Clarity of Vision, Chapter 22
Nov. 19th, 2013 11:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mithenTitle: Clarity of Vision, Chapter 22
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin, Kili, Fili, Balin, Dwalin
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 2100
Story Summary: In a Middle-Earth where Erebor never fell, a shadow remains in the heart of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo Baggins finds himself drawn reluctantly into a quest that will lead him across the continent--from Bree to Lake Evendim to the icy North and beyond--with a party of five dwarves searching for an artifact that will cure the ailing King Thrór.
Chapter Summary: Bilbo proves to be braver and more resilient than perhaps even he suspected, and Thorin reaches a point of crisis.
As for Bilbo Baggins, what happened to him was this: when the great pale orc appeared, he had taken advantage of the distraction to scurry into the shadows, evading further detection. Luckily for him, the orcs seemed to find it difficult to distinguish between dwarves and hobbits, and his escape had gone unnoticed.
He had hidden in the shadows, his little heart pounding, and cursed himself: Bilbo Baggins, you coward! Help them! But his feet had refused to move, and he had watched in helpless horror as the party was defeated, as Azog had mocked and taunted Thorin.
But when the library was set ablaze and he heard the cry of anguish ripped from Thorin's heart, he felt his jaw set and he stopped trying to force his feet forward, instead moving as far back into the shadows as possible and holding himself perfectly still. He watched as Azog struck Thorin down--if he could have seen his own face, he would not have recognized himself at that moment--and the dwarves were carried away.
And when the hall was clear, he took a deep breath and plunged into the maelstrom of flame that had been the Chamber of Marzabul.
Sparks flew around him and the heat seemed to batter him, the stone walls swimming in a haze as sweat poured down his face. Scrambling wildly through floating scraps of charring paper, he made his way to the back of the library. He was holding his breath, but the heat seemed to lick at his lips, trying to force its way into his lungs as he staggered against the billowing smoke toward his goal.
There! A scrap of midnight-blue tassel deep in a shelf, untouched as yet by the flame. Bilbo seized it and ran, the scorching stone blistering his bare feet. He wrapped himself around the precious scroll, shielding it from flying sparks with his own body, and staggered blindly toward the door. Everything was wavering in a blaze of agonizing light, but somehow he managed to make it clear of the flames and out of the doomed chamber, his prize still safe and undamaged in his trembling hands.
The cool of the stone hall was a blessed balm after the inferno, and for a long moment he leaned against the carved granite of the wall, dragging in breaths of cool damp air. He felt a sharp pain; looking down he saw the hair on his toes still smouldering and stifled a yelp, hopping around and swatting at his feet.
Then for a little bit he simply sat down and was grateful to be alive.
The scroll--the silken tassel was a little charred, but the parchment seemed undamaged--he slipped into his pack. The halls of Khazad-dûm echoed around him. Somewhere within them were his friends--if they were not dead already at the hands of that terrible white orc.
Bilbo set his jaw and began to descend into occupied Khazad-dûm.
It was a terrible time, skulking and trembling in the shadows, hiding behind racks of rusted and bloody weapons, creeping always downward, searching. After a few hours, he came across a great hall filled with empty tables and the smell of cooking, thick and vile. In the back of the hall was a great wooden cage, and within it a massive, stoop-shouldered being like an vast orc. It was staring behind it at something Bilbo couldn't see. Then it made a phlegmy rattling sound and shook at its bars, which creaked.
"Here now!" yelled an angry voice that seemed to be made of teeth and drool, and Bilbo ducked under a table, his heart pounding. But the voice was not for him. "Don't you be teasing that cave troll, if you know what's good for you!" There was a whining answer that Bilbo couldn't make out. "Remember what happened last time it got loose? Skarktil thought it good sport to poke it, didn't he? Until it busted open the cage and Skarktil ended up splattered across the ceiling, right? So stay away!"
The owner of the whining voice walked past the table under which Bilbo crouched, its iron-shod feet grating against the stone and the bunch of keys at its belt jingling with a cheerfulness that seemed cruelly out of place in the dismal depths. Then the feet stopped, and Bilbo heard a snuffling sound.
"What's that smell, eh?" said the whining voice. "I never smelt that before."
"Probably them dwarves the Master captured," came the bored answer.
The whine sharpened indignantly. "You think I don't know dwarf stink? I've had it in my nose forever, it seems, these filthy halls reek of them! No, it ain't dwarf. It smells like...maybe chicken?" More juicy sniffling noises, and then there was a sharp sound of impact; the whining voice yelped and the feet moved away.
"I'll throw more than a pot at you if you don't go fetch me some meat for the troll. He gets cranky when he's hungry, you know."
"All right, all right, I'm going," complained the key-holding orc as Bilbo cowered, shivering and making himself as small and silent as possible. When the cook fed the troll his haunch of meat, Bilbo slipped through the hall under the tables under cover of the horrific crunching and slobbering and out the other side.
And finally, when he had nearly given up hope and resolved that he was to die deep in the roots of the Misty Mountains, he found the cells where Thorin and his company were being held.
: : :
Thorin stared up at the ceiling of his cage and ignored his companions' attempts to speak to him. In his mind's eye he saw once more the Chamber of Marzabul in flames, a forge of anguish from which nothing would ever be drawn out.
In the depths of Khazad-dûm, Thorin of Erebor chiseled his own heart into a thousand facets of regret.
"Mahal's mercy!" Balin's gasp broke through his pain, but not until he heard Fíli's wondering voice say "Bilbo?" did Thorin sit up.
In the door was Bilbo Baggins, his curling hair singed and his once-merry face soot-streaked and grim. When he saw Thorin in his cage, his eyes widened and his mouth worked for a moment, and then he was running across the room to throw himself to his knees and grasp the bars. "Thorin," he said. "Are you--"
There was a warning shout from Dwalin and Bilbo barely had time to hurl himself out of the way as an orc guard's jagged sword whistled through the space where his neck had been.
Bilbo's little knife--his tiny, pitiful knife--was out, and he dropped into a defensive crouch. No chance for defiance or for Khuzdul curses this time--the orc was on him in an instant.
Thorin seized the bars of his cage in his hands as though he could somehow break free and defend Bilbo with the sheer strength of his anguish, but they held firm as Bilbo dodged and stabbed and struggled. The fight was brutal and graceless, nothing but a frantic scrabble for survival punctuated by gasping breaths. The cruel sword got through the halfling's defenses and stabbed into his shoulder, and scarlet sprang to stain the ridiculous oatmeal jumper. Thorin heard a cry of unbearable agony, the sound of a heart cracking its sinews, and realized the sound did not come from the grimly silent Bilbo but from his own throat.
As if galvanized by the sound of Thorin's voice, Bilbo hacked wildly at the orc's hands and then slashed at its face, and managed to score a long cut across the gnarled forehead. Blood streaming down its face, the orc swung wildly and missed.
Bilbo Baggins stepped under its guard and stabbed it to the heart.
He lacked the strength to make it an easy kill; the orc thrashed and struggled and he had to stand astride it and stab it again, his throat working and his mouth set in grim misery. He stepped aside as its death throes finally twitched into extinction, his breath coming in great heaving gasps that he couldn't seem to control, then lurched forward to grope at its belt, searching for keys. His hands came up empty, and he whirled to stagger to Thorin's cage, seizing the bars.
"Thor--" he started, but the word broke off into a whooping gasp as he struggled for breath. "Thor--" His eyes widened in panic as his sides heaved.
Thorin had seen this in warriors after their first fight; the body retching for air that never seemed to come. "It will pass," he said, putting his hands around Bilbo's shaking fingers. "But there is no time. Listen to me."
"The libr--" Bilbo wheezed between gasps.
"--I saw," Thorin said. "All is lost. I know. Bilbo, listen to me."
Bilbo stared at his face; what he saw Thorin did not know, but tears welled in the halfling's red-rimmed eyes and cut channels through the soot and blood on his cheeks.
"Bilbo, you do not have the key," Thorin said. It was important he speak quickly and calmly. It was vital that Bilbo understand. "We cannot escape. But you can."
Bilbo shook his head mutely from side to side, face twisted with pain.
"Yes you can," Thorin repeated. "Because you will have this."
He reached in his breast pocket and took out his golden ring.
His blood roared in his ears as he looked at it, and denial rose up in him. His only hope, his one dear treasure! It shone in his hand, pure and uncorrupted, the only thing of beauty in Khazad-dûm--
No, thought Thorin. Not the only.
He curled his fingers around the ring so he wouldn't have to see its glory and looked instead at Bilbo's face, streaked with blood and ash. At his eyes. "With this you can be invisible. You can go unseen through the halls of Khazad-dûm and safely to the other side." He held out his hand (the ring was so heavy, he could hardly lift it, it would be so much easier to let it drop safely by his side, by his side forever) and put it through the bars. "Take it and go, Bilbo Baggins. Go back to the Shire, back to your merry green door and the bright flowers above it. Be safe and be happy and know that you are--" His voice stopped in his throat and he had to stop and try again, "--that your life is precious to me."
Through a haze of anguish that threatened to lock his muscles in place, he managed to open his grip and let the ring drop into Bilbo's trembling hands.
Ignoring the ring, Bilbo stared at him, still shaking with frantic, sobbing gasps for air, then looked wildly at the other dwarves.
"Go!" yelled Fíli, and the others joined in, imploring him to leave, flee, fly to safety, go now.
"There are worse ways for a dwarf to die than in the halls of Durin, laddie," said Balin.
Bilbo looked back at Thorin and his mouth worked. He struggled to speak, but his words were cut off by his ragged breaths. He threw himself to his knees and brought Thorin's hands to his mouth. Thorin felt lips press against his skin, trembling, for a long moment.
Bilbo stood again and nodded, once.
Then he slipped the ring on his finger and disappeared.
Thorin heard gasps of wonder from the other dwarves, but the sound was far away and distant through the incandescent pain in his heart as he realized his ring was gone, that he had given it up. Agony ignited his soul, and he sobbed in its purifying fire, sinking to his hands and knees on the cold steel floor, shaken by a transcendent anguish. His spirit was burned to ash and cinders, and he let the pain sweep over him and annihilate him as if he hungered for it.
And somehow he found himself on the other side, tears drying on his cheeks and a strange peace in his heart.
Thorin of Erebor lay in a cage in the depths of Khazad-dûm with the imprint of Bilbo's kiss on his fingers, and knew in the bedrock of his soul that at last he had seen his treasure true.
He would face his death free of the dragon-sickness, with a whole mind and clear eyes.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin, Kili, Fili, Balin, Dwalin
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 2100
Story Summary: In a Middle-Earth where Erebor never fell, a shadow remains in the heart of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo Baggins finds himself drawn reluctantly into a quest that will lead him across the continent--from Bree to Lake Evendim to the icy North and beyond--with a party of five dwarves searching for an artifact that will cure the ailing King Thrór.
Chapter Summary: Bilbo proves to be braver and more resilient than perhaps even he suspected, and Thorin reaches a point of crisis.
As for Bilbo Baggins, what happened to him was this: when the great pale orc appeared, he had taken advantage of the distraction to scurry into the shadows, evading further detection. Luckily for him, the orcs seemed to find it difficult to distinguish between dwarves and hobbits, and his escape had gone unnoticed.
He had hidden in the shadows, his little heart pounding, and cursed himself: Bilbo Baggins, you coward! Help them! But his feet had refused to move, and he had watched in helpless horror as the party was defeated, as Azog had mocked and taunted Thorin.
But when the library was set ablaze and he heard the cry of anguish ripped from Thorin's heart, he felt his jaw set and he stopped trying to force his feet forward, instead moving as far back into the shadows as possible and holding himself perfectly still. He watched as Azog struck Thorin down--if he could have seen his own face, he would not have recognized himself at that moment--and the dwarves were carried away.
And when the hall was clear, he took a deep breath and plunged into the maelstrom of flame that had been the Chamber of Marzabul.
Sparks flew around him and the heat seemed to batter him, the stone walls swimming in a haze as sweat poured down his face. Scrambling wildly through floating scraps of charring paper, he made his way to the back of the library. He was holding his breath, but the heat seemed to lick at his lips, trying to force its way into his lungs as he staggered against the billowing smoke toward his goal.
There! A scrap of midnight-blue tassel deep in a shelf, untouched as yet by the flame. Bilbo seized it and ran, the scorching stone blistering his bare feet. He wrapped himself around the precious scroll, shielding it from flying sparks with his own body, and staggered blindly toward the door. Everything was wavering in a blaze of agonizing light, but somehow he managed to make it clear of the flames and out of the doomed chamber, his prize still safe and undamaged in his trembling hands.
The cool of the stone hall was a blessed balm after the inferno, and for a long moment he leaned against the carved granite of the wall, dragging in breaths of cool damp air. He felt a sharp pain; looking down he saw the hair on his toes still smouldering and stifled a yelp, hopping around and swatting at his feet.
Then for a little bit he simply sat down and was grateful to be alive.
The scroll--the silken tassel was a little charred, but the parchment seemed undamaged--he slipped into his pack. The halls of Khazad-dûm echoed around him. Somewhere within them were his friends--if they were not dead already at the hands of that terrible white orc.
Bilbo set his jaw and began to descend into occupied Khazad-dûm.
It was a terrible time, skulking and trembling in the shadows, hiding behind racks of rusted and bloody weapons, creeping always downward, searching. After a few hours, he came across a great hall filled with empty tables and the smell of cooking, thick and vile. In the back of the hall was a great wooden cage, and within it a massive, stoop-shouldered being like an vast orc. It was staring behind it at something Bilbo couldn't see. Then it made a phlegmy rattling sound and shook at its bars, which creaked.
"Here now!" yelled an angry voice that seemed to be made of teeth and drool, and Bilbo ducked under a table, his heart pounding. But the voice was not for him. "Don't you be teasing that cave troll, if you know what's good for you!" There was a whining answer that Bilbo couldn't make out. "Remember what happened last time it got loose? Skarktil thought it good sport to poke it, didn't he? Until it busted open the cage and Skarktil ended up splattered across the ceiling, right? So stay away!"
The owner of the whining voice walked past the table under which Bilbo crouched, its iron-shod feet grating against the stone and the bunch of keys at its belt jingling with a cheerfulness that seemed cruelly out of place in the dismal depths. Then the feet stopped, and Bilbo heard a snuffling sound.
"What's that smell, eh?" said the whining voice. "I never smelt that before."
"Probably them dwarves the Master captured," came the bored answer.
The whine sharpened indignantly. "You think I don't know dwarf stink? I've had it in my nose forever, it seems, these filthy halls reek of them! No, it ain't dwarf. It smells like...maybe chicken?" More juicy sniffling noises, and then there was a sharp sound of impact; the whining voice yelped and the feet moved away.
"I'll throw more than a pot at you if you don't go fetch me some meat for the troll. He gets cranky when he's hungry, you know."
"All right, all right, I'm going," complained the key-holding orc as Bilbo cowered, shivering and making himself as small and silent as possible. When the cook fed the troll his haunch of meat, Bilbo slipped through the hall under the tables under cover of the horrific crunching and slobbering and out the other side.
And finally, when he had nearly given up hope and resolved that he was to die deep in the roots of the Misty Mountains, he found the cells where Thorin and his company were being held.
: : :
Thorin stared up at the ceiling of his cage and ignored his companions' attempts to speak to him. In his mind's eye he saw once more the Chamber of Marzabul in flames, a forge of anguish from which nothing would ever be drawn out.
In the depths of Khazad-dûm, Thorin of Erebor chiseled his own heart into a thousand facets of regret.
"Mahal's mercy!" Balin's gasp broke through his pain, but not until he heard Fíli's wondering voice say "Bilbo?" did Thorin sit up.
In the door was Bilbo Baggins, his curling hair singed and his once-merry face soot-streaked and grim. When he saw Thorin in his cage, his eyes widened and his mouth worked for a moment, and then he was running across the room to throw himself to his knees and grasp the bars. "Thorin," he said. "Are you--"
There was a warning shout from Dwalin and Bilbo barely had time to hurl himself out of the way as an orc guard's jagged sword whistled through the space where his neck had been.
Bilbo's little knife--his tiny, pitiful knife--was out, and he dropped into a defensive crouch. No chance for defiance or for Khuzdul curses this time--the orc was on him in an instant.
Thorin seized the bars of his cage in his hands as though he could somehow break free and defend Bilbo with the sheer strength of his anguish, but they held firm as Bilbo dodged and stabbed and struggled. The fight was brutal and graceless, nothing but a frantic scrabble for survival punctuated by gasping breaths. The cruel sword got through the halfling's defenses and stabbed into his shoulder, and scarlet sprang to stain the ridiculous oatmeal jumper. Thorin heard a cry of unbearable agony, the sound of a heart cracking its sinews, and realized the sound did not come from the grimly silent Bilbo but from his own throat.
As if galvanized by the sound of Thorin's voice, Bilbo hacked wildly at the orc's hands and then slashed at its face, and managed to score a long cut across the gnarled forehead. Blood streaming down its face, the orc swung wildly and missed.
Bilbo Baggins stepped under its guard and stabbed it to the heart.
He lacked the strength to make it an easy kill; the orc thrashed and struggled and he had to stand astride it and stab it again, his throat working and his mouth set in grim misery. He stepped aside as its death throes finally twitched into extinction, his breath coming in great heaving gasps that he couldn't seem to control, then lurched forward to grope at its belt, searching for keys. His hands came up empty, and he whirled to stagger to Thorin's cage, seizing the bars.
"Thor--" he started, but the word broke off into a whooping gasp as he struggled for breath. "Thor--" His eyes widened in panic as his sides heaved.
Thorin had seen this in warriors after their first fight; the body retching for air that never seemed to come. "It will pass," he said, putting his hands around Bilbo's shaking fingers. "But there is no time. Listen to me."
"The libr--" Bilbo wheezed between gasps.
"--I saw," Thorin said. "All is lost. I know. Bilbo, listen to me."
Bilbo stared at his face; what he saw Thorin did not know, but tears welled in the halfling's red-rimmed eyes and cut channels through the soot and blood on his cheeks.
"Bilbo, you do not have the key," Thorin said. It was important he speak quickly and calmly. It was vital that Bilbo understand. "We cannot escape. But you can."
Bilbo shook his head mutely from side to side, face twisted with pain.
"Yes you can," Thorin repeated. "Because you will have this."
He reached in his breast pocket and took out his golden ring.
His blood roared in his ears as he looked at it, and denial rose up in him. His only hope, his one dear treasure! It shone in his hand, pure and uncorrupted, the only thing of beauty in Khazad-dûm--
No, thought Thorin. Not the only.
He curled his fingers around the ring so he wouldn't have to see its glory and looked instead at Bilbo's face, streaked with blood and ash. At his eyes. "With this you can be invisible. You can go unseen through the halls of Khazad-dûm and safely to the other side." He held out his hand (the ring was so heavy, he could hardly lift it, it would be so much easier to let it drop safely by his side, by his side forever) and put it through the bars. "Take it and go, Bilbo Baggins. Go back to the Shire, back to your merry green door and the bright flowers above it. Be safe and be happy and know that you are--" His voice stopped in his throat and he had to stop and try again, "--that your life is precious to me."
Through a haze of anguish that threatened to lock his muscles in place, he managed to open his grip and let the ring drop into Bilbo's trembling hands.
Ignoring the ring, Bilbo stared at him, still shaking with frantic, sobbing gasps for air, then looked wildly at the other dwarves.
"Go!" yelled Fíli, and the others joined in, imploring him to leave, flee, fly to safety, go now.
"There are worse ways for a dwarf to die than in the halls of Durin, laddie," said Balin.
Bilbo looked back at Thorin and his mouth worked. He struggled to speak, but his words were cut off by his ragged breaths. He threw himself to his knees and brought Thorin's hands to his mouth. Thorin felt lips press against his skin, trembling, for a long moment.
Bilbo stood again and nodded, once.
Then he slipped the ring on his finger and disappeared.
Thorin heard gasps of wonder from the other dwarves, but the sound was far away and distant through the incandescent pain in his heart as he realized his ring was gone, that he had given it up. Agony ignited his soul, and he sobbed in its purifying fire, sinking to his hands and knees on the cold steel floor, shaken by a transcendent anguish. His spirit was burned to ash and cinders, and he let the pain sweep over him and annihilate him as if he hungered for it.
And somehow he found himself on the other side, tears drying on his cheeks and a strange peace in his heart.
Thorin of Erebor lay in a cage in the depths of Khazad-dûm with the imprint of Bilbo's kiss on his fingers, and knew in the bedrock of his soul that at last he had seen his treasure true.
He would face his death free of the dragon-sickness, with a whole mind and clear eyes.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-20 03:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-20 10:26 pm (UTC)AHA!
his feet had refused to move
Ah the famous English common sense, excuse me, I mean Hobbity common sense.
he heard the cry of anguish ripped from Thorin's heart, he felt his jaw set and he stopped trying to force his feet forward, instead moving as far back into the shadows as possible and holding himself perfectly still. He watched as Azog struck Thorin down--if he could have seen his own face, he would not have recognized himself at that moment-
Oh that whole passage! It hurts to read that scene again from Bilbo's POV.
And when the hall was clear, he took a deep breath and plunged into the maelstrom of flame that had been the Chamber of Marzabul.
Sweet Eru! O_O
A scrap of midnight-blue tassel
I knew that tassel wasn't there for nothing!
"What's that smell, eh?" said the whining voice. "I never smelt that before."
"Probably them dwarves the Master captured," came the bored answer.
Uh oh.
Bilbo slipped through the hall under the tables under cover of the horrific crunching and slobbering and out the other side.
Blergh. But very realistic! :-)
And finally, when he had nearly given up hope and resolved that he was to die deep in the roots of the Misty Mountains, he found the cells where Thorin and his company were being held.
YAY! And Thorin will get a heartattack when he sees what Bilbo rescued... poor Prince, so much action and hardly any rest. You really weren't kidding that the chapters were going to get worse. o_o
Marzabul in flames, a forge of anguish from which nothing would ever be drawn out.
Too much too soon. *pets him and sings a lullaby*
In the depths of Khazad-dûm, Thorin of Erebor chiseled his own heart into a thousand facets of regret.
O_O Such magnificent lines you write.
as though he could somehow break free and defend Bilbo with the sheer strength of his anguish,
ädfolnbdf.mnölk oooh passionate, protective Thorin. Rowr.
the ridiculous oatmeal jumper.
OMG he still has it on! I just worked on drawing the pattern the other day!
the sound of a heart cracking its sinews
YOU BROKE MY THORIN. I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN FORGIVE YOU.
He lacked the strength to make it an easy kill
Oh, very well observed and nicely put!
the body retching for air that never seemed to come. "It will pass," he said, putting his hands around Bilbo's shaking fingers. "But there is no time. Listen to me."
"The libr--" Bilbo wheezed between gasps.
"--I saw," Thorin said. "All is lost. I know. Bilbo, listen to me."
Bilbo stared at his face; what he saw Thorin did not know, but tears welled in the halfling's red-rimmed eyes and cut channels through the soot and blood on his cheeks.
"Bilbo, you do not have the key," Thorin said. It was important he speak quickly and calmly. It was vital that Bilbo understand. "We cannot escape. But you can."
THUD.
.
.
.
.
*is dead*
(nonononononononononononononononoooooooooooooooooooooooo)
e curled his fingers around the ring so he wouldn't have to see its glory and looked instead at Bilbo's face, streaked with blood and ash. At his eyes.
*is even deader *
Be safe and be happy and know that you are--" His voice stopped in his throat and he had to stop and try again, "--that your life is precious to me."
*is deadest, burnt to ash, scattered to the winds, happy and content – well almost content*
"There are worse ways for a dwarf to die than in the halls of Durin, laddie," said Balin.
How do you kill me, let me count the ways. URGH.
His spirit was burned to ash and cinders, and he let the pain sweep over him and annihilate him as if he hungered for it.
THIS, This is what you've done to me!
And somehow he found himself on the other side, tears drying on his cheeks and a strange peace in his heart.
Thorin of Erebor lay in a cage in the depths of Khazad-dûm with the imprint of Bilbo's kiss on his fingers, and knew in the bedrock of his soul that at last he had seen his treasure true.
He would face his death free of the dragon-sickness, with a whole mind and clear eyes.
lgvjadhfölsnj.,vmchxöopbjlnk.dm
-lksdvgnsd-ölkn
cv,nbsd,fmnbd.fk
kksdfbgvksdjb
P E R F E C T I O N . . . . . . . . .
***********************************
I will engrave this last paragraph onto my heart.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-24 02:29 am (UTC)It hurt to write it again from his POV! It's awful to feel so helpless...
Too much too soon. *pets him and sings a lullaby*
I know, I know...poor Thorin, he just loses everything--but that's what makes it possible to rebuild from nothing here (I hope!)
OMG he still has it on! I just worked on drawing the pattern the other day!
He does! But I'm afraid he loses it next chapter, along with (*sob*) his second-best waistcoat, poor Bilbo!
YOU BROKE MY THORIN. I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN FORGIVE YOU.
*hides* He'll rebuild himself! And he'll have help!
*is dead*
(nonononononononononononononononoooooooooooooooooooooooo)
Ahhh, you saw what was coming? It's the only way! Ever since I read that it's possible the ring could not make dwarves invisible I knew this had to be the end result...
I will engrave this last paragraph onto my heart.
Ohhh, thank you. *blushes* I love these characters so much, and the hints of what's going to happen in the next movie (so soon, so soon, I thought we'd have more time with a whole Thorin!) made it so imperative that I find a way to get him through it somehow, you know? Cathartic for me, and I can go see the movies and remind myself that there's an alternate universe where he gets through it without having to die... *breaks down in sniffles*
(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-24 03:02 pm (UTC)The only possible excuse... *is mollified*
But I'm afraid he loses it next chapter, along with (*sob*) his second-best waistcoat, poor Bilbo!
Oh NOES!
*hides* He'll rebuild himself! And he'll have help!
Hmmm, okay then. *waits impatiently*
Ahhh, you saw what was coming?
Nope, didn't see it coming. I was solely referring to Thorin's ridiculous self-sacrificing/protective tendencies and his having given himself up *cries at the memory*
(so soon, so soon, I thought we'd have more time with a whole Thorin!)
There are two souls in my breast (roughly paraphrasing Goethe). I am anticipating and dreading the start of the second film. *wibbles* I don't even know what hints you are talking about, I don't want to know, lalalalalalalala *holds hands over ears* I'll take a lot of tissues to the cinema though. Just to be prepared.
made it so imperative that I find a way to get him through it somehow, you know? Cathartic for me,
OH YES. A hundred times yes. This fic will be my lifeline in December and next year... well this and the honorary hobbit adventures...
(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-23 10:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-24 03:03 pm (UTC)