It had been easier than expected to find clothing in her size, for even though Erebor was a Dwarvish kingdom, it had also been a center of trade. A pair of men’s trousers and loose cotton shirt were comfortable enough to allow her to move as she was; she changed the dressings on her wounds and pulled the clothes on, then seeking the other half of her empty bed.

Her heart fell when she found him where she expected him to be; the vast suspended throne, its inlay cracked in half and jewel missing. Balin, Dwalin, and Bilbo were in council with him, but it did not seem to be going in their favor.

“-and yet, it is still not FOUND!” Thorin’s voice grated against stone on the last word- Bilbo shuffled nervously back a few steps and Balin came forward a few, attempting to reason with Thorin. He seemed older in this light, exhausted.

“Do you doubt the loyalty of anyone here?” Balin asked, gesturing as if clearly, he would see sense if he only looked. “The Arkenstone is the birthright of our people.” This displeased Thorin. He stalked forward, eyes fixed upon Balin.

“It is the King’s jewel.” He corrected, his voice raising to a shout. “AM I NOT THE KING?”

Silwen’s heart fell deeper and deeper through the pit of her chest until it was lost somewhere in her stomach. This was not the Thorin she knew.

———————————————————

Funnily, Silwen had returned to the storage rooms where the herbs were sealed because it somehow felt like if she could hide, she could deny what was happening. She dared not step foot in the treasure halls, nor look at a single coin, lest the same covetousness that gripped Thorin take sway over her again. It was there she found Balin, sitting quietly among measuring scales, breathing as if she had caught him weeping.

“Dragon sickness-” he said. “I’ve seen it before. That look. That terrible need. It is a fierce and jealous love, Silwen. It sent his grandfather mad.” He said, eyes wetting even as he dried them. It was still a thing she was learning- to comfort, but nonetheless she sat beside him and laid her hand upon his knee.

“I know of what it can do.” There was a silence for a moment, and when she finally spoke, her voice was near a whisper. “What have we done, Balin, engaging upon this quest? Did we lead him to this end?”

“Nay, lass, it had to be done. There was no way to know, and the mountain had to be re-taken.” He said, finally drying his eyes. She wished for wisdom that she herself did not have, and in the absence of Gandalf she looked to her next best companion for it, hoping the answer was something that she could accomplish.

“What can we do?”

“Perhaps it is best that the stone remains lost, and we can wait for his fever to cool like any illness.” He answered grimly. Silwen didn’t know what to say to that, but her train of thought was interrupted by a clamor from above them- a thundering call to the gate.

The survivors of Laketown were coming into Dale.

___________________________________

The moment that Thorin had discovered life in the ruins of Dale, he had ordered the entrance that the dragons had broken to be shorn back up. The dwarves carried stone by hand and machine, building seamlessly. Thorin did not discard his kingly robes or roll up his sleeves to work alongside his kin, instead pacing like an agitated cat.

“I want this fortress made safe by sunup. This mountain was hard won - I will not see it taken again.” He called, making himself heard over the crashing of stone and tapping of hammer and chisel. Again this was not the dwarf Silwen knew and as with all things that pushed against her heart, she pushed back.

“They are refugees, not an invading army!” She said, looking around for support. Kili was the first to drop the stone he was holding, facing his uncle the same.

“She’s right. The people of Laketown have nothing. They came to us in need. They have lost everything.” He said. There was no pity in Thorin’s voice.

“Do not tell me what they have lost. I know well enough their hardship.” He said. As he faced the city of Dale and looked to the fires that had been lit there, he delivered his sermon to them in a voice unlike his own. “Those who have lived through dragonfire should rejoice. They have much to be grateful for.” The company cast glances to each other behind his back, but none of them dared speak out further against their leader. He whirled. “More stone! BRING MORE STONE TO THE GATE!” He shouted.

He would brick them into this mountain and their own despair.

#hobbit #thorin #fanfiction #of legends and fire #oc