Thorin made a special point of witnessing the lad’s celebration. Fíli and Kíli spent all their time gawking at Gimrís, and Frerin did naught but complain that he couldn’t drink the very fine spirit Bilbo had sent from the Shire for the occasion. Bifur was entertaining himself by walking through people. It was a very unnerving sight.
I love this. Thorin’s there to watch the celebration, Fíli and Kíli just want to stare at Gimrís, Frerin just wants to complain about not being able to drink, and Bifur’s having fun being dead and being able to walk through people. Different dwarves enjoy the celebration differently, and I love the variety.
“Thank you, Aunt Dís,” he said, dazed as he accepted it. The bag fell away to reveal a pair of very familiar throwing axes. He looked up, his eyes wide and white. She smiled.
“Fíli would like you to have them, no doubt,” she said.
I always have feels at this point. Years ago, when Gimli first started going to visit Dís, she couldn’t bear to part with Fíli or Kíli’s things, because the wound was too fresh. Now, it’s healed a little, at least it’s not as raw, and she can bear to part with something of Fíli’s because she knows it’s something Gimli would be able to put to good use, and Fíli would rather them be used than just sit in a closet somewhere.
The Ri Brothers had banded together and had made him a beautiful warm woollen travelling surcoat with a matching pair of trousers. The stitching around the edges was hardy and strong, and the colour was a warm rusty brown that made the red of his beard appear brighter. “Thank you!” Gimli said, and held it up to admire the gold thread interwoven through the edges.
Whenever they band together, they always do great things. Joining a quest, making fantastic traveling clothes, etc.
“Gimrís,” he said in awe. “You made this?”
She bristled. “What, are you calling me a liar?”
As much as I love their bickering, it sort of backfired in this case for Gimrís. She’s expecting their usual trade of loving insults, and instead Gimli’s honestly astonished at what a beautiful gift she’d made him and so she has to discuss feelings.
“Well,” she said, uncomfortable in his embrace, “I suppose you’re not completely awful.”
He rolled his eyes, and then he leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Namadith. You’re not always a brat.”
“That’s as close as they’ll ever get, I suppose,” Mizim said with a sigh, dabbing at her eyes.
She’s probably not wrong about that.
A set o’ lungs on the bairn that echoed even in my ears!“
“Aye, and is that why you dropped him?” Glóin said, his eyebrow arching. Mizim folded her arms, her eyes glinting rather dangerously. Óin let go of Gimli’s shoulders like hot coals.
“Ah, er…”
“Óin dropped the baby?” said Bombur incredulously.
“Aye, right on his precious wee head. Lucky he’s a Dwarf, or it could have hurt him!”
“Lucky he landed on his head, you mean,” Gimrís said. “Did the floor tiles crack?”
Gimli scowled at her.
“He wouldn’t stop wriggling!” Óin said. “I hadn’t delivered a babby before. He was the first – I was nervous!”
This is my favorite thing ever. Óin getting drunk and embarrassing Gimli, with unwitting help from Mizim and Glóin, by talking about his birth. Gimli should be lucky that he lives in an Age before there were cameras, or the three of them would’ve probably been bringing out naked baby pictures.
“Poor little mite, dropped on his head – an’ Mizim swearin’ a blue streak an’ all, an’ Glóin about to faint wi’ first-time-father jitters,” Óin crooned, patting the mortified Gimli’s cheek. “Still, it didn’t faze him at all! He just roared at me some more, an’ when I picked him back up he straightaway soiled himself all down the front o’ my apron t’ teach me a lesson.”
Drunk Óin is hilarious.
Gimrís was trying in vain to muffle her snickers by biting down on her hand. Gimli scowled at her. “You wait til it’s your turn. Eight years, sister. Watch your back.”
“Aye, not long until you’ve reached your centenary, little lass,” said Glóin, smiling at her.
She tossed her head. “If you tell such stories about me, I’ll put an emetic in your food.”
I approve of Gimrís’ method of getting them to not tell embarrassing stories about her. Gimli’s probably regretting that he didn’t think up a suitable threat before this all happened.
“And I saw her first!” Fíli snapped. “Thorin, tell him to keep his grubby hands to himself!”
Thorin shook his head. “Not for all the world.”
“If you do,” Bifur added, his face alive with gladness, “I will knock out every one of your teeth.”
Again, I love Bifur. He’s not even alive anymore, and he still will do whatever’s in his power (although that’s not much considering he’s dead) to make sure Bofur gets his shot at happiness.
“Khuzd tada bijebî âysîthi mud oshmâkhî dhi zurkur ughvashâhu, oh, never thought I would live to see the day,” Bifur said happily.
“You didn’t,” said Fíli sourly.
“Oh, hush,” Thorin told his grousing nephews, a lump in his throat. “Bofur is falling in love, his dearest wish, and they have the time to be together. That is no small thing.”
Okay, even though Fíli only said it because he’s grumpy that someone else is with Gimrís, that’s hilarious. And Thorin looking at those two and seeing what could have been if he and Bilbo had just wised up sooner? All the feels.
Thorin ignored him with as much dignity as he could muster – which was a lot.
Understatement of the Age.
Glóin drew Mizim aside. “Did what I just think happened actually happen?”
“You’ve got eyes,” she said under her breath. “Yes, our daughter is diving headlong into courting faster than a dropped hammer, and you, you old bear, are going to respect her wishes and leave Bofur alone, d’you hear?”
“I wouldn’t hurt him!” he protested. “He’s of the Company! I’d just… I’d just scare him a little.”
Overprotective Papa Glóin is no match for his wife. Mizim won’t let him threaten Bofur and risk chasing him off. She probably noticed that he’s a little insecure about the fact that he’s older than Gimrís and knows that it wouldn’t take much ‘scaring’ to chase him off even if he does love Gimrís.
“About sixty, sixty-five so far,” said Náli, the old white-haired training-master.
“Too many,” Thorin whispered. “One Dwarf is too many, let alone sixty-five!”
Oh Balin, what are you doing? You’ve lost your mind, it’s like Thorin said, your love of tradition is getting the better of you. Don’t you remember Azanulbizar? Do you really want another battle like that?
“The Balrog,” Thorin spat.
Gimli’s shoulders tensed. “Aye, but what of Durin’s Bane?”
Many faces blanched, but several Dwarves scoffed loudly. “An ancient thing long turned to dust! We have naught to fear from old tales!”
You are all gonna be eating those words soon enough.
“Ori,” Thorin said helplessly, and then he scrubbed his face with his hands. “No, not Ori. Youngest of us all, little Ori in your knitted gloves… Ori, you are but a hundred and eleven! I cannot… Ori, in Moria, your brothers…”
I wonder, if Ori had realized how soon Nori would be dying, and how alone Dori would be, if he still would have agreed. On the one hand, it’s important to have a historian along on something like this. On the other hand, he’d be leaving Dori alone with no one to care for.
“Aye, well, my uncle is more than a little deep in his cups,” Gimli laughed, and clapped Lóni’s back. “Ask him again when he is sober!”
When he’s sober, he’s still interested. It’s a good thing Thorin talked you out of going too, though, or else the Fellowship would have ended differently.
Not long after Gimli’s nameday, Dwalin was completely blindsided by a proposal of courtship from his deputy, the stony, severe Orla. He had been so surprised he actually said yes.
Orla turning Dwalin’s world upside down and proposing to him is awesome. I can’t lie, though, she’s my favorite OC in Sansukh, so I think a lot of what she does is awesome.
One of Dwalin’s troops made the mistake of joking about the relationship.
No-one made that mistake ever again.
I wonder if Orla took care of it, Dwalin did, or if they teamed up to do it.
“Hello, my boy,” he said softly. “Hello Thorin, son of Dwalin.”
“Oh, you did not,” said Thorin in disgust.
Everyone wants to name their kids after you, Thorin, you need to get used to it.
“You bloody stupid noble twit,” were Nori’s first words to Thorin, and he lowered his head and laughed softly.
“Aye, guilty as charged. But at least I wasn’t killed over a rigged game of conkers.”
Nori dying because of a rigged game of conkers is hilarious! I mean, it’s sad he died, but just the reason for his death being /conkers/ of all things? That’s hilarious.
“Tashf!” Bifur snapped, and then launched himself at Nori and wrapped him in his arms. Nori gasped as all the air was knocked out of him.
“Mahal below, what the…” he choked.“Bifur, hang on a bleedin’ second, let a body get his breaf back…”
“He’s a little excited to see you,” said Fíli dryly.
“Nah, really? Do tell,” Nori managed.
“D’you think he’ll do that to each one of the Company as they arrive?” Kíli wondered.
“Yes,” Bifur said emphatically. “I will, and stop talking about me as if I weren’t here.”
“Wait a mo, he’s speaking in Westron…!”
“He does that now,” Kíli said. “It’s getting him to stop that’s the trick. Hello Nori!”
I love Bifur. I love their reactions to Bifur here, but I mostly just love Bifur and how enthusiastic he is to welcome all of his friends when they die.
Dead, yes. Retired? Never.
Best summary of Nori’s personality ever, in less than 5 words.
He wanted to know who that young whelp was, following Bilbo around like a lost puppy!
Thorin, you’re jealous of a little hobbit, calm down. Bilbo didn’t forget you.
The boy looked confused, as though hearing such things out of the mouths of adults was not something he was used to. “You… don’t mind me having a secret hiding place?”
“Heavens no, Frodo m’boy. I have so many secrets they positively leak out of my ears; why in the world would I mind you having secrets of your own? Come on, put your bags down, and let’s go see about elevensies, shall we?”
I love Bilbo and Frodo’s interactions, especially when Frodo’s this young. And Bilbo having so many secrets that they leak out of his pointed ears is an understatement, especially when you consider his secret love of Thorin and the Ring, among others.
“Rivendell!” Frodo took a step forward out from underneath Bilbo’s arm, his large blue eyes wide. “Do you think I will ever see it?”
Fascination with elves must be in the Baggins DNA. None of the other Bagginses leave the Shire, though, so only Bilbo and Frodo have discovered it.
“Yes, Uncle Bilbo!” Frodo said with one last longing look at Rivendell, before racing down the corridor. Thorin’s lips parted on a soft breath of surprise.
Then he berated himself for an idiot and a fool.
“An uncle?” He turned to Bilbo. “I didn’t know you had siblings. How could I not know that about you?”
He was a little disconcerted. Thorin wanted to know everything about Bilbo. Everything. He could not fulfil his promise otherwise.
Your married is showing again, Thorin. Also, just be glad you don’t have Frerin or one of the others with you this time, or they would’ve teased you so much about being jealous of the little hobbit.
He’d long grown used to seeing Bilbo’s proficiency in the kitchen, though it never failed to make his mouth quirk. Why was one blade so different to another? Perhaps he should have suggested that the Burglar dice his enemies.
That actually might have helped Bilbo learn to use the sword. Just describe different food preparation techniques and have Bilbo act them out with the sword.
Thorin smiled to himself. “Even stubborn, blind, arrogant Dwarves.”
“Even idiots with their great heads stuffed firmly up their backsides,” added Bilbo, his mouth twitching. Thorin started in surprise, and then shook his head, laughing softly beneath his breath.
“Blasted creature.” How he wished… oh, how he wished. His arms ached to hold the infuriating little Burglar. He wanted to touch Bilbo’s curly hair, and to feel those nimble little hands against the nape of his neck. He longed to kiss that quick and clever mouth, to nip that sharp tongue with his teeth. “Blasted, ridiculous, absurd Hobbit.”
As funny as this is, it also has all the feels.
“If I gave you a beard, would you leave me alone?!”
Mahal’s resorting to bribery, the plan to be annoying is working a bit more quickly than I’d suspected. Then again, it’s best to never underestimate dwarves.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Kili has Skills 😉
(AND DRUNK!OIN IS SO MUCH FUNNNNN, I LOVE HIM AND HIS COMPLETE INAPPROPRIATENESS)
Thorin kept his word. He visited the Chamber every day. Bilbo kept on with his life, busily pottering around his little Hobbit-Hole and garden, blithely unconcerned with what his neighbours thought of him. He lent his mithril-shirt to a museum, although Hobbits called it a ‘mathom-house’. From what Thorin could understand, a mathom was something that was meant to gather dust; interesting, but impractical. A mithril-shirt, impractical! He shook his head at the ridiculousness of it. Truly, Hobbits were preposterous little creatures!
I’m with Thorin on this one. Even if there hasn’t been war in the Shire in centuries, it’s still a good idea to hold onto something like that in case there’s another quest.
His parents Kifur and Bomrís and his uncle Bomfur (the father to Bofur and Bombur) were greeting him, and Thorin wondered how that worked. Did Mahal let you know in some way? Or had they discovered it as Thorin had, peering through the waters of Gimlîn-zâram?
You’ll find out before too long, Thorin.
“Allow him some space,” he said sternly. It had been ten years, but he still recalled how disoriented and overwhelmed he had been. “He has just met our Maker and his parents, and will be—”
“Zabadâl belkul!” cried a joyous voice, and Thorin was rudely interrupted by a heavy, entirely naked body slamming into him and bowling him over. “Zabadâl belkul, melhekhel!”
“Zûr zu?” Bifur grabbed Thorin’s shoulders and smashed their heads together. Thorin reeled, stars sparking before his eyes.
“Ach! Stop, wait-”
“Abbad, abbad, sakhab!” Bifur crowed, and then patted at Thorin’s face. “Ah, melhekhel, Thorin-zabad. Sakhab at you, I never thought I’d see you again, and so unchanged. Why, you could skin me wi’ that glare! Does a body good to see it.”
Thorin stopped struggling and stared at him, dumbfounded. “Bifur… you’re speaking Westron.”
“Am I?” Bifur blinked, and then he smiled. There was a faint red scar where once there had been a huge stomach-churning dent in his skull, and he seemed far more lucid than Thorin could remember him ever being – if still rather odd. “Oh. So I am.”
I know some of the reunions are heartbreaking, but Bifur’s is hilarious. Bifur is one of my favorite canonical dwarves, and I always wondered what he’d be like if I could understand what he says in Dwarvish, and this take on his personality fits pretty well with what I’d thought he’d be like, but better.
“And you’re naked,” Fíli added.
“On top of Thorin,” Kíli sniggered.
Bifur beamed at them, pushing away from Thorin and exclaiming, “Lads! Fíli, Kíli, shamukh ra ghelekhur aimâ, how wonderful it is to see you!”
“Good to see you too,” Kíli told him, pulling him to his feet.
“Be even better if we hadn’t seen so much of you,” Fíli mumbled. Bifur simply laughed and tugged the boys into a hug, throwing his arms around their necks and holding on tightly.
Thorin pushed himself up and rubbed his forehead. “Well, it seems you slip back into Khuzdul every now and then,” he said to himself, before smiling at the faces of his nephews as they tried to extricate themselves from Bifur’s ebullience. Raising his voice he said, “Perhaps we should find you some clothes…”
“No perhaps about it,” Kíli wheezed.
Bifur jerked away suddenly to stare at his hands with a perplexed expression. His eyes were completely focused for the first time in ten years. “Oh, yes.” Then he raised his eyebrows and looked down at himself with apparent surprise. “Aye, all right. Although I could get used to this, you know. Rather… freeing. You should try it.”
“My eyes,” moaned Fíli.
“My brain,” whimpered Kíli.
I love everything about this, I can’t deny it. Bifur streaking around the halls, hugging Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli while he’s stark naked, Fíli’s reaction to Bifur wanting to stay naked…just everything about this is hilarious and makes my day whenever I read it.
Abruptly Bifur tensed, his head jerking up and his eyes widening. “Wait, ‘ikhuzh! ‘Amad, ‘adad, uncle Bomfur… where are they?”
“Behind you, Bifur,” said an amused voice. “The Maker recreated your birthmark, I see.”
Another dwarrowdam I like? Bomrís. I relate to her a lot, and I like her little humorous comment here. Orla, Hrera, and Frís are ahead of her on the list, but I like Bomrís too.
“Aye, we eat,” Thorin said, trying and failing to repress a smile. “There’s food, and plenty of it.”
“Oh.” Bifur frowned for a moment, and then he brightened. “Are there flowers?”
I love that Bifur still likes flowers, and presumably vegetables, now that he’s in the Halls.
The door flew open, and Dwalin stormed in, followed by Óin. “You idiot!” he thundered.
“That’s our King,” Óin muttered.
“You idiot, your Majesty,” snarled Dwalin, teeth snapping around the words.
It’s not Dáin’s fault, he did what he had to do to keep the peace and make sure Erebor’s relationship with the Dalemen was good, but still this is hilarious.
“You’re a damned fool,” said Dwalin bluntly.
Dáin laughed his raspy laugh. “Aye, probably. But practical.”
Dáin is a better king than 90% of the fandom gives him credit for being. He’s practical, he knows how to lead. Yes, being Lord of the Iron Hills isn’t the same as being King of Erebor, but he ruled for over a hundred years there, and there was peace and prosperity. Now that he’s king of Erebor, he’s bringing the same thing there, it’ll just take those closest to Thorin time to see it.
Hrera looked politely incredulous. “He must be touched in the head. That one has had too much sun.”
“He’s a fine young Dwarrow,” Thorin said, and then he wondered why he felt the need to defend him. Surely he hadn’t become so fond of the lad?
“Fine young Dwarrow or not, he’s going to get sunburnt,” she predicted.
She was not wrong. Gimli was reddened and peeling by the time he made it back down from the summit, and Hrera tutted over the state of his braids. “Terrible,” she said disapprovingly. “Look at that! Has the boy never used hair oils in his life?”
“Probably not,” Thorin said. “He dislikes primping and frippery, as he calls it.”
I have a feeling that, when Gimli finally passes into the Halls, the first thing Hrera will do when she meets him will be to sit him down and work on his hair while lecturing him on it’s importance.
“I suppose that makes you King, then!” one laughed. Gimli rolled his eyes and waved that away.
“No fear! I would have to be blind drunk to want to be King. Have you seen Dáin lately? He looks like granite pounded by giants!
Gimli’s not an idiot, he knows that he wouldn’t want the responsibility that comes from being king, at least not this early on.
“What’s this my dainty ears do hear?” said Nori, clumping towards them with a tray of tankards and a creased grin. “Our Gimli versus the Stonehelm? Now that I’d pay to see.”
“No you wouldn’t!” cried a Dwarf. “You’d be running the books, you old crook!”
“Aye, we’d be paying you!”
Nori winked. “Pack of lies it is, my dears, and I’m ashamed to know you.”
See Nori in his natural element, running the books for various bets and making a tidy profit off of them.
“Well then, I’d give you two to three odds on Gimli versus the Stonehelm, but in the third match, I’m afraid, it’s gonna have t’ drop to one outta nine.”
“And why, may I ask?” Gimli said indignantly. “I’m the finest axeman of my age in the whole of Erebor!”
“Indeed you are, my little Lord,” said Nori slyly, “but in the third match you’d be fightin’ Dwalin son of Fundin, an’ I don’t much fancy yer chances.”
A groan rose from around the table, and Gimli shook his head. “Alas!” he laughed. “Well, I’d have to bet against myself – and you’ve already done so well out of me too, you old villain.”
“Knew you’d beat Lóni,” Nori said in satisfaction. “All right, boys, pay up.”
With some grumbling, the assembled drinkers handed Nori a few coins. “Thanking you kindly,” he said, grinning broadly. Biting hard on one, he nodded and then slipped them into a pocket. Sitting himself down at the table, he eased his metal leg out in front of him and a knife abruptly appeared in his hands. He absently spun it around his fingers as he raised his braided eyebrows, now liberally streaked with grey. “Well, my brave lads? Not taking me up on my very generous odds?”
Gimli took another sip of his ale and licked the foam from his moustache. “Me, fight Dwalin? You’ve got to be joking. He taught me most of what I know. I’d be warg-food before the day was out.”
“You’d be warg-food before the minute was out,” said a Dwarf, and Gimli puffed out his chest in indignation.
“I’ll have you know I’d last at least twenty.” He suddenly grinned. “Seconds.”
Again, Nori would do so well running the books for these fights, it wouldn’t be funny. I wonder if he ever arranges things like that in the afterlife, pitting together two dwarven heroes and having everyone bet on which one would be the victor.
“Oh, I see,” she said, and looked back to where the thief was amusing the lads with knife tricks. “He lost that leg at the Battle, then?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, my dear.” She patted his cheek comfortingly and sighed. “Oh, you stone-faced Durin men. If you would only say!”
I love Hrera. And I also sympathize with her, since apparently getting Durins to open up is like wringing water from a stone. I can be done with a lot of time, effort, and patience, but no one could say that it’s easy.
“Here now, what’s this about your brother, Nori?” called one of the youngsters, and the call was echoed by several around the table.
Nori rolled his eyes dramatically. “Do you mean the mother-hen or the scribbler?”
Now, I wonder which brother is which? Nori’s nicknames for them are so subtle it’s hard to tell. I love his reaction though, it’s like ‘oh for Mahal’s sake, can’t I go five minutes without someone asking after my brothers?’.
A little sigh echoed around the table, and Thorin shook his head at their longing expressions. His weaver companion was the epitome of Dwarven male beauty, after all, with his silvery hair, classic Stiffbeard nose, thick legs and stout frame. Unfortunately for his many admirers, he was one of the many Dwarrows whose heart was given to their craft. Dori loved his weaving, his brothers, his wines and his tea, and had as much interest in romance as he had in cross-country skiing. Furthermore, he had a punch like a charging oliphaunt.
I relate to this version of Dori a lot, if I’m honest. I feel the same way he does about romance and sex, I just don’t have the muscle that he does, or family that accepts it like he does. I also love how Nori makes a bit of profit off of the dwarf who’s sighing over Dori, it’s just so Nori.
“You idiots really need to find a new obsession,” snorted Thorin – and Gimli chuckled under his breath.
“Tell him, and we’ll have Ori, my father and uncle, my cousins, Bofur and probably even Bombur down here to glare at you and cheer Dori on,” he said, his eyes dancing with mirth. “I’d like to place a wager, if I may?”
Nori winked at him. “Better believe it, little star. The Company sticks together.”
“The Company are weird,” said a youngster after a pause.
“That too!” Nori laughed.
I can’t deny any of that. The Company stick together, and they’re also weird. It’s why they work so well together, they’re accepting of each other’s quirks.
“Disgraceful,” Hrera said absently. “I’ll wager you a silver clasp for one of your daggers, Thorin dear? On Gimli to win, of course.”
Another reason to love Hrera. Prim, proper, elegant, and willing to make wagers with her grandson on fights.
“Older than Thorin now.” He shook his head. “Ach, Mahal’s mighty balls, don’t get sentimental,” Dwalin growled to himself. “Orla’d tan yer hide if she saw you whining about yer good fortune.”
Aw, Dwalin’s already getting a bit sentimental towards Orla, he already cares what she thinks of him.
Dáin straightened on the throne, his manner stern. “We shall have no more Azanulbizars,” he said, and Thrór let out a gusty sigh of relief. “Balin, we need your wisdom here. You can’t leave me alone to deal with Thranduil and Glóin both.”
As good of a point as that is, Dáin, it doesn’t work to convince Balin. I wonder if it would have worked if Balin knew that, in the future, both Thranduil and Gloin would be in the mountain at the same time for an extended length of time?
“I risked my life for my King. I risked my life because he called,” Balin said, drawing himself up and speaking with quiet authority. “Now – now I understand why he wished for this, why he had no other choice. It is a horror than cannot be tolerated, and a shame upon us all.”
Dáin sighed. “I am not that King.”
Thorin’s hand tensed on Thrór’s arm. “I did not have the chance to be your King, Balin,” he muttered. “I was a warrior first; a soldier who led his people in exile. Statecraft, politics, treaties, compromise, diplomacy – I never practised any of these. Dáin knows more of Kingship than I ever did. Listen to him, not to the memory of my vain pride! Moria is a glittering trap, a fool’s hope. Do not do this!”
Balin, don’t be a fool. Listen to Dáin, he knows what he’s talking about. Yes, he’s not the king you followed, Thorin is, but hasn’t Dáin done well so far? Erebor has grown from the wreck it was post battle, relations with the other nearby kingdoms are going well…going after Moria now, so soon after the last battle, is a bad idea.
BIFURUHHHHHHH ❤
*Smooches you a lot and also clings to your leg like a happy 3yo* THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOUUUUUUU
“We are going home!” she cried in her ringing voice of diamond and mithril, and a mighty cheer rose up from every throat. Turning, Dís began to walk away from the worked-out mines and the crumbling halls of Belegost that had sheltered them in their poverty, and raised her face to the East. She did not look back. Wagons rumbled along in her wake as she began to march.
As much as I love Dain, can we take a minute to appreciate the awesomeness of Queen Dís, if she had taken the throne? It makes sense why she wouldn’t want to, that throne had cost the lives of her sons and brother, but it’s something I thought of after I finished reading The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings the first time. King Dain is just as awesome, though.
His reunion with Mizim, Gimrís and Gimli upon his arrival at Ered Luin had been nothing short of spectacular. Glóin had wrapped himself around his wife and held onto her tightly, burying his face in her pale hair. She put her hands either side of his head and drew it back, tracing the old scar over his brow with her thumb before kissing him deeply and gently. “Hello, you old bear,” she said softly, her hands slipping into his mane of wild red hair. “You’re late.”
“Jewel,” he said, and his eyes misted over. “More lovely than ever you are, Mizim, crown of my life, light of my heart.”
I wonder when Mizim started calling Glóin a bear. His nickname for her makes sense, since her name means jewel, but I wonder if it’s just something that she came up with randomly and liked, or if there’s a funny story behind the nickname. But also this, the two fo them reuniting? Adorable!
He took her hands and kissed them one after the other before turning to his children – and his mouth slowly formed the shape of an ‘O’.
Thorin privately thought his expression was hilarious. Frerin, of course, didn’t keep such things private. His brother keeled over backwards, laughing his head off.
I’m with Frerin. I probably wouldn’t have fallen over, but I’d have definitely been laughing.
Glóin had gawked for a moment longer before Gimrís was hurling herself at her ‘adad and Gimli was doing likewise, and Glóin was buried beneath the bodies of two mostly-grown Dwarves and groaning.
“Oof! You are too heavy for me now, off with you!” he wheezed, and Thorin chuckled at the sight of the bristly and imposing old warrior spluttering and choking for breath.
Glóin survived trolls, goblins, orcs, spiders, stone giants, and elves, but it’s his kids that knock the breath out of him. I can’t help it, I laugh every time I read that.
Bombur’s reunion with his family had been far louder. Alrís didn’t even have a chance to greet her husband before a veritable horde of Dwarflings swarmed Bombur and Bofur, shouting at the top of their lungs. Bombur’s children buried themselves against his warm and hefty body, snuggling close, investigated his walking staff with curious and grubby fingers, pulled at ‘Uncle Bofur’s’ hat and begged for a song and a sweet and a story. Bombur tried to kiss and tickle all of them at once, his seldom-heard booming laugh ringing out over the din. The oldest of the tribe patiently pulled the smaller ones away, and finally Alrís was able to give her husband a smacking kiss and show him the new baby, now two years old – a boy she had named Albur. He was a chubby, chuckling little thing with brown hair and eyes that danced like sunlight on water. Bombur gave the little one a whiskery buss on the top of the head, and then wrapped one arm around Alrís again and pulled her against him for another ringing kiss.
Everything about Bombur’s reunion with his family. Like, if I had to pick a family from Sansukh to visit, it would either be Orla and Dwalin’s or Bombur and Alrís’. Bombur’s love for his family is something I love about this interpretation of him (one of many things, really).
“What have you done to your leg?” she said breathlessly.
He shrugged. “Got poisoned. Don’t recommend it.”
“Poisoned, Daddy?” gasped one of his middle children, his eyes wide as saucers.
“Don’t get too close to orcs,” Bofur said succinctly, and a chorus of ‘ooooh’s rose from the crowd of children.
“Hospital food,” Bombur said in disgust, and Alrís threw her head back and laughed and laughed.
Only Bombur could play off the fact that he got poisoned by talking about how horrible hospital food is. Another reason to love Bombur.
“That’s an Elf?” Gimli said, wrinkling his nose. “And here I thought they were supposed to be fair and glorious! Hmmph. They’re all stretched and faded.”
Bofur chuckled. “Don’t be fooled. They might look like skinny, insipid twigs, but they’re stronger than they appear and their eyesight is much better than ours in daylight. An Elf will put an arrow through your eye as soon as look at you.”
“No beards at all,” Gimli muttered under his breath, and shuddered.
But no, if Bofur remembers this and brings it up at some point to Legolas, I can see the both of them laughing about it and teasing Gimli who’s all embarrassed because he was just a kid then and it was the first time he’d seen elves.
“Is that a Hobbit?” whispered Gimrís to her brother.
“Again, no beard!” Gimli said, and shook his head in sympathy.
I love Gimli. ‘Elf? No beard, not fair and glorious at all’, ‘Hobbit? No beard at all, poor thing’.
“You should hear the ruckus down at the Green Dragon,” Bilbo was saying. “Poor old Odo is convinced it’s an invasion and has the whole pub in an uproar. Half of Brandy Hall – that’s the Brandybucks, by the way – want to come out and see for themselves. The other half want to sound the Horn-call of Buckland. The Bracegirdles are wringing their hands and fainting, the Grubbs are calling it none of our business, the Boffins are trying to organise a welcoming party, and the Tooks are giggling up their sleeves and egging everyone on indiscriminately.”
“And the Bagginses?” said Bombur, smiling.
Bilbo laughed gaily. “Are pretending they’ve never even heard of Dwarves, or dragons, or adventures, or rich mad cousins. Whenever someone brings it up they begin talking loudly about the weather or about pie-eating contests or Farmer Maggott’s dogs or some such. It’s terrifically funny.”
I love how the various groups of hobbits are reacting, especially the Tooks. And the fact that Bombur remembers enough about Bilbo’s family to know that his family would be the funniest group of the lot is amusing too.
“Here, Bilbo,” Bombur said into the ensuing silence. “You should meet my family! That’s Barís, my eldest, and over there’s Bomfur, Bolrur, and Bofrur, my terrible little trio of redheads, and the two big dark-haired lads there are Barum and Barur; then there’s Alfur and Alrur and Alfrís and Bomfrís tormenting that poor pony. Barum, stop that lot, would you, before the pony dies of nerves? And over there is my lovely wife Alrís, and our two littlest ones, Bibur and Albur.”
Alrís sketched a bow, her arms filled with squirming child. “At your service,” she called cheerfully.
Thorin was a little dizzy after all those names.
Bilbo seemed to have no trouble with such a crowd, and bowed to Alrís, smiling. “At yours and your family’s – although I may be a little pressed to accommodate so many. Good gracious me, Bombur! I’d think you were part-Hobbit!”
Changing the subject like a boss. Take notes, Bilbo. And Bilbo thinks the same thing I do, that Bombur and Alrís are part hobbit. Alrís being able to bow while still holding onto two squirming kids is cool, though. I love Thorin’s reaction to all of the names, though. I had the same reaction at first, I had to re-read that paragraph to make sure I’d gotten all of the names right.
Bilbo perked up. “Yes, yes, quite right! I brought a few little things for us to share, though now I hope they’ll stretch far enough…”
“We’ve seen how Hobbits eat,” said Glóin dryly. “I’m fairly sure we’ll do fine, laddie.”
“And just think, Bilbo! No washing up!” Bofur nudged him. Thorin wished everyone would stop touching the Hobbit.
Bilbo rolled his eyes theatrically. “Thank heavens!”
Now I’m imaginging ‘Blunt the Knives’ only with dwarflings as well as four adult dwarves and dwarrowdams.
“Here now! First you have to meet my set,” said Glóin. “This is my lad Gimli, and my lass Gimrís. Over there tying down the cart is my darlin’ Mizim. Mizim, come here! Come meet our Burglar!”
“I’m a little busy, you daft old bugger,” she snapped, “in case you haven’t noticed!”
Glóin gave them a sheepish grin. “She’s the jewel o’ my life, she is.”
Have I mentioned how much I love Glóin and Mizim’s relationship? Because I do, so much.
“Doesn’t your face get cold?”
Bilbo burst into giggles.
Glóin tugged at his own beard to hide a smile. “Ah, Gimli m’boy, Hobbits don’t grow beards.”
“Oh, some do, but only those of Stoor families,” Bilbo said, still giggling. “Even then, it’s nothing for a Dwarf to boast of. I remember catching you all staring at me for the first couple of weeks when you thought I wasn’t watching. And for the record, not one of you is any good at being sneaky – well, except Nori, but the rest of you were not exactly subtle about it. Was it my poor naked chin, then?”
“That and your riding, laddie,” Glóin said, and then snorted at the Hobbit’s expression of half-amusement, half-exasperation.
“Were we that rude?” said Bofur, grinning.
“You barged into my house, pillaged my pantry, drafted me into an adventure and sang an extremely insulting song,” Bilbo said, poking Bofur in the side. “Staring was the politest thing any of you did!”
“Ah, my apologies?” mumbled Gimli, scratching at his head.
Poor Gimli, he’s so confused. Just let them bicker, they’ll sort themselves out and it’s a bit amusing to watch too.
“Here.” He pushed a bundle of papers into Bombur’s hands. “All my mother’s recipes. She was a Took, you know, and collected recipes from all over the Shire, all the way as far east as Midgewater.”
Bombur looked down with wide eyes at the crushed bundle and then pressed it protectively against his chest. “Bilbo!” he said, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish.
Perfect gift for Bombur. He’s already been working on hobbit style recipes, now he’s got recipes to do even more of them. If he wasn’t already king of the marketplace, this would seal it.
He handed Bofur a strange configuration of sheepskin and dyed leather, with neat little stitches in the Shire-fashion around the edges. “It’s your hat, do you see,” Bilbo said, anxiously wringing his hands. “I bought the skins from the Proudfeet, and I had it copied by Bell Gamgee. Yours was such a wreck, after all, and I thought you might like to have a new one. I do hope I haven’t upset you?”
Bofur slowly opened up the folded brim of the new hat, dyed a handsome red-brown, and suddenly smiled. He pulled it onto his head, lifting his chin and tugging at the flaps. “What do you think, lads?”
“Oh, thank Mahal, I was going to burn the old one in his sleep,” said Bombur with relief.
Again, I love Bombur. Him, Dori, and Bifur are my favorite canonical dwarves.
Thorin growled under his breath. Would nobody stop touching the Hobbit?
Thorin, your married is showing.
“Glóin, this is for you.” Bilbo handed him a polished wooden box, its lid and sides carved with leaves and grapes. Glóin admired the carving for a moment, and Bilbo huffed. “Well, woodworking is probably the only Hobbit craft that you fellows might appreciate. Still, it’s not empty. Open it.”
Glóin cracked it open, and Gimli peered over his father’s shoulder to look inside. “Pipe-weed?”
“Not just any pipe-weed, my dear Dwarf. That is Longbottom Leaf. It’s the year of ’32 – a very good year indeed!”
“My dear Hobbit!” Glóin said, and eyed the box with new appreciation. “I am deeply in your debt!”
Bilbo knows what Glóin likes.
“Now,” Bilbo said, straightening his coat, “the inks are for Ori, and the bottles are delicate, so be careful! These herbs are for Óin. So are these notes. I translated a couple of healing texts from the Elvish – and it was a lot of work, so don’t you dare throw them away! Ah, this is for Dori. It’s an embroidery pattern-book from my Aunt Hildigard, and some of those patterns are old enough to impress even Dori, I dare say. I hope he can get some use out of it.”
Bofur opened the little book and smiled down at the curling designs with their friendly motifs of flowers, leaves and vegetables. “Who knows? Perhaps Hobbit stitching will become the new exotic fashion. You could start a trend!”
“I fervently hope my trend-setting days are done, thank you very much,” said Bilbo dryly.
I love how Bilbo knows well enough to tell them to not throw away the notes just because they came from Elvish healing texts. He knows them all so well. And Dori and Ori’s presents are perfect for them both. Granted, dwarves seem to favor geometric shapes and designs, but hobbit stitching would be exotic and a new challenge for Dori to master.
“Now, this is for Nori, from one Burglar to another.”
Bombur’s forehead creased as he took in the candlesticks, the cheese-knife and the little silver gravy-boat. “What’s this?”
Bilbo rubbed a hand through his hair and smiled a trifle wickedly. “I discovered after I got back that it wasn’t only my frightful relatives who were a little too free with my belongings. A certain light-fingered chap had made off with a few small things on the night of the party. I thought he might like the rest of the set, with my compliments.”
Nori’s going to be so irritable! But he’ll also be a bit proud, probably. Bilbo learned his lessons well, he knew when Nori stole versus when Lobelia did.
“Did he faint?” asked Bombur, leaning forward eagerly.
A wheezing little sound of glee came from under Bofur’s hat.
Bilbo paused, and then he sighed. “Yes.”
This is one of my favorite bits in this chapter. Conkers is a bit higher on the list, but this? Especially Bilbo’s little ‘nope’ and them all laughing again? I laugh every time I read it.
“An’ being Hobbit and all, it’d seem pretty special and out of the ordinary,” Bofur said, smoothing down his ruffled moustache. “Wonder if we could make a model Bag End?”
“Oh no. Oh, no, no, no, no, no! If I have an entire generation of Dwarves trooping through my house, I will hunt you down and sting the pair of you!” Bilbo said sternly.
Bombur closed his mouth with a snap, but Bofur looked entirely too innocent to be believed.
Bifur’s going to love his toy, but I wouldn’t trust Bofur’s innocent look. That’s probably the same look that he had when he told Dwalin that he wouldn’t make a Dwalin warrior toy.
“Traditional Hobbit weaponry,” Bilbo said, a gleam in his eye. “I in particular have some skill at it. If you must know.”
“No,” said Bofur in disbelief.
“Not…?” said Glóin.
“Conkers?” Thorin said, utterly incredulous.
Traditional hobbit weaponry at it’s finest. Although I always wondered why, in canon, Bilbo never told the dwarves how good at throwing and aiming hobbits are. They would’ve taught him to use a bow, probably, he might have taken to it faster than he took to the sword…again, I need to stop before I give myself more ideas.
Bilbo leaned back, sighing with satisfaction and slapping his knees. “And that’s the game to me!”
“Are all Hobbits so good at throwing and aiming at things?” Bofur said, staring dismally at his halved horse-chestnut. He hadn’t won a single round.
Bilbo shrugged. “Bit of a hobby, really.”
Poor Bofur, you’ll get better with practice. Gimrís seems pretty good at the game, maybe she’ll help you out.
Many of the other Dwarves sent curious glances over to the Hobbit and his odd little game, his bare face and furry feet. Thorin bristled at their interest and barely restrained himself from barking at them to show their Burglar the proper respect.
Thorin, your married is showing again.
“Dís, daughter of Frís, I make known to you Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. He’s a Hobbit,” he added unnecessarily.
“I can see that, akhûnîth,” she said, her mithril-pure voice lilting with amusement, though her face barely moved. “Dís. At your service.”
Bilbo pulled himself upright and tried to look as dignified as a Hobbit can whilst holding a horse-chestnut painted bright yellow. “At yours and your family’s.”
Dís smiled at that, rather sadly. “You already have been.”
There was an awful silence, and then Bilbo burst out, “You look so much like him.”
She froze, and then she dropped her eyes.
This always kills me. If Thorin had lived, this meeting probably would have been a lot happier. As it is, Dís is meeting the little creature who left his comfortable home to help dwarves that he had never met before that night. It’d be worse if she knew how much Bilbo had loved Thorin, but I don’t think she knew that yet. But just…this whole bit right here is so sad and full of feels.
The young Dwarf shifted his weight between his feet for a moment, looking uncertain. Then he said, “Mister Baggins was showing us a Hobbit game, Aunt Dís.”
All heads turned to him, and he flushed as red as his hair, before ploughing on bravely. “It’s a mite tricky to get the hang of it, but I was starting to see how it was done. D’you want to try it?”
Bilbo can take notes from Gimli about how to change the subject, but Gimli needs to take notes from Bombur.
“Here,” said Glóin and handed Dís the red horse-chestnut, his hands gentle as he gave up his place. “Sit down, cousin. I’m going to see if I can find Bombur a chair.”
“Oh, don’t bother on my account!” Bombur protested, but tucked by his side, young Barís nodded vigorously. Bombur grunted and poked his daughter in the shoulder, and she wrinkled her nose.
“Your leg’s going to get all cramped sitting like that, Dad. Best to stretch it out.”
I love Barís. She’s not my favorite OC (that’s undoubtedly Orla), but she’s lovely, an amazing singer, apparently a good daughter and big sister, and she seems pretty witty too. There’s a lot to love about all of the OCs in this.
“Aunt Dís?” Gimli said softly, and she hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside her young cousin and patting his knee.
“Don’t fret about me, young one,” she said. “Time for your sister to watch her back.”
Where’s Nori when you need him? My money’s on Dís winning this round.
“Yes, well,” Bilbo sighed, straightening slightly and resting his head against his hand. “I should really trade in that ‘lucky number’ title of mine, shouldn’t I? I had all the luck in the world, but it wasn’t enough.”
“Never is,” Bofur said in a voice that was nearly a whisper.
“You won’t need luck, I swear it,” Thorin vowed fiercely. “Mahal be my witness! You won’t need luck. You’ve got me.”
Thorin is 100x better than luck, apparently, because with his help, things end up mostly okay for Bilbo.
lkjshgdlakhsdgfljadsghfaljh
All the love, floating across the seas from me to you
AHH MORE GLOIN AND BOMBUR LOVE, more appreciation for my two most unappreciated faves ❤ you give me wiiiiings!
#throwbacktuesday to #dragoncon last year when I found #moss and #roy from #itcrowd 😳 quality cosplay. (Featuring my beautifully blonde and hairy #bani from #sansukh !) #theitcrowd #dragoncon2016 #tvcosplay #dwarf #qualitydudes
No offence to my australian peeps ( @ozhawkauthor, @determamfidd amongst others), but I still have no clue what Australia is doing in the Eurovision Song Contest (though, your candidate is not half bad, I’ve got to say.)
Like, you guys are on the other side of the world.
Seriously, I don’t get it.
@stereden mate, I don’t even know. We got invited one year, and we’ve never left. We’re like vampires in flip flops.
Still, it’s deeply, deeply satisfying to see an indigenous boy’s face plastered all over the biggest stage in Europe. Gotta say.
Thorin finished his knife, and began work on a pair of boot-daggers. Just to thumb his nose at Dís, he embedded chips of emerald in the handles and engraved the patterns for ‘honoured family’ along the blade. He could be decorative when he chose. He ended up gifting them to Fíli, and was therefore obliged to create a set for Kíli as well, lest he get deafened by complaints of favouritism.
And then, of course, Frerin wanted a set as well.
See what happens when you try to prove your sister wrong, Thorin? You just create more work for yourself.
Thorin had been a very active Dwarf his whole life. He had very rarely been stationary, forever journeying or working or building or planning. Remaining in one place was proving difficult. He turned his hand to more and more projects, but very little kept him satisfied. As the years turned and the second anniversary of the Battle of Five Armies came and went, he began to forge the links for an entire hauberk of mail simply to give himself something to do that was not staring wistfully at the waters of Gimlîn-zâram, longing in vain for the colours of Middle-Earth.
I have a feeling that this would happen a lot, active dwarves having trouble getting used to just…being. Not /needing/ to work or travel or anything else. They can still craft, and they do, but some of them have to get restless without a purpose. Meals are provided, rooms are provided, so anything they make is just really for fun or to be nice to their relatives and friends.
Glóin would bristle, his beard doubling in size (which was quite a sight)
Imagining that is always funny. I wonder if Legolas would’ve thought twice about taking in the Company if Glóin had bristled like that when Legolas insulted Gimli and Mizim.
His deputy was a Blacklock Dwarrowdam named Orla; stout, stern and nearly as severe as himself.
Orla!! Not going to lie, as much as I love all of the other OCs (I have lots of favorites) Orla is my undisputed favorite. She’s just so quietly badass, and she’s got a sense of humor that’s well hidden. She’s an excellent warrior, apparently a pretty fantastic cook since it’s mentioned that everyone loves the recipes that she brought with her, and she’s an amazing mother to her kids too. There’s more, tons more really, but I just really love Orla.
Dís and Mizim seemed to be getting along splendidly. It was an intimidating thought.
Thorin’s probably torn between ‘it’s nice that Dís isn’t alone anymore’ and ‘Sweet merciful Mahal, what were we thinking when we let them join forces?’.
“How many?” Glóin said, astonished.
“Eleven,” Bombur said with a little blush. “Oh, no – it’ll be twelve by now. Alrís will have given birth to the last, what… a year and a half ago?”
“It’ll be two years by the time we reach Ered Luin,” remarked Bofur.
“Sweet merciful Mahal, how does she do it?” Glóin muttered. “I could barely stand having two crying bairns in the house, let alone twelve!”
“Well, the eldest is sixty soon. She and the older lads help with the wee ones.”
“Sixty?” Glóin gave him an amused look. “You and Alrís got started early, didn’t you?”
Bombur’s blush deepened.
Bombur and Alrís are both part hobbit, that’s the only explanation. I’ve always loved the ‘Bombur has a big family’ headcanon, though, I can’t remember where I read it first, but I’ve always loved it and was ecstatic to find that Bombur has a big family here. And Bombur’s little blush when he mentioned how many kids he has, and then when Glóin teased him about how early they got started? Adorable.
“Mizim wrote. Gimrís has begun an apprenticeship in glass-blowing, and apparently Gimli has made friends with the Lady Dís. The audacity of that boy!”
“The Princess?” Bofur shared a glance with Bombur. “Now there’s a surprise.”
Whenever I read this bit, I always wonder if the glance Bofur shares with Bombur is something like ‘only a Lord’s son could manage that’ or if it’s just the two of them being surprised about what happened. I know they wouldn’t mean it unkindly, but that’s just something I’ve thought about various times I’ve re-read this.
Thorin couldn’t help but smile. This was an old argument: Second watch was the most unpleasant and least desirable of the three. No-one liked having to interrupt a sound sleep to stay awake for a few hours, and it led to itchy eyes and short fuses the next morning. In fact, on their first journey, ‘second watch’ had become shorthand for ‘bad-tempered’.
I don’t know about the dwares, but second watch doesn’t sound too bad to me. You can go to sleep earlier than whoever has first watch, and sleep later than whoever has third. Still, the fact that they traveled together long enough on the first quest to have little code words like second watch for bad-tempered? Funny, and a bit adorable.
“Lads?” Glóin said sleepily. “What’s the first thing you’re going to say to Bilbo when you see him?”
Bombur hummed for a moment and then mumbled, “ask for that cheesecake recipe.”
“How did I know it was going to be something like that?” Bofur said, grinning.
“I like cheesecake,” Bombur said with a shrug, and rolled over. “Then I’ll be huggin’ our Hobbit, and then we should have a little party.”
Bombur just doesn’t care that Bofur’s teasing him. He likes cheesecake, he likes their hobbit friend, so he’ll ask for the recipe and then give Bilbo a hug, then enjoy hobbit cooking at the party. Honestly, I think that Bilbo and Bombur would be great friends just based on how much they both like food. They’d bond over exchanging recipes and cooking styles among the hobbits versus among the dwarves…I should stop before I give myself ideas.
“Well, night lads. Tomorrow’s another day, and we’ll be seein’ old Beorn and his menagerie soon enough.”
“Green food,” shuddered Bofur. “Rest up, we’ll need all our strength.”
“Honey-cakes,” Bombur mumbled, and dropped into a snore.
Bombur knows what’s important 🙂
“What’s that then? I hope my poor plumbing is safe this time – I’ve only just got it sorted out again, you know.”
“We’re makin’ no promises when it comes to plumbing,” said Bofur, grinning, and then the three Dwarves were picking Bilbo up and squeezing him tightly in a great hug. Bilbo squeaked loudly, before throwing his arms around as much of them as possible.
Bilbo should make them help fix his plumbing before they leave this time as punishment.
Oh! Do make yourselves at home. Well, you usually do, don’t you?“ He laughed.
“Not a shy bunch, as a rule,” Bofur agreed.
Understatement of the Age, Bofur.
His voice echoed through the smial, and the three Dwarves blinked and looked around in confusion. Stone-sense and a knowledge of echoes did not exactly translate to a Hobbit-Hole, it seemed.
Okay, but imagine if Thorin had lived, and he spent some time in the Shire with Bilbo and got lost in Bilbo’s hobbit hole? Bilbo would laugh himself sick and never let Thorin forget it.
“Pass the scones?”
Bofur looked about. “What’s a scone?”
“Oh, call yourself my brother,” Bombur said scornfully, and handed the basket to Bilbo (after snagging three for himself, of course).
Honestly, Bofur, with Bombur as your brother, you really should know better. (I laughed so hard reading this bit though, especially since the first time I made scones, my grandfather asked what they were because he’d never had a scone before).
“So, how are things under the Mountain?” Bilbo took a bite of his scone after liberally topping it with jam and cream. “Everyone is well, I hope? I receive a letter now and again – it quite scandalises my neighbours when a Ranger comes stomping up Bagshot Row – but it isn’t the same as being there.”
Bilbo lives to scandalize his neighbors.
“Well,” Bofur said eventually. “Nori’s made himself a new leg. It’s quite a thing. He keeps a dagger in it, y’know. And a set of lockpicks. And a pack o’ cards. And a leather cosh…”
Bilbo smiled. “He would.”
That’s exactly something that Nori would do. Honestly, I’m surprised that Fíli was the porcupine of the bunch, with weapons everywhere, rather than Nori. Then again, he might have had just as many as Fíli, and the elves just couldn’t find them because he’s that good at hiding things.
“And how about you, then, Mister Baggins?” Glóin said, and slapped the Hobbit’s knee. “Been keeping well? Impressing all the little Hobbit lasses with your tales?”
“Ah-”
“Now, now, our Hobbit is a gentleman,” said Bofur, a twinkle in his eye. “He’d never be kissin’ an’ tellin’.”
“I, er…”
“Look at him blush!” Bombur snorted. “Red as a ruby and no mistake.”
I love how Glóin’s second question basically amounts to ‘Bilbo, are you dating anyone yet?’ and that he thinks that tales about dragons, orcs, and everything else they faced would be what would convince a hobbit, male or female, to think Bilbo’s suitable dating material. I wonder if he revised that opinion when he learned about the ‘Mad Baggins’ title? Then again, tales of battles and quests probably win over dwarves, so he just went with what he knew.
“Not a Hobbit, was he?” said Bofur softly, and Bilbo stiffened.
“I’ll… I’ll just see to another barrel, shall I?”
Subtle, Bilbo, very subtle.
“Bilbo should be used to being annoyed by now,” Bofur said, muffling his voice in Bombur’s thick shoulder.
“Believe me, I am,” Bilbo said dryly from the door, his hands wrapped around a couple of bottles.
Another understatement, Bilbo.
“Did you know?” Thorin croaked.
“Did I know what?” Kíli said, confused. “I came to get you, it’s dinner-time. You’ve missed the midday meal, and Grandmother…”
Thorin, explaining yourself first will get you better answers than just expecting Kíli to know what you’re talking about will.
“Uncle,” Kíli said, taking a step forward before halting and sighing deeply. “At least you knew him,” he said. “At least you had that.”
I wonder if Thorin remembers this conversation after he learns about Kíli and Tauriel and realizes why Kíli said that.
“You all knew?” Thorin said again, and Kíli made an irritated sound.
“Trust you to ignore everything I just said! I’m sure I’ll never sound so wise ever again. I wish Balin could have heard it.”
I wonder if Balin ever finds out about this conversation and compliments Kíli on how well he argued his point and how tactfully it was stated.
Thorin stared at him. “You… you cannot…”
“Well, if you can shout at our Maker, surely I can make a nuisance of myself?”
Thorin, you can’t argue with that one without sounding like a hypocrite, since you yelled at Mahal.
I SHALL JOIN YOU IN YOUR ADORATION OF BOMBUR AND GLOIN, JSYK (and I am wigging out a lot bit that you love Orla so much!!! THANK YOU, I am so glad, so so glad! MY WARRIOR MUM ORLA YUSSS <3)
eee yep, Thorin remembers THIS comment later on, after he hears Legolas’ confession, and it’s what prompts him to go find Kili at once. Well spotted! I don’t reference it explicitly, but it is meant to be THIS comment. Thorin has an excellent memory, heh (both curse and blessing!)
*cuddles you for an Age of the Sun* THANK YOUUUUUU
ur personality is defined by ur favorite line in hallelujah
tag your favorite line of hallelujah
“tag your favorite line of hallelujah” scans to Hallelujah.
…
you tried to read the words as prose but noticed how its scansion goes and now you can’t unhear the tune, so screw ya recall the phrase you love the most then once again reblog this post and tag your fav’rite line of hallelujah
Nonnie, it has been my honour and my pleasure. And thank YOU for being a part of it all, and sharing your generosity and joy and enthusiasm with me. I’m proud, too. *hugs again*
Aw Yiss 