Tag: thror

Loss That Burns – applepieisworthit – The Hobbit – All Media Types, The Hobbit – J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit (Jackson movies) [Archive of Our Own]

flamesburnonthemountainside:

I wrote a sad thing… (very) short modern au of a house fire inspired by Thorin’s line "You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us" in DoS

determamfidd for you! I borrowed Frís and Hrera for this story 😀 and for liketotessecret who has written many sad things, so in retaliation, here you go!

Also tagging docmanda justatouchofgoldsickness renioferebor and dragonmad and the rest of the Sansukh cast.

AUGH OH MY GOD MY HEART OHHHH DISSSSS

BATTLEPIG YOU ARE MORE EVIL THAN I COULD EVER HOPE TO BE

TEACH ME YOUR WAYS

Loss That Burns – applepieisworthit – The Hobbit – All Media Types, The Hobbit – J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit (Jackson movies) [Archive of Our Own]

Dis totally inherited Thror’s snuggle tendencies. Vili loves it – he gets cold easily, so always liked having Dis cuddle him at night. After Vili died. Fili and Kili would come and sleep with Dis for a few years. Then Dis got pillows. They started off being really cheap, simple pillows, then as time passed they got a bit nicer. After Erebor is reclaimed she has lots of really fancy pillows. After Dis dies she is all cuddly with Vili again and it’s all good.

AWWW

BUT SNUGGLEMONSTER DIS MAKES HER LIFE AFTER BOTFA LIKE

8000x SADDER AUGH

I DIDN’T THINK IT POSSIBLE

Now I’m having a bunch of feels about Dis in the Halls. Chasing her boys around. Teasing Thorin and Dain. Building Frerin up. Spending time with her parents and grandparents. So much Dis/Vili love.

zksdgfjlsdhgjfalsgfaljshdgfsakjhfdajsh AUGH DIS FEELS AUGH OH NONNIE YEOUCH

It’d take some time, I think, for her to get to the stage of teasing and chasing again. My version of old!Dis is not cheery and brisk and sassy, after all… she is grim and hurt and hard hard hard, turned very nearly to ice by everything she has lost. Song of Steel, her Dark-name means. It suits her.

I think she would need to learn to smile again, to laugh and tease freely without bitterness. She has been alone so long, and that doesn’t just evaporate… She should never be left alone, not ever.

Her boys staying close, their heads resting on her knees or lying on the floor as they read or play a game or talk… her brothers always flanking her as they show her the Halls together… Hrera working beside her at her jewellery-table, Thror bringing her meals… Dain plopping a sweet and sleepy piglet into her lap… Thrain kissing her brow and never letting go of her hand, Fris always humming so that Dis can hear her, stroking back her hair…

Vili, holding her tight at night, so that she never wakes and thinks herself back in her huge and cold bed in Erebor, so very alone, always alone.

So. How bad is it that I am REALLY looking forward to Dis dying and being reunited with all of her loved ones and seeing her parents and her brothers and her sons and VILI (oh god, Vili, you heartbreaking sod, you, visiting her EVERY DAY) and just being able to let go of all of the emotions she’s held in for so long and – oh god. I just want her to be able to be happy. But also dead. And maybe making fun of Thorin because what else are younger sisters for?

Oooh, Nonnie.

Whatever you do, don’t imagine her reunion with her parents. Thrain running his thumb gently across her face, across her cheekbone and stroking the side of her beard. Don’t imagine him smiling at her with trembling lips, telling her that he is so proud, nathith, so proud. Don’t imagine Fris wrapping her arms around her last child and holding her to her heart; don’t imagine Thrain tugging them both close and tight, cocooning them with his body, pressing whiskery kisses to his daughter’s temple. Don’t imagine the words they would say. Don’t imagine the tearing sound of Dis’ sobs.

Don’t imagine her grandfather kissing both her cheeks and her forehead, and then gathering her close. “Sparrow, our little sparrow,” he would murmur, and she would remember what it cost to lose him, what it cost all of them. Her grandmother’s clever hands stroking Dis’ hair, her soothing, no-nonsense voice, calling her “Dis, darling,” as she did, so so long ago. They have the same hands.

Whatever you do, don’t imagine her reunion with her (little) big brother. It has been centuries, she can’t even remember him clearly, but at the smell of his hair and the sound of his voice, it comes rushing back, so fast and powerful it is nearly a physical blow. His weight against her is so small, so slight. 

Whatever you do, don’t imagine her reunion with her sons, her madcap bright-eyed darlings. Don’t imagine her crying into their hair. Don’t even entertain the idea that she cannot stop kissing them even for a moment, her grasping hands frantic, her eyes half-blinded by her tears, gripping their clothes so tightly that her arms shake. I’d advise against dwelling on the whiteness of her knuckles, the tenderness in her kisses, how her head bows and her shoulders shudder at the sound of those voices calling her ‘Amad’ again, at long last: Amad, Amad, we missed you Amad.

Whatever you do, don’t think of her pressing her forehead against Dain’s, her cousin, her borrowed-brother, and cursing him for leaving her as well as he throws his arms around her and rocks her back and forth. The last one, she was the last one. Don’t think of Dain gently prying free and wiping her eyes (hopeless, a hopeless task) before turning her around to face the one standing behind her. Don’t picture him giving Dis a little push towards her eldest brother. 

You definitely shouldn’t visualise the look in her eye as she stares at Thorin, stricken. It’s not a good idea to imagine the harsh rasp of her breathing as she curses him and curses him, twice as hard as she ever did Dain, all the while stumbling over to him and throwing herself at him with outstretched arms. Don’t imagine how she clings to him as though he is a tree against a storm, how she buries her head against his shoulder and cries and cries, her whole body wracked with it, and he too smells just the same.

And the last thing you should ever do is imagine her greeting her husband. 

No, you shouldn’t do that at all.

Does Thorin know about the guilt Thror feels about everything?

Oh yes. He sure does. In fact, it is one of the first things he hears when waking up in the Halls:

“Oh, it’s Thrór all over again, someone stop him,” groaned Frís. “We’re going to drown in the combined guilt of the Line of Durin before we ever lay a stone of Arda Remade.”

Thorin knows about it, even though he doesn’t agree with it.

His grandfather was a great Dwarf, who rebuilt the abandoned Erebor and made her glorious and strong and celebrated in song all over the North. That is still true, will always be true.

Why should his grandfather be held responsible for matters entirely outside his control? For the actions of a dragon?* Why should he continue to punish himself endlessly for things he could not prevent? 

Then Thorin would warm to his subject, no doubt, his voice growing stronger and full of conviction. Why is it Thror’s fault that he was sick? After all, nobody is told ‘your physical illness is entirely of your own doing, and you welcomed it into your body’. Why should Thror be treated differently for an illness of the mind?

Thorin can’t see the irony in this attitude until a great deal later 😉

*don’t get me started on people blaming Dwarves for the violence of other INTELLIGENT creatures (*coughsSMAUG AND THE BALROGcough*)

Proud Grandparents Thror and Hrera. *gurgle*

OH SO PROUD. 

Thror: Look at how strong and smart and brave they are. *sighs* What did I do to deserve them in my life? They are so – so good. 

Hrera: Sit here, Frerin-love. That’s it. Put your head on my knee. Don’t think I don’t see you fidgeting there, Thorin darling. Your turn next. What lovely hair you have, Dis dear. Now, I’ve a little something for you all – Thorin, go to the tin in the pantry – yes, Frerin love, there shall be seedcakes and tea. 

After I have fixed your braids, mind you.