#in the valley/smaug's death

[rankinbass-hobbit]

#Micheal McMahn #the hobbit 1977 #misty mountains #roads #maury laws #goblin town #piano #youtube #Youtube #rankin bass #that's what bilbo baggins hates #the greatest adventure #gollum's riddle #in the valley/smaug's death

[noirbriar]

Glorestor: 5 Times They Denied (4)

+ 1 time They Did Not. From the POVs of the various folks around the 2 elves who are convinced they are courting, or betrothed, even though they were told otherwise.

We are going travelling! Out of the Valley (cough gossip central cough) and into the East. Dress in your best because we are meeting the King of Greenwood! As always OOC and plotholes are all on me,warning for messy chapter ahead

---

4] Thranduil Oropherion

There is a storm in the East.

Thranduil Oropherion,King of Eryn Galen, is not having a good day as he woke up to a thunderstorm with a deep feeling in his gut there was something amiss. Not one for superstition, the Elvenking finds himself wondering otherwise when his favourite jade comb broke unexpectedly.

After which, that unsettling feeling only grew, when he received word from Feren that his son has elected to extend his patrols beyond their outer borders and will not return for some time. 

The day soon takes a turn for the worse. As a frantic servant informed him and Galion that the shipment of wine they had ordered for their Summer Banquet that evening have been waylaid and lost by the Dorwinion traders due to bandits. Such dreadful incompetence is borderline ridiculous.

The summer solstice is a sacred time to the eldar. A day that all of the first-born observed and celebrated. In his Kingdom it is known as the Summer Banquet, and is meant to be a great day of revelry and merrymaking. This marks the first proper celebration since the death of Smaug and the Battle of the Five Armies two years ago with the East and Eryn Galen healing. His Summer Banquet will happen, and it shall be done regardless. Absurd weather and lack of proper wine be damned.

As he holds court with his advisors on state matters, his own guard, Lethuin, comes throwing the doors wide open and sprinting in. Almost tumbling over his feet and crashing onto the grand floor as he knelt before his liege, bowing nervously at a lost of words.

"M-My King-"

"Speak." Thranduil commands without looking, focused instead on the report in his hands. Not wanting his day to be further ruined by something insignificant.

Oh Valar, how wrong he was.

A black mass of foulness comes flying through the massive doors and into the room. The object sliding across the pristine floors, causing his startled advisors to either flee beyond the pillars or take up arms before their liege. The thing, if one could call a blob of hair and fur that, starts to slow down and bounce along a little until it came to a complete stop, rolling next to a pale Lethuin with a long trail of ooze. Its many eyes pale and unmoving with a wide deformed maw as Thranduil and his staff stare at the gruesome lump.

It was the body, or whatever is left of it, of a wretched Spider queen that lurked in his woods. One that his soldiers have sought for the past season.

“Oh. Pardon me, I’m afraid I have caused a dreadful mess in my enthusiasm.” A low, silky voice resounds, echoing across the vast room. 

An Imladrim warrior approaches, in full golden armour and helm. A high collared royal blue cape hiding most of his face, taking each stride with elegant steps and twin blades strapped to his sides. An ellon with strangely familiar dark silver eyes and a confident gleam. 

Eryn Galen has never received guests for festivities except official visits pertaining to politics. Which in Thranduil's polite opinion? Is absolutely, perfectly, fine. He honestly could care less about the other realms and their ridiculous sensibilities. Although Thranduil shall deny to the ends of Arda if asked, there is one guest that he has been eagerly awaiting to meet for the past month.

The Imladrim comes to stand beside the sprawling Lethuin, blinking at the soldier curiously for a minute.

“Is there dignity on the floor that you seek for you to sprawl as such?”

Thranduil shoots a deathly glare at this rude warrior with an annoyed twitch under his eye. The King was about to call the lowly soldier out when he sees a group entering his halls behind this ellon. Their leader arriving into his kingdom at long last.

There in his halls leading his warriors, was Glorfindel of Imladris, Lord of the Golden Flower, Captain of the Imladrim army. 

Oh! How long has it been since the great hero have graced Eryn Galen with his valiant presence. Even though he had loved and bonded with Mirien, his beloved queen, it was this radient Lord who allowed a young and lonely sindar King, bitter at everyone and everything, to feel once more after the wretched war.

—

The old Lord of Gondolin had once dwelt in Eryn Galen as an ambassador after the Last Alliance. Newly crowned and mourning still for his adar and countless of lives lost, the gates of his Kingdom lay closed after returning from that doomed battle. The Emissary of the Valar himself arrived with a delegation from the Valley. In hopes to aid the elven realms in their recovery and provide greater protection against the stray orcs now with their leader defeated.

Thranduil had met the great warrior only once before the war. Despite his half noldor heritage and loyalty to a noldor king, the Lord of the Golden Flower was as the songs have sung, noble and beautiful in his resplendent battle armor. However, the young crown prince did not have the opportunity to be acquainted more with the balrog-slayer as it was his father and court who dealt with the Noldor and the Galadhrim. 

It was that tiny glimmer of curiosity that won out. Thus, allowing the retinue from Imladris to enter the sealed realm of the young Elvenking.

How brightly that light of Aman shines in his darkened halls under the spring twilight! The mighty Lord of the House of Golden Flower was fair and regal. His voice rang with such spirit and strength. Donned in polished golden armor and royal blues of Imladris with a pure flowing white cape, such is a fitting image for the hero in the songs.

It was there on his throne with that heavy crown on his brow, the young King felt a pull towards this fair warrior before him. For once since the end of that dreadful War, he felt a sensation stir in his frozen spirit once more.

During his stay, Glorfindel and his warriors gave great aid and support to the remaining soldiers of Eryn Galen. The Lord himself was kind to the newly crowned King, providing much wisdom and counsel. His gentleness without being patronising brought great comfort to Thranduil's heart as the seasons turned.

Until finally, the young sindar decided to be bold and take a chance one winter eve.

"Would you not stay, Lord Glorfindel? For surely Eryn Galen could use your great wisdom and strength. Whatever you may wish, and that you desire… surely, our Kingdom can offer you and more?" Thranduil asks over some drinks in the royal palour, draped in a luxurious robe and free from his heavy crown. Soft, silky hair flowing loose and tumbling down his back as he saunters near. 

Glorfindel turns his distant gaze away from the lazy, drifting snow falling beyond the grand windows and the distant darkness. Even in simple silver long tunic and leggings, the Golden Lord was a sight. His azure eyes remained unblinking, observing the young ellon curiously. Thranduil finds himself paralysed beneath those bright eyes, feeling the mighty Lord's gaze filled with treelight scrying deep into his fea. He cannot move, not even when gentle fingers tilt his chin up to stare deeply into the warrior’s eyes.

It was a long while before he releases the young King's face. With a last sip of his wine, emptying the goblet in his hand, Glorfindel turns away, back to the dark snowy skies.

A strange owl's call echoed from a distance. The Lord of the Golden Flower smiles wistfully.

"Eryn Galen and her bountiful trees may have her majestic allure. Though this old soul loves the boundless valley and her storms, wild and endless, far too much for anything else. I find it hard to leave the dear place I have come to call home."

A knock disturbs the peace and Glorfindel's Deputy, Laica, enters with a deep bow, a fierce owl not native to his lands perched on her arm before it swiftly takes flight. The owl settling onto Glorfindel who sets down his glass and welcome the irritable bird with quiet coos. After a long while of smoothing the seemingly temperamental creature, the Lord finally turns to the mystified young King.

"Long have I been away, and now my heart yearns for my home."

By the following morn as the snow stops falling and the air turns warm, the Lord and his troops left to depart homeward. Far beyond the Misty Mountains. It was the last time Thranduil has seen the Golden Warrior. 

Till now.

—

"Long has it been since I have stepped into your great forest, it is a pleasure and delight to see you once again, your Majesty." Glorfindel removes his helmet, a golden braid tumbling behind him like a stream of rich molten gold as the Captain greets with much joy.

The handful of Imladrim guards bow down low, as it is proper for elves of their station. All, except for the first warrior who rudely intruded his halls, standing beside the Captain. The disrespect and arrogance from this soldier quickly starting to irritate the King’s nerves.

A hand then lifts to tug the high collared cape loose, and slowly removing his helm, allowing long dark tresses to fall down freely in a tumbling cascade of darkness.

The air in his court shifts in an instant and there is a low rumbling from nothingness. The King of Greenwood is uncertain if it is from his advisors, or that wretched growing headache in the back of his head.

For once, the Elvenking had wished it was Councillor Saelbeth, their usual ambassador from Imladris, who seem to have a disdain for speaking except for politics and pleasantries. Even trees have more to say than the uptight elf. Thranduil really is not sure which of the Valar he had offended that day to receive this particular official or if Elrond Peredhel truly wishes to see him suffer.

How could he have forgotten this damn ellon? His adar would be outraged. Probably livid and bringing down the Halls of Mandos if he knew that a faithful follower of the Sons of Feanor had entered his Kingdom.

There, clad in the armour of the Valley’s warriors, is none other than chaos incarnate, the bane of his advisors, Chief Councillor Erestor of Imladris himself.

The sindar King studies the old feanorian before him. It had been years since he had first laid eyes on the shadow trailing behind the young Lords Elrond and Elros Peredhel, in the court of Lindon of High King Gil-Galad. A kinslayer, silent with dark defiant eyes.

Several yeni had passed, that lowly elf who started from the bowels of Lindon's court had clawed his way above the rest and risen above his station. Now in place of the memory of that mysterious, rugged noldor in the shadows, Chief Councillor Erestor stands before him. Sharp, handsome and confident, with an aura of authority- A dangerous ellon.

Nothing will change Thranduil's mind on this. 

"Hail, King Thranduil of Eryn Galen! Blessed, be your Kingdom that now grows ever stronger. We thank you for your welcome and allowing us to partake in your generosity and the festivities.” Erestor opens up diplomatically with that smooth, alluring voice and a proper, respectful bow with his hand over his heart. The feanorian's dark silvery green eyes meeting his gaze boldly.

"Well met, Lord Glorfindel, Lord Erestor. Your journey has been long, may you and your soldiers find joy with us on this glorious eve! We have been expecting you. Though I do wonder what brought the great Captain and Chief Councillor to be simple escort to the Naugrim?" Thranduil drawls slowly and carefully, like watching a viper for its every movement. "You can imagine my surprise when my rangers have reported of your presence with the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains. They also seemed to have missed out in mentioning you were with the escort, Councillor Erestor.”

Erestor is composed, and returns with a small, cryptic smile.

“My deepest apologies, your Majesty, I meant no offence in concealing my being. Long has it been since I have been out of the Valley, I’m afraid that I just find it much more convenient to travel incognito as a personal preference. I hope you may pardon the ill oversight on my part.” Erestor lowers his head in apology, "Though that is why I have brought a gift that we have chanced upon on our way back from Erebor. In hopes that it would show the sincerity of myself and Imladris, to your great generosity.”

Erestor gestures with a lofty hand to the corpse of a very dead Spider queen. 

The Elvenking can see why his ambassadors loathe to meet the Chief Councillor, and curse Erestor’s name to Angband and back upon their return from their travels to Imladris.

”To the other enquiry…It was a promise. To dear Bilbo Baggins, who have become a dear friend to our Lord and us.”

“Oh? Elf-friend Bilbo Baggins? He has written a letter to me to ensure passage to his dwarves and their kin early on. Does he not trust this King’s word to him and King Dain?” Thranduil replies coolly with an arched brow, awaiting.

"Nay, your Majesty! Master Bilbo did mention of your generous commitment to seeing the Dwarrow from Ered Luin safely through as they make their way home. Imladris simply wishes to take the opportunity to further extend a hand of friendship to the free peoples of the East. For it seems that we have long neglected our great woodland kin.It is here, that our benevolent Lord Elrond have expressed his desire to remedy that in such peculiar times."

At that, Erestor brings out a letter and hands it over to a petrified Lethuin. Who remains still, until Erestor shakes the letter again. With a gesture of his chin and a raised brow for the petrified guard to take it to his King.

Thranduil doubt its that simple as Lethuin finally slowly hands the missive over but, no matter. This is a problem to deal with in another time.

He hands the unopened letter to Galion and lets his eyes wander to Glorfindel for the moment. Who has gladly remained silent with an serene smile. The Golden Lord being content to let them carry out their exchange in diplomacy. Though it has not escaped Thranduil's notice that those bright azure eyes have not once strayed from the feanorian beside him.

After a moment more of allowing himself to enjoy the sight of this beloved hero, Thranduil finally turns back to Elrond’s feanorian advisor. One with Earendilion’s favour and unfortunately, obvious diplomatic immunity.

"Indeed, such are uncertain times. Very well. In any case, come, we speak no more of politics. We have prepared rooms for you to freshen up and rest. Join me and my court tonight and let us enjoy the summer solstice together.” Thranduil then gestures for Galion to see to their guests.

"The honour should be ours, your Majesty. We look forward to tonight, for it seems even the summer storm has ceased in anticipation for your Banquet. Long may you reign!" Erestor replies eloquently, before he and Glorfindel both bow once more with their soldiers in respect as they turn to leave. The two leaders sharing a quiet conversation between themselves as they go.

“See? It bears less effort by kicking it, and certainly more efficient than dragging that creature in.”

“We could have taken off its last legs so its less of a burden. Get it? On its last legs?”

“Absolutely dismal. Elrohir and Elladan have been rubbing off you too much it seems.”

The Captain laughs brightly and freely without restraint, nudging the advisor playfully. With a light huff and a nudge back, the councillor places a hand on the warrior’s arm, tugging his amused companion to hurry along, their warriors quietly in tow.

Thranduil stares at them in quiet contemplation and surprise, for this side of Glorfindel was a sight he had not seen before in their short time together. 

How strange.

—

As dusk falls upon the forest, the lamps glow with his elves laughing and making merry, the food and drinks flowing freely. Talented minstrels singing songs of life's delights, with the bards playing lifting melodies to fill the air.

Thranduil settles comfortably into his throne and observes with young Meludir as his companion and tending to him. Dressed in exquisite greens and blues, draped in fine diamonds like falling stars. A smaller summer crown sits on his brow with perfect white blooms. The Elvenking basks in the joyous atmosphere and about to take a sip of his wine when his guests finally appear.

The Imladrim arrives neatly and orderly. Warriors now dressed in formal robes of reddish copper and bronze, with their leaders leading them into the grand hall.

Such dazzling aura and warm light from one blessed by the Valar! It is rare for Lord Glorfindel to leave the lands of Imladris but it is nothing short of wonderful to see the mighty Lord of Gold here in his halls once more. 

Tunic and robes of gold and white embroidered with a garden of blooming flowers hugs his muscular form. The famed golden hair done up in elaborate braids with most flowing down in waves. His inner light glowing like he is a maiar more than an eldar, a personification of power and grace both. The court of Eryn Galen is awed by the presence of the Emissary himself, as they were the day when he first came to his Kingdom.

Though where there is light, darkness follows. 

Clad in resplendent silk and sheer lace dyed in midnight, cut low at the back with a shimmering sash trailing in his wake. He is adorned with gold and rare black pearls twinkling under the lights. A ear cuff and dazzling earrings shine brightly in contrast against his crown of dark braids. With smoky gold makeup turning his dark gaze into something bewitching. The Tempest of Imladris commands absolute attention with his boldness and allure.

Erestor is the definition of sin, wrapped in eldar skin. 

They all come before him and greet Thranduil with a bow. Which the Elvenking raises his goblet in response. Glorfindel then releases his warriors with a carefree wave to enjoy the celebration.

The two Lords of Imladris themselves began to mingle with members of his court. Though his advisors are clearly wary, especially the diplomats who have been to Imladris. Glorfindel's kind and outspoken disposition and familiarity with some of his elves however, seem to ease any tension. Until one of the old Lords of his kingdom joins in abruptly, interrupting the exchanging of casual pleasantries.

"Good evening, Erestor.” The slight by not addressing Erestor's proper title is painfully obvious and does not go unnoticed, but Thranduil chooses to sit back and observe quietly.

"Ah, Lord Glavraion! Its been awhile since I have seen you at a Scholar's Conference in our fair Valley. I heard you have been busy with your responsibilities here. I have hoped dearly to speak more with you with regards on the discourse on the translation of edain dialects and regional symbolisms.” Erestor smiles congenially.

"Certainly. Well, I have been busy, duty calls after all. Not all of us have the time for mere leisure, or travel on a whim for other than work." Glavraion replies dryly with a disconcerting look.

Thranduil has to hide his annoyance under a disinterested mein. That remark was delivered poorly with much obviousness that was stupid of Glavraion. The Elvenking had long heard of how the advisor had shot down Glavraion's debate during a Conference years ago, when he was still an aspiring scholar. Which was quite a spectacle based on what he heard. No doubt, the old lord still bears a grudge and is less than pleased to see Erestor here.

"I understand. It is quite a feat that you are able to handle your work life balance this well, being a family man on top of your duties. I can never achieve such with the many duties placed upon me by my Lord Elrond." Erestor gives a small shrug, taking a momentary pause before raising a coy gaze.

"Ah! But how terrible of me, I almost forgot to give you my felicitations! I heard you are expecting a grandchild soon! Such splendid news!" The advisor congratulates with great cheer, raising his wine glass to congratulate the Lord.

Ah...In straight for the kill with no remorse. Its not a widely known, but Glavraion's daughter have just broken off the engagement her adar have painstakingly made for her. The elleth quickly eloping to Lothlorien with her noldor lover, breaking off ties with her family.

The Elvenking wonders if Elrond Peredhel is aware of the casual chaos his Chief Advisor seem to thrive in. 

"Ah, yes, that, well, thank you. Well then, I must attend to something now. Excuse me." With that cold note, Glavraion takes his leave. While the others around them remain awkwardly silent during the exchange. All except Glorfindel, who seems genuinely unbothered. Even as he plucks a canape from a passing servant’s tray and gently hands the savoury tart to Erestor.

The feanorian just stares blankly at the tart for a moment, pondering. Before slowly leaning in to take a bite straight from the warrior’s fingers. Plush lips carefully nipping those calloused tips, a soft pink tongue darting out to lick away the stray crumbs.

Thranduil’s eyes widen at that outrageous act. Which certainly did not go unnoticed by others, even if the Imladrim seem to not be fazed by their superiors' blatant display. He certainly spotted one of the soldiers rolling her eyes as she returned to her chat with the lovely elleth serving the desserts. 

Erestor finishes his treat before leaning closer to Glorfindel, speaking of something private into the Golden Lord’s ear with hooded eyes. The taller elf placing a large hand without a thought on the lithe waist of his companion to let him reach closer. The scene before him unfolding like an enthralling painting. A brazen picture of seduction.

Thranduil finds it hard to deny that in that moment, the two handsome figures together certainly makes a gorgeous vision. An opinion he is certain that his elves share, if their watchful eyes filled with desire and want are anything to go by. Which makes him wonder if there is something…more… between the two highest ranking officials of Elrond’s staff?

So deep in his thoughts, the sindar king did not notice that Glorfindel has long left Erestor’s side, and approaches the Elvenking’s throne. The Chief Councillor left alone in a discussion with some young and determined scholars who were finally brave enough to seek out the lore master.

“King Thranduil, long it has been, why not spare this old friend a dance?” Glorfindel asks with a bright grin and a hand to the Elvenking.

“Why not?” Thranduil then accepts the hand and the invitation. The melody is from a romantic ballad from the silvan elves, but Glorfindel is familiar to the simple four step dance that accompanies it.

"I am pleased to see you are doing well." Glorfindel smiles brightly as they make some smooth twirls. Each spin and step, the King and Lord does not miss a beat, as the others make way for them on the dance floor.

"Aye. I am well enough even with the troubles, old friend. Though your presence is dearly missed." Thranduil gives a comfortable smirk, shoulders relaxed and at ease in company of an old acquaintance.

"We have met Legolas too. Such a delightful ellon! He does Eryn Galen credit and is a fine prince."

"He is my pride and joy. But my ion still has such to learn."

Glorfindel laughs, full and dazzling. Thranduil gives a soft shake of his head, thinking of his young son, who in his opinion, is still inexperienced with the world. Both elves enjoying their dance and each other's company. Before Glorfindel carefully dips his head closer to the King's ear.

“Though I do find myself wary of one of your Lords' associations, your Majesty. There is talk that he has his own opinions regarding the new alliances with Dale and Erebor. Especially with his family’s trading business fairing poorly with the loss of his daughter’s marriage.” Glorfindel whispers before he nonchalantly leans back, focused instead on leading the dance.

“Oh? How does a Captain of Imladris come to be aware of such a thing? Or… is it someone else’s words you convey?” Thranduil replies coolly, keeping a straight face as he chooses his words carefully. If it were anyone else, Thranduil would have tossed them into the dungeons for their insolence without a second thought. However, such heavy words from the Emissary has piqued the King's interest.

“Well, word has it that the lands of Dorwinion are having trouble lately, her workers are growing displeased with their guilds. The lands of Rhun are stirring. Do what you will with this information.”

“Information from a rather invested source it seems, almost strangely so. One must wonder the motives for such measures taken to bring this forth to me.”

Glorfindel casts a calculated gaze towards Thranduil, who feels the grip around his own hand tighten in reflex. The two gauging the other's intent as they spin slowly around another couple.

"Your caution does you credit, especially for a ruler of a kingdom. But I hope your Majesty remembers that I, too, am an advisor of several elven realms by my own merit," Glorfindel returns flatly as the music slows. "All I can say, as a friend, who so happens to be an old councillor, is that there is wisdom in history. While knowing when to put aside the differences held, may be a higher path."

You will also do well to not judge the depth of still waters in a glade by its surface. For even reflections are ever-changing.

Thranduil stares at Glorfindel as the mighty Lord's voice rings in his mind. In that moment, the sindar king feels that he had caught a glimpse of something terrifying in those devastatingly beautiful eyes.

Haunting eyes. That have seen cruel ice and relentless fire. Of a kingdom sealed away. Of crumbling walls, of regrets and of death.

It is then, Thranduil Oropherion sees. Nothing can escape Arda Marred. Not Gondolin. Not Doriath. Not even them, made immortal and unchanging in Eru's Song.

The King releases a lofty sigh filled with weariness and resignation.

“Very well, I shall give your words some consideration, my old friend.” 

As the crowd breaks into an applause for the minstrels, the bards slowly prepare for their next performance. In that brief intermission, Erestor approaches the two on the dance floor in elegant and careful strides, coming up next to Glorfindel quietly with a hand on the muscular back. Azure eyes glazed in vestiges of memories turn towards the ellon in response.

“Laure? It is almost time.”

“...Indeed.” Glorfindel suddenly becomes distant once more before turning to the Elvenking with a small smile. "Please excuse us your Majesty. For we wish to retire now, it has been a long day after all.”

Thranduil blinks and is taken by surprise by the request. For it is not even midnight and many are still enjoying the celebrations. Well, apart from those heading away to tumble in the cover of the night.

“The night is early yet?”

“Yes, but old elves such as us need our rest.” Glorfindel laughs, albeit a hollow one. While Erestor turn slightly to bestow a glare at the warrior’s light hearted remark.

Even if that large hand resting low on the Chief Councillor’s back is making Thranduil think otherwise.

How did this come to pass? He wonders.Truly something he cannot even fathom. A kin-slayer and a beloved hero twice-born by the grace of the valar together?...What is this? A romance novella?

Yet from another tempting perspective from one who enjoys the pleasures of Life and its beauties, it is rather alluring. Just based on this evening alone, Thranduil has to begrudgingly admit how seductive the idea of these two beautiful and strong ellyn may be. Hidden away in privacy of a room amongst silken sheets, lost in passionate lust. An arousing vision it must make!

Afterall, there are elves who partake in the pleasures of the flesh without bonding. Especially more so in recent times. Such wandering thoughts began to get him feeling like a curious youngling, eager and warm under his many layered robes.

Although it is still quite possible the couple, who are far older, are much more old fashioned. Maybe already engaged considering their daring behaviour, even with the absence of rings.

“I suppose if you both must. Though before you leave, this King cannot help but wonder if I should expect a wedding invitation in the near future, so I may send congratulatory gifts along to Imladris?”

The temperature drops dramatically, the air morphing into an awkward silence, creating a contrast to the warmth and lively sounds that confines them.

The pair share a strange look at the other, almost as if sharing a private conversation over Osanwe, before turning back quietly to Thranduil. Their deep gaze turning this conversation into something rather uncomfortable. Where it was even longer before Erestor bows in response.

“We are not engaged, your Majesty. But we do thank you for the kind thought and consideration.”

Oh.

Could have fooled him, really.

“I…see. I’m afraid I have improperly assumed things so. Go on. I wish you both a pleasant rest.” 

"Thank you. We bid your Majesty, a good night."

Glorfindel and Erestor bows and swiftly excuses themselves from even more awkwardness, with Thranduil’s lingering gaze watching them leave. The Councilor's words were delivered so smoothly and simply, Thranduil would have shaken off his skepticism and taken it at face value.

That is, if he did not spy a slender hand coming to rest under Glorfindel’s arm as they leave beyond the darkened corridors, in the cover of shadows, away from the crowd.

---

Later, Thranduil takes a walk around his palace, enjoying the tranquility and quiet of his domain. With most of the kingdom either drunk or still with company, far from prying eyes. The sindar lets his feet carry him aimlessly though dim and silent pathways.

He has seen the world, yet times like these, he feels like he is but a small note in the grand scheme of things of Eru Iluvatar.

It is in his wandering, he finds that he is not the only one awake in this solemn hour.

Far amongst the endless trees in a lone pavilion, Glorfindel stands in silent vigil with Erestor by his side. Their hands clasped together, a shadow and a dream. As Arien's light fills the forest, so does the voice of the Lord of old. A deep tenor full of hope and sorrow. The last Lord of Gondolin this side of the sea, singing an ancient ode to the dawn and to the light of summer.

When the songs end, Erestor lets the tired Glorfindel lean against his side. The weary ellon resting his cheek against Erestor’s head, watching the light of the new morn bursting though the emerald canopies overhead. Until Erestor pulls them to face one another, their foreheads touching in silence. As if nothing mattered in Arda but the one who stood before them. With a gentle hand and a tug of the taller elf’s face, Erestor lays a soft kiss on his weary companion’s forehead.

With a delighted hum and a deep breath, Glorfindel bends down to bring Erestor fully into his arms, burying his face into those long dark tresses. The dark haired elf silently acquiesces, wrapping his arms around the warrior in an embrace, slender hands caressing that muscular back and luxurious golden curls.

Though as the ellon did, he slowly turns his dark gaze to where the King hidden beyond the leaves. Wild eyes of unbridled storms meeting his own.

Ah.

Thranduil resists the urge to give an undignified snort at the realisation. Where he stops himself from rolling his eyes at the ridiculousness of the situation.

The last firedrake may be no more, but here exists a dark dragon hoarding his gold.

With narrowed eyes in response and a final fleeting glance at the duo, the King leaves. His robes swirling without a whisper behind as he returns to the royal chambers with the gentle summer breeze in his wake. Away from the utterly absurd sensibilities of two ancient elves.

Fools.

---

A/N: They are literally on a working holiday, thats what this is. Thranduil really is like a junior smitten with a senior, and later realising his seniors both are just dumb. I just wanted try to write how thranduil somewhat reconcile with whatever happened during the last alliance and the other elven leaders.

Earlier in Imladris also be like-

Deputies to the soldiers of Imladris: Alright ya'all, we need some to go with our esteemed leaders on their couple trip, all expenses covered! Draw straws or volunteer, you choose!

Also, fun fact, very early on, this was supposed to be part of the Fire & Stone AU but it has obviously changed to canon timeline because 5 & 6 would be... :) :) :)

Thranduil is a menace to write and ignore any possible politics and plotholes please, my brain is not functioning anymore for this chapter that is all over the place.Not the best i admit, but writing and rambling keeps me sane.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)(Part 5)

#the hobbit #the silmarillion #glorestor #erestor #glorfindel #thranduil #elves of mirkwood #ficlet #here have this mess

[whorinsmokenshield]

To the Stone

Summary: Azog the Defiler lays dead by Thorin's hand. Erebor has been reclaimed. Thorin is king, his kin avenged, his sister-sons live to tell their mother the tale.

He should feel complete. He should feel fulfilled. But there is but one more regret he has to untangle, one more shame he must face. For that, he must find Bilbo Baggins, and he must apologize.

He finds Bilbo on the battlefield. Rating: Mature

Warning: MCD (I wrote this as part one of two in a series. Ao3 upload here.)

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A mist hovered in the sky over Ravenhill. It was scared to come down and meet the carnage beneath. Thus, it left the battlefield clear enough to see what wrath and greed had wrought. Only the cold wind wasn't afraid to meet the dead, and it settled amongst them like lifelong friends. Death and the cold were like brothers, in a way. Born together, one after the other.

Thorin Oakenshield stood alone. His black hair lay limp, matted with blood and grease. The icy breeze was scratching at his eyes. His breath collected in the air with warm fog; it was the only warm thing, as Thorin was very cold himself.

In the distance were voices, muddled and echoey. They called for names, and for survivors. Thorin ought to call back and count himself as one of the living, but couldn't verily remember how.

Blood dripped from the point of his blade. Orcrist had more life in it than its wielder. The blood was cool, slow, but as it trickled down it seemed to sizzle on the ice. Thorin inhaled deeply, deeper than his ribs could tolerate, so that when he released it he made a storm cloud that whispered into the wind.

He dropped his sword to the ground then, and the clatter it made was a hammer on a piece of cold steel. It rang through the valley.

Thorin woke up.

At his feet the corpse of the Pale Orc lay steaming, and it was not a dream. It was his foul blood that warmed the ice below and soiled the gleam of Orcrist. A wound the size of Thorin’s fist was punched through the beast’s sternum where the king had run him through. He remembered the wide eyes when the orc’s liver was punctured, his stomach sundered, the muscles and bone of his back forced to part for elvish steel. Blood and bile in equal parts gushed from the opening, eager to escape the fiend they’d been cursed to feed.

Azog the Defiler, scourge of the line of Durin, lay dead by Thorin’s hand. The spirits of his grandfather, his brother, and each of the honorable dwarves who had given their lives at Moria were laid to rest, and the absence of their ghosts left empty, hollow air in their wake.

Thorin thought of his life. Of everything he’d ever done. Every wrong he’d ever committed, every shame he’d ever faced, every punishment incurred. It all culminated in this, this victory in which he should’ve felt the most complete.

Azog was dead. The firedrake Smaug was dead and rotting. His kin had been avenged, his home reclaimed. He would be king. He had everything. Thorin had everything he’d ever wanted. Every imperfection in his life had been hammered out, every furrow flattened. 

Yet Thorin’s heart sat in his chest like a stone. He could feel its weight, and how every throb pushed against the cracks of his ribs. There was but one thing left. One more regret. One more shame. 

The king moved his feet. The steel caps scraped on the surface of the ice, and he felt his full weight in each step. He grabbed his sword, sheathed it, and abandoned the carcass to the flies. 

Thorin was no stranger to wandering. He’d done it all his life. Wandering in the cold wasn’t new to him either. How it tried to burrow into his legs like worms, bringing pain to his knees and his back. It was familiar. So, it was ignorable. Thorin ignored it for the sake of something more important.

He crossed the battlefield to the east, the direction from which the calls came. Bilbo would be back at camp, getting warm and feeling nervous for the company. Wondering after their fates. Wondering after Thorin’s most certainly. Camp would be in the direction that the people were coming from. It made the most sense. 

The orc filth died like roaches, crushed and guts spilled, black blood sullying the snow. Bodies lay scattered over the field. Each one different, each one dead. Each one dead differently. There were plenty of decapitations. Missing and ripped-off limbs. Hands just a few feet away from the arms they were once attached to. Men, dwarves and elves also lay dead, here and there.

Thorin’s eyes couldn’t stay on only one corpse for long. They skated over the battlefield terrified, in a subtle way, that one of the faces they found would be one that he knew intimately. One of the beards would be one that he’d seen combed in the mornings before they packed up for the road. He recognized none so far, but there were more dwarves among the dead than men or elves.

He saw another man’s corpse and thought to glance over it, but came back as he noticed the stature.

The body was small, too small, and its bronze hair haloed its head on the rocks like a ring broken off a piece of rusted chainmail. Its feet were bare. No shoes large enough to fit it.

Thorin approached. He hit the snow on his knees. The cold seeped up into him, seeking its brother.

It was Bilbo. Bilbo laid there. He wasn’t shivering like he ought to be.

“Master Baggins?” Thorin heard himself say. He didn’t feel as his lips formed to make the words. 

Bilbo looked to be asleep, a rock for a pillow. Some blood dripped down his forehead, and Thorin knew his hobbit would be complaining for a hot water tub very soon. Bilbo hated being filthy. 

“This is no place to be, Burglar,” said Thorin. “It-It’s far…far too cold out here. You should have listened when I told you to invest in warm boots. Erebor is not like your Shire with its temperate weather.”

Bilbo was ignoring him. He didn’t even scoff in offense like he did whenever one of the company suggested he wear shoes. It was less of an insistence and more of a tease once Bilbo explained why hobbits went barefoot, but the rise it got out of him and the flush it brought to his ears made it worth bringing up for fun. Bilbo’s ears were pale now. They didn’t twitch in that adorable way when someone new spoke and he turned to listen.

“Are you still angry with me, my burglar?” croaked Thorin.

That was all he could think of for why Bilbo was so ardently disregarding him. 

“I-I have to apologize to you. I sought you out to- to apologize. For my behavior. For my transgressions against you. I was not of a sound mind, but there is no other fault in what I did to you than my own. I wronged you so terribly. There is little I could do with the rest of my life to atone. But I pray you- you find it in your heart to forgive me. That is all I deserve to ask.”

Nothing. Still nothing. Only nothing. Thorin brought Bilbo closer to him to check for movement.

“Master Baggins?”

Dead weight in Thorin’s lap. Thorin’s hands curled on Bilbo’s shoulders.

Bilbo needed to be warmed up. His skin was like ice out there. No telling how long he’d been out there alone, waiting to be found. So Thorin scooped up his tiny body and lifted him to his chest, and rose to his own feet carrying him.

“Let’s get you back amongst the company. I’m certain Glóin’s got the fire going.”

Thorin began to walk in the direction he’d been heading in the first place. They were still east of Azog’s bloated corpse, and the camp would be where the search parties had come from. Bilbo came with him without complaint. Thorin watched him all the while as he traversed the lumpy field, and waited for him to stir. He never did. They walked awhile, but Bilbo didn't see any part of it. Thorin could see how the sun had limped across the sky in the time it took for he and Bilbo to reach a collection of low hills. Lights and movement came from atop them, and from what Thorin could see there were tents and spits and fires erected wherever they could be fit.

Dwalin saw them coming the moment they crested over the first hill, which was where the company had set their tent poles. Thorin made out his figure in the distance, pacing on the outskirts of a recuperation camp that had been set up on one of the few clean and dry spots, and when Dwalin saw them he broke into a dead sprint.

He would’ve collided with Thorin and Bilbo if not for one last stroke of common sense that ground him to a halt ten feet away from them. In the distance Thorin could see some of the company gathering together, watching and waiting.

Bilbo hadn’t said a word for as long as they’d been walking. He was still sleeping.

“Thorin,” Dwalin said, looking at Thorin’s chest where he had Bilbo nestled. His tone was flat like the sound a stone makes when it thuds into the ground. A flatness he felt in his gut.

“He needs Óin,” is what Thorin said.

Dwalin’s eyebrows shot up. “He’s alive?”

That question did not make sense to Thorin. 

“He’s too cold. I found him on the field. He’s got a cut on his forehead. Óin needs to look at it. Make sure he’s okay.”

“But…he’s alive?”

Thorin trudged on, forcing Dwalin to keep pace and follow. He held Bilbo like the Arkenstone in his hands.

“Thorin.” Dwalin tried to get his attention.“Thorin.”

“What?”

“Would you look at me? Durin’s sake, you’ve been missing for hours. They’ve got dozens out there looking for ya.”

It struck Thorin right then that he’d been only looking at Bilbo, on the ground directly in front of him so that he wouldn’t trip and cause Bilbo to jostle, or else somewhere in the middle distance. Dwalin had to step right up to him for Thorin to see him. He made to put his hands on Thorin’s shoulders to stop him. Thorin’s eyes snapped up to his cousin’s face, wild and accusatory.

“I can’t keep him out in this weather anymore, Dwalin! He’s freezing, and he needs Óin. Don’t try and stop me.”

Dwalin looked at him long and hard. Then he looked down at Bilbo. One of Bilbo’s hands hung loosely in the air, and Dwalin took it up and squeezed his wrist. Thorin thought it was good, that Bilbo needed the warmth. Dwalin’s eyes narrowed, then widened, and his eyes met Thorin’s once more. His expression that was unrecognizable, for Dwalin had never worn it before.

“Thorin…”

“Show me where to put him.”

“Thorin-”

“Show me-” Thorin spoke so tightly that his voice almost broke. “Show me where to put him. He needs to be warm.”

The two of them stood face-to-face as the seconds ticked past, and Bilbo only grew colder. Thorin clenched his jaw, he grit his teeth, he opened his mouth to order Dwalin aside.

Dwalin nodded once and his face fell to something close to pain. 

“‘Course. I’ll show you. Come on.”

His cousin had him by the shoulder. He kept his grip loose and nonrestrictive, but grounding. He guided Thorin towards the camp.

The eyes of the company tracked him while they approached, but once they came close enough they looked instead at what Thorin carried. Who Thorin carried. At once their faces paled and eyes watered, hands flew up to mouths and jaws clenched and some were forced to look away. Bofur ripped the hat off his head and stared blankly. Nori bit down on his knuckles and tried to wake himself up. Ori stuttered on a gasp and clammed his hand over his mouth to stifle it. The princes weren’t among them, they were off in the healing tents, as were Óin and Glóin.

Not one of them said something, except for Dori’s whispered “No”, because they saw Dwalin’s face over Thorin’s shoulder, and how he heavily shook his head and warded them off. He would handle it.

Dwalin pushed Thorin towards a tent off to the side. It was intended to be Thorin’s tent, for private healing. No one knew if he survived the battle, or how, and could only assume that the reason he’d not showed up to the encampment when the rest of them did was that he lay in the field dead or dying. It was Bilbo’s tent now. Thorin would assume that that’s what it was for all along.

It was dim in the tent. Pale gray sun barely leaked through the canvas. Dwalin was quick to light the hanging lantern to cast warmth into the room, if only in the light that filled it.

Thorin staggered towards the medical cot that lay vacant in the corner, feeling his weight and his age and the depth of his sin in his legs, and lay Bilbo upon it. He smoothed his hand down Bilbo’s front to clear the rock dust and grit off of his dwarven robes, then his hand moved up to Bilbo’s forehead. 

“Master Baggins?”

He heard Dwalin inhale.

When Thorin brushed his ragged hair off Bilbo’s stiff face he didn’t so much as stir, or lean into the touch. There was only so much Thorin could take, and he couldn’t take even a moment more of this. Of this cold skin, of this silence. Bilbo wouldn’t speak. Wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t flinch. Thorin wasn’t even sure if he’d been forgiven.

“He…he needs…Óin. He won’t speak to me,” Thorin said lowly.

Dwalin said nothing.

Thorin’s hand was as large as Bilbo’s whole cheek when he cupped it, thumb running under the eyes that wouldn’t so much as flutter. Cold as ice. Cold as cold’s brother.

“We need to warm him. He should be shivering. It’s dangerous to be overly cold,” Thorin murmured. “Where is Óin?” 

When Dwalin finally spoke it cracked. “He’s outside. Tending to the wounded.”

���He needs a blanket. He’s too cold. He’s…Bilbo’s cold. He hates being cold. He’s not used to it.”

Thorin swallowed very thickly, like he was swallowing paste. There was something under his skin. Something that itched. Something that burned. It longed to burst out like water from an overfilled skin. Thorin couldn’t name it.

No blanket appeared, so Thorin repeated, more firm this time, “He needs a blanket.”

Dwalin moved slowly so as not to startle. There was a stack of blankets abandoned on a pallet, so he took one and put it in Thorin’s waiting hand. Thorin’s hands shook like strings fit to snap, but he grabbed the blanket in a bloodless grip and swept it over Bilbo’s body. He tucked in the sides, and made sure it reached his feet to cover and warm them.

“Is…” Thorin began to say. “How is the company? Do they live?”

“Aye. The…the rest of the company is well. Few injuries,” Dwalin grunted.

“My nephews?”

“They’ll fight another day. Kili’s got some nasty bruising, Fili’s shoulder’s seen better days, but they’re fit enough to make it everyone else’s problem.”

Thorin tried to laugh, but the air in his lungs was dry.

“Bilbo will be glad to hear that,” Thorin whispered. 

There was tension in Dwalin’s frame that had begun to ease, but it came back just as soon as Thorin said that.

“He…he would be,” said Dwalin.

Inside Thorin’s chest his heart pulsed. His blood felt too thick and heavy in his veins. His heart weighed on him; it made breathing more difficult than it ought to be. The tremors in his hands shook enough from the cold and from the strain of holding themselves up, yet Thorin wasn’t tired at all. There was a lightness in his head. All he could think about was Bilbo.

Despite the blanket, no color had returned to Bilbo’s once-rosy cheeks. 

“Where is Óin? He should not be this cold. He should…he should be…” Thorin’s breath came in short and shallow gasps. The air was thin in this tent.

Dwalin was there suddenly, his hand on Thorin’s shoulder and gripping him overly tight.

Thorin soldiered on. “He should be at home. He should be…he should be home. With his- his books. His armchair. With his family. He should never have seen battle. I should never have brought him here. He should never be this cold. Where is Óin?” 

“Óin is outside. With the wounded.”

“Bring him here. Bilbo’s too cold. Something’s not right.”

How Thorin’s heart tremored. He felt like he was going to vomit. 

“He was alone. I found him alone. He- he never stood a chance,” Thorin said. The sentence stormed in his head, flashing behind his eyes, and as he stared emptily at Bilbo’s ashen skin it was all he could think. “I should never have brought him here. This is my fault. This- it- he-...”

Bilbo was cold. He was so cold. His face wouldn’t move, his ears wouldn’t twitch. Too cold, too cold, and cold had a brother whose name was-

“B-Bilbo?” Thorin stumbled forward. Dwalin’s hand on his shoulder kept him from going far.

-death.

“Alright now, Thorin.”

Thorin woke up.

“What have I done?” Thorin uttered. He felt only the pressure of Dwalin's hands coming under his arms. Little more. “What have I done, cousin?”

“Easy,” was all Dwalin said. His voice rough and grating, but holding onto stability with a white-knuckled grip. “Let's let Óin look at you. Come on.”

“No,” Thorin said. It hit him that Dwalin was dragging him away. “No. No!”

Thorin wrenched from his hands and hit the dirt, injuries jarred and burning. He scrambled to be back at Bilbo's bedside, and threw himself over Bilbo's body.

“Bilbo,” He wept. Bilbo was cold, and he was still, and blood still trickled from his head wound as though it had nowhere else it could go. “Bilbo! Bilbo!”

Dwalin was on him and heaving him off the bed. Thorin fought and thrashed like he thought Dwalin was taking him to his death, heels digging into the ground, shoulders lurching and body twisting with agony and anger.

“No! No! Bilbo! Let me go, let me- no, he needs me! He needs me! Let me go to him!”

“He’s dead, Thorin!” Dwalin barked, succeeding in hauling Thorin bodily through the tent flaps and into the bright of the day. The flaps fluttered shut, and obscured Bilbo from the light and from all eyes.

“NO! BILBO!” Thorin bellowed. He threw his elbow back into Dwalin’s ribs and the sudden release sent both of them sprawling. Thorin got up to his knees and made to sprint back to the tent, but Dwalin had lunged and snatched Thorin by his calf and tripped him back to the ground. Dwalin scrabbled up and threw himself down on top of his cousin to pin him, legs entangling to stop Thorin’s desperate kicks and his arm crossing Thorin’s chest to pull his face up and off the dirt.

“He needs me, he needs me, Dwalin, cousin, please , he needs me! " Thorin could only weep. Tears dribbled off his cheeks and splattered in the dust. He reached out for Bilbo’s tent, but Dwalin grabbed his arms and pulled them both back to Thorin’s chest.

“I’ve got you, brother. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Breathe. Breathe.”

“You don’t understand! You don’t- he- I need to be there with him! He can’t be alone. He doesn’t want to be alone!” Breaths were hard to come by. Thorin could fill his whole chest with air and still feel hollow, like he was suffocating.

“I know. I know. I’ve got you, brother.” Dwalin forced Thorin to turn, and fisted his hand in Thorin’s hair to hold his face down against Dwalin’s neck. His legs stayed locked around Thorin’s hips and thighs, his arms like iron clasps holding Thorin in place. “I’ve got you brother.”

“No…no, no, he’s- he, please. Please. Mahal, please. PLEASE!”

Dwalin held him tighter. Thorin continued to struggle, but the fight was bleeding out of him like he had an open wound. He beat his fists against Dwalin’s shoulder, but Dwalin held strong for the good of them both.

“Release me,” Thorin sobbed. He writhed like an injured dog. “Release me!”

There were dwarves watching them, surrounding them at a respectful distance. Each of the company, and then some of Dain’s folk. Among the company muffled sobs erupted, stifled in the face of their king’s lamentations.

Suddenly, Thorin went boneless. It was as if he had died in Dwalin’s arms. Dwalin squeezed him with panic, but felt that he still held breath, and so, in the silence that followed, his grip on Thorin’s hair loosened.

“I am so sorry, brother,” he rasped.

Thorin inhaled. He wheezed. No air to be found when he could only breathe grief.

And when Thorin Oakenshield shattered, and it was heard across the camp in his wail of absolute and inimitable despair.

~~~

Tanks for reading! :) Also posted on my ao3 acc under Sullen_in_love

#the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #fanfiction #my writing #bagginshield #sad #character death

[berjhawn]

Angel On Fire - Chapter 19 - The Lonely Mountain

Warnings: angst ; fighting ; death

Pairings: Bucky Barnes X Reader ; Thorin Oakenshield X Reader ; Bucky X Reader X Thorin ; Marvel X Reader X Hobbit

Angel on Fire Master-list

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Climbing the foothills of the mountain seemed to go by faster than I thought it would. At one point, Thorin, recognizing the landscape, runs atop an embankment overlooking a valley. We all race after him and joining him look across the valley at the ruins of an old city.

“What is this place?” Bilbos asks voicing my curiosity.

“It was once the city of Dale. Now it is a ruin. The desolation of Smaug.” Balin says and my heart clenches for the lives lost here. Flashes of when Surtur destroyed Asgard flash through my mind causing my lip to tremble slightly at the memory.

“The sun will soon reach midday; let’s find the hidden door into the mountain before it sets. This way!” Thorin calls as he starts to race away.

“Wait...is this the overlook? Gandalf said to meet him here. On no account were we-” Bilbo calls out but none of the dwarves are listening.

“Do you see him? We have no time to wait upon the wizard. We’re on our own.” Thorin interrupts. “Come!”

The other dwarves follow him; but Bilbo and I look back at the city, conflicted.

“We have no choice; we must go with them.” I add turning to follow them. Bilbo waits for a moment then reluctantly follows.

Reaching the mountainside, we start to look for the secret entrance.

“Anything?” Thorin calls out.

“Nothing!” Dwalin replies.

“If the map is true, the hidden door lies directly above us.” Thorin says softly.

Bilbo, walking around, sees a massive statue of a dwarf carved into the side of the mountain. Looking closely, he notices a set of stairs built into the statue.

“Up here!” Bilbo calls out making us all look toward him.

“You have keen eyes, Master Baggins.” Thorin calls.

We painstakingly make our way up the steep and treacherous steps and find a little rock-walled clearing in the side of the mountain. Thorin runs to the clearing.

“This must be it. The hidden door.” Thorin exclaims. “Let all those who doubted us rue this day!” Thorin holds up his key, the others cheer.

“Right. We have our key, which means that somewhere, there is a keyhole.” Dwalin says as they all start to explore the walls of the clearing with their fingers, looking for a keyhole. Thorin walks to the edge of the clearing and looks out at the setting sun.

“The last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole.” Thorin ponders.

Thorin looks at the wall and tries to figure out what the light hitting the wall means. As the sun gets lower and lower on the horizon and nothing changes on the wall, Thorin begins to get frantic. “Nori.”

Nori, who is known as a thief, runs to the wall and begins tapping it in different places with a spoon while holding his ear to a cup held against the wall. Meanwhile, Dwalin strains and pushes against the wall. The sun gets lower.

“We’re losing the light.” Thorin yells out panic in his voice.

“Come on!” Dwalin cries out as he begins kicking at the wall.

“Be quiet! I can’t hear when you’re thumping.” Nori yells at Dwalin.

“I can’t find it...it’s not here! It’s not here.” Dwalin panics.

As the sun gets closer to disappearing, Thorin frantically gestures to the other dwarves.

“Break it down!” Thorin yells out causing Dwalin, Gloin, and Bifur smash at the wall with their weapons, to no avail. “Come on!”

“It’s no good! The doors sealed. It can’t be opened by force. Powerful magic on it.” Balin says and the dwarves hitting the door drop their weapons in tiredness and in disappointment. The sun disappears behind distant mountains.

“No!” Thorin cries as he stumbles forward and re-examines the old map, reading aloud. “The last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole. That’s what it says.” He holds his arms open is disbelief, the other dwarves mutter in disappointment and anger. “What did we miss?” Thorin walks up to Balin and repeats his question, earnestly and tearfully. “What did we miss, Balin?”

“We’ve lost the light. There’s no more to be done. We had but one chance.” Balin says and I feel tears sting my eyes at their loss. The dwarves bow their heads in despair and turn back toward the stairs. “Come away; it’s...it’s over.”

“Wait a minute!” Bilbo cries out as we watch them turn and head back down the stairs. “Where are they going? You can’t give up now!”

Bilbo looks beseechingly at Thorin, but Thorin turns away. He holds up his key and looks at it, then drops it to the ground, where it clatters.

“Thorin...you can’t give up now.” I say moving closer to him.

Thorin throws the map at Bilbo’s chest and walks past him. I give Bilbo an apologetic look as I quickly follow after Thorin.

“Thorin, I know how you must be feeling, but maybe Bilbo is right.”

“You know nothing of my pain.”

“Do I not?” I argue anger filling my voice. “You forget, I lost my home too. I will never ever be able to get it back.” Tears sting my eyes as I continue, “You have a chance, give Bilbo a chance to figure this out. please, do not give up.”

Thorin turns to face me and for a moment, and thanks to the stairs, he is taller than me. His deep blue eyes find mine and he looks broken.

“Thorin, you haven’t failed until you give up.” I close the distance taking his hands in mine. “Thorin, I care for you, and I want you to be happy. Turning around and leaving, will not make you happy.”

Thorin pulls his hands from mine and reaching up gently cups my face.

“I do not know if I can take anymore loss.” Thorin whispers and I lean into his touch.

“Thorin,” I start about to lay my secret bare. “There is something I’ve been hiding from you. Something you should know.”

“What is it?” He inquires.

Before I have a chance to tell him I hear Bilbo cry out.

“The keyhole! Come back! Come back! It’s the light of the moon, the last moon of autumn! Ha ha ha!”

Thorin’s eyes widen with newfound hope. We instantly turn and race back up the stairs. When we round the corner, Bilbo is looking frantically around on the ground in the clearing for the key, suddenly, his foot hits it and it goes flying from the clearing. Just before it falls off the side of the mountain, a boot steps on the string and stops it. It is Thorin. Bilbo sighs in relief. Thorin slowly reaches down and picks up the key, then examines it. The other dwarves step up beside him. They all smile in relief at Bilbo.

Thorin inserts the key into the keyhole and turns it; mechanisms are heard turning behind the rock. Thorin pushes the wall, and a previously unseen door opens into the mountain. The seams of the door were completely invisible earlier. The door opens into a tunnel going into the mountain. The dwarves look on it awe as Thorin stands on the threshold.

“Erebor.” Thorin breathes as he takes a step inside.

“Thorin…” Balin chokes up, and Thorin puts a hand on his shoulder.

“I know these walls…these walls, this stone. You remember it, Balin. Chambers filled with golden light.” As he says this, Thorin runs his hands over the walls, lost in memory. Balin steps into the tunnel.

“I remember.” Balin adds.

The rest of the Company slowly and reverently enters the mountain. Inside, Nori points at a carving in the wall above the door; it is of the throne of Erebor, with a bright jewel above it, sending out rays of light in all directions. Gloin reads aloud the inscription on the carving.

“Herein lies the seventh kingdom of Durin’s Folk. May the heart of the mountain unite all dwarves in defense of this home.”

Bilbo looks at the carving in interest and curiosity. Balin explains it to him. “The throne of the king.”

“Oh. And what’s that above it?” Bilbo asks.

“The Arkenstone.”

“Arkenstone… And what’s that?”

“That, Master Burglar, is why you are here.” Thorin concludes and my brow furrows. All the dwarves look at Bilbo, and he looks bewildered, but resolute.

“Wait, you’re making him go in alone?” I question making them all turn toward me.

“Bilbo knows what he’s doing.” Thorin exclaims.

“It a fucking dragon Thorin.” I argue my eyes widening slightly.

“It’s okay (Name), I can do this.” Bilbo interrupts and I shake my head.

I go to argue but he cuts me off with a smile. My stomach twists and turns as a bad feeling washes over me. Bilbo quietly walks through a large doorway and disappears into the mountain. I wait for a while but then I can’t take it anymore.

“I’m going after him.” I say as I start toward the entryway.

“No, you’ll stay here.” Thorin orders as he grabs my arm holding me back.

The ground starts to shake, and panic feels my body.

“Was that an earthquake?” Dori asks.

“That, my lad...was a dragon.” Balin answers and I furrow my brow.

I feel heat coming from the doorway and I turn to see an orange glow from the mountain coming through the door.

“What about Bilbo?” Ori asks and I clench my fists.

“Give him more time.” Thorin orders and I stare daggers at him.

“Time to do what? To be killed?” I argue angrily hating every second I cannot go to help Bilbo.

“You’re afraid.” Thorin retorts and I scoff shaking my head.

Balin steps in between us causing Thorin to turn toward him.

“I fear for YOU. A sickness lies upon that treasure hoard, a sickness that drove your grandfather mad.” Balin says making Thorin’s brow furrow.

“I am not my grandfather.”

“You’re not yourself. The Thorin I know would not hesitate to go in there-”

“I will not risk this quest for the life of one burglar.”

Balin looks at Thorin disgustedly.

“Bilbo.” I start disappointment in my eyes. “His name is Bilbo.”

Thorin looks contemplatively out into the night.

“I’m going, and you cannot stop me.” I say reaching up to pull his hand from my arm. “There is only one person here who can handle that dragon.” I pause fire filling my eyes. “And it’s me.”

Thorin snaps back to look at me, but I am already racing down the halls. I hear him call after me, but I don’t turn around. I follow the heat and flicker of orange light. After a few turns I make it to the grand hall. If I hadn’t grown up in a kingdom of golden castles the mass of gold would have stunned me to silence. There was so much gold, rivers of it flowed around the old emerald stone columns.

“You have been used, thief in the shadows. You were only ever a means to an end. The coward Oakenshield has weighed the value of your life and found it worth nothing.” I hear a deep voice speak and I turn to see a massive dragon. He was nothing like the stories Thor had told of the dragons he had killed.

“No. No. No, you’re lying!” I hear Bilbo cry out and I search for him. I find him below a pillar a white gem shining a few feet away from him.

“What did he promise you? A share of the treasure? As if it was his to give. I will not part with a single coin. Not one piece of it.”

Bilbo, hearing that Smaug is on top of the structure, seeks the Arkenstone lying a few feet away from the structure and makes a run for it. Smaug sees him and whips his tail, sending Bilbo, the Arkenstone, and gold flying. Bilbo tumbles and lands against a pillar.

“My teeth are swords! My claws are spears! My wings are a hurricane!”

As Smaug displays his wings, Bilbo notices a scale missing on the left side of Smaug’s chest. He whispers to himself.

“So, it is true. The black arrow found its mark.” Bilbo says and I narrow my eyes to try to follow his gaze.

“What did you say??” Smaug questions.

“Uh, uh, I was just saying your reputation precedes you, oh Smaug the tyrannical. Truly, you have no equal on this earth.”

As Bilbo speaks, he slowly backs up. He is standing in a bare, open spot, and Smaug faces him. As he finishes speaking, Bilbo looks down and sees the Arkenstone lying just a few feet from him, and he gazes at it.

“I am almost tempted to let you take it, if only to see Oakenshield suffer, watch it destroy him, watch it corrupt his heart and drive him mad.”

Bilbo and Smaug face off, Bilbo pants. Then Smaug begins to rear his head.

“But I think not. I think our little game ends here. So, tell me, thief, how do you choose to die?”

Right before Smaug’s head streaks forward I yell out, “Hey!”

Smaug’s head snaps towards me as a low rumble emanates from his throat.

“You…” Smaug pauses a low rumble in his voice. “I was told you were coming.” Smaug speaks his voice reverberating off the walls.

“Well, here I am.” I reply glancing out of the corner of my eyes to see Bilbo going after the Arkenstone.

“He’s been waiting for you.” Smaug adds and I narrow my eyes at him.

“Well, he can keep waiting. I want nothing to do with him.”

“Like you have a choice.” Smaug says as he inches closer to me.

“I choose my own destiny. I’m no one’s pawn.” I cry back as my skin starts to turn orange as fire emanates from within me. “I am the goddess of Elements. Daughter of Odin. Princess of Asgard. And you… you’re pissing me off.”

Smaug lets out a loud roar, dragon fire emanating from his throat as it passes around me. I smile as I feel nothing. His fire stops and his eyes fill with surprise.

“My turn.” I say reaching forward with my hand letting the fire of my soul flow from me like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

~~~~~~~~

Thorin races through the halls after (Name), he was a fool to let her follow Bilbo. He charges with his sword out through the tunnels and stops as flames light up the walls of the tunnel. He runs out onto the same overhang Bilbo had earlier reached, then stops abruptly when he sees the mountain of treasure all around him. He breathes heavily. Just then, Bilbo runs up to him.

“You’re alive!” Thorin cries out in surprise.

“Not for much longer!” Bilbo replies as he nears him.

“Where’s (Name)?!” Thorin questions making Bilbo pause.

“I don’t know, she was there one moment and then...” Bilbo looks away as he tries to find the right words to say.

They are both standing at the entrance to the tunnel, but Thorin is blocking Bilbo’s way. They pause and look at each other for several seconds, then Thorin speaks again, more quietly.

“Then what?” Thorin inquires his anger growing. “Where is she?!”

They stare at each other for several seconds, panting heavily.

“I don’t know. We have to get out. I’m sure she can take care of herself.”

Bilbo tries to enter the tunnel, but Thorin swings his sword across it, blocking the entrance. He presses the blade against Bilbo, and Bilbo stumbles back, the sword still touching him. Bilbo and Thorin face each other, with the tip of Thorin’s sword against Bilbo’s chest.

“Thorin. Thorin!” Bilbo cries out.

“I will not leave without (Name) and the Arkenstone.”

Thorin steps forward, forcing Bilbo to step back. Bilbo’s eyes are open in fear, and Thorin’s face is steel and blank of emotion. Suddenly, Bilbo looks off to the side, and Thorin hears a sound in that direction. He turns and sees Smaug approaching over the mountain of treasure. Smaug, recognizing Thorin, snarls. Suddenly, the remaining dwarves run out of the tunnel and face Smaug, their weapons out. Smaug roars and rushes at them; his chest and neck glow orange.

“You will burn!” Smaug cries out. Just as Smaug bellows fire at them, the dwarves and Bilbo turn and jump off the staircase. They tumble down the pile of treasure and land near the entrance to another tunnel, which they run into.

“Stay away from my friends!” Thorin hears (Name) shout and turns back to see her floating in the air.

He stares at her for a moment completely shocked at what he was now seeing.

“Thorin, Run!” She cries out as she puts herself between him and Smaug shielding him from the dragon fire.

Millions of thoughts started to race through his head. What was she? Why had she hidden this from him? Was she even who he thought she was? Whom he cared for? Who was she?

“Thorin, please, go!” she cries again as she turns to look at him her (E/C) eyes pleading with him to run.

“Not without you.” He replies making her brow furrow as sadness fills her eyes.

Shaking her head, she pushes him into a room right as angrily, Smaug breathes fire in all directions. Thorin, the last one in the door, is pushed in by the force of the flames. He runs into the room at the other end of the tunnel with the back of his coat on fire, and he throws himself on the ground and rolls to extinguish the flames. He jumps back up.

He glances back the way he had come confusion and panic on his face. Shaking his head, he pushes his concerns about (Name) away as he focuses on getting his kin and Bilbo to safety.

“Come on.” He calls as he starts to run forward. With Smaug roaring in the background fighting with (Name), they run.

~~~

I take a moment to hide from Smaug. My body was slowly starting to tire out. My chest heaved as my body ached from the sudden exertion of my powers. I stumble forward down a walkway as I try to find a place to take a break. Suddenly, there are footsteps. The dwarves emerge out of a tunnel and approach the stone bridge I am on. My eyes meet Thorin’s, and he instantly sneaks over to me and takes me in his arms.

“Are you alright?” He questions his hand reaching to tilt my chin up.

“I’m tired.” I answer honestly my body swaying.

“I have you.” He replies supporting me as best as he could.

“Where to now?” Bilbo whispers to Thorin.

“The western guardroom. There may be a way out.” Thorin replies escorting me forward.

“It’s too high. There’s no chance that way.” Balin counters shaking his head.

“It’s our only chance. We have to try.” Thorin concludes.

“I can distract him.” I offer making Thorin’s grip on my body tighten.

“No, you’ve done enough.”

Quietly, we tiptoe across the bridge, looking all about. Suddenly, a coin falls to the floor right in front of Bilbo and rings loudly. They all freeze and look at Bilbo, who frantically checks his jacket to see if some coin had been stuck in a fold. Hearing another coin fall, they look up and see Smaug crawling just above them, looking for them. He hasn’t seen them. The coins that fell came from his chest and arms, where several coins and gems have embedded themselves after years of him sleeping on them. Thorin motions for them to keep moving.

We stealthily make our way to the western guardroom. Stopping occasionally to hide from Smaug. Upon reaching the guardroom Thorin calls out, “Stay close.” They all stop abruptly when they see that the guardroom is full of rotted, dust- and cobweb-covered corpses. My hand shoots to my mouth as a shocked gasp escapes my lips.

“That’s it, then. There’s no way out.” Dwalin says but my eyes are focused on the mummified remains.

It seems like a landslide, or something; has blocked the exit, trapping the dwarves in the past in the room to die.

“The last of our kin. They must have come here, hoping beyond hope. We could try to reach the Mines. We might last a few days.” Balin suggests.

“No. I will not die like this. Cowering, clawing for breath. We make for the forges.” Thorin decides.

“He’ll see us, sure as death.” Dwalin adds helping me pull my eyes from the bodies to look at him.

“Not if we split up.” Thorin adds and I grimace at a sudden shot of pain in my side.

“Thorin, we’ll never make it.” Balin says hopelessness filling his face.

“Some of us might. Lead him to the forges. We kill the dragon. If this is to end in fire, then we will all burn together.” Thorin announces and I see the light return to his kin’s eyes.

“I can help.” I say pushing myself to my feet.

“You’re in no shape to fight.” Thorin rebuts but I shake my head.

“I can distract him; give you guys a clear shot to the forge.”

“I cannot ask that of you.” Thorin says softly as he leans down toward my ear.

“You don’t have too. I will protect you. All of you.” I conclude causing worry to fill his eyes. “There’s something I must tell you all.” I pause for a moment unsure of how telling them my secret would go. “Where I’m from there are people with gifts, I happen to be one of those few people. You might have noticed from before, but I can control the elements. Fire, water, earth, and air. All of it bends to my will.”

“That’s why Smaug’s fire didn’t harm you.” Bilbo breathes as he looks from the ground up to me.

“Fire cannot harm me. No matter how hot it is.” I add as I nod. “I’m sorry I waited this long to tell you all this. I just have a history of people reacting badly when I’ve told them.”

“I’m sorry you felt you had to hide this from us lass.” Dwalin says and I feel my heart lift in my chest.

I glance over to Thorin whose eyes are filled with deep thought and I gulp down a breath of air, “Let me do this. I can distract him long enough for you all to get where you need to be.”

Thorin nods and I give his arm a quick squeeze before I pull away from him and turning to our companions say, “Be careful.”

“Good luck lass.” Dwalin says and I nod.

Turning I head back the way we had come only to feel someone following behind me. I turn to see that it was Thorin.

“Thorin?”

“Don’t die, promise me, you won’t die.”

I open my mouth to argue but decide against it. I lean forward and placing a kiss on his cheek say, “I’ll be fine.”

Will Continue in Chapter 20

#berjhawn writes #berjhawn #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #marvel x reader #bucky x reader #the hobbit #hobbit #thorin oakenshield #Bucky x reader x thorin #thorin x reader x bucky #thorin fanfiction #Fanfiction #Angel on fire #berj #Marvel x reader x hobbit #Hobbit x reader x marvel #hobbit x reader x marvel

[lathalea]

Springtime at the Lonely Mountain, ch 45

Springtime at the Lonely Mountain, Chapter 45: The Ambush

Summary:  A story about young-and-not-yet-brooding (well, not much, at least) prince Thorin and his beloved dwarf maiden, Ása. It is set sometime before Smaug’s attack. Have you ever wondered what could have happened if Thorin met the love of his life before succumbing to the Dragon Sickness? Well, then you’re in the right place!

Warnings for this chapter: More or less detailed descriptions of multiple physical confrontations in hand-to-hand combat; descriptions of several rather sudden demises and flesh wounds. Yes, this is the fight with the Orcs. Grab your axes! Dû Bekar!

Rating for the whole story: Mature/Explicit

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x OC, Dwalin x OC (if you squint)

Read the whole story here on AO3.

* * *

A strong feeling of unease kept gnawing at Thorin since the moment they rode into the secluded forest valley. The steep-sloped surroundings looked peaceful — as if engulfed in an enchanted slumber. The gnarled, mossy hardwood trees growing on both sides of the gorge seemed to be shrouded in an almost tangible silence. The only sounds that disturbed the eerie atmosphere came from Bofur and Bombur engrossed in their usual bickering.

The dapple grey ponies went on steadily, patiently pulling the wagon behind them, but Thorin couldn’t shake off the sense of unease crawling under his skin. He looked around. The twin forests along the trail overshadowed the area, completely unmoving. Even the lush, dark green leaves were completely still, forgotten by the late afternoon wind.

Suddenly, Thorin’s ears picked up a loud rustling noise coming from among the trees on his left, and then a swooshing sound cut through the air. In a blink of an eye, a single, massive tree trunk fell ahead of the ponies with a thud, making the ground shake, blocking the trail. The ponies gave out an ear-splitting neigh, the whites of their eyes flashing in terror as they danced on their hind legs. Thorin tried to rein them in with Bombur’s help when something stirred in the corner of his eye. There was something in the forest. Or someone. Several someones, to be precise.  Moving fast between the trees. The prince let Bombur take over the reins. Thorin’s hand was already resting on the hilt of his sword when he heard Bifur shout something from behind. Dark shapes, many of them, were rushing down the slope towards them. This was an ambush.

“ORCS!” he roared at the top of his lungs and then addressed Bombur. “Turn around the wagon if you can and get out of here. Don’t spare the horses.” 

With these words, Thorin jumped down to the ground and ran towards the approaching enemy. They had to be intercepted before they reached the wagon. And Ása inside it.

“Couldn’t they have waited until after supper?” Bifur appeared by his side, spitting a very savoury curse in Khuzdul, his impressive spear in his hands.

“Let us make sure the Orcs are not going to live that long,” Thorin responded and lunged at the nearest Orc, knowing very well that they were outnumbered. This did not matter at the moment. Efficiency did. Each slash of his sword hit its target. The Deathless was a worthy blade made by the best weaponsmiths of Erebor and it served Thorin well since he reached battle age. The prince hoped that his weapon would keep the death away from them all for as long as he held Deathless in his hand. Now, he needed to buy time for his companions. For Ása. Mahal, keep her safe! The Orc filth would not lay even a finger on his wife, he would make sure of it. 

Another slash. And another. A growling Orc looked at a stump of his own arm in surprise and fell to the ground as his head rolled down his shoulders. A burly creature nearby was pierced by Bifur’s boar spear and stumbled, making a gurgling sound. One by one, the enemies were falling around them like trees in a windstorm. 

Parry. Lunge. Thorin’s well-trained body moved with great precision. Attack. Dodge. The Orcs were swarming around them. Feint. Block. Riposte. Counter-attack. He reminded himself to conserve his strength. New enemies were continuously coming out from the forest, their deformed faces contorted in menacing grimaces. The dark blades of their weapons seemed to devour the dying light of the day. 

A quick glance back told him that Bombur had a very slim chance of succeeding with maneuvering the wagon. The ponies were too terrified to obey him and kept trying to bolt, only Bombur’s strength kept them in place. His brother, Bofur, was running towards Thorin with his mattock and soon joined him and Bifur in the fray.

“Ása?” the prince asked quickly, piercing a staggering orc with his blade.

“Safe with Bombur,” Bofur responded in a reassuring tone of voice. Thorin had yet to see the red-haired Dwarf’s skill in battle, he hoped however that this declaration meant that she was in good hands. The thought of her sitting inside the wagon, hidden behind a flour sack and terrified by the noises of the battle made him attack the Orc filth with doubled strength. He imagined her petrified face, her eyes widened in horror, and her pale, trembling lips. She must not be harmed. He would keep her safe until his last breath and beyond. As fresh air filled Thorin’s lungs, he charged at the nearest group of his enemies, determined to take down as many of them as he could. 

The prince immediately focused on the filthy creatures charging at him. One of them was much taller than him and held a strangely curved, rusty blade. The second Orc had a spiked mace in his meaty paws and lacked an ear. The third one was not as impressive as his companions, but he was armed with two broadaxes. An ugly scar slashed his face in two, claiming one of his eyes. All three of them met the same fate, their blood dripping from Thorin’s sword, sinking into the dry soil. The fourth one found quick demise from Bofur’s accurate blows, bludgeoned mercilessly. Who would have thought that a mattock could be such a terrifying weapon? Somewhere nearby, Bifur kept shouting the most obscene curses Thorin had ever heard with every fierce attack he performed, piercing enemies left and right, more and more of them avoiding the reach of his spear. Thorin grinned. It seemed that the Ered Luin dwarves knew how to fight. It would be a privilege to enter the halls of his forefathers with such warriors by his side. His sword traced deadly patterns in the air, spilling dark Orc blood, while the blood still flowing in his veins sang an ancient battle song. 

“Thorin, they are breaking through!” Bofur warned. Another wave of bloodthirsty Orcs attacked, but there were too many of them. Several of the enemies were already running towards the wagon. 

“Bombur, protect Ása!” the prince shouted, turning to follow them, but a large Orc sporting enormous fangs blocked his way. He wore a pointy helmet and some kind of makeshift chainmail with spiked pauldrons covered his body. The cruddy creature’s bearing suggested that he was not just a regular footsoldier, but someone more important. Several raspy words in Black Speech left the Orc’s mouth as he swung his deadly weapon, the morning star, at the prince. Only Thorin’s swiftness prevented him from being hit. He growled. The ‘Orc Captain’, as he called him, was now standing between him and his One. A wave of fury took over Thorin as he struck a series of heavy blows. Once again Deathless proved to be a reliable weapon, but the enemy, clearly a seasoned warrior, parried most of his attacks. 

From time to time, the prince caught glimpses of Bombur fighting off the nearest enemies by the wagon, his rapid movements blurred into long streaks. A spark of hope ignited in the prince’s heart. Perhaps Ása still had a chance to escape, before the Orcs would reach the wagon.

That was when the Orc Captain’s spiked morning star finally reached him, but Thorin was fast enough to cover himself with his shield. A sharp pang of pain shot through the prince’s body, making him sway. Glancing at his left forearm, he noticed that his shield was completely shattered. 

Bifur appeared in front of him out of nowhere and started mercilessly attacking the huge Orc in an attempt to draw him away from Thorin. The prince clenched his teeth, ignoring the pain in his arm, and joined his companion, attacking with doubled fervour. His sword was just about to pierce the enemy when a gangly Orc jumped in and blocked his attack, an axe and buckler in his paws. At the same time, Bifur’s jagged spear reached the Orc Captain’s arm, tearing through his flesh. The huge Orc howled in pain and recoiled, dropping his morning star. Thorin lunged at him, seeing his chance, but once again his gangly opponent blocked him, forcing the dwarven prince to retarget his attacks. The disarmed Orc Captain grabbed Bifur’s spear, hit him with its shaft with a force that made Bifur fall and threw the weapon far away from his reach.

“BIFUR!” Bofur shouted from his right flank, fending off the attacking Orcs one by one, trying with all his might to reach his cousin before it was too late.

Thorin knew he was already too late when the gangly Orc’s lifeless body slumped down onto the grass in front of him. He was much too late when the Orc Captain grabbed an abandoned battleaxe from the ground and delivered a deadly blow at Bifur’s head, the axe’s shaft cracking in half. The prince could only watch when Bifur’s body fell to the ground like a lifeless rag doll. Bofur’s scream rang in his ears.

With a battle cry on his lips, Thorin assaulted the Orc Captain, his mind livid, focused only on avenging his comrade, the Deathless becoming one with his arm, aiming flawlessly at the most vulnerable places on the Orc’s body. The inner side of his thigh. The pulsing vein on his neck. The small but clearly visible piece of Orc flesh between the pauldron and the filthy, torn gambeson. The Orc Captain’s surprised blood-shot eyes when he lay on the ground, life quickly escaping him along with dark rivulets of blood spilling onto the ground.

And then something whooshed next to Thorin’s ear. Someone whinged behind him. He whipped his head back and saw a large group of Orcs approaching him. The closest one was about to strike but instead made a gurgling sound and hit the ground, a dwarven arrow sticking out of his throat. Thorin’s eyes widened in disbelief. Another whoosh, another arrow. It missed its target, but his sword quickly remedied that, an Orc fell at his feet. The next arrow hit an enemy nearby. He silenced the creature’s shrieks of pain with one swift move of his blade. At that point, he was able to spare a moment and trace back the arrows towards the direction of the wagon. Ása! She stood on the wagon with the halo of her golden hair around her head, firmly holding a bow in her hands, sending yet another arrow towards their enemies.

“Bunnelê…” he murmured to himself in surprise and attacked the enemy with a half-smile on his lips. She was indeed his treasure of treasures. 

He had to do everything he could to slow down the incoming Orcs, knowing that Bombur was still engaged with the group of enemies in the vicinity of the wagon. Thorin was about to grab a shield in place of his shattered one but the dull pain in his left arm reminded him that it was not possible. No matter, his right arm still worked well. He had enemies to decimate, his fallen companion to avenge and his One to protect.

A red haze of battle frenzy enveloped him completely and Thorin lost track of time. Orcs were everywhere; Orcs pressed forward; Orcs swung their weapons; Orcs shrieked in pain; Orcs leapt at him; Orcs surrounded him; Orcs spat filthy words, attacking him continuously. Some of them tried to circumvent both him and Bofur who now fought beside him, but the prince would lunge at them, and pierce, and maim, and attack again. His chest heaved, sweat covered his forehead, but he was unstoppable now. Mahal gave him strength, Deathless greedily drank Orc blood, demanding more. His enemies fell to the ground one by one run through by his sword, while several more were struck down by arrows sent by a slender-fingered hand he adored so much. Thorin didn’t know when Bombur joined his side, fighting as ferociously as Bofur whose mattock turned into an instrument of sudden death. Neither did Thorin know when his fingers on the grip of his sword became sticky and slick with blood nor whether the blood belonged to his enemies or to him. The only certain thought that filled his battle-fevered mind was that there were more Orcs than them and the dwarves’ strength was wavering. Bofur’s cry in pain came as a surprise. Orcs surrounded them even though Ása’s arrows flew through the air, finding a target after a target. As Bombur swiftly turned to help his brother, the rain of arrows suddenly stopped. Thorin clearly saw how she reached behind her and froze. A cold wave of apprehension rushed through him. Her quiver was empty. 

“Ása! RUN!” he yelled, blocking an attack. At the same time, the blade of his sword sent sparks flying into the air as it clashed with the Orc falchion. Ása, his One, his true love. He caught a glimpse of her jumping off the wagon. She needed to escape, to run away as fast as she could, to save herself while he held the rabid Orcs at bay. Thorin’s heart clenched at the thought that he would not hold her in his arms again under the boundless sky of Arda. He would not feel her tender caresses ever again, nor dance with her, nor laugh, nor will he spend his life with her by his side until the end of their days. He would not know how it would be to wake up to her smile every day and fall asleep with her in his arms every night, to share both the joys and miseries of existence with his Azyungal. Nevertheless, he was ready to pay this price for her safety. If he prolonged the fight just a little while longer, Ása would survive. She would disappear in the forest without a trace, she knew how to survive there, he reassured himself. Soon after, he would cross over into the halls of his forefathers and patiently wait for her until Mahal decided it was time for her to join him. Thorin would make a plea to the all-seeing stars to watch over Ása for as long as she lived until her golden hair turned silver and her last breath escaped her lungs. Only then he would welcome her by his side and only then they would spend an eternity together, finally united after death. But until then... Mahal, save her from harm.

His silent prayers were interrupted by Bombur’s words. “It is an honor,” the surprisingly fierce red-haired warrior gasped as he slashed an enemy through his chest, “to have fought,” he added, parrying an attack with his mace, “beside you,” he crushed an Orc skull with these words.

“Aye, lads, an honor it is,” Bofur chimed in a strained voice, his face pale, his tunic bloodied, but he still fought relentlessly. “Bifur will give us a royal welcome on the other side.”

The price swerved and launched a deadly blow at yet another Orc.

“The honor is mine,” Thorin spoke solemnly, “May Mahal ensure our honourable passing into the halls of our forefathers.”

The battle raged on. They were not going to survive.

Suddenly, a deafening roar preceded by a terrified yell from Orcish throats reached Thorin. Multiple ripples shot through the ground somewhere ahead of him, as if a herd of angry mountain goats stampeded towards him… or was it perhaps one very, very large buck?

Something tore through the Orc ranks like a sudden hurricane through a forest. They bolted in panic, escaping as fast as they could in all the possible directions, deserting the battlefield. 

And then Thorin saw it. He blinked in bewilderment. 

“By Mahal’s beard, what is that?!” exclaimed Bofur, not expecting an answer. 

Thorin looked ahead once more. Perhaps he was losing his mind. Or perhaps he had already moved on to the afterworld and this was a vision sent to him by the merciful Mahal.

Deadly streaks of black fur. Lightning-fast movements. Petrifying roars. Long, sharp claws ripping the Orc flesh left and right. A pair of glowing eyes, burning with rage. Massive jaws. Pointed fangs, white as the snows of Erebor. 

Thorin had never before seen such an enormous beast. It rushed through the Orcs as swiftly as a knife through butter, leaving no survivors behind. Observing the enormous creature wreaking havoc among the Orcs, Thorin cast a quick glance at his companions. 

Limping slightly, Bofur approached Bombur, trying to help him stand up. Thorin didn’t know when the rotund dwarf had fallen, but he joined in their efforts at once. The beast would soon reach them and they needed to be prepared. Soon, all three of them were on their feet and Thorin was met with Bombur’s confused gaze, his face speckled with blood.

“Is this beast sent by Mahal himself?” his red-haired companion asked, taking in the sight in front of him.

The Orcs were dead, their bodies littered the ground. Silence reigned in the gorge once again, the trees as unmoving as they had been before. The beast lifted its massive head, purposefully smelling the air and emitting a long growl. Its eyes rested on Thorin, Bofur and Bombur, the only living beings standing in its vicinity.

It roared loudly, presenting all of its sharp teeth at the dwarves, its huge body towering above them.

All three of them grabbed their weapons firmly, preparing themselves for its imminent attack.

A faint smell of lavender filled Thorin’s nostrils. Before he understood what was happening, Ása passed by him, her pace fast and steady. She gave him a soft smile, and faced the feral beast in front of them. The prince was about to reach out, pull her behind him and face the vile beast’s anger himself when she spoke in the lightest possible tone of voice.

“Good afternoon, Master Bear! How are you faring today?”

***

“Ása! No!” Ása heard Thorin’s raspy voice. She turned to him and smiled, trying to make his frown go away.

“All is well, Mizim. He saved my life once before,” she explained.

The beast sniffed at her and gave out a rumbling purr as his flickering grey eyes rested on her, the first sign of his subsiding battle rage.

“Please do not harm them, Master Bear. They are my dear companions,” she gestured towards the three dwarves behind her. He growled as his gaze rested on them, but there was no threat in the sounds he made. Then, the enormous bear shifted his attention to her and snuffed again, his black nose moving, taking in the smell. Something very akin to a questioning look flickered in his grey eyes.

“I am unharmed, Master Bear. And what about you? Do you have any wounds I should attend to?”

The beast dismissed her question with a decisive snort. She wondered whether the wound he received fighting with Zohur and his Orcs was still troubling him. After a few moments, the beast turned to the battlefield behind him and gave out a triumphant roar.

“Thank you for defeating them and coming to our rescue,” Ása added, hearing only a long, acknowledging purr in response. It seemed that something else caught the giant bear’s attention. He started striding through the area, stopping from time to time and sniffling at the air, as if searching for something.

A pair of strong arms twirled her around and pulled her towards a very familiar broad chest.

“Thorin!” she mumbled, wrapping her arms around his chest, her face pressed into his tunic, feeling the furnace-like warmth beneath it. He smelled of blood and iron, leather and woodsmoke, a warrior after a battle, and he was so close and alive. His chest rose and fell as he slowly exhaled. She noticed that the tension in his muscles slightly lessened. The dread that had filled her heart throughout the battle as she watched him facing the Orcs was slowly diminishing as well.

“Are you wounded?” she lifted her head to meet his gaze. There was dirt on his face, and some dried blood, his hair caked with dirt and sweat, his grime-streaked beard braid almost untangled, the silver bead gone, but his azure eyes burned brightly, resting at her face.

Before she managed to pry an answer out of him, his mouth found their way to hers, crushing them in a fierce kiss, as if he was a drowning man who suddenly found his way to the surface, gulping for life-giving air, demanding her closeness, her caresses, tasting her lips gently, as if to check that she was really there, and then devouring them once again, insatiable, unstoppable. She gasped softly into his mouth, her body yielding to his, blood rushing through her veins in elation, and she clung to him, responding to his ministrations with equal fervour. Yes, he was truly alive, and they survived the encounter with Orcs. She trembled, the strain of the battle slowly manifesting itself. Thorin’s right hand cupped her cheek as he rested his forehead against hers.

“Ása, my sweet Ása,” he murmured huskily, placing a small, feather-light kiss on the top of her nose, and on her cheek, on her eyelid, her forehead, her jaw, and then on her other cheek, raining her with affection, glancing at her time and again, emotion splashing in his eyes.

“I’m here, Thorin, with you,” she threw her arms around him, her eyes filling with happy tears as he pulled her closer to him in a tight embrace, nuzzling the top of her head. There was no other place in the world she would rather be.

“No! Leave him alone, you beast!” Bofur’s desperate cry made them both turn towards the source of the ruckus.

Bombur was sitting on the ground, shedding rivulets of tears clearly visible on his dirt-streaked face. He held his cousin’s bloodied head on his lap, his face unnaturally pale. Ása gasped. There was an axe head wedged into Bifur’s head, just above his forehead, sticking out of his black hair.

At the same time, Bofur was trying to drive the giant bear away. The beast’s snout was gently pushing into Bifur’s side as if trying to move his limp body. 

“Leave him be, I say! Let us give him a warrior’s burial in peace!” Bofur shouted, waving his hands in front of the bear’s eyes as if to shoo him away. The beast only huffed and emitted a short growl, baring his teeth.

Without thinking, Ása let Thorin go and ran towards them, hearing his hastened footsteps behind her.

“Let me talk to him, Bofur,” she started and then turned to the gigantic animal, his dark fur glistening in the setting sun.

“What is it, Master Bear?” she approached the huffing beast. When the huge bear met her gaze, she noticed that his eyes were as grey as riverbed stones and just as still. Only his broad forehead remained furrowed. Master Bear’s busy nose moved towards Bifur’s body, snuffing at it. It hovered over the dwarf’s unmoving face, prodded it gently, and then his eyes rested on her face once again, as if he was trying to convey an important message to her.

“What does he want?” Bombur asked wide-eyed.

“He is trying to tell us something,” she spoke as if to herself.

Immediately, she kneeled beside Bifur, her fingers resting on the side of his neck. Nothing. His skin was cool under her touch. In the corner of her eye, she noticed Bofur standing beside his brother, suddenly speechless, his eyes set on her hands, his head bare, his hat rumpled in his nervously moving hands.

“I need a clean blade,” she continued her examination. 

Joining her, Thorin presented her with his sword, its pommel towards her. Ása took a deep breath. She had to do this. Trying to control her shaking hands, she carefully moved it under Bifur’s nose. A few long heartbeats passed uneventfully in total silence, and then something fogged the silver surface of the blade. 

“Mahal...” Thorin sucked in a breath. 

“He’s breathing!” Bombur exclaimed.

“What are you saying?!” demanded Bofur, falling on his knees by his cousin's unmoving body.

“Bifur is still alive,” Ása spoke in disbelief, her words accompanied by Master Bear’s approving growl.

* * *

The Tiny Khuzdul Dictionary: Bunnelê - my treasure of all treasures Azyungal - lover, meaning here: The One Amrâlimê - my love

Like it? Reblog it! Thanks! ☺️

#springtime at the lonely mountain #the hobbit #dwarves #khuzdul #Thorin Oakenshield #thorin fic #thorin #thorin x oc #the hobbit au #romance ff #bofur #bifur #bombur #thorin fanfiction #ever wondered how bifur got the axe in his head #now you know

[touchingoldmagic]

Day 12 - Epic Moment

Day 12 of the 30 Day Ghostbusters Challenge! 

Author’s Notes: In the spirit of IDW adapting some ghosts from The Real Ghostbusters into their storylines, I couldn't miss the chance to include a dragon in the comic'verse.

"Well there's something you don't see every day."

Peter slowly drew his thrower as the shadow of the large green dragon passed right over their heads. If their arrival in Ecto hadn't alerted it to their presence, probably no other sudden movements would, but he didn't particularly want to take the chance.

"Wow!" Ray said, head craned back to look. "It's gotta be at least twenty feet long!"

"Closer to twenty-five," Egon opined, likewise pulling his thrower.

All four men watched the reptilian creature warily, but it only continued its slow circle above them. Even from a distance its large yellow eyes were visible, but the elevation made it hard to tell if it was watching them or not.

The Ghostbusters had arrived at a construction site in the picturesque Massachusetts countryside. The road curved steeply up around the hillside, a guardrail the only thing between the road and a steep drop down to the valley below. At the top of the hill a home was being built. Currently only the foundation had been laid, outlining what would eventually be a very large manor.

"So someone was building a house and the local fire-breather took offense?" Peter wondered drolly.

Winston shot him a look. "Man, we went over it on the drive up, you'd know if you didn't fall asleep."

Peter shrugged, unconcerned. "It was a long drive."

"The construction workers unearthed what they claim looks like ancient pottery," Ray explained. "Inevitably they broke it when they were trying to clear it out, and once that happened, the dragon and multiple other entities appeared and construction was halted. They said they put it all--oh, over there, I'll bet." He spotted a pile of pale debris under a tree on the edge of the property. Egon was already heading in that direction, PKE meter out.

As if it were a choreographed act, as soon as the two scientists approached the pile, at least a dozen vapor-like ghosts burst from the trees and descended toward them together.

Two proton streams shot out from Winston and Peter, who were used to hanging back and providing cover fire for their science-minded teammates, but the spirits were agile as silk ribbons (and fairly resembled them as well). They curled and dodged around the proton streams, scattering through the air.

"Aren't they usually a little more groggy when they just wake up?" Winston grumbled.

"Took us a couple hours to drive out here," Ray called back. "They must be quick learners."

"Great," sighed Winston.

The swam of ghosts were all similar in appearance. Very elongated, thin and flat like streamers, mostly sickly pink or green or yellow in color. Like banners they floated and waved in the breeze, but they had definitely identified the Ghostbusters as a threat and were arranging themselves to dive down again.

"Here they come!" Winston barked out in warning. Ray had pulled his thrower to help provide cover. Egon, kneeling at the base of the tree, ignored all of them in favor of studying what he found there.

Peter spared a glance away from the swarm, keeping an eye on the dragon to see if all the sudden action had spurred it to change its pattern. It was still circling; maybe it had gotten a little closer, it was hard to tell.

Taking advantage of his distraction, one of the spirits swooped down and slammed into the psychologist. It knocked him off balance and then, apparently inspired by the action, picked him up in a surprising show of strength and chucked him straight at the guardrail on the side of the road.

It all happened too fast for the Ghostbusters to react. In the time it took to gather breath to shout, Peter was over the edge and gone from view.

Ray's mind froze in horror. He didn't remember moving, but suddenly he was there at the edge of the road, clutching the metal railing and calling Peter's name. Winston stood beside him, and the pounding footsteps of Egon were coming up behind him.

Then a strong rush of wind caused all three to shield their faces, and a shadow blotted out the afternoon sun.

When Ray could see again he immediately looked upward, following the feel of the wind as it had rushed by. The dragon was climbing higher skyward, wings pumping steadily, and Peter clung to the stiff ridges that ran along its spine between its shoulders.

"Oh good, he's... riding the dragon." Winston's deadpan voice might have wobbled a little at the end.

Ray whooped in relief, both hands in triumphant fists over his head. "Go, Venkman!"

"Get me down from here, brainiac!" Peter screamed back at him.

Egon had reached them at the guardrail by the time the dragon made a graceful arch in the air and glided down toward them, wings extended. It looked like a paper airplane coming in to land. A twenty-five foot paper airplane.

"Hey, looks like he's on our side," Ray said with a grin.

"Or maybe he tried to make Pete a snack and just has really bad aim," Winston pointed out. "What happened to the ghosts?"

"They retreated when we vacated the immediate area they’ve claimed," Egon said, indicating the trees behind them with the hand still holding his PKE meter. The other hand held the largest shard of pottery he had been able to reclaim from the pile. "I believe this explains it. These are the Roman characters for Genius Loci, a benevolent spirit usually bound to a certain place to protect it. The soil I found inside the pottery was most likely from the location the Loci had been protecting. I believe the dragon spirit was purposely bound to the artifacts to help guard against the release of the more aggressive ghosts, and all were set free when they were broken."

In the time it took for Egon to give his conclusion, the dragon had landed. The wind it stirred up was considerable. Not as bad as a helicopter, but Egon had to raise his voice to be heard clearly, and all three of them held up a hand to shield their eyes.

Despite its great size, the dragon pulled in its wings and landed in the road beside Ecto with a dainty little dip, displaying its grace even in the way it curled its tail to avoid striking their vehicle. Peter was still perched on its tall back, clinging to its dark green spines in a death grip. His boots were several feet above the heads of his teammates.

"Hey Pete, Elliot giving you any trouble?" Winston asked innocently.

"Better be respectful, Winston. He could set you on fire." Peter eyed the ground, debating if he could jump down from the creature's back without twisting an ankle. He wanted both feet back on solid ground, immediately or sooner.

Apparently the intelligence of the dragon was enough that it understood the issue. Before Peter could make a move to disembark, its pointed teeth gently closed on the top of Peter's pack and it lifted him down to the ground.

Taken by surprise, Peter squawked with hands flailing, until his boots touched the ground. Then he coughed and tried to reclaim his dignity. The dragon released him and drew its head back, neck arched like a jade-green swan.

"Huh. Yeah, thanks, Smaug." Peter craned his neck to check his pack for monster teeth-sized punctures, then made a face. Dragon slobber smelled just as bad as slime.

"But Peter,” Ray said, “he's completely the wrong color for Smaug."

Peter gave Ray a look.

#ghostbusters #ghostbusters fanfiction #ghostbusters fanfic #ghostbusters comics #ghostbusters idw #idw comics #peter venkman #ray stantz #winston zeddemore #egon spengler #genius loci #dragon #ghostbusters 30 day challenge

[extendedtkwrtrilogyend]

Chapter XXIX: (EXT) The Departure to Mithlond

“The afternoon before I was to leave, I found Thûlë in the gardens with Eärluin and Auríel showing them things sleight of hand. They were so taken by the magic neither of them noticed I was there.

“Thûlë,” I said. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

“Yes, of course,” he said. “Stay right there, I will return.”

The girls clapped and spoke among themselves as Thûlë walked with me a short distance.

“What is it, Thranduil,” he asked.

“We are leaving at the fall of twilight tomorrow,” I began.

“You have decided to make the journey,” he said smiling.

“Yes,” I stammered. “Is it far?”

“Mithlond,” he asked. “Well, it will take some time to get there.”

“No, I meant, Aman.”

His eyes seemed to dance at the sound of that and he smiled.

“I cannot say,” he began. “For the journey is different for everyone. Like everything in this world, that world is very much the same.”

“It is the same,” I pondered. “How so?”

“It exists.”

I could tell by his face that I was as dumbfounded as I thought.

“Thranduil,” he began gingerly. “For as long as I have lived and for all that I have seen the only thing I have seen once was what I have always seen. Every day of your life you saw the same thing without realizing that each day everything changed. Nothing in this world or the next remains the same. Forever can last a moment and a moment forever. Immortality is the art of living as long as one can to do what one will in a world that changes right before our eyes. We do not see it change because we are living.”

With that, he left me thinking about what he said as he returned to perform for Eärluin and Auríel. I made my way back into the palace in a fog of comprehension. I thought all day and into the night—I barely ate a thing at dinner and sound did not seem to permeate my thoughts. 

Finally, when all had fallen silent, I realized I was alone at the table of the dining hall. I made my way to my chambers. Êlúriel was in her night gown standing at my mirror combing her hair.

“Thranduil, are you ill,” she asked. “You have been acting strangely all day.”

“I was just thinking,” I said.

“About what,” she asked putting her comb away. “Have you changed your mind about leaving?”

“No,” I said, pulling her close to me. “I do not want to live anywhere you are not. Not in life nor in death.”

“What has changed you this night,” she asked smiling.

“Nothing has changed,” I said, kissing her lips. “But nothing is the same except my love for you.”

She took my hand and led me to our bed where we spent our last night together for what would be one moment in forever I would never forget.

As night began to fall the following evening, I mounted my horse and paused for a moment. Êlúriel sat patiently upon her horse quietly as did the rest of our family. We were leaving this world never to return. Even as there had been pain, there were countless joys.

“Shall we begin,” Thûlë asked.

I nodded and for the last time, I motioned to lead my kingdom to Mithlond. The night started to unveil the stars that shone down from cloudless skies. The journey that have began our ancestors would end with us. I had only learned that we were the last of our kin to depart for Aman.

As we rode throughout the night, I could not help but to notice the world I was born into in a light far different that I could remember. The Misty Mountains seemed far greater beneath the stars as their peaks seemed to touch the heavens above them.

Through forests and across hills through valleys, our journey seemed to leave the younger of our elves spellbound. I had not known the world beyond the Rhovanion until I left for war. To see as I left it seemed disappointing as it was as beautiful as Eryn Lasgalen.

On the last night before we were to reach Mithlond, several elves took our horses to set them free. We would walk the rest of the way into the port. It took some time to console Tárimë as her horse was a gift from me.

I walked a distance from camp watching the sun slowly disappear beneath the horizon. I wondered how life would be in Aman. I thought of how much time had passed since I had seen my mother.

“Forever has never been so close as it is now,” Elranduil said as he approached. “Just over that horizon is where it lies.”

“Are you afraid,” I asked. “To go beyond this world we have only heard about in elven lore. How do we know there is anything out there waiting for us? What if nothing is there and we came so far for nought?”

“Why would you think such a thing,” he asked. “Of course there is something out there beyond the sea. Thûlë came from there, remember. You think we came all this way to fall off the edge of the Earth?”

“Of course not, Elranduil,” I said nervously. “What if what is out there is not the paradise we were told it was?”

“Even now, you are still awaiting something that will never be or never was as father would say.”

“Why are you so sure of what is there,” I asked.

“Why are you so afraid of what is there,” he asked.

I thought about his words for a moment. What was I afraid of? The unknown, perhaps. Fear of looking back and seeing my existence turned to fable told by humans to put their children to sleep. 

What would become of the kingdom we left behind as the years would turn it to nothing more than relics of a world long since past. Worse, it could be lost as it faded into nature and swallowed by the earth to never be discovered.

“There will be nothing of us left, Elranduil,” I said. “Nothing we have done through the centuries will exist no more. We will be forgotten as if we never lived.”

“Not a creature in this world that ever lived was left forgotten,” he said. “They become part of an endless tale that is told and retold from one generation to the next. For each generation there is added shadings and what have you, but underneath the myth lies a grain of truth. That is what will be remembered.”

I must have had a look of wonderment because Elranduil had a great smile on his face.

“When did you become so wise?”

“I always have been wise,” he said. “You never listen to me.”

“For good reason quite often,” I answered.

“Thranduil, whatever lies beyond the horizon you will not be going there alone,” he said. “All of us will see what you will see. For better or worse, we will be together.”

I knew he was right. I always wondered about the unknown whether in fear or curiosity. Now, I would face it myself.

**** **** **** ****

When dawn came, everyone followed Thûlë the rest of the way to Mithlond. The closer we came, the more anxious I became. Once we entered the city, the sun had not yet started its descent. There was one grand ship—large enough for everyone. Tarthôn smiled when he saw it.

“I am looking forward to going home,” he said.

I said nothing as elves began to board. I began to look around Mithlond. The grand halls were empty—not a soul was left. We were truly the last to leave this world.

“You are looking for me, are you not,” a voice asked. I turned to see Êlenuil. “I was,” I said. “You have kept your word.”

“I have but I also wanted to see if you would come with us,” he said.

“You thought I would stay behind,” I asked.

“Most everyone thought as much,” he said. “But I see Êlúriel has convinced you to come.” 

“Time convinced me,” I began. “I have nothing but time and those I love to spend it with. Eryn Galen is in my heart where it will never leave. I have forever to remember all that it was to me.”

“So it is the same with Súlelenth,” he said. “She is where she always has been since the day we met.”

“Your children are on board,” I said. “As well as the rest of your family. Shall we go?”

Êlenuil nodded and we walked on board together. Êlúriel stood looking at me. She kissed me.

“Let us go,” she said.

I smiled and helped her on to the ship and stepped in after. When the bridge was raised and the sails unfurled in the gentle breeze, the ship slowly began it’s journey toward the setting sun into eternity.”––TKWR:BII The Saga of Thranduil (EXT. VER.) by J. Marie Miller 12-22-17

**END OF BOOK II**

Images: ©2012, 2013, 2014. Warner Brothers Pictures. The Hobbit: The Unexpected Journey, The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug, The Hobbit: Battle of the Five Armies. All Rights Reserved.

#the end of book ii #tkwr trilogy #the kingdom of the woodland realm trilogy #the extended version of book ii #sailing into the west #thranduil and eluriel #the greatest love of thranduil #the heart of mirkwood #thranduil #tolkien fan fiction #in honor of jrr tolkien #mithlond #gray havens #tolkien elves

[niteowlnest]

The Service of Hobbits

Hey, ya’ll! So I made a thing: my first Hobbit fanfiction. It’s a Thorin x OC fic.

This is a PREVIEW of it, but the story is now available on AO3 here. 

Updates are on Tuesday and Fridays!

Give me some constructive criticism about it. Thanks, guys!

       The battle was vicious, foul, and a completely unnecessary waste of precious life. Across the valley floor shaded by the tall canyon cliffs reaching to the cloudy sky, hundreds of bodies rested where they fell. A full day had passed since the heat of the battle began to cool, and the majority of the carnage was made up by the orcs and their filthy ilk. The dwarves that previously lay with them were mostly gone, but some were still scattered about like dandelions.

        Coronilla Houndberry mourned deeply for the lost souls as she surveyed the aftermath from the edge of a plateau. An old tale came to mind, one she was privy to so many times in the past when frequenting taverns with dwarves. Moria. Azanulbizar, she heard more often. A legendary day for the Khazad, but among the greatest tragedies in their history. Such death there, and here.

        Tossing her fur hat back onto her head, the young hobbit began her descent into a winding trench cutting through the side of the canyon, seeking to help the few still standing upon the battlefield to search for more survivors. A disappointing task as each lifeless body drained hope little by little, but a necessary one nonetheless. As it would seem, the hunt had been unsuccessful; many gave up, resorting to carting off the deceased to begin the proper burial preparations as according to their customs. A few, however, refused to accept that their brothers could be dead. Cori grieved even more for their hopeless perseverance.

        The ledge upon which she just stood must have been the orcs’ position of power during the battle; pieces of rotten wood still forming a skeleton of some kind of machinery lay strewn about in the tall, dry grass. Dirty cloth lay here and there, as well as crudely-shaped swords and weapons that any dwarf would be ashamed to lay eyes on, let alone wield. As she continued down the narrow pathway, she became confused and almost concerned. Dwarves who attempted to reach the orcs had been cut off, forced to fight in close quarters. The result was as expected. But a lot of bodies still remained here, overlooked and forgotten. Or hidden. How accessible was this passage from the valley?

        Cori hopped over a young dwarf staring sightless into the sky, his face contorted in the horrified state he died in. Then another. Her steps were as light and reverent as possible with her boots, which she was thankful for. A battlefield was no place for bare feet, even if she detested such cramped coverage. Grimacing down in despondency at the soldiers, she rounded a bend in the pathway. More and more bodies appeared. If a whole task force could find this place, why was it still unnoticed by recovery efforts? These dwarves needed to be placed under stone where they belonged.

        Then she stopped. Her leaf-shaped ears twitched, begging her to turn her head just a bit. She heard it, a sigh. Twisting around, she froze and stared back up the way she came, blue eyes moving swiftly between the corpses. There it was again. A weak, pain-ridden breath. She moved slowly, eyeing her feet in case they were grabbed. As she returned up the path, the wheezing became louder. The idea never occurred to her. Was it even possible that there could be a survivor amongst this butchery? Then she saw it.

        Just beneath the body of a heavily-armed soldier of the Iron Hills, a well-concealed hand skimmed the dirt, searching for something. Without hesitation, Cori bolted the rest of the way up the hill. Heaving with a grunt, she threw all her weight into rolling the body. It budged just a little, weighed down not only by the dwarf’s brawny mass but also his solid armor. Bracing her feet against the wall of the pass, she pushed with a strained growl until gravity finally caught him and pulled the rest of the way. Her eyes widened fuller than the moon at what, or who, lay practically in her lap.

        Far across the eastern reaches of Middle-earth, tales sang loudly of the newly-forged kingdom of Erebor reclaimed from the dragon Smaug just over a year earlier. The bravery displayed on behalf of all dwarves, as well as a tankard of ale sipped in between stories, boosted egos from taverns to inns frequented by the little hobbit. Amongst those accounts were many focused on the promising crown prince Fili, son of Dis, nephew to the reigning King Thorin II, his hair bright like shining golden silk. Even beneath all the dirt and blood, the blond head above regal Erebor armor stuck out unmistakably. Here was Prince Fili, heir to the throne of Durin’s folk, uncollected. “Sir?” Cori coaxed softly, moving the dirty locks from his eyes. With difficulty, he cracked them open, staring back with an intense gaze laden with pain. “Have you been wounded badly? Is anything broken? Punctured?” She searched his person and the ground around him, looking for anywhere blood could be seeping from. Though, after a day, he probably would have bled out by now.

       “Nothing,” he sighed breathlessly, wincing when he curled his leg up toward his body. “Nothing...bad.” He gasped in his attempt to sit up, and Cori leaned in to assist. “I...was knocked...out.” That would explain the nasty gash above his eyebrow. “I awoke...in the middle of battle and...didn’t have the strength...to push him off.” He glanced toward the soldier who pinned him down.

       “Then he saved your life, even in death.” She briefly laid a hand on the dwarf’s gauntlet before moving back to the living one before her.

       He glared down at the ground between his boots as he struggled for each breath. “I passed out again. Didn’t wake...until I heard you...and saw your shadow pass by.” He blinked his eyes several times, trying to focus on her face. “Who are you?”

       “Cori Houndberry, born in the Shire, now fur-trading nomad, at your service.” After a quick formal incline of her head, she began working his armor off. There was no leaving him, not like this, even for a while to go get help, so she would have to try to take him to it herself instead. 

#the hobbit #hobbit fanfiction #Thorin x oc #fili #kili #ao3 #hobbit oc #thorin oakenshield #lord of the rings

[spacewhalewriting]

Of Legends and Fire: The Death of Smaug

It felt like days that she climbed, her nakedness covered by only mud and her fear running high. What if she got there and they had already tried to confront the dragon? What if, what if. It wasn’t until nightfall that she found evidence of the dwarves right outside what looked like a cleverly disguised crack in the mountainside. She clawed her way inside, pushing past pieces of broken stone and squirming into a tunnel. She followed it for a while, bare feet making pattering noises in the dark, until torchlight shone from the other end. What she saw sent her into simultaneous throes of joy and sweet despair. Inside the mountain the stone ran with literal rivers of gold, vast mountains of it, with every imaginable jewel sparkling amidst it like stars, so many stars. Sapphires indistinguishable from ice, opals that shone with white fire like stars, and diamonds with a living sun inside each.

She fell to her knees, sickened a violent, greedy clench within her deepest self, like the most terrible hunger pangs. So warm. So bright. Naked as she was, she could lay in this hoard for a thousand years and desire nothing but the pleasure of gazing upon it undisturbed. Every moment felt indeed as it were an age, intoxicated. She wondered where the white jewels were that Thranduil craved, for they were also her heart’s desire. To wear them and bask and be lost. It was this that took her to her feet, at once enraptured with her surroundings and driven to find them so she could bathe in their light. She wandered until the heard the rumbling heart of the mountain alive, vast forge fires and the crashing of mining equipment. It couldn’t be manned, not with so few as fourteen. The noise led her away from the treasured halls and across walkways of stone suspended in the air, into dimness; soon cries and shouts were mingled with the noise and she began to hasten, shaking off the fog that had enveloped her in the valleys of gold. Thorin’s voice rang out deep and clear, a bellow of rage like metal against stone.

“Here! You witless worm! I am taking back what you stole.”

Silwen heard his voice and through her haze she ran to him, racing across the suspended walkway and into a small transitional hall, stopping in the shadows of shadows as the gallery of the kings opened up to her. From where she stood, the great dragon was the centerpiece and his prey was hardly visible standing far above what kept his attention. The hall was a great hollowing of the mountain, a celebration of air, but the serpent’s head could have easily touched the ceiling had he reared up on his hind legs. Truly, he was larger than any creature than Silwen had ever witnessed, but her attentions were stolen by the same thing that kept Smaug stunned. The largest structure of gold crafted by dwarvish hands in any age, a glowing figure bearded and crowned, taller and wider than the dragon himself.

It was beautiful, dragon enraptured, Silwen enthralled. But something had gone wrong; alarmed shouts in khuzdul rang about the hall- Thorin swayed on his perch, within the reach of Smaug who was beginning to shake himself from the glamour the dwarves had woven. Where she was she could hardly see Oakenshield, but she could clearly see the scales of Smaug’s belly begin to glow like livened coals, snapping her from her dazed glow. Everything compounded into this single moment; a choice between the worm of covetousness in her heart or the very thing that now made it beat.

“Thorin!” She cried out for him, voice echoing down the chambered hall and he sought her but could not source her voice.

Fighting every instinct inside her she put one foot in front of the other, and then the other, breaking quickly into a run towards danger, towards her king. He called for her and she leaped through the doorway and once more into peril. It wasn’t a conscious decision, one breath woman and the next monster, her teeth sinking into Smaug’s armored neck by element of surprise. There was a tremendous roar as the behemoths clashed, the weight of their combined bodies flying into the far wall of the gallery crumbling the columns.

_________________________

Drenched in sweat and grime but somewhat safe where he was above the hall, Thorin could barely comprehend the scene of chaos in front of him. One ivory and the other rust, two dragons grappled before him, tails and limbs whipping dangerously and smashing the walls. The white was smaller than Smaug, barely more than half his size, swinging her body on top of his and ripping, clawing, biting. There was no record or memory of a second dragon in the mountain, nor in Gandalf’s warnings-

Could he have been dreaming Silwen’s voice at a moment like this? A flailing tail sliced into the soft outer layer of the statue and Thorin was reminded of the trap that laid in wait inside. He couldn’t begin to understand what was happening, but something told him that this thing that defended them was her.

“No!” He cried out, reaching, but there was nothing that he could do. It began to melt.

_________________________

The first spray of liquid gold burnt like a brand, but it was nothing compared to the tidal wave of molten metal as the statue disintegrated, collapsing under its own weight and heat. The searing flood crashed over the wrestling beasts, washing them further down the hall and under the impossible weight of the metal- a cacophony of shrieks and howls filled the space as it took them both. It burned like a thousand forges and agony swept over Silwen as she was dragged down, forced under as Smaug scrambled to use her body to reach the surface like a drowning man.

Unmercifully it was not this that took her. She fought her way to the surface before her breath ran out, spraying gold as she sought to free herself from the heavy pool. But as she had wrested herself from the molten grip of burning metal, so had Smaug.

“Deceit! Usurpers! I will not be overcome by this! I will have revenge!” He howled, thrashing and screeching in pain. Dragging herself by columns and stretching of wings, the white dragon launched herself through the air, meaning to again attack, but he caught her neck in his terrible jaws and used the momentum to heave her through the stone shell of the mountain itself. She crashed through the very entrance of Erebor and tumbled heavily to a stop on the rocky lowland outside, the world fiery with pain and spinning. Cat eyes blinked and tracked across the night sky rapidly, trying to clear their vision- ribs crackling and lungs under leather skin heaving like forge bellows. Gold rained down on her and the shoreline as Smaug arrowed through the newly made opening in the mountain and took to the air, shedding it like coins.

“He’s heading to Laketown!”

It was Bilbo’s voice, panicked and faint. Laketown. She remembered the maps. The last of the men of Dale. Smaug had taken the fortress of Erebor in a day- he would slaughter the people of Laketown with ease. With a bellow’s breath, Silwen pushed herself to her feet and then into the air. Several of the company had made it to the broken entrance of the mountain, including Bilbo and Thorin, and they were almost knocked to the ground by the gale of her wings. Reaching as far as her neck would stretch, she snapped her teeth viciously into Smaug’s tail, distracting him like a dog baiting a bear. Their flight did not halt, but rather they tumbled across the sky, Silwen using her small size to her advantage; airborne, and as long as Smaug did not catch her, she was a vexation with teeth and claws, biting and scratching the whole way.

“What manner of dog are you, to consort with dwarves and men?” He snapped, roaring with pain as one of her hind spurs sliced a gash in his haunch. Silwen did not answer because she was neither dog nor proper consort; she no longer knew what she was, simply what course of action she must follow. Narrowly, she avoided a spurt of fire, meeting it with her own and lighting the entire lake’s surface as though they were the sun above. They danced like this in a spiral, up, up. When it cleared, his great toothy grin was in front of her rather than a safe distance away. “There you are, little worm.” He said, his clawed hand gripping her at the shoulder near her wing, talons piercing- she screamed. Thrashing made it worse, so she blinded him with fire and he dropped her to protect his eyes, winging backwards. Immediately she dropped like a stone, wings tangling as she spun out. She splashed down in shallows, the icy water mercifully numbing her wounds. Her vision again danced and flamed.

Fire. They had been so close to Laketown. Finished with her, he was beginning to set it ablaze. From here she could hear the screams. She tried to get up, splashing about like a wounded albatross, and found that Smaug’s claws had sheared through her wing at the shoulder. Pushing off from the mud of the shallows was hard enough, but not only was her wing in agony, she physically could not force it to work through the pain. There was nothing to catch the air. The tower bell of Laketown rang in alarm, but no one was coming to save them.

I will not let people die because of my failure. Not this time.

Panting, she flung herself deeper into the water, doggy paddling with her hind legs and dragging her injury behind her. As she neared the town she found it chaos, but Smaug was no longer blasting the entire region with destruction, his movements seemingly focused on two small figures at the very top of the very bell tower that called their distress. She could not fly, but Smaug was flying low and the buildings in the center of town were high; she clawed into the wood of the closest to the tower and hoisted herself from the water, body trembling as her overtaxed shoulder pulled her upwards. As the bell clamored she climbed, keeping to the shadows lest Smaug catch wind of her survival too early, using talons and the spur on her one good wing to scale the structure like a nightmare ghost. The higher she climbed the more she could see of the two figures he tormented- at one point, a great spear-like arrow ricocheted off of Smaug’s jeweled hide and stuck itself deep into the place where she had sought to place her claw a moment before. She used it to pull herself higher, listening to Smaug’s taunting voice as he played with his victims.

“Now that is a pity. What will you do now, bowman? You are foresaken. No help will come. Is that your child? You cannot save him from the fire...He will burn.” He purred, crushing building after burning building underclaw as he stalked forward. Soon in the flickering light Silwen could see the end; a single archer and a young boy at his aid, bow broken. She was almost there. “Who are you that would stand against me? You have nothing left but death!”

She leapt, flapping and gaining no great amount of height but just enough to latch onto Smaug’s back like some insane rider of foul things. Unlike her, Smaug was covered on all sides, his skin encrusted with jewels where he was not scaled; it hadn’t been until she saw him in the right angle through the fire that she saw the missing scale on underbelly. It was what the bowman was aiming for. Taking him by the back of the neck, she clamped down and pushed with both sets of feet, latched in with claws so Smaug’s body was bent in a backwards arc, struggling and roaring to be set free. Her jaws ached and shoulder screamed as he thrashed, but his belly was bared and his missing scale was exposed. She knew she could only hold him like this for seconds before he wrenched free and finished her off, but one clear shot was all the bowman needed.

The arrow flew true.

Claws locked into the larger beast, she was swept up and away with Smaug as he attempted to escape it, but the iron had pierced his breast. The fire within him died and the light went from his eyes with a terrible scream that could be heard across the whole of the lake- pulling her claws from his hide with great difficulty, Silwen fell apart from him, closing her eyes as the fire ravaged town rose up to swallow them.

Both fell creatures would die here.

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

[politicalstash]

Members if campground dvd selection on one shelf lol

Movies 3 pack- Dodgeball, Me,Myself and Irene, There's Something About Mary 4 pack- Mo'Nique I Coulda Been Your Cellmate, Katt Williams 9 Lives, Bruce Almighty Losin It, Tony Roberts Wired 5 pack- Edge of Darkness, Conspiracy Theory, We Were Soliders, Payback 4 pack- Robocop, The Terminator, Red Dawn, Road House. 4 pack- Miami Vice, Jarhead, The Kingdom, Ray 4 pack- Casino, Carlito's Way, Mobsters, Carlito's Way Rise to Power 4 pack- GoodFellas, The Departed, The Aviator, Mean Streets 3 pack- BraveHeart, Gladiator, Hercules 8 pack- Knockout, Valley of Angels, Bloodrayne, Lords of the Street, American Breakdown, Garrison, Extracted, After The Dark 8 pack- The Code, On The Edge, Dead Heist, King Of The Adventure, Way of War, Sacrifice, Elephant White, Act of Vengeance 4 pack- Office Space, Mrs. Doubtfire, My Cousin Vinny, Super Troopers, 4 pack- Midnight Cowboy, The Usual Suspects, Thelma and Louise, Platoon 3 pack- Patriot Games, Eagle Eye, Echelon Conspiracy 4 pack- The A-Team, A Good Day To Die Hard, Unstoppable, Man on Fire 4 pack- Trouble with the Curve, Gran Torino, J. Edgar, Invictus 2 pack- Little Man, White Chicks 4 pack- Which Way Is Up, Brewster's Millions, Carwash, Bustin' Loose 4 pack- Liar Liar, Bruce Almighty, Happy Gilmore, Billy Madison 2 pack- The Outlaw Josey Wales, Pale Rider 5 pack- Trading Places, Dream Girls, 48 HRS, The Golden Child, Another 48 HRS 3 pack- Juno, Napoleon Dynamite, Little Miss Sunshine 3 pack- Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery, Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me, Austin Powers In GoldMember 3 pack- Revenge Of The Nerds, Revenge Of The Nerds ll, Revenge Of The Nerds lll 3 pack- Legion, Priest, Gabriel 3 pack- Animal House, Dazed And Confused, Fast Times At Ridgemont High 4 pack- Me, Myself, And Irene, Super Troopers, The Girl Next Door, Grandma's Boy 2 pack- P.S. I Love You, The Lake House 2 pack- Kevin Hart Laugh At My Pain, Kevin Hart Seriously Funny 4 pack- Act of Valor, Limitless, Machine Gun Preacher, Paranoia 3 pack- Gamer, The Next Three Days, Setup Forest Gump Special Collector's Edition Pablo Escobar The ATV Movie Destroyer Librium World Surf Inspiration 3x Hypnotic Ocean Journey Accepted Ace Ventura Pet Detective Ace Ventura When Nature Calls Anger Management Alex Cross All About Steve Gabriel Iglesias Aloha Fluffy Anchorman Aviator Alien Outpost 2x A Knights Tale American Hustle Armageddon Armored The A Team Alice in Wonderland Avengers AVP Alien vs. Predators AVP Requiem Bad Boys Bad Teacher Barber Shop 2: Back in Business Batman Begins Battleship Beastly Because I Said So Bedtime Stories Benchwarmers 3 pack- Beverly Hills Cop, Beverly Hills Cop ll, Beverly Hills Cop lll The Big Lebowski Collector's Edition Big Top Pee Wee Biker Boys Bill Cosby... Far from finished Bill And Ted's Excellent Adventure Little Black Book 4 pack- Blade, Blade ll, Blade: Trinity, Blade: House of Chthon Blades of Glory The Blind Side Blow Bowfinger Blue Collar Comedy Tour The Body Guard The Boondock Saints ll: Saints All Day The Bounty Hunter The Bourne Supremacy The Bourne Ultimatum Boys Don't Cry Braveheart Brian Regan Standing Up Bad Words Brother Grimm Bride Wars Bruce Almighty Blast The Bucket List Camp Rock 2 Captain America: The Winter Solider Captain America: The First Avenger Cars 3x Click 3x Chuck and Larry Center Stage Charlotte's Web Coach Carter Cliffhanger Cold Mountain Collateral Con Air Casper Catch and Release The Condemned Coraline Couples Retreat Cowboys and Aliens Coyote Ugly Crank Chicken Little Crank 2: High Voltage Crazy Beautiful The Crucible Dance Flick Dane Cook Vicious Circle The Dark Knight Rises Dark Shadows Platinum Comedy Series Dave Chappelle Dawn Of The Dead Dear John Death Race 3: Inferno Death Race 2 Definitely, Maybe Descent 2 The Dilemma Dirty Dancing Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights Django Unchained Dolphin Tale Doom Doomsday The Davinci Dead in Tombstone Dodgeball Domino Due Date Double Jeopardy DrillBit Taylor Finding Dory Drumline End Of Days The Dukes of Hazzard Easy A Envy Eragon Escape Eternal Sunshine Everybody's Fine The Expendables The Expendables 2 Facing the Giants The Family 2x Fantastic 4: Rise of the Silver Surfer Fight Club Fire With Fire 50 First Dates 2 pack- Footloose, Flash Dance Forrest Gump Free Willy Freedom Writers Friday the 13th From Hell 2x Four Brothers Four Christmases Fun With Dick And Jane Gabriel Iglesias Stand-Up Revolution Green Lantern The Gambler George Carlin: It's Bad For Ya And Life Is Worth Losin Get Hard Grease: Rockin Rydell Edition Get Rich or Die Tryin' Ghost Ghostbusters Ghosts of Girlfriends Past Ghost Rider 2x G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra G.I. Joe: Retaliation Gladiator GoodFellas 13 Going On 30 Goldmember A Good Day To Die Hard The Goonies 3x The Green Mile Gridiron Gang How The Grinch Stole Christmas Halo 4: Forward Unto Dawn 2x Hancock The Hangover The Hangover Part ll Hansel and Gretel Harold and Kumar: Go To White Castle Harry Potter And The Goblet Of Fire Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets The Heat Hellboy Hellboy ll: The Golden Army Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy High School Musical 2 High School Musical 3 3x Hitch Hitman Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug Hobbit: The Battle Of The Five Armies The Hunger Games: Mocking Jay Part 1 2x The Hunger Games: Catching Fire Hulk The Incredible Hulk The Hurt Locker Identity Thief The Illusionist Immortals Inception Independence Day Inglorious Basterds Insurgent The Internship Into The Blue Invincible Idle Hands I, Robot Iron Man The Island Jack Frost Jack Reacher Jeff Dunham Spark Of Insanity Jeff Dunham's Very Special Christmas Special Jeff Dunham Minding The Monsters Jennifer's Body Johnson Family Vacation Joyful Noise Jumper Just Go With It Just Married Just Like Heaven From Justin To Kelly Katt Williams: Pimpadelic Killer Eliter Killers 2x King Kong Kingsman: The Secret Service Kingdom of Heaven Knockaround Guys Kung Fu Hustle Kiss The Girls Kung Fu Panda Ladies 49 Land Of The Dead The Last Castle The Last Dragon The Last Stand Looper Legally Blonde 2 Lemony Snicket's: A Series Of Unfortunate Events Let's Go To Prison Liar Liar The League of Extraordinary Gentleman Life Of Pi The Longest Yard Lord Of The Rings: The Return Of The King Lord Of The Rings: The Two Towers 2x Lord Of The Rings: The Fellowship Of The Ring Lost In Space 2x Man On Fire Madea's Big Happy Family Madea's Witness Protection Madea Goes To Jail Madea's Family Reunion 3x Matrix Reloaded Maggie The Magnificent 7 Martian Child Max Mad Max Major Payne 2 pack- MIB, MIB II Mario Bros MIB Michael Clayton Michael Jackson: History: The King Of Pop Mr Deeds Mask Meet The Fockers Meet The Parents Men Of Honor Michael Jackson Number Ones Michael Jackson Mr 3000 Mrs Doubtfire Miss Congeniality Mortdecai Monster Monster's Bail Monster-In-Law The Monuments Men 2 pack- Mortal Kombat, Mortal Kombat Annihilation My Super Ex Girlfriend Napoleon Dynamite National Treasure Neighbors 2x Never Back Down My Baby's Daddy Never Been Kissed The Nice Guy Night At The Museum: Secret of The Tomb Night at the Museum Margaret Cho: Notorious C.H.O The Notebook The Nut Job O'Brother, Where Art Thou? Non-Stop Ocean's Twelve Ocean's Thirteen Kill Bill Old Dogs Open Range Pacific Rim Vin Diesel the Pacifier Paddington Padre Kino: The Legend of the Black Priest Parker The Patriot Poltergeist Peter Pan The Phantom of the Opera Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man's Chest Point Break Practical Magic Predators Premium Rush Premonition Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl Princess Bride The Proposal Pearl Harbor P.S. I Love You Pulp Fiction Mo'Nique Phat Girlz 2 pack- The Purge, The Purge: Anarchy The Pursuit of Happyness Real Steel Redline Rush Hour 2 Red 2 Remember the Titans 3 pack- Pitch Black, The Chronicles Of Riddick, The Chronicles Of Riddick: Dark Fury Rise of the Planet of the Apes Robin Hood Prince of Thieves The Rock Rocky ll Rocky Balboa Ron White A Little Unprofessional The Rookie Rounders The Rum Diary Saving Private Ryan Sabotage 2x The Sandlot School of Rock The Shawshank Redemption Snitch Scott Pilgrim Silent House Shaun of the Dead Sherlock Holmes She's the Man Step Up Revolution Snow White and The Huntsman The Social Network She's all that Soul plane Scooby Doo Scooby Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed Shallow Hall Son in Law Song One Sorority Row Spider-Man 2x Spider-Man 2 3x Spider-Man 3 Space Jam Spy Stand and Deliver Starship Troopers Star Wars: The Force Awakens Star Wars: The Phantom Menace Star Wars: Attack of the Clones Stuck on You Sweeney Todd The Demon Barber Of Fleet Street Taken Taken 2 Taken 3 This is 40 The Ringer The Croods Thor Tomb Raider The Time Machine The Time Traveler's Wife Toneloc T.V. 2 Tombstone Total Recall The Exorcist Trading Places Training Day Transformers Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen Transformers: Dark of the Moon The Bucket List The Eye Transformers Beginners Troy Directors Cut Two for the Money The Man From U.N.C.L.E True Grit UFC: Best of 2012 Unforgiven Unknown Uptown Girls Unfinished Business Van Helsing The Vow Warm Bodies The Wedding Date The Wedding Planner The Wedding Singer A Walk to Remember Walking Tall Wanted The Waterboy War Dogs We Bought a Zoo Where the Wild Things Are Kevin Hart What Now While You Were Sleeping White Chicks The Whole Nine Yards Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit Wild Card Wild Hogs Wings of Life The World's End World War ll X-Men Origins: Wolverine The Last Stand 40 Year Old Virgin Zombieland Zookeeper Zoolander 2 Guns 8 Mile

[garden-ghoul]

bloggbblog, part 11

“early blog today lads, it’s teatime and I should be napping”

THE GATHERING OF THE CLOUDS

The black thrush from the secret door comes to visit the guardpost where Thorin & co are staying. It starts making bird noises that the dwerrows assume are interpretable but can’t understand. Bilbo can’t understand it either, but when Balin asks, apparently assuming that since hobbits are quiet as wild animals they must be able to speak their language, Bilbo pretends that he is just sort of, rusty on thrush language. Oh no I can’t make it out but the fellow seems quite excited eh?

Balin wishes it were a raven, which apparently HE DOES SPEAK THE LANGUAGE OF RAVENS. Crows are nasty spies but ravens have long been allies of Thror’s people! That’s so nifty! I mean, it’s not nifty that he’s being rude about crows. Crows are friends. BUT as Balin is reminiscing about the ravens he used to know when he was a lad--the thrush flies off to fetch one of them!

This raven, Roac ben Carc, speaks in Adunaic, holy shit. It is 153 years old and it has news of the battle with Smaug. Everyone cheers for 5 solid minutes. Now I’m mad that there aren’t any dwerrows with raven familiars, that would be soooooo kickass. Imagine for the whole LotR Gimli has a raven. Or like, if anyone Thorin should have one. It would be enormously convenient for scouting purposes, and also generally badass. Anyway back to Roac’s news: don’t celebrate yet, because elves are here. A ton of carrion birds are with them (I was right! if not for the reason I guessed) in anticipation of slaughter over Thror’s treasure. Hey I love how apparently all birds are people and understand the languages of Eru’s children?? This fucking ROCKS.

Thror is furious but still very politely thanks Roac and asks it to get its kin to send word to others of Durin’s folk in the northern mountains. It’s time for Thorin’s party to rush the fuck back to Erebor and sit on the treasure! They do manage to get there before anyone else, and spend their time fortifying the only still-extant entrance at the front. And rebuilding the road that leads up to it, presumably because after finishing their fortifications they go bored and were itching to build something. So they work, and ravens come by constantly to bring them news and helpful information like where three of their ponies are hanging out with packs intact. Oh man those poor ponies wearing packs without rest for like a solid week.

After a few days a company of Laketowners and Mirkwood elves comes up and Thorin addresses them as if they have come to make war on Thror’s halls, rather than salvaging a deserted fortress as they thought. Nobody says anything; some of them just hastily turn and scuttle off. After a few more minutes of awkward shuffling and occasional coughing the party leaves, and makes camp a little ways away. To start, uh, having a party. Are they trying to make the dwerrows jealous??

The next day they come back and Bard is like “hey! it’s so great to see there are still dwerrows here! we were hoping for some monetary help in rebuilding our village, and maybe also to get back the gold Smaug stole from Dale?” Bilbo thinks this is super duper reasonable, but Thorin is racially incapable of letting gold go (rolls my eyes out of my head) so he is very rude to Bard. He does an ad hominem thing like “wow if you wanted HELP you shouldn’t have come ARMED. you look like THIEVES. ROBBERS. UNBELIEVABLE.” Also the elves need to leave, which is more reasonable considering that they imprisoned Thorin for like a month to try to make him tell them where his treasure was.

...buuuut Bard is not budging on the issue of bringing the elves. Thorin, pissed off, shoots a warning arrow at Bard’s shield. And so: Erebor is officially under siege. Jesus are you all tweens. Tweens could probably do a BETTER job than this. Bilbo mumbles some complaints to himself about being stuck inside the mountain. He absolutely dreads war.

A THIEF IN THE NIGHT

Thorin really, really wants that Arkenstone. Search high and low for it, lads! Bilbo hides it out of fear, and also out of cunning. Is he planning some kind of Escapade to make the dwerrows and the humans and elves make up?

Things had gone on like this for some time, when the ravens brought news that Dain and more than five hundred dwerrows, hurrying from the Iron Hills, were now within about two days' march of Dale, coming from the North-East.

"But they cannot reach the Mountain unmarked," said Roac, "and I fear lest there be battle in the valley. I do not call this counsel good. Though they are a grim folk, they are not likely to overcome the host that besets you; and even if they did so, what will you gain? Winter and snow is hastening behind them. How shall you be fed without the friendship and goodwill of the lands about you? The treasure is likely to be your death, though the dragon is no more!"

Thank you, Roac, that is an outrageously good point. Thorin completely ignores it. 

Bilbo puts his plan into action: he sneaks out while he’s supposed to be on watch, and goes to say hi to Bard. The elves know him as “the dwerrows’ hobbit,” which seems rather rude to me. BUT he gets to Bard and then he does his business hobbit thing. I’m imagining it’s just like when Tachibana Taisei tucks his hair behind his ears and does that Business Face. So Bilbo produces his letter promising 1/14 of the profits, and tries to make Bard see reason. You can’t besiege the mountain forever! It’s almost winter, after all, and there are all these other dwerrows marching toward us... so....

Bard thinks Bilbo is threatening him, upon which Bilbo squeaks with dismay. But he offers the Arkenstone, which seems like a truly stupid thing to do. How on earth is this going to AVERT war? Isn’t this just going to make Thorin more determined to kill EVERYONE? Gandalf is there, and he says Bilbo has done a fine job. Am I fucking missing something? How is this good????

#blackbirds are actually thrushes! I didn't know that! #blog of the rings

[centuryofdean]

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.

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…”

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

[tkwrtrilogy2]

Chapter V: The Fall of Dol Guldur (Pt. III)

“As the sun rose the next morning, I was led to out of the palace to take my place in a procession toward the gates of Erebor. As we rode toward the mountain, memories flooded my mind of the past. I was filled with sadness knowing I would look upon death once more. We came to the gates of Erebor and began our descent into the heart of the mountain.

Lying in eternal slumber lay the two kings side by side.

“They died together,” Dwalin whispered. “So shall they remain together forever. I never thought I would see this day when man would lie at rest beside a dwarf.”

“It is the sign of the times,” Thorin said softly. “Blood of one is no different from another. In war it all the same. No different in death for neither shall see the light of day. They were friends in life and together gave their lives for their people."

As we passed before the fallen kings, I paused before Dáin. I remembered when met we fought the battle that took Thorin Oakenshield so many years before. I placed my hand upon his that held his axe.

“Farewell, Elf-Friend,” I whispered. “King Dáin of Erebor. Your legacy shall be remembered through all the ages.”

The processional continued to move quietly through dimly lit caverns of the mountain and into the light of day. I could not help but think of how much timed had passed or how much it had changed me. When all was done we began our return to Dale.

Evening fell quickly as I stood along the balcony of the city square looking into the valley below.  I would be leaving for home in the morning. My mind had little thought of anything but a profound misunderstanding of life itself.

“Thranduil,” I heard Fëaluin say. “Someone wishes a word with you.”

I turned to see Dwalin and Glóin standing before me. I nodded as they came closer and bowed.

“Your Majesty,” Dwalin said. “I wanted to thank you for coming.”

“You need not thank me, Dwalin,” I said. “I wanted to come. I only wished I had come while Dáin was still with us.”

“It is not an easy task ruling a kingdom,” Glóin said. “Especially in times such as these. I know what you have given to this war for I gave to it the same. You have nothing that needs forgiving.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “Though if you remember, it was me that put you away in my dungeons not so long ago without even thought to your plight or your mission.”

“That was long ago,” Dwalin said. “If there were a debt to be paid, it was done when you fought at our side against Bolg and his evil horde. Besides, better your dungeon than the web of a spider.”

We could not help but share a laugh.

“Thank you,” I said. “For your forgiveness and your friendship.”

“You are welcome,” he answered.

“May our sons return to us,” Glóin said. “To cement our friendship for another generation.”

They bowed to me and left for the night. My spirits began to lighten when I realized I was not alone. I looked down and saw Bain and Durin looking at me with curiosity.

“Are you a real elf,” Durin asked.

“Yes, I am,” I answered. “Are you a real dwarf?”

“Of course he is,” Bain said. “Just a very small one.”

“So I see,” I said. “You must be a human, then. A very small one.”

Durin laughed as Bain nudged him.

“You are both up rather late. Should you not be in bed?”

“I suppose,” Bain began. “But we cannot sleep.”

“I wanted to see a real elf,” Durin said.

“You have, so you can sleep now,” I said.

“How old are you,” he asked.

“That is not polite, Durin,” Bain said. “You never ask old people their age.”

I kneeled down to their height and took hold of them. They stiffened in fear—their eyes growing larger.

“I am very old,” I said smiling. “I have seen every one of your bed time stories I am sure of it.”

“You were alive when the dragon came,” Durin asked.

“Older than that, Durin,” I said.

“That is old,” Bain said. “Tell us more.”

“What are you doing out of your room,” Aurëwyn said coming toward us. “I apologize to His Majesty if they are being a nuisance.”

“They are fine,” I said. “It is my fault they are here. They wanted to have an audience with me, did you not?”

“Yes,” Bain said quickly. “An audience.”

“What is an audience,” Durin asked.

“Can we stay, Mother,” Bain asked. “Please?"

Aurëwyn looked at me knowing not what to say to me.

I stood up and walked to her. She looked at me with a familiar expression—so much like Súlelenth.

“It is fine, Aurëwyn,” I said. “I will have Fëaluin see them to bed.”

“Are you sure, Your Majesty,” she said softly.

“Yes. Pedo enni adui.”

Her eyes began to tear up and I knew she understood me. She nodded and walked away quietly. I turned back to the boys that stood in wonder—their mouths agape.

“Now, where were we,” I asked, sitting upon a stone bench.

“The dragon,” Durin said climbing onto my lap. “You know about the dragon.”

“I want to know about my great great grandfather,” Bain said sitting beside me. “He slew the dragon, did he not?”

“Yes, he did,” I said.

I told them many things into the night until they fell asleep. It was Nimlos and Elranduil that carried them away to their room in the palace.”--Excerpt from TKWR Book III: To Eryn Lasgalen by J.M.Miller 01-17-17

Images: ©2012, 2013, 2014. Warner Brothers Pictures. The Hobbit: The Unexpected Journey, The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug, The Hobbit: Battle of the Five Armies. All Rights Reserved.

#durin and bain #thranduil honors dain #thranduil in dale #dwalin and gloin #thranduil and fealuin #in honor of jrr tolkien #tolkien fan fiction #amwriting #writing #writing fan fiction #writing high fantasy #tkwr trilogy #the kingdom of the woodland realm trilogy #the saga of thranduil #the funeral of dain II

[fandomgalcentral]

To keep you busy, every question from the Tolkien theme question list ;)

Challenge accepted, nonny! Thank you 

NOTE:

Answers are in Italics

Favorite Tolkien character? Tough one. I’d have quite a few. I love Fili though.

Favorite recorded song from The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings? Misty Mountains/The Last Goodbye

Favorite timeline? The Hobbit

Least favorite character? Azog

Favorite character death? I don’t have one here. NO ONE DESERVES DEATH.

Favorite sword? Orcrist

Would you want to be a hobbit or an elf? Elf, although, being a hobbit wouldn’t be a bad thing

Would you want to be man or dwarf? Dwarf

Favorite villain? Smaug

Favorite actor/actress who has played in Lord of the Rings and/or The Hobbit? I’d have to go with Dean on this one. 

Favorite line from Lord of the Rings? “I would’ve gone with you to the end into the very fires of Mordor.” - Aragorn

Favorite line from The Hobbit? “I have no right to ask this of any of you, but will you follow me, one last time?” -Thorin

Fëanor or Fingolfin? I’m not sure, if i’m being honest.

Least favorite scene in Lord of the Rings? I don’t have one. (only seen the series once xD)

Least favorite scene in The Hobbit? Fili, Kili and Thorin dying (Can’t handle!)

Favorite scene in Lord of the Rings? The “For Frodo” scene

Favorite scene in The Hobbit? I have a few of these. Probably the emotional moment between Thorin and Kili does it for me.

Favorite thing about The Silmarillion? I’ve never read it

Elrond or Galadriel? Galadriel

Gandalf or Saruman? Gandalf

Dwarves or Elves? Dwarves

Kili x Tauriel or Aragorn x Arwen? AragornxArwen. I love Kili and Tauriel though.

Arwen or Eowyn? Arwen

Merry or Pippin? Pippin

Legolas or Gimli? Gimli

The Fellowship of the Ring or The Company of Thorin Oakenshield? The Company for sure 

Least favorite songs in the soundtracks? (Lotr & The Hobbit) I don’t have one actually.

Tell us about your favorite moment between two characters. Again, I have quite a few of these. But I love the scene between Thorin and Kili in BoTFA since it’s an emotional moment between the two. Aidan and Richard did brilliantly and Aidan’s emotional response was beautiful. 

How do you feel about Glorfindel not being in Lord of the Rings? I’m saddened. That would’ve been a cool thing.

What are your opinions on Fëanor? Don’t have any.

If in Frodo’s position, would you take the Ring to Mordor and risk your life to save millions or leave the burden on someone else? Take the ring and save millions. I’d rather risk my life than see someone else suffer.

Pick one character you would kill off (Only good character, not Sauron, Saruman, etc) Oh don’t make me choose! I can’t make a decision here.

Die by an orc in battle or get slain by your kin? (im looking at you, fëanor) Die by an orc in battle. Go out with a bang, right? 

Face Smaug or face your greatest fear? (unless Smaug is your greatest fear then there’s no getting around it) Face Smaug, obviously. Who wouldn’t want to face a huge ass dragon and nearly get incinerated doing so?

Sacrifice yourself for someone your love or have the one you love die for you? Sacrifice myself for someone I love. I couldn’t handle someone dying for me (sob).

Be a servant for Sauron and/or Melkor or be Denethor II’s child? Is there a third option?

Favorite character in The Silmarillion? I haven’t read it, so I don’t really have one.

If given the choice, would you stay here or go to Middle-Earth? Middle Earth, hands down!

If so, what race would you want to be? An Elf. 

Where would you like to be located in Middle-Earth? Rivendell or the Shire

What are your opinions about Thranduil? (legolas’ dad if y'all dont know) I honestly prefer the book version to the film version (don’t give me wrong guys, I LOVE Lee Pace as Thraduil, but he was an asshole in the films until almost the end of BOTFA)

Pick a spot to be buried after you die (The Shire, The Hidden Valley of Imladris, Erebor, Etc) Erebor

Azog the Defiler is holding you and your two favorite characters hostage. (ex. Thorin and Legolas), the only way to get free is to kill one of them, who do you choose? I’d rather die than sacrifice two of my favorites. 

Favorite Gondolin Lord? Not entirely sure.

If you could do anything in Middle Earth, what would it be? (Ex. A councillor for Lord Elrond, A dwarf miner, A knight for Gondor, Etc) A Healer

Pick two characters to be your parents, and three other characters to be your siblings. Parents: Arwen and Aragorn. Siblings: Fili, Kili and Bofur

If given the choice, go to the Undying Lands or stay put in Middle-Earth? Oh god lord, that’s a tough one. Stay in Middle Earth probably and watch it prosper until my last days.

What is your favorite place in Middle-Earth? Erebor, Rivendell and Minas Trith

The Silmarils or one of the Elven rings? Elven Rings

The last and final question. Would you want to witness your favorite character’s death or die next to them and be with them for eternity? Die next to them and be with them for all eternity! I couldn’t bear being without them..

[voiceactinguk]

Final Fantasy 4 Radio Show! Casting!

Now casting for Season One of the Final Fantasy 4 Radio Show! Final Fantasy IV (known as Final Fantasy II in the U.S.) was a video game originally published by SquareSoft for the SNES in 1991. It has since been re-mastered and re-made multiple times for multiple systems and now we are creating an unofficial radio adaptation of the classic story of sword and sorcery. The game follows Cecil, a dark knight, who begins to question his king's motives, which sets off a chain of events that leads him on the path to righteousness. Along the way he and his friends discover an ancient forgotten history of their planet (and beyond!). Season One (6 episodes) follows the story of FF4 up to, and including, Cecil's climactic transformation into a paladin. Season Two will see the heroes valiant efforts to stop Golbez turn deadly. Season Three will follow their time in the underworld of the dwarves. And, finally, Season Four will reveal the secret of the crystals as well as Cecil and Golbez's tragic shared past before culminating in a battle for the fate of the world that you will not want to miss! This is a FULL RE-SCRIPT of Final Fantasy 4 into radio play format, and will be published on YouTube and as a Podcast on iTunes (fingers crossed). I'm taking full artistic license with the plot, characters, and dialog; pulling from every different version of the game. It is still very much FF4, but delivers a fresh, exciting new adaptation! using the format: AUDITIONS ARE OPEN UNTIL WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 1st  Send your audio files (one file per character) to [email protected] using any standard audio format Listen to the PILOT EPISODE or take a look at my previous project, The FINAL FANTASY 6 FANDUB To contact me directly with any questions email ff4radioshow(at)hotmail.com *The actors for Cecil and Rosa are continuing their wonderful work from the Pilot episode. Apologies to anyone hankering for those roles. *A NOTE ON ACCENTS* I love accents! I want you to try any accent you believe you can do well consistently or you believe fits the character. BUT be warned that I am a HARSH CRITIC of sub-par accent work. No Dick Van Dyke nonsense. OPEN ROLES NARRATOR Male/Female, Ageless Delivers an intro and outro for each episode. Warm, pleasant voice tone.  Able to project excitement and generate interest in the show to come. Audition Lines: Quote:This is a tale of far away and long ago... A time when knights and kings gripped the world with fists of iron and steel! A world where magic and technology clash together in awesome competition for power! This is The Final Fantasy Four Radio Show! Quote:The airships of the mighty Red Wings from the Kingdom of Baron race across the sky on their way home after a successful mission in the mystical country of Mysidia. The crew look forward to their return to hearth and home, but one man, their Captain, Cecil the Dark Knight, casts his gaze backward... --- EXTRAS! Male/Female, Varied Ages Crew of Red Wings (x3), Merchant, Baron Soldiers (x2), Cap'n, Chancellor, Sailors Nine varied background roles. Nine chances to try out your crazy voices! THESE ROLES ARE VERY IMPORTANT! I love to have a bouquet of extras available just in case. Please audition here if you are unsure of which role to try for! Audition Lines: Quote:Hey! How's it going? You doin' anything later today? Quote:Y'arr. Fifteen souls went ashore that day. An' only ol' Flint himself sailed away.  Quote:Bilbo Baggins was a hobbit who wanted to be left alone in quiet comfort. But the wizard Gandalf came along with a band of homeless dwarves. Soon Bilbo was drawn into their quest, facing evil orcs, savage wolves, giant spiders, and worse, unknown dangers. Finally, it was Bilbo -- alone and unaided -- who had to confront the great dragon Smaug, the terror of an entire countryside... --- BAIGAN Male, age 20-40 Baigan does not care about you.  Baigan only cares about Baigan. Sarcastic and apathetic. A drawling, sneering, douchey voice. This character may return in Season 2. Audition Line: Quote:Hmph, isn't killing what you do? You are a Dark Knight after all, Cecil. I didn't think you could still feel pity. --- KING BARON Male, age 40+ King of the country of Baron. Regal and imposing. He has a secret plan for which he is gathering the world’s Crystals. This character will return in Season 2. Audition Lines: Quote:Ah! Cecil! The Kingdom of Baron hails your return! We trust you have the Crystal? Quote:If the state of the Red Wings so concerns you, Dragoon, that you would eavesdrop on the Royal Chamber, then you may join him in his penance. Take the ring! And do not enter Our sight again until it is done!  --- KAIN HIGHWIND Male/Female, age 18-30 Cecil’s closest friend. A sporty sort of person who enjoys fighting for it’s own sake, rather than for any cause or loyalty. Kain was abandoned as a child and now clings to Cecil and Rosa. Perhaps Kain clings a little too closely though, and wishes for things to always stay just as they are between them. Kain has noticed Rosa’s affection for Cecil and is beginning to grow jealous. Voice type: Athletic and yet also oddly indolent. Think Jaleel White's Sonic the Hedgehog, or Ashleigh Ball's Rainbow Dash I would prefer to cast this role female to balance out the skewed gender ratio of the original story, but am accepting male voiced auditions. Audition Lines: Quote:Majesty! I petition on Cecil's behalf. Please reconsider! He has done no wrong, he questions out of care for his subordinates. He meant no disrespect, I assure you! Quote:Ahh, I woulda come with you anyway. Slaying monsters is right up my alley! Anyhow, the King'll relax as soon as we finish his "mission of contrition". We are his favorites. --- CID POLLENDINA Male, age 30-50 A rough, tough, jolly sort of fellow. Cid takes life as it comes and is enthusiastic about everything he does, damn the consequences!  He has a daughter whom he is very proud of but not very close to. Cid is always working on airships and other mechanical inventions. Cid's voice should feel bombastic and loud (without actually clipping out, plz!) Think Brian Blessed or perhaps John Lithgow. Audition Lines: Quote:What's the matter, kiddo? You and your goons better not have wrecked up my airships! Quote:The King's been acting mighty peculiar. You know, the other day he asked me if I could design an airship that can torch an entire city? I mean, obviously I could! But... makes me wonder if Baron will be going to war soon. --- MIST DRAGON Female, age 20-40 A mysterious dragon made of living mist. And also Rydia’s mother. The strongest of the valley’s summoners and it’s chief protector. One time, Non-recurring role Audition Line Quote:Leave at once and no harm will come to you. We will not allow further trespass. --- RYDIA  Female, age Child/Teen A young child just beginning to learn the way of the world and find her incredible strength in summoning and taming beasts. Rydia has a kind heart and has been taught to never kill or injure. She is able to sense the feelings that others carry, even if they are not aware of it themselves.  Rydia will be aging for season 2 to teen age. Priority may be given to actors able to play both ages. Voice Type: Childish but not immature. Sounds like 10-14 years old. Audition Lines: Quote:Mother! Get up! Please! The fire- *gasp!* Quote:He kills everything. Do you think... can I help him? Or is it too late? Quote:I'm coming with you! You'll need all the help you can get to tame that creature! --- DOCTOR Male/Female, ageless  A blustering medic. Will talk anyone’s ear off if given half a chance but has a kind heart and a charitable streak a mile wide. *First season role only Audition Line: Quote:Oh, you poor lamb. What has happened? Oh, but, no. You needn't say if you don't wish to. Lost your parents. I'm sure, I'm sure. Tragedy! Oh cruelty! But let's just look at you! All worn and filthy from traveling. The earthquake, no doubt? Thought we might see a few come through here, I did. But you're the first. And such a dear young thing! --- TELLAH Male, age 40-80 World renowned sage of the mystical, magical arts. Tellah settled in the desert to raise his daughter, Anna, and to meditate on the mysteries of the shifting sands. Tellah has lived by his own code for a very long time and believes wholly in his own judgement. Stubborn to a fault, Tellah’s strength is his greatest weakness. Voice Type: Cranky old guy, slightly reedy or nasal. Audition Lines: Quote:You there, Knight! Did I hear that right? You aim to clear the waterway to Damcyan? I beg you, let me come with you! I have tried to get through the waterway alone to no avail. The beast is strong. Strong, I warn you! But perhaps the three of us together... Quote:It is vicious. A writhing mass of tentacles and malice. And I am too old now to face it alone. Once, perhaps... But I fear something else may be waiting for us. I sense a darkness beyond. A doom yet clouded in the fog of the future... Quote:Stay and weep if you must! Do what you will; I don't care! Anna will be avenged. You keep your nose out of it! This death will be mine alone. --- EDWARD CHRIS VON MUIR Male/Female, age 18-30 The prince of the country of Damcyan and husband of Anna. A highly skilled musician and a born diplomat. Edward believes that any disagreement can be solved with communication. He detests violence. I would like to cast this with a female/feminine voice but keep Edward as a male role. Audition Lines: Quote:You're right. I'm nothing but a coward, just as you say. I only wanted him to leave. Leave us in peace. My Anna... and me... Quote:Put your sword away! There has been enough death today. Antlions are docile creatures. I shall get you your pearl. You stay here. Quote:Anna... what can I do now that you are gone? Everything is lost. Our kingdom is fallen, and I... I could do nothing. I still can do nothing. You loved to hear me sing and play but what good are they? What good is music in a world falling apart!? --- ANNA Female, age 18-30 Tellah’s daughter and wife of Edward. Anna is just as headstrong as her father and has eloped with Edward. A powerful magic-user, but not strong enough to stand against Golbez. Audition Line: Quote:Father! Stop it! ... just stop. There's... nothing you can do. Edward is... my husband... I love him... --- YANG FANG LEIDEN Male, age 20-50 Master of the monks of Fabul. Yang is highly disciplined Despite this, he is a humble man, and so does not bask in his glory, but rather tries his best to be respectful. Voice type: A deep, gentle, calming voice.  Audition Lines: Quote:I was lucky. We are all lucky. Most of their force already left, certain of victory. My comrades... we were ambushed. Drawn out onto the mountain by a decoy. Quote:Had enough of my friend's sword? Then perhaps you'd like to try my fists!? Hy-aahh! --- GOLBEZ Male, ageless Unknowable master of darkness. Golbez is the Dark Knight who replaces Cecil in the Red Wings. Little is known about him, but he shows a callous disdain for life and only a grudging respect for power. Golbez hides a terrible secret in his past. Voice Type: Deep and scary. Vader-esque. Audition Lines: Quote:Hmm? Ah. You must be Cecil. My predecessor in the Red Wings. Enough. I did not come to gabble with insects. Kain! Take the crystal. Quote:Ask not the eagle how he soars, little prince. My motives are beyond your ken. Quote:Fighting? This is no fight. I am simply collecting crystals. You are the ones who insist on throwing yourselves in my path. --- YIN  Female, age 20-50 Wife of Yang. (AKA Sheila, Ursula) Not much is known about Yin. She is fiercely protective of her husband and home. Audition Line: Quote:Soon after you left the sentries spotted those airships coming in from the west. The King ordered the city to evacuate. But I stayed put! None of those Baron thugs are going to touch MY house. --- "KING" FABUL Male/Female, ageless Ruler of the country of Fabul. All the more regal for their humility. Can be "Queen" or "King". Could be a child ruler or an aged monarch. Audition Line: Quote:Yes, we have been informed of the situation. And I must apologize to you, Master Yang. I unwisely sent your monks to their doom in the mountains, and shamefully fled when the airships appeared. --- PALOM Male, age Child/Teen An apprentice Black Mage from the land of Mysidia. Though young, Palom has proven himself a skillful, if arrogant, student of magic. He is a casual show-off, even to adults, and refers to himself as "The Mysidian Genius" or "Prodigy".  Audition Lines: Quote:Watch it, buddy! You're talkin' to the most powerful dark wizard in the whole world! Quote:Some people say that a monster from the depths of night resides at the summit. Others say there's nothing there. Like, it's a metaphor or something. Like, the whole time, YOU were the obstacle. --- POROM Female, age Child/Teen An apprentice White Mage from the land of Mysidia. Mature for her age, Porom is already an accomplished spellcaster. She is respectful and polite, and often has to keep Palom in line. She loves her brother and supports his quest to become a Sage, but believes he lacks the discipline. Audition Lines: Quote:Perhaps you were unaware, sir. I just so happen to be one of the most puissant white witches in the world. Quote:Well, I WAS just gonna lead him quietly into a cell in the tower. But you're right, Palom, yelling and making a scene is a much more sensible option! --- ELDER OF MYSIDIA Male/Female, age 40+ A leader of the town of Mysidia. Unusually long-sighted and kind. They are Porom & Palom’s teacher and an old friend of Tellah. Audition Line: Quote:Escort this man to the summit of Mount Ordeals. I see a dim star shining in the once-dark night sky... this will be a test for all of you. --- SCARMIGLIONE Male/Female, ageless The archfiend of Earth and appointed guardian of Mt Ordeals. It is an undead monster which Golbez has set to keep Cecil out of the summit cavern.  Audition Line: Quote:I am the gaoler of this forsssaken peak. Golbez set me here and now I have company at lassssst. Come! I shallll pulllll you into my embrace. --- KLUYA Male, 30+ A mysterious reflection in the summit cavern? Or something more? He is only a dim, echoing voice now.  Audition Line: Quote:I have waited for you for an age, it seems. And yet our meeting has come too soon, for now I must do as I have been dreading. The time is come! Hold your sword of darkness to the light!   FF4moonLogo3.png (Size: 366.21 KB / Downloads: 0) http://dlvr.it/PvCr4m www.voiceacting.space

[readbookywooks]

The Gathering of the Clouds

Now we will return to Bilbo and the dwarves. All night one of them had watched, but when morning came they had not heard or seen any sign of danger. But ever more thickly the birds were gathering. Their companies came flying from the South; and the crows that still lived about the Mountain were wheeling and crying unceasingly above. "Something strange is happening," said Thorin. "The time has gone for the autumn wanderings; and these are birds that dwell always in the land; there are starlings and flocks of finches; and far off there are many carrion birds as if a battle were afoot!" Suddenly Bilbo pointed: "There is that old thrush again!" he cried. "He seems to have escaped, when Smaug smashed the mountain-side, but I don't suppose the snails have!" Sure enough the old thrush was there, and as Bilbo pointed, he flew towards them and perched on a stone near by. Then he fluttered his wings and sang; then he cocked his head on one side, as if to listen; and again he sang, and again he listened. "I believe he is trying to tell us something," said Balin; "but I cannot follow the speech of such birds, it is very quick and difficult. Can you make it out Baggins?" "Not very well," said Bilbo (as a matter of fact, he could make nothing of it at all); "but the old fellow seems.very excited." "I only wish he was a raven!" said Balin. "I thought you did not like them! You seemed very shy of them, when we came this way before." "Those were crows! And nasty suspicious-looking creatures at that, and rude as well. You must have heard the ugly names they were calling after us. But the ravens are different. There used to be great friendship between them and the people of Thror; and they often brought us secret news, and were rewarded with such bright things as they coveted to hide in their dwellings. "They live many a year, and their memories are long, and they hand on their wisdom to their children. I knew many among the ravens of the rocks when I was a dwarf -  lad. This very height was once named Ravenhill, because there was a wise and famous pair, old Care and his wife, that lived here above the guard-chamber. But I don't suppose that any of that ancient breed linger here now." No sooner had he finished speaking than the old thrush gave a loud call, and immediately flew away. "We may not understand him, but that old bird understands us, I am sure," said Balin. "Keep watch now, and see what happens!" Before long there was a fluttering of wings, and back came the thrush; and with him came a most decrepit old bird. He was getting blind, he could hardly fly, and the top of his head was bald. He was an aged raven of great size. He alighted stiffly on the ground before them, slowly flapped his wings, and bobbed towards Thorin. "O Thorin son of Thrain, and Balin son of Fundin," he croaked (and Bilbo could understand what he said, for he used ordinary language and not bird-speech). "I am Rac son of Carc. Carc is dead, but he was well known to you once. It is a hundred years and three and fifty since I came out of the egg, but I do not forget what my father told me. Now I am the chief of the great ravens of the Mountain. We are few, but we remember still the king that was of old. Most of my people are abroad, for there are great tidings in the South - some are tidings of joy to you, and some you will not think so good. "Behold! the birds are gathering back again to the Mountain and to Dale from South and East and West, for word has gone out that Smaug is dead!" "Dead! Dead?" shouted the dwarves. "Dead! Then we have been in needless fear-and the treasure is ours!" They all sprang up and began to caper about for joy. "Yes, dead," said Rac. "The thrush, may his feathers never fall, saw him die, and we may trust his words. He saw him fall in battle with the men of Esgaroth the third night back from now at the rising of the moon." It was some time before Thorin could bring the dwarves to be silent and listen to the raven's news. At length when he had told all the tale of the battle he went on: "So much for joy, Thorin Oakenshield. You may go back to your halls in safety; all the treasure is yours-for the moment. But many are gathering hither beside the birds. The news of the death of the guardian has already gone far and wide, and the legend of the wealth of Thror has not lost in the telling during many years; many are eager for a share of the spoil. Already a host of the elves is on the way, and carrion birds are with them hoping for battle and slaughter. By the lake men murmur that their sorrows are due to the dwarves; for they are homeless and many have died, and Smaug has destroyed their town. They too think to find amends from your treasure, whether you are alive or dead. "Your own wisdom must decide your course, but thirteen is small remnant of the great folk of Durin that once dwelt here, and now are scattered far. If you will listen to my counsel, you will not trust the Master of the Lake-men, but rather him that shot the dragon with his bow. Bard is he, of the race of Dale, of the line of Girion; he is a grim man but true. We would see peace once more among dwarves and men and elves after the long desolation; but it may cost you dear in gold. I have spoken." Then Thorin burst forth in anger: "Our thanks, Rac Carc's son. You and your people shall not be forgotten. But none of our gold shall thieves take or the violent carry off while we are alive. If you would earn our thanks still more, bring us news of any that draw near. Also I would beg of you, if any of you are still young and strong of wing, that you would send messengers to our kin in the mountains of the North, both west from here and east, and tell them of our plight. But go specially to my cousin Dain in the Iron Hills, for he has many people well-armed, and dwells nearest to this place. Bid him hasten!" "I will not say if this counsel be good or bad," croaked Rac; "but I will do what can be done." Then off he slowly flew. "Back now to the Mountain!" cried Thorin. "We have little time to lose." "And little food to use!" cried Bilbo, always practical on such points. In any case he felt that the adventure was, properly speaking, over.with the death of the dragon-in which he was much mistaken-and he would have given most of his share of the profits for the peaceful winding up of these affairs. "Back to the Mountain!" cried the dwarves as if they had not heard him, so back he had to go with them. As you have heard some of the events already, you will see that the dwarves still had some days before them. They explored the caverns once more, and found, as they expected, that only the Front Gate remained open; all the other gates (except, of course, the small secret door) had long ago been broken and blocked by Smaug, and no sign of them remained. So now they began to labour hard in fortifying the main entrance, and in remaking the road that led from it. Tools were to be found in plenty that the miners and quarriers and builders of old had used; and at such work the dwarves were still very skilled. As they worked the ravens brought them constant tidings. In this way they learned that the Elvenking had turned aside to the Lake, and they still had a breathing space. Better still, they heard that three of their ponies had escaped and were wandering wild far down the banks of the Running River, not far from where the rest of their stores had been left. So while the others went on with their work, Fili and Kili were sent, guided by a raven, to find the ponies and bring back all they could. They were four days gone, and by that time they knew that the joined armies of the Lake-men and the Elves were hurrying towards the Mountain. But now their hopes were higher; for they had food for some weeks with care-chiefly cram, of course, and they were very tired of it; but cram is much better than nothing-and already the gate was blocked with a wall of squared stones laid dry, but very thick and high across the opening. There were holes in the wall through which they could see (or shoot) but no entrance. They climbed in or out with ladders, and hauled stuff up with ropes. For the issuing of the stream they had contrived a small low arch under the new wall; but near the entrance they had so altered the narrow bed that a wide pool stretched from the mountain-wall to the head of the fall over which the stream went towards Dale. Approach to the Gate was now only possible, without swimming, along a narrow ledge of the cliff, to the right as one looked outwards from the wall. The ponies they had brought only to the head of the steps above the old bridge, and unloading them there had bidden them return to their masters and sent them back riderless to the South. There came a night when suddenly there were many lights as of fires and torches away south in Dale before them. "They have come!" called Balin. "And their camp is very great. They must have come into the valley under the cover of dusk along both banks of the river." That night the dwarves slept little. The morning was still pale when they saw a company approaching. From behind their wall they watched them come up to the valley's head and climb slowly up. Before long they could see that both men of the lake armed as if for war and elvish bowmen were among them. At length the foremost of these climbed the tumbled rocks and appeared at the top of the falls; and very great was their surprise to see the pool before them and the Gate blocked with a wall of new-hewn stone. As they stood pointing and speaking to one another Thorin hailed them: "Who are you," he called in a very loud voice, "that come as if in war to the gates of Thorin son of Thrain, King under the Mountain, and what do you desire?" But they answered nothing. Some turned swiftly back, and the others after gazing for a while at the Gate and its defences soon followed them. That day the camp was moved and was brought right between the arms of the Mountain. The rocks echoed then with voices and with song, as they had not done for many a day. There was the sound, too, of elven-harps and of sweet music; and as it echoed up towards them it seemed that the chill of the air was warmed, and they caught faintly the fragrance of woodland flowers blossoming in spring. Then Bilbo longed to escape from the dark fortress and to go down and join in the mirth and feasting by the fires. Some of the younger dwarves were moved in their hearts, too, and they muttered that they wished things had fallen out otherwise and that they might welcome such folk as friends; but Thorin scowled. Then the dwarves themselves brought forth harps and instruments regained from the hoard, and made music to soften his mood; but their song was not as elvish song, and was much like the song they had sung long before in Bilbo's little hobbit-hole. "Under the Mountain dark and tall The King has come unto his hall! His foe is dead, the Worm of Dread, And ever so his foes shall fall. The sword is sharp, the spear is long, The arrow swift, the Gate is strong; The heart is bold that looks on gold; The dwarves no more shall suffer wrong. The dwarves of yore made mighty spells, While hammers fell like ringing bells In places deep, where dark things sleep, In hollow halls beneath the fells. On silver necklaces they strung The light of stars, on crowns they hung The dragon-fire, from twisted wire The melody of harps they wrung. The mountain throne once more is freed! O! wandering folk, the summons heed! Come haste! Come haste! across the waste! The king of friend and kin has need. Now call we over mountains cold, 'Come hack unto the caverns old'! Here at the Gates the king awaits, His hands are rich with gems and gold. The king is come unto his hall Under the Mountain dark and tall. The Worm of Dread is slain and dead, And ever so our foes shall fall!" This song appeared to please Thorin, and he smiled again and grew merry; and he began reckoning the distance to the Iron Hills and how long it would be before Dain could reach the Lonely Mountain, if he had set out as soon as the message reached him. But Bilbo's heart fell, both at the song and the talk: they sounded much too warlike. The next morning early a company of spearmen was seen crossing the river, and marching up the valley. They bore with them the green banner of the Elvenking and the blue banner of the Lake, and they advanced until they stood right before the wall at the Gate. Again Thorin hailed them in a loud voice: "Who are you that come armed for war to the gates of Thorin son of Thrain, King under the Mountain?" This time he was answered. A tall man stood forward, dark of hair and grim of face, and he cried: "Hail Thorin! Why do you fence yourself like a robber in his hold? We are not yet foes, and we rejoice that you are alive beyond our hope. We came expecting to find none living here; yet now that we are met there is matter for a parley and a council." "Who are you, and of what would you parley?" "I am Bard, and by my hand was the dragon slain and your treasure delivered. Is that not a matter that concerns you? Moreover I am by right descent the heir of Girion of Dale, and in your hoard is mingled much of the wealth of his halls and town, which of old Smaug stole. Is not that a matter of which we may speak? Further in his last battle Smaug destroyed the dwellings of the men of Esgaroth, and I am yet the servant of their Master. I would speak for him and ask whether you have no thought for the sorrow and misery of his people. They aided you in your distress, and in recompense you have thus far brought ruin only, though doubtless undesigned." Now these were fair words and true, if proudly and grimly spoken; and Bilbo thought that Thorin would at once admit what justice was in them. He did not, of course, expect that any one would remember that it was he who discovered all by himself the dragon's weak spot; and that was just as well, for no one ever did. But also he did not reckon with the power that gold has upon which a dragon has long brooded, nor with dwarvish hearts. Long hours in the past days Thorin had spent in the treasury, and the lust of it was heavy on him. Though he had hunted chiefly for the Arkenstone, yet he had an eye for many another wonderful thing that was lying there, about which were wound old memories of the labours and the sorrows of his race. "You put your worst cause last and in the chief place," Thorin answered. "To the treasure of my people no man has a claim, because Smaug who stole it from us also robbed him of life or home. The treasure was not his that his evil deeds should be amended with a share of it. The price of the goods and the assistance that we received of the Lake-men we will fairly pay-in due time. But nothing will we give, not even a loaf's worth, under threat of force. While an armed host lies before our doors, we look on you as foes and thieves. "It is in my mind to ask what share of their inheritance you would have paid to our kindred, had you found the hoard unguarded and us slain." "A just question," replied Bard. "But you are not dead, and we are not robbers. Moreover the wealthy may have pity beyond right on the needy that befriended them when they were in want. And still my other claims remain unanswered." "I will not parley, as I have said, with armed men at my gate. Nor at all with the people of the Elvenking, whom I remember with small kindness. In this debate they have no place. Begone now ere our arrows fly! And if you would speak with me again, first dismiss the elvish host to the woods where it belongs, and then return, laying down your arms before you approach the threshold." "The Elvenking is my friend, and he has succoured the people of the Lake in their need, though they had no claim but friendship on him," answered Bard. "We will give you time to repent your words. Gather your wisdom ere we return!" Then he departed and went back to the camp. Ere many hours were past, the banner-bearers returned, and trumpeters stood forth and blew a blast: "In the name of Esgaroth and the Forest," one cried, "we speak unto Thorin Thrain's son Oakenshield, calling himself the King under the Mountain, and we bid him consider well the claims that have been urged, or be declared our foe. At the least he shall deliver one twelfth portion of the treasure unto Bard, as the dragon-slayer, and as the heir of Girion. From that portion Bard will himself contribute to the aid of Esgaroth; but if Thorin would have the friendship and honour of the lands about, as his sires had of old, then he will give also somewhat of his own for the comfort of the men of the Lake." Then Thorin seized a bow of horn and shot an arrow at the speaker. It smote into his shield and stuck there quivering. '"Since such is your answer," he called in return, "I declare the Mountain besieged. You shall not depart from it, until you call on your side for a truce and a parley. We will bear no weapons against you, but we leave you to your gold. You may eat that, if you will!" With that the messengers departed swiftly, and the dwarves were left to consider their case. 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. Bilbo, of course, disapproved of the whole turn of affairs. He had by now had more than enough of the Mountain, and being besieged inside it was not at all to his taste. "The whole place still stinks of dragon," he grumbled to himself, "and it makes me sick. And cram is beginning simply to stick in my throat."

#Hobbit