*hugs* I am so glad it helps. It’s cathartic for me to write, also. It’s been a big thing for me to actually disassemble his ‘all or nothing’ thinking (SUCH a depression thing for me, god I hate it), and all that guilt. Those are two of my personal bugbears. Having to actually untie them in Thorin’s character-progression has actually helped me begin to unravel some of my own. I’m really, really glad it’s helping you too. You’re so strong, every day is a testament to that. I hope you are having a wonderful day too, Nonnie.
Tag: mental illness
Taking inspiration from your previous ask- How did the family in the halls cope with thorin and his quest? (Particularly the hobbity bits and the going mad and dying bits) idk if you’ve answered this before. Also ur amazing and I love your writting.
Badly.
At first, there was a certain astonished horror, mingled with unspoken hope: it is a suicidal undertaking! Thirteen and a hobbit! Against Smaug the Tremendous! But also: could it be Thorin that succeeds where we all failed? Could our people finally come home? But after Erebor was reclaimed, hope slowly dwindled and crumbled into ashes.
Thror raged – a lot. Hrera was the only one to brave that storm. He raged at Thranduil, he raged at Thorin, he raged at Gandalf – and he raged at himself. Thror is even more wracked with guilt than Thorin is. He is slowly healing, but his levels of self-hatred are still pretty dire. Eventually he could not watch Thorin standing spellbound in the treasury any longer. His whole heart was screaming.
Thrain was sorrowful. He loves his children: Thrain is a good and attentive and loving dad. It was the desire to recapture Erebor that had led him to set off on his own, only to be captured and tortured. He couldn’t bear the idea of Thorin, his firstborn, his brave son, going through such horrors in search of the same dream. So he was full of desperation and grief as he watched it all play out. Eventually, it all became too near and he had to retreat as well.
Fris was worried. Constantly worried. She doesn’t do ‘worried’ very well. She much prefers to act, to comfort. The utter helplessness of watching is agony to her. She bit her nails down to the quick. She cried into Thrain’s beard in their bed. She held Frerin close and kissed his face wordlessly.
Hrera watched with stony face and anguished eyes, and never said what she was thinking. If she braided her family’s hair and beards a bit more often and with a suspicious glimmer in her eyes, nobody objected – or dared to comment on it.
Frerin saw everything. He spent hour after hour, day after day in the starpool. His face grew wan and his eyes grew huge, and he never spoke above a hoarse whisper – but he never left his brother’s side, not even for a moment.
The hobbity bits I have answered here.
Thank you, Nonnie! I am so glad you enjoy it! Awwww, you are amazing too! *blush*
how did thrain’s family feel watching him be tortured for years and years? or could they not see it through the starpool because sauron’s magic was obscuring it?
Gimlin-zaram cannot always be directed. Thorin and Fris have a discussion about it, and it is mentioned a few times elsewhere in the fic. Sometimes the pool cannot show you what you wish to see (I suspect dark magic, yes) or sometimes it takes you elsewhere – like it did in Chapter 35. It is sometimes gentle, bathing you in starry warmth. It is sometimes harsh, blinding and as fierce as a supernova. It’s capricious.
Fris discovered her husband’s ordeal after he arrived in the Halls. She was horror-struck and grieved beyond words. Frerin was frantic and terrified. Thror nearly howled himself hoarse in a renewed storm of grief and guilt.
Hrera bitterly wept in private, and then she put on her business face and smoothed down her dress. Then she went and combed her son’s thick hair, humming her old Broadbeam songs and touching his face with trembling, tender fingers.
Thrain still carries deep wounds. He prefers quiet, fine-detail work these days, the better to help him concentrate on the now. He has bad days where he dissociates, where he thinks everything around him is not real but is just another torturous vision dreamed up by Sauron. He has crying moments, and quiet moments, and frightened episodes that lead to lashing out. Fris stands by him in these terrible moments (which are growing fewer and further apart as the stasis of the Halls works its cool healing upon Thrain’s scarred soul), and has learned to draw him back. She wraps him warmly (he was never warm, never), and leaves a cup of fragrant tea – liberally doctored – nearby, to perfume the air. She plays her harp, and sings. She rubs his feet and hands. She breathes his Dark-name in his ear.
Aw Yiss 