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lathalea · 9 months

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The Arrival

Yes, my beloved readers, it's time for another Thorin fic from yours truly!

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader/OC (pick one) Rating: G Warnings: none Author's notes: Thorin and his Company have reclaimed Erebor and started rebuilding their kingdom. Everything seems fine except for the fact that the King Under The Mountain is eagerly awaiting the arrival of someone very dear to him... Also, I want to apologise to Peter Jackson for stealing some lines from An Unexpected Journey and J.R.R. Tolkien for appropriating and rephrasing one sentence from The Lord of The Rings. I'm a hopeless romantic, what can I say? You can find this fic on AO3. For @legolasbadass 💙💙💙

Khuzdul: Iglishmêk - dwarven sign language Kurdelê - my heart Lukhdelê - my light of all lights

The King Under the Mountain, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, the second of his name, also known as Thorin Oakenshield, the king of Durin’s folk, was not a patient Dwarf—and yet he waited. He had been standing on the main terrace above the Great Gate of Erebor since the moment when the first rays of the morning sun gilded the distant peaks of the Iron Hills. His eyes, however, were turned towards the west, where the jagged tops of the Misty Mountains grazed against the pink sky. As he took a deep breath, fresh spring air filled his lungs. It was his—and his people’s—first spring in Erebor since it was reclaimed. The winter after the Battle of Five Armies passed in a blink of an eye. The kingdom was being rebuilt and prepared for the returning Dwarves, food stores had to be replenished, new trade agreements had to be signed… but among all those duties, something else kept Thorin awake until late on many a night. His memories.

The memory of a pair of hands gently resting on his shoulders as he sat behind his desk, and the sweet timbre of the voice that went with it, “Come, Kurdelê, it is time we reposed for the night, those reports can wait until the morning.”

The memory of those soft, sweet lips pressing innocently against his cheek and murmuring something scandalously indecent into his ear.

The memory of how her body felt in his lap, his arms around her waist, her arms around his neck, her forehead pressed against his, her silver laughter as she pretended to scold his rash behaviour, so unbecoming of a king.

The memory of her bare skin in candlelight.

But there were other memories, too. Their lengthy late-night conversations about anything and everything. Their secret escapades to the market, or to an inn, dressed as common folk, pretending to be a couple of travelling merchants. Their wanderings through the Blue Mountains in search of the best view of the sea in the west (his choice) and the most beautiful flower glades (her choice).

During the lengthy council meetings he had to hold almost daily in Erebor, he would recall how much her presence changed the dynamics of similar gatherings back in the Blue Mountains. Her reasoning was swift, and her no-nonsense approach to the matters of state made even the most ancient council members nod in approval. Even now, he would—out of habit—turn to his right, wishing to discuss a matter with her or ask for her insight. But she was not there, and so he would give out a dissatisfied grunt and return to the matter at hand.

He knew that the only thing he had to do was wait, and he abhorred it. But there was nothing to be done. No sane person would risk crossing the Misty Mountains in the middle of winter. Now, however, the spring came into its own right. And he sent his best men to the High Pass to oversee the approach of the first dwarven caravan from Eriador. It was supposed to bring the first group of his people returning home, merchants, masters of craft, their families and belongings… and her. The whole Erebor was waiting for the arrival of their kin—the symbol of a new beginning for the Mountain and its dwellers. Many eyes turned to the west, counting the days, making wagers, discussing the route the waggons must have taken, and the current road conditions. It seemed that in those days, only one topic existed: the caravan.

But Thorin could only think of her lovely hand in his. Of her kindred touch.

As soon as a raven brought word from the caravan, reporting that they have succesfully crossed the mountains, he could not stop himself from looking to the west, and hoping.

This was the fifth day he spent on the terrace, waiting for any signs of the caravan’s approach.

On the first day, Gloin waited with him in hopes of seeing his wife and son, but was called away due to some issue in the treasure chamber. Thorin stayed, cursing the enchanted forest (and its haughty king, for good measure) for daring to obscure his view. Sadly, neither the forest nor its king moved out of the way.

On the second day, Dwalin asked Thorin whether he was growing mawkish in his dotage, staring at the edge of Mirkwood like a lovesick whelp—a question he had to take back on the training grounds.

On the third day, Dori asked whether Thorin would rather wait inside, on account of that nasty rain, and drink some warm tea with honey. No, said Thorin, he would not. And that envoy from the Iron Hills could join him there, on the terrace, by the way.

On the fourth day, Nori, Bifur and Bofur kept Thorin company, amusing him—and themselves in equal measure—with the latest gossip straight from the taverns of Erebor (all two of them, for now). He had no idea that several hundreds of dwarves, mostly newcomers from the Iron Hills and the White Mountains, could wreak such havoc. And marry so swiftly and in such numbers. Spring was truly in the air.

Now, on the fifth day, he stood alone, and waited. Roac was circling the Long Lake below, giving out a single caw from time to time, “Still nothing.”

And then, a hunting horn rang out in the air. Thorin knew its sound all too well.

“Balin!” he exclaimed to his friend who sat in the hall beyond the terrace. “Sound the alarm!”

The elderly dwarf raised his head from above a piece of parchment, slightly puzzled.

“Call out the guard,” Thorin insisted, feeling his impatience take the better of him. “Do it now!

“What is it?” Balin rose from his seat, his scroll forgotten.

“The caravan!” Thorin gestured excitedly—perhaps a tad too excitedly for a Dwarf of his stature—towards Mirkwood, where a long line of waggons started emerging from the forest. “They will be here soon!”

She will be here soon.

Over a year passed since the last time he held her in his arms, since he braided the silky dark waves of her hair, and since he looked into the brilliant, wise eyes of the woman he loved. To him, it felt like an eternity, and in that very moment, as he hurried down the stairs that led towards the Great Gate, he made a solemn promise to himself.

When the caravan arrived, most of the Dwarves were already gathered outside of the mountain. The guards held their heads high, presenting their weapons in an honorary salute, not leaving their posts, but even they cast curious glances at the newly arrived, trying to find familiar faces in the crowd. Thorin smirked at his thoughts. They looked as impatient as their king.

He knew the protocol of such meetings like the back of his hand, requiring him to stand by the gate, look regally, and welcome the newcomers to their new—old—home. His resolve wavered, however, when he saw a familiar figure clad in a green, fur-lined gown getting down a waggon, helped by one of the guardsmen. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Without thinking, he took a step forward, and then stopped, recalling who he was and what he was expected to do. He was also not allowed to leave his post, just like his guards. Instead, he observed from a distance, admiring the way the waves of her hair fell down her shoulders as she looked around, perhaps slightly disoriented, taking in the surroundings. Thorin saw the exact moments when her gaze rested on the mossy stone shaped by his ancestors into statues of warrior kings. Then her gaze moved down, focusing on the green marble of the Great Gate. Her eyes widened, her lips formed an “O” and then moved, she spoke something, but her words were lost in all the commotion. In that very moment, she reminded him of that bright-eyed maiden he had met for the first time in a mountain meadow half a world away; the maiden who laughed at his abysmal jokes, who fit so well in his arms when they danced, and who accepted his awkward courting efforts. The time that passed between then and now did not take away her ability to wonder and enjoy the world around her. She endured so many hardships on the way from the Blue Mountains to Erebor, so many cold nights on the road, faced so many dangers, and yet she never wavered in her decision to leave the Blue Mountains behind to be with him and their people. Now, she was finally here and, at last, he felt complete. Being able to see his own kingdom—their kingdom—through her eyes, and to see how amazed she was at the view, was a reward on its own.

Thorin could not stop himself from smiling when her eyes finally met his.

“Welcome home, my…” he began signing in iglishmêk, in that discreet way they often did on official occasions when the eyes of many would rest on them.

A light flush bloomed on her cheeks, she responded with a smile, and began walking towards him, oblivious of her escort and the joyous crowd around her, forgetting about the protocol, moving faster and faster, a giggle escaping her lips, her braids danced in the wind, her cloak flowed behind her, and…

“Thorin!” she called him in that melodious voice of hers, and there were diamonds in her eyes, or perhaps it was only his vision that suddenly turned very blurry, and he opened her arms, and thought “the Abyss take the protocol!”, and he rushed towards her, ignoring Balin clearing his throat in embarrassment, because she was finally here, and he had waited long enough—and they finally met halfway.

He wrapped his arms around her and felt her pressing into him, and there was laughter, and more tears in their eyes, the diamonds of happiness, those most precious among gems, and he was finally able to finish that sentence.

“Welcome home, my wife,” he rasped out, pressing his forehead against her, breathing in her familiar flowery scent, the one he adored so much. This was her, finally her, in his arms, and only she mattered in this very moment, not the crowd cheering around them, witnessing this moment of tenderness between their ruling couple, not even his kingdom, nor the world around them—now, it was only her.

“I missed you, my love,” she murmured, holding tight onto him, as if she wanted to make sure he would not disappear, and a wave of warmth washed over him. “I can’t believe I’m finally here, with you, after all those months…”

“Neither can I,” he agreed, cupping her cheek tenderly and eliciting a small sigh from her. “It was much too long, Lukhdelê.”

“Aye, it was,” she nodded, her eyes searching his face, as if learning it anew.

“I made a promise to myself,” Thorin continued. “Never again.”

“Oh?” she tilted her head in that alluring way of hers, and he had to suppress the improper urge to kiss her passionately in front of his people.

“Never again shall we part for so long. I crave you by my side, my heart,” he stated, bringing her hand to his lips.

“Then I will be looking forward to you upholding the promise,” she graced him with a teasing smile that made his blood run faster. “We have been apart indeed for too long, and so were our people. I believe it is time for us to work on improving their morale, would you not agree, my king?”

“Your wish is my command, my queen,” he agreed and took her in his arms again, and then their lips met. Sweetness intermingled with warmth, tenderness fueled the fire inside them, and he cared not that they stood in front of the gate in the sight of many.

After all, who cares about protocol when you have to properly welcome your wife home?

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greeneyed-thestral · 1 year

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«We are sons of Durin. And Durin's Folk do not flee from a fight.»

#the hobbit #hobbit #thorin #thorin oakenshield #richard armitage #aidan turner #kili #durin #the battle of the five armies #battle of the five armies #botfa

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richardarmitagefanpage · 16 days

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“We are sons of Durin. And Durins folk do not flee from a fight”

📷: cakeyscollectibles

#richard armitage #thorin oakenshield #the hobbit #j.r.r. tolkien #tolkien #middle earth #autograph #funko pop #news

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ebaeschnbliah · 1 year

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`Sit now beside my chair, Frodo of the Shire!' ...

... said Celeborn. `When all have come we will speak together.' Each of the companions he greeted courteously by name as they entered. `Welcome Aragorn son of Arathorn! ' he said. `It is eight and thirty years of the world outside since you came to this land; and those years lie heavy on you. But the end is near, for good or ill. Here lay aside your burden for a while!'

'Welcome son of Thranduil! Too seldom do my kindred journey hither from the North.'

`Welcome Gimli son of Glóin! It is long indeed since we saw one of Durin's folk in Caras Galadhon. But today we have broken our long law. May it be a sign that though the world is now dark better days are at hand, and that friendship shall be renewed between our peoples.' Gimli bowed low.

When all the guests were seated before his chair the Lord looked at them again. 'Here there are eight,' he said. `Nine were to set out: so said the messages. But maybe there has been some change of counsel that we have not heard. Elrond is far away, and darkness gathers between us, and all this year the shadows have grown longer.'

`Nay, there was no change of counsel,' said the Lady Galadriel speaking for the first time. Her voice was clear and musical, but deeper than woman's wont. `Gandalf the Grey set out with the Company, but he did not pass the borders of this land. Now tell us where he is; for I much desired to speak with him again. But I cannot see him from afar, unless he comes within the fences of Lothlórien: a grey mist is about him, and the ways of his feet and of his mind are hidden from me.'

'Alas! ' said Aragorn. `Gandalf the Grey fell into shadow. He remained in Moria and did not escape.'

At these words all the Elves in the hall cried aloud in grief and amazement. `These are evil tidings,' said Celeborn, `the most evil that have been spoken here in long years full of grievous deeds.' He turned to Haldir. `Why has nothing of this been told to me before? ' he asked in the Elven-tongue.

'We have not spoken to Haldir of our deeds or our purpose,' said Legolas. `At first we were weary and danger was too close behind and afterwards we almost forgot our grief for a time, as we walked in gladness on the fair paths of Lórien.'

`Yet our grief is great and our loss cannot be mended,' said Frodo. 'Gandalf was our guide, and he led us through Moria; and when our escape seemed beyond hope he saved us, and he fell.'

'Tell us now the full tale! ' said Celeborn.

Then Aragorn recounted all that had happened upon the pass of Caradhras, and in the days that followed; and he spoke of Balin and his book, and the fight in the Chamber of Mazarbul, and the fire, and the narrow bridge, and the coming of the Terror. 'An evil of the Ancient World it seemed, such as I have never seen before,' said Aragorn. `It was both a shadow and a flame, strong and terrible.'

'It was a Balrog of Morgoth,' said Legolas; `of all elf-banes the most deadly, save the One who sits in the Dark Tower.'

`Indeed I saw upon the bridge that which haunts our darkest dreams l saw Durin's Bane,' said Gimli in a low voice, and dread was in his eyes.

'Alas! ' said Celeborn. `We long have feared that under Caradhras a terror slept. But had I known that the Dwarves had stirred up this evil in Moria again, l would have forbidden you to pass the northern borders, you and all that went with you. And if it were possible, one would say that at the last Gandalf fell from wisdom into folly, going needlessly into the net of Moria.'

`He would be rash indeed that said that thing,' said Galadriel gravely. `Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life. Those that followed him knew not his mind and cannot report his full purpose. But however it may be with the guide, the followers are blameless. Do not repent of your welcome to the Dwarf. If our folk had been exiled long and far from Lothlórien, who of the Galadhrim, even Celeborn the Wise, would pass nigh and would not wish to look upon their ancient home, though it had become an abode of dragons?

'Dark is the water of Kheled-zâram, and cold are the springs of Kibil-nâla, and fair were the many-pillared halls of Khazad-dûm in Elder Days before the fall of mighty kings beneath the stone.' She looked upon Gimli, who sat glowering and sad, and she smiled. And the Dwarf, hearing the names given in his own ancient tongue, looked up and met her eyes; and it seemed to him that he looked suddenly into the heart of an enemy and saw there love and understanding. Wonder came into his face, and then he smiled in answer.

He rose clumsily and bowed in dwarf-fashion, saying: `Yet more fair is the living land of Lórien, and the Lady Galadriel is above all the jewels that lie beneath the earth! '

There was a silence. At length Celeborn spoke again. `I did not know that your plight was so evil,' he said. `Let Gimli forget my harsh words: I spoke in the trouble of my heart. I will do what I can to aid you, each according to his wish and need, but especially that one of the little folk who bears the burden.'

JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, The Mirror of Galadriel

#the lord of the rings #the fellowship of the ring #the mirror of galadriel #jrr tolkien #lothlorien #caras galadhon #galadriel #celeborn #haldir #frodo #sam #merry #pippin #aragorn #boromir #legolas #gimli #movie pics #peter jackson

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kilifiliandthorin · 2 years

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We are sons of Durin. And Durin's Folk do not flee from a fight.

#Kili #tolkienedit #hobbitedit #The Hobbit #Aidan Turner #BOFA #kilifiliandthorin #my gifs

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arofili · 2 years

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@tolkienlatamandcaribbeanweek day four | dwarves | dáin ii ironfoot

Up the steps after him leaped a Dwarf with a red axe. It was Dáin Ironfoot, Náin's son. Right before the doors he caught Azog, and there he slew him, and hewed off his head. That was held a great feat, for Dáin was then only a stripling in the reckoning of the Dwarves. But long life and many battles lay before him, until old but unbowed he fell at last in the War of the Ring.

—The Lord of the Rings, Appendix A, “Durin’s Folk”

#tolkienlatam&caribbeanweek #tolkienedit #oneringnet #the hobbit #th #lotr #lord of the rings #dain #dain ii #dain ii ironfoot #my edit #tefain nin #model: efrain villa #(he is mexican-american)#the axe pic is from botfa concept art!

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mrkida-art · 8 months

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Doodles of Prince Farin, son of Borin

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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sotwk · 2 years

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The Story of Thranduil's Great Losses

My overarching theory about Elvenking’s broken heart is that he actually lost multiple family members over the course of the Third Age, in events borne about by the spawning of evils from Dol Guldur and the resurgence of the orcs in lands close to Mirkwood.

However, the biggest loss that hit him hardest was that of his beloved wife. Prior to being softened by marriage and fatherhood, Thranduil must have been a bit difficult to get along with. Based on his portrayal in the The Hobbit trilogy, we can picture him as arrogant, cocky, snobbish, stubborn, impatient, hot-tempered, and carrying the emotional and mental damages of war. Remember that he witnessed the Sacking of Doriath, one or potentially two Kinslayings, the War of Wrath, and likely one or two of the great Elven wars in the mid Second Age. (I’m not listing the War of the Last Alliance here because I think he was already married at that point.) Essentially, he was a grumpy, battle-hardened soldier who just wanted to live the rest of his life on Middle-earth in peace and free of care.

Eventually, he met an elleth who not only saw the goodness and kindness behind these flaws, but helped him temper his demons. She understood and respected his desires but also inspired him to fulfill his potential as a great ruler. With their union, they helped each other grow and under their rule the Woodland Realm flourished and thrived for about a thousand years into the Third Age.

And then, sometime around TA 1000, the Necromancer (aka Sauron) came to Amon Lanc and set up shop, turning it into the cesspool that is Dol Guldur. Thranduil’s blissful existence began to crumble from then on, slowly but surely.

Almost two thousand years later, he was still working hard to serve his people and sustain his kingdom which was being plagued by the Necromancer’s evils, even after he'd lost the beautiful home he and his wife built together and raised their children in. In his fight against the Enemy, he lost dear friends and even his own children (who, or how many, I will not say, because I have yet to write those stories!). The fact that an estranged Legolas was the one left remaining to him by the events of The Hobbit speaks to the extent of his personal losses.

After TWO THOUSAND years of enduring this decline, injury, and strife, can you imagine what a blow it was to him when, due to one weak, unguarded moment, Thranduil failed to protect his Queen and she died?

How did it happen?

Honestly, I am still working out the specifics in order to write a story about it, but in the meantime, I have some notes to share.

If we choose to subscribe to The Hobbit movie’s claim that the Elvenqueen died in Gundabad, (which I do, loosely, in my own headcanon history for the SOTWK series I am building), a logical time when this might have occurred was in TA 2793 during the War of the Dwarves and Orcs and the Second Sacking of Gundabad.

My belief is that the Elvenqueen was not a fighter, because her husband was already a renowned warrior who commanded a formidable army, and a more practical and fitting role for her would be that of a healer, ready to tend to her King and sons should they suffer injury. Elves who are healers generally avoid combat, because as Tolkien’s “Laws and Customs of the Eldar” states: “the dealing of death, even when lawful or under necessity, diminished the power of healing” (from “The History of Middle Earth").

Details of about how the Elvenqueen’s death occurred include my following assumptions: (Bear with me, because a few are leaps and stretches of imagination, although still logical in my mind.)

The Elvenqueen was Noldorin and a dwarf-friend, similar to Celebrimbor or Elrond (in Rings of Power). Since dwarves helped build the underground halls as seen in The Hobbit, a congenial relationship must have existed between Thranduil’s house and the dwarves of Durin’s Folk. I believe the Queen was the source of this, being a friend to Thrain I (ancestor of Thorin Oakenshield).

In TA 2770, when Smaug besieged Erebor and turned the Dwarves into nomads, Thranduil refused to give them aid (for reasons I can discuss at a later time--but I have a theory for this too!). At the time, the Elvenqueen was residing elsewhere and was unable to prevent this.

Twenty years later: Wanting to make up for past mistakes, the Elvenqueen persuaded her reluctant King to send a portion of their army to fight on the Dwarves’ side, arguing that the orcs are also their people’s sworn enemy. (Does the argument sound familiar? Maybe that’s why Thranduil found Tauriel so aggravating!)

The Elvenqueen accompanied Thranduil to the first assembly of the forces, to facilitate the interactions between her hot-headed husband and a still-angry Thrain II (Thorin’s dad).

After a few battles had been fought and won, Thranduil convinced his wife to return home. She was to be escorted by Elven warriors and taken by a safe route provided by the Dwarves, but due to either betrayal or faulty intelligence, the Elvenqueen was instead ambushed and captured by orcs and taken to Gundabad.

Learning of this, Thranduil rode to her rescue and engaged the forces of Gundabad in battle. But his efforts were in vain because the Queen had already been slain; the orcs had no intention of returning her and had merely tried to set a trap. All Thranduil found was her lifeless body, and he never had a chance to say goodbye.

It was Thranduil’s rage that cleansed Gundabad of orcs during that war. (Take his fight scenes in the movies and multiply by the fury of a thousand suns.) However, once this was done, he took his army home, refusing to continue fighting the rest of the six-year war. He blamed the Dwarves’ negligence for his wife’s death, which led to the open hostility between his and Thrain/Thorin’s houses.

Thranduil’s anger was so well known (and feared), that Dain Ironfoot (who wasn’t even there!) later made the movie claim “he wishes nothing but ill upon my people” and called Thranduil a “faithless woodland sprite”, in reference to him not completing his participation in the war.

At the time of the Elvenqueen’s death, Legolas was already over 2,000 years old, so when Legolas tells Tauriel “there is no memory”, he means a grieving Thranduil likely discouraged any mention of his dead wife in his presence, songs of her are not widely sung, and images/memorials of her are scarce. “There is no grave” could mean that she was perhaps buried somewhere secret, not easily accessible, or not a typical resting place for elves. Thranduil's grief was just too deep to bear this.

#thranduil #thranduil fanart #thranduil oropherion #king thranduil #thranduil fanfiction #the elvenking #legolas #thranduil wife #the elvenqueen #the hobbit #lee pace #thranduil headcanon #lotr headcanon

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milesasinmorales · 2 years

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No! No, I will not call it Moira! Never! It's motherfucking Khazad-dûm! And don't you fucking forget it!

#lotr #the lord of the rings #lord of the rings #khazad dûm #moira #dwarves #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #thrain son of thror #thror #durin's folk #i love them okay #i want to remember the glory days

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tanoraqui · 1 year

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Maker's Marks

Chapter 5: In the Last Homely House

Note: I AM formally abandoning/indefinitely hiatus-ing this fic now, but I DID succeed in writing this chapter first, featuring the Council of Elrond and some scenes of what follows before our company leaves the Rivendell. Enjoy!

There was a pleasant surprise for Celebrimbor on his way to the council meeting the next morning, at least. Yes, he knew the smithcraft of that mail, the shape of those faces, that style of formal beard braiding!

"Hail, people of Durin!" he called in Khuzdul, rushing forward to greet the Longbeards. "What news from—"

At the last second he remembered Aragorn's terse addition to the tale of Bilbo and the Dragon, about why Thorin and company wandered so far afield.

“—the Lonely Mountain? I am glad to hear that you prosper once more!"

Both dwarves looked at him in surprise, the elder wary and the younger suspicious. But the elder hid his wariness quickly and replied in the same tongue, "An elf who speaks the language of dwarves! I've never heard of such a thing before, but I guess if I'm hearing it now, it would be in the house of Elrond." He bowed in greeting. "Well met, friend of Durin's folk! I am Gloin, and this is Gimli, my son. The Lonely Mountain does prosper, though...well, our other news is for the council."

"Well met, Master Gloin, and Gimli as well." Celebrimbor answered with the honorific appropriate to one who had birthed another of their own body, for so Gloin's inflections on 'my son' had indicated. Dwarves considered this greatest craft a matter for dwarves alone, but anyone trusted with private Khuzdul was deemed sufficiently dwarvish, and in that language it would've been insufferably rude not to acknowledge the masterwork.

"I was called Zigilrathkur, and Lord of the Hollies when last I knew your people," Celebrimbor explained. "Or when last you knew me, I suppose..."

He trailed off at the renewed guardedness in their eyes. What had history made of him, after he brought the wrath of Sauron to the very doors of Khazad-dûm?

A bell rang, summoning them to council and saving him from answers.

[keep reading on AO3]

#lord of the rings #the silmarillion #lotr #celebrimbor #elrond #frodo baggins #fanfiction #my fic

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enchantingkryptoniteheart-blog · 1 year

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Chapter 6

*Mistlynn*

Her mind was a whirlwind of emotional chaos as she walked alongside Balin, slowly rubbing her wrists in attempt to relieve the lingering pain of her bonds he had gently removed.

The White Kingdom has never needed to be in one place for longer than a season. They moved with the weather to always have sustenance to grow. Mistlynn could not fathom living one's life in one place; Never moving and living within the same walls around her day in and day out.

Her pace was slow and cautious through the golden laid passages of what Balin called the Hall of Kings. She could feel the energy of the centuries of lives that had lived in these halls.

She had never seen such grandeur in all her life; nor a room so gorgeous and ancient filled with so much history, sadness and love. So much destruction and rebirth chronicled in vivid detail. She never knew such knowledge and opulence existed. She was so lost in her rampaging thoughts she failed to realize Balin had ceased talking. His gaze looking upon her expectantly, white bushy eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I'm sorry. Did you ask me a question?" She stammered, trying to feign a look of indifference. Very unconvincingly it would seem.

Balin blinked, hiding his smirk. "I apologize my dear, but you seem to be … a little overwhelmed."

"It's hard not to be standing in such a room as this."

He watched her as though she was gliding across the gilded floor towards the vastly impressive statue of Thrain I, Thorin's great grandfather who had led Durin's folk from the overtaken halls of Moria by the Balrog. The sheer raw power of the lifelike stone looking upon her conveyed a sense of unease, as though this proud Dwarf King looked down at her judging her naivety. She looked away, trying to hide the feelings of being minuscule and unworthy.

Just then a portrait caught her eye, the rich colors of the paint were breathtakingly realistic. The couple in the portrait flanked with their three children looked so stoic and regal. The woman sat in an ornate chair of gilded woodwork on a lush navy cushion. She was adorned in a breathtakingly beautiful gown of cornflower blue and white silken layers that were beautifully enhanced by silver embroidery and precious stones. What could be seen as gaudy seemed to be perfection in its execution. A graceful diadem was elegantly interlaced in a wave of luscious golden curls and braids of hair.

The stately man stood behind her, his hand placed lovingly upon her shoulder. His striking attire was as black as a raven's wing with deep midnight blue, making his bright vivid blue eyes all the more striking, as if they were glowing. The thick hair and beard peppered with black and silvery grey waves added to his look of distinguished stoicism.

A darling young girl with shining black curls and sweet smile looked as though she had been cut from the same cloth as the woman. Her matching frock shimmered as though she was floating happily upon her mother's lap.

The younger boy favored his mother's coloring of golden locks and exuded a sunny disposition even thru this painting. The older boy was a younger replica of the man both in appearance and temperament. But the eyes of this boy though matching the prominent blue of his fathers, seemed different; pensive yet caring. They immediately drew Mistlynn in pulling her slowly closer. There was a resemblance in his eyes she couldn't place. All three children shared the remarkable blue eyes of their father, but the older son's eyes called to her in a familiar way.

Balin walked up alongside her silently. His eyes twinkling. "Beautiful, isn't it? This rendition is one of my favorites. Thorin always favored his father in appearance, but he was always his mother's kindred spirit."

She turned abruptly to Balin in surprise. He nodded towards her with a kind smile on his face. "When Erebor fell to the dragon Smaug, we lost not only thousands of our kin, but Thorin suffered the loss of both his dear mother and grandmother. He led our people to safety while his grandfather and father struggled between their grief and dragon sickness." Mistlynn tried not to show her confusion at the words as she had never heard of dragon sickness before "He worked in the cities of man as a blacksmith to help clothe and feed what was left of our women and children. Then, the Battle of Azanulbizar came with a steep price for our people. Azog the Defiler beheaded his grandfather, Thror, in front of him. His younger brother Frerin and many of our kin were lost to the wretched orcs that day. His father Thrain was driven so mad with grief he disappeared. We were never able to find him. Sorrowfully, we learned too late he was captured and tortured for years by Azog in the dungeons of Dol Guldur."

Balin took a deep breath, steadying the emotion that started to make his strong voice waiver Mistlynn noticed a hint of tears welling behind his eyes before blinking them away covering the sadness with a halfhearted smile thru his snow-white beard.

Mistlynn blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the tears she felt gathering up behind her eyes.

"So much pain, loss and most of all; death. He's never been the same since the death of his family. Becoming a leader at fifty and three was so much to carry on his young shoulders, he has held his own better than I could have ever imagined though and has made the safety and prosperity of our people more important that of himself."

She swallowed thickly, feeling the shame flush through her body at an alarming rate. The words she had so evilly spit at Thorin coming back in waves causing her breathing to hitch and the desire to retch upon the gilded floors to become ever so strong.

"I find it curious that you are not familiar with our history. It is well known throughout our race." Balin commented, as he studied her face.

Mistlynn twisted her hands with an anxious energy, trying all she could to hide the sadness and guilt upon her face. "I had no idea of your people's history, or that of any others outside of the White Kingdoms. I am finding I know nothing of Arda's and feel as though the little we all have been told, as to why we should never leave our lands may have been for reasons that now no longer exist."

Balin looks upon her in silence hoping to not spook her and allow her to keep speaking.

Mistlynn takes a deep breath not knowing why but feeling as though she is safe in asking her queries with Balin "Do you know the story of Belegost?"

Balin arched an eyebrow. "We didn't even realize your people existed until you were brought here. We have all been told of the tragic tale of Belegost falling into the sea with all of Beleriand. Stories have circulated, of course, amongst travelers and tradesmen of strange beings riding Dire Wolves and wearing strange attire but that has always been dismissed as mistaken identities or tall tales spun from tales of old. We believed only those that made it to Moria survived."

"I was never told that any made it to Moria, Master Balin. However, it was by design that you did not know we existed." She murmured, her eyes landing back on the portrait of young Thorin and his family. "We didn't want our existence to be known as fact, but rather as legend. So that we may be left to live our lives in peace. No judgement. No war. No greed."

Balin steadied himself, taking a deep breath as he tried to figure out what he should ask or say next. "My dear, would you care to explain why your people felt the need to hide from their own kind? Could it possibly be because of your lineage being intertwined now with that of the Elves?"

"You heard my disagreement with your King earlier, I take it?" Balin nodded with a Half smile.

“I cannot betray the secrets of my people. Surely you must understand that, but I will admit that there has not been a pure elf leader for generations." Shocked with herself that she spoke the words she had Mistlynn withdrew her eyes from upon his face.

Balin, noticing the apprehension in her answer and chose to no longer ask and save his questions for another time.

"I understand. Perhaps we can revisit this topic once we have gotten to know each other better." He said with a kind, peaceful smile.

Silence hung in the air for a long while before Mistlynn asked a question that had been plaguing her mind amongst all the other issues of the day.

“May I ask a favor of your kind sir?" Balin raised his eyebrow "Within reason my lady, I will grant any wish that is within my power."

“My Dire-Wolf Luna has been taken from me. I would like her back."

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