Tag: thror

Do you have any new Parents!Thror and Hrera headcanons?

*heart eyes* OKAY YOU INSPIRED ME AND I WROTE A DRABBLE. Hope you enjoy!

…

The first week was a blur.

Hrera did not have an easy birth, and the first week was spent mostly watching her snap at healers (who only wished to check the stitching) and gingerly hobbling about. Cloths were wadded in her smallclothes and she carried her cushion like it was a shield. She actually swore, vociferously and at length, when in the watercloset the day after the birth. Thror, who was holding his son at the time (oh his son! His beautiful son, his heir!) looked up in alarm. “Dear?”

“Mind your own business,” Hrera grunted. slightly muffled by the door.

Thror decided not to inquire further. Diplomacy was the watchword of Kings, after all.

He returned his attention to the little one – not that he needed any prompting. His eyes drifted to the boy every three seconds or so. He could barely take his eyes from him. The baby was well-formed, the healers had said, and strong and hale. He had barely any hair on his little head, but a smattering on his cheeks and chin already. His face was slack in sleep, with the slightly-squashed, unfinished look of all newborns.

They hadn’t yet decided on a name. Hrera was all for a traditional Broadbeam name such as Thebur or Harur, but Thror was a bit on-the-fence about it. He preferred a family name: Fror, perhaps, or maybe Thrain. After all, this child was heir to a Longbeard crown.

Three days later (and after a couple of rousing… discussions) they had decided on “Torbor”. Longbeard enough to satisfy the more hidebound amongst his nobles, but Broadbeam enough for Hrera’s sensibilities.

She took to motherhood like a duck to the air – with some initial flapping, and a squawk or two. Feeding Torbor was not easy at first, as the baby had a tied tongue and could not suckle properly, and he damaged his mother in his efforts to nurse. Hrera underwent several days of utter agony. Eventually she nearly burst into tears at the sound of the thin, hungry wails soaring through their rooms. “Oh, no,” she whimpered, her eyes filling even though her face never crumpled. “No, not again!”

“Are you certain you will not give him to a wetnurse?” Thror asked anxiously. “My dear, I would not see you hurt yourself…”

“No. NO. I am his mother: I will feed him.” Hrera pulled herself up sharply in their bed and rubbed her eyes. Then she set her face in a look of such determination that Thror honestly would not have faced her upon any battlefield. “Give him here. If I have to be awake at this unearthly hour, I am at least not going to be the one traipsing over cold stone floors!”

Thror scurried to get the baby, and made a mental note to have carpets installed.

The Healers made a quick adjustment to the baby’s mouth the next day: a little snip, and the tongue-tie was gone. Upon bringing Torbor back to the breast, Hrera’s eyes widened. “Oh,” she said wonderingly. “It.. doesn’t hurt.”

“That’s as it should be,” said the Healer.

Thror smiled, and kissed the side of her head. “You are a wonder.”

She looked up at him from their child, a rare soft look on her face. “Yes,” she said with such gentleness, “yes, he is.”

Then the day came to present the baby to the court and the people. Hrera looked strange to Thror with her hair and beard once again elaborately braided and beaded. She had worn it plain and unbound for some time as she healed and adjusted to her new role as Torbor’s mother. Now, with her hair glittering with pearls and diamonds, her ears threaded with rubies, and her gown elaborately studded with tiny garnets no bigger than the tip of Torbor’s finger, she seemed as unchanged as the very stone itself. The past wonderful, painful, dizzying and secluded week seemed nearly a dream as they moved along the great high walkways – well, if not for the precious little bundle that dozed in Hrera’s arms. 

Then Hrera glanced at Thror through the corner of her eyes as they approached the thrones at a stately walk (the better to disguise her diminished-but-still-present hobble), and gave him a slow but solemn wink.

He had to fight to conceal his grin.

Finally, they arrived before the thrones and turned to view their people, clustered around the great chamber in their thousands. Hrera handed Thror the baby, and he held the tiny boy up before the assembled, wrapped in dark blue cloth embroidered with their dual lineage. “I present to you,” Thror said, in his most carrying voice, “our child! I declare them fit and healthy before the eyes of Dwarves and Mahal. I give you Tor-”

“Thrain,” Hrera said suddenly.

Thror paused in mid-declaim, thrown off his stride. He gave his wife a wide-eyed look. “Dear? Are…”

“Yes, I’m certain,” she said, and gave him a warm, private little smile. “Go on, tell them.”

He had to smile helplessly back at her. “I’m reasonably sure you just told them for me,” he said, as dryly as he could under the circumstances.

She laughed, low and fond, even as the cheering rose from the crowd and rang until it shook the very roots of the Mountain.

So what do Fili and Kili’s family in the halls think of them? They never met any of their grandparents or great-grandparents when they were alive, after all.

Tillis and Var are utterly in love with them. They’d forgive them anything. Ever. They laugh at their pranks, sigh fondly at their mischief. Tillis fusses over Fili and tries to lessen his self-appointed guardianship and responsibilities, and Var jokes and tussles about with Kili.

Hrera huffs quite a bit. She pretends utter horror over Kili’s hair, but actually adores getting her paws on him and combing it. It’s such fine hair, why does he never take decent care of it? He’s nearly as bad as that Gimli. Such disarray. Tch.

She is hugely proud of both of them, but will not take any of their ‘nonsense’ as she calls it. She is not above resorting to bribes to get them to behave around her (Broadbeam Dumpling Soup, oh yes!). Now and then she wonders how stern, steely-eyed Dis ever produced such ruffians – and then she glances at merry-faced, laughing Vili, and wonders no more.

Thror is a constant but unobtrusive presence for both the boys. They were very apprehensive at first: Thror is a mighty figure, and everything he did, both the good and the bad, changed the face of the world forever. But this quiet, self-deprecating Dwarrow with the sad eyes isn’t quite what they were expecting. Thror provides a quiet haven for them. He loves them dearly, and wishes he could have seen them grow up, grow old.

Frerin – well <3. Frerin at first resents the heck out of them. He waited so long for his brother, so so long. And these two Dwarrows (and Thorin turns to them before he turns to Frerin, that is unfair) are who Thorin thinks of before anyone else. They are taller than him, and older than him, and will not call him uncle. He doesn’t know where he fits in. He doesn’t know his role for a long time. This time is investigated in more depth in Twelve Months and Fifty Years.

Eventually, as we see, Frerin connects with his brother again. He finds his place in Thorin’s life (death?) again. And he discovers that he and Fili have a lot more in common than their similar looks. Fili becomes a mentor and a sounding-board for Frerin, and Frerin becomes Fili’s ‘little uncle’. Frerin will eventually find a connection with Kili as well.

Fris is carefully mothering of the lads. When she looks at them, she sees her little girl, her Dis, her sweet sparrow. She sees Dis in the set of Fili’s chin, in the flash of Kili’s dark eyes. She is careful not to usurp that place, however. She (Fris is an instrument-maker) brings her lap-harp or her gittern along when they drag out their fiddles, and they play together. She makes sure that Fili eats, and that Kili does not sulk (Fris is good at stopping people from sulking – plenty of practice!).

Thrain, on his good days, is an amused observer of the boys. He comments now and then, but doesn’t really step in to chastise them or curtail their antics. He leaves that to Thorin or Hrera. He finds them hilarious. He’s warm and totally nonjudgmental, and so the boys both find it very easy to confide in him – to complain, or to speak about difficult things. Thrain is a good listener, and will always put down his tools and get out a jug of ale to sit with them as they whine or exclaim or groan.

Thror has the perfect storm of negative emotions, doesn’t he? Poor sod.

I love Thror. *wibbles*

He’s not had a very happy life, poor thing. Father and brother killed by a dragon in the Grey Mountains, then his wife and his daughter-in-law by Smaug in the Erebor he worked to rebuild, and then Azanulbizar… just. What a life. He created glory, just as his dark-name predicted – but ruin followed, and he blames himself (wrong or right, he blames himself for everything. He was the King of Durin’s Folk – their travails are his responsibility. OH THESE DURIN MEN, says Hrera). 

I consider him to be wry and self-deprecating and rather quiet in manner when he doesn’t have his King-face on. He is fond and proud of Hrera’s way of bossing-to-show-love. I think he shows his affection in small, gentle, quiet ways: a cup of tea placed by an elbow, sharing a silent tankard in solidarity, reaching out to clasp a hand and squeezing briefly, warm and dry and full of meaning. I think he would have a very dark sense of humour. He would be a superb deadpan snarker. 

I think Thror will be helped by seeing his grandson’s journey. He’s not all unhappiness, not at all, but he’s still not in a good place. He’ll find his way. 

Still, in the meantime, Hrera will chivvy and boss him in her most imperious manner until he smiles in amusement and pride at her, private and loving, and say gently, “yes, my dear.” 

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. 

I just realized something: Thror’s father and brother died to a cold-drake. CAN YOU IMAGINE the psychological effect when he came out of the gold-madness post-Smaug and realized that HIS BELOVED WIFE AND SISTER-IN-LAW, NOT TO MENTION COUNTLESS OTHERS, are now dead? And that he will think it’s HIS FAULT?! And then he gets to WATCH his son and grandson try to reclaim his homeland and DIE for it?! And he gets to see his sweet little baby Thorin lose his mind TOO? (Dammit, now I’ve made myself cry.)

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WHY DOES THE WORLD HATE THE LINE OF DURIN OH MY FUCKING GOD

https://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_nlcis0LtTO1uq6lo8o1.mp3?plead=please-dont-download-this-or-our-lawyers-wont-let-us-host-audio
https://determamfidd.tumblr.com/post/113865417543/audio_player_iframe/determamfidd/tumblr_nlcis0LtTO1uq6lo8?audio_file=https%3A%2F%2Fa.tumblr.com%2Ftumblr_nlcis0LtTO1uq6lo8o1.mp3

renioferebor:

Hello all! I am Reni, playing the character of Thrór. Here is a quick introduction of myself. My accent won’t be that pronounced in the podfic, I hope, since I’ll actually learn my lines and not just babble something I quickly wrote down into the mic. Anyway, so excited to be a part of this!

THROR KING UNDER THE MOUNTAIN!!!