Soulguard
Author: wanderingsmith
jun 2016
Summary: "Thorin, please!! Remember
your grandfather's end! Remember what you
asked of me on the Carrock!"
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and
nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As
it is thought, so let it be said; you make the
toys, I play with 'em..
AN: * conceived and mostly-written
before even the second movie. so it goes
AU after the first movie.
* another that was 90%
written 2 years ago.. and just now got the
words to wrap it
Bilbo stared into the dying flames of their
campfire, his mind populating into their
flickering depth vaulted ceilings of stone,
glittering with seemingly source-less light. Deep
dwarven voices a wordless growl in his very bones.
Balin's clear tones over them, speaking of a
mighty kingdom. Loving details of carved beauty,
of metal and stone melded to rival any grand
design of nature. Deepest loyalty in his voice as
it named its kings.
A fair but grey day slowly climbing down the spit
of rock Gandalf had named the Carock had left his
companions melancholy as they rested, until in the
quiet fire-lit night, shrouded in pipe smoke from
the circle of their Company, Balin had quietly
started speaking of Erebor. Reminiscence of his
home and the life he and his family had lived. It
was a different perspective for Bilbo, stories
that held neither call to arms nor grim sadness,
but instead a smoother world, populated with
smaller things. The things that make up real
lives, just as his books, chair and pantry did. It
woke an odd little voice in his mind, wanting to
see it. Even seeing himself in it. Not standing
before it in awe, but instead walking its halls
and corridors; standing on a parapet with Th-
Bilbo straightened, frowning and lecturing himself
away from such foolish visions. It was all well
and good to have a fuller, more true perspective
on his travelling companions; he should not let
the Took in him embroider such truth with whimsy.
Though it was hard to dismiss the image entirely
when he'd so recently seen just that expression of
quiet joy on his companion. If he truly could help
them reclaim their Erebor.. might he not have some
right to standing upon its ramparts at his
companions' side as they all surveyed the rewards
of their facing through the odds of their
adventure.
The treasury had sounded quite strange to him
though. Mountains of coins? Why would anyone even
wish for such a thing? Perhaps Balin even agreed,
perhaps that was that odd note of confusion Bilbo
was certain he'd heard in his voice as he spoke of
the old king sometimes disappearing in the great
room.
When Balin's words seemed to run out, Ori spoke,
quiet and faintly wondering, "I cannot imagine
what a *pile* of coins must look like."
"You'll have one yourself, soon." Bilbo was a
little surprised that Kíli was able to speak in
such a thoughtful tone; the evening truly *had*
made them all quiet, "I expect you'll have better
use for it than to make a shiny pile."
Ori's brief grin as he fingered his scarf made him
look suddenly terribly young to Bilbo's eyes, "Buy
the softest wool from Rohan to make a courting
gift."
Amid the knowing chuckles, Bofur turned to Bilbo
with curiosity on his friendly face, "What will
*you* do with your share of the treasure, Bilbo?"
Bilbo's eyes widened at the question, not having
expected to be drawn into their talk, "Uuuh, oh.
..I've no use for treasure. Gold doesn't make my
tomatoes any more beautiful or tastier." At the
soft snorts, he tried a grin of his own, "I
suppose I could use them to tile the bathroom wall
to make it nice and bright," his grin widened as
the snorts changed to choked laughs, "Easy to
clean, too, I bet."
Eventually, the laughter and pipes died down, and
when a yawn threatened to make the bone of his jaw
crack, Bilbo waved a good night to the few
dwarrows still by the fire and stepped back toward
his bedroll; never noticing the King sitting in
shadows behind the bright fire. And watching him
thoughtfully.
-------------------------
"I .. fear it. Fear I will become the fallen man I
watched my powerful grandfather become. And yet.
The Arkenstone is the only way to reunite the
clans, to rebuild Erebor to the greatness my
grandfathers' brought it."
"And so I would ask a favour of you. My
grandfather fell to the gold sickness before we
understood, and my father... I am not certain the
others would notice it. We dwarrows do love
precious things; the beauty in it, it speaks to
us, to our blood and souls. And even if they began
to suspect.. I fear even Dwalin would hesitate too
long to scold the dwarf king for love of gold or
jewels. But you. Gold and riches would not
distract you. And you see me. You have never
feared to tell me what you thought."
"What would you have me do?"
"I.. do not know. Stop me from allowing death and
disaster. You have surprised me beyond measure my
hobbit, I would not put a limit on your ingenuity.
Rather I ask.. I hope.. that you would consent to
guard me from madness if you can."
"But at the least, I plead that you do all you
can.. to stop me from hurting those I would
protect."
---------------------------
Thorin glared into the doorway, Orcrist clenched
in his white-knuckled grip, knowing he could do
nothing. To follow their quiet and clever burglar
with his heavy steps would be to expose him to
even greater danger. He, they, had all given the
hobbit all the information about the layout of
Erebor that he could absorb, all the knowledge of
dragons that dwarf-lore offered. There was no
other help they could give, save silence to avoid
making his work more difficult, and listening for
any possible signal that their skills could
actually be used.
He glared. And tried to distract himself from the
fear. Went over the plans he'd polished over the
century since he'd been forced from this place.
Which rooms to secure first. Which messages to
send. What treasures to locate and set aside. For
a moment he blinked; that thought had been
different from the others... But.. of course he
must have always planned to secure the heirlooms
of the line of Durin. The throne room could only
be considered secure with the Arkenstone. Erebor
itself only existed with the gold and emeralds
that made it the greatest Dwarf stronghold
remaining. He was King, he would defend Erebor.
----------------------------
now for wrath
now for ruin
and a red dawn
There was a silent shriek of terror threaded
through his thoughts, but the red haze of fury
dulled everything else. Thief! How DARE he take
from the King Under The Mountain! The Arkenstone
was rightfully HIS! -He could see the overwhelming
bright of the jewel lighting his mind.- And no
mere Men or traitorous, thieving *Elves* would
touch an ounce of the gold of his mountain!
"Thorin, please! Remember your grandfather's end!
Remember what you asked of me on the Carrock!"
Thorin could hardly understand the voice through
the haze, shouting to silence it, "What do you
blather-" But there was a shake in his chest. Why?
Why could he not breathe? The red haze faded for a
moment, -sound of wind in nearby valleys, a
wondering voice, "..so wrong"-.
"Think, damn your dwarven stubbornness! What do
YOU treasure most?"
The cold light in his thoughts dimmed, replaced
with pain-fogged memory of a flash of blue glow
streaking by, of his own mental scream in
response, 'No! You should be safe!'.
"Please, my king, you need to THINK! What do you
love!!"
Love?? Who would ever dare question his love??
-Impossibly wide smile tilted at him as he grasped
a small shoulder, "I think the worst is over."-.
"... YOU! You are..." The terror-shriek that had
so made the red haze fight to control his mind
suddenly ripped his eyes clear. And nearly ripped
his soul with it.
Thorin knew he'd lost every inch of stoicity his
father had taught him, knew his features reflected
every ounce of shock and horror he felt as he
finally saw *his* hands holding- "-Ghivashel...
noooo.." He knew that choked howl had to be him.
He dropped his grip on -Oh Mahal have mercy,
BILBO!- the small shoulders, then desperately
fumbled to grab the smaller creature as Bilbo
-nooooo!- stumbled from the sudden release.
Thorin's eyes were feverishly glued to the
still-visible hand-prints in the worn surcoat;
when he tried to swallow, the faint whimper that
he'd been hearing warbled, and then the world
tilted, the dull crash of metal on stone loud in
the silence. But nothing made those prints change.
Panting and still finding his balance through his
racing heart, Bilbo automatically followed as
Thorin crawled backwards away from him; terribly
glad of the returned awareness in the dwarf's
eyes.
Mildly jubilant at succeeding in pulling his
friend back from madness, he started to relax, "Oh
thank the Valar you're b-" and then his memory of
the last few minutes settled, Thorin's words
repeating in his ears, and his eyes widened.
Oh. Oh Eru, he... Bilbo felt himself start to
smile, heart leaping for a far better reason than
fear.
But as he stepped forward, the bright wonder at
the forefront of his thoughts winked out as he saw
Thorin shift further back away from him, rictus of
horror firmly in place and staring fixedly at
Bilbo's shoulders.
Bilbo snarled, wondering when he'd gotten so
skilled at spinning through emotions without a
pause, rushing the distance between them and
throwing himself at Thorin's chest, latching onto
his braids, "No! LOOK at me. Damn you, you
stubborn dwarf." Growling to himself at the terror
in the eyes that at least met his now, he pushed
and pulled himself up enough to knock their
foreheads as roughly as he dared, not wanting to
knock himself out on thick dwarven bone.
The hesitant push again his knock was accompanied
by a low whimper and he continued to leap by his
instinct, infusing all the soft feelings that had
grown in his heart for this so very flawed dwarf
into his voice, betting what the word had meant by
how his king had used it, "Ghivashel." He didn't
doubt his high voice mangled the growly dwarven
pronunciation, but the sudden stillness in
Thorin's body told him he was understood and the
word was strong enough to make it through Thorin's
horror.
Taking a calming breath, he raised his head,
releasing his grip on dark hair only enough to
rotate his hands, watching thoughtfully as a thin,
shinny braid wrapped around each of his wrists,
faintly ashamed at how possessive he was feeling.
Then he shifted his body to kneel properly over
the dwarf's lap, cupping his hands around a
stubborn bearded chin, feeling resistance build
under him again as he raised his love's face to
meet his square on. Frowning at the shamed,
broken, lost look, he shifted his body closer
around the warrior's shakily reclining form,
wrapping knees around him and bringing his chest
as close as possible while still keeping their
gazes locked, sticking like a burr and refusing to
be budged. "You are going nowhere; you are going
to be *fine*. You are *mine* and I am NOT letting
you go, Thorin Oakenshield!"
Though there had been some blink of recognition as
he spoke, broken shame still stared back at the
hobbit, a minefield of despair built on too many
years of pain to measure. There was something very
wrong with the world when a Baggins wished the
problem he faced was a Gundabad warg. Bilbo bit
back curses at the invisible enemy hurting his
mate, trying and failing to soften his voice away
from a growl, "Did I not save you from the
woodland realm? Did I not keep you alive long
enough for your kinsmen to save you from Azog? So
long as I live, I will not let you fall to
thrice-cursed gold-sickness. You asked me to guard
you and I *have*. Have the grace your mother
taught you and thank me!"
'Mine'. The words rang in Thorin's mind, stroking
softness into the knot clenching his chest. A
mangled 'Ghivashel' that he likely would have not
understood if not for the touch and the tone and
the eyes that went with it. Bilbo. High hobbit
voice almost dwarven with growl: 'Mine'.
The tug on one of his braids made him focus on the
fierce eyes staring at him. He tried to take a
breath, half surprised when he could, took another
and shuddered, -flash of Bilbo held higher than
the parapet-.
Wrenched himself away from the memory at another
tug on the same braid. Obeying the silent demand,
he shakily shifted to bring an arm up around the
too fragile-seeming body nonetheless gripping him
securely. Responding to the approving smile
replacing the glare directed at him, Thorin sat up
and couldn't stop the sudden need for comfort,
however undeserving he was, burying his face in
the side of Bilbo's neck, his now free other hand
furrowing into the curls at the back of the
hobbit's head, and he held on, trying to remind
himself to be gentle for Mahal's sake, but shaken
by waves of reaction and needing nothing less than
every inch of his One to keep from flying apart.
-------------------
Carefully petting any part of Thorin he could
reach without interfering with the king's
deathgrip, Bilbo felt himself calm, now that he
wasn't fighting a dwarf for either of their lives.
Enough so that he heard the sigh of relief from
besides them quite clearly. Oh dear. Sliding a
careful hand into Thorin's hair to wrap around his
skull and keep him tucked in the hobbit's throat,
Bilbo took a deep breath and looked.
Unsurprisingly, a dozen set of eyes stared at the
two of them. Ranging from very worried to angry,
though Bilbo couldn't be bothered to guess who the
anger was aimed at, to amused; and everything in
between. Well. He gave the lot of them a
disparaging glare, knowing he was wasting the
effort but too protective of his friend not to try
to acquire them some privacy. With exactly the
result he expected.
He grumbled, turning his head back to rub a cheek
on wild hair and whispering, "Thorin. I'm sorry,
my king. I did not intend to-" -he looked at the
others briefly in exasperation- "I.. expected..
hoped you would say your people, or Kíli and Fíli.
Or Erebor.."
He felt Thorin hunch into himself, could almost
feel added shame rising in him and knocked his
head very lightly sideways against the dwarf, "Now
stop that too my king. A year ago I had accepted
with quiet regret that I would spend my life
alone; never knowing what the great love I read of
in tales felt like. Then I opened my door late on
an already mad evening and discovered I was
wrong."
He gently pulled back, the hand at the back of
Thorin's head encouraging him to lift his eyes to
Bilbo's, "I discovered I would instead spend my
life dreaming of a love I could never win."
-------------------
Bard didn't know what he'd expected to find when
the bald, tattoo-covered dwarf guided them to the
battlements after that sudden silent period. But
it wasn't to be greeted by the hobbit that had
been last seen dangled over the parapets.. by the
very dwarf now standing silent behind Bilbo
Baggins, seemingly holding himself up by his grip
on the halfling's shoulders, face stripped haggard
and eyes staring at nothing.
"Gentlemen." Bard focused on the halfling as he
spoke up, sounding tired but firm, the stare aimed
at him and the elf not particularly friendly.
Though at least it was perfectly sane and
reasonable. "This meeting is only to agree on the
basis for future more detailed negotiations. As
previously agreed, we will share a reasonable
amount of treasure with you, Bard. Thranduil,
whatever your grievances with king Thrór, you
repaid the discourtesy when you not only refused
aid to travellers that offered you no harm, but
actually held them prisoner. You may all think
hobbits are un-violent, quiet folk, but we do not
take such injustice kindly. I now you wish jewels
that are supposedly in this mountain. If you will
sign treaties of peace and mutual aid, we will
entertain discussions of exchange. Bring but one
mention of the past and the offer is void!"
Thorin stood with his hands tight on Bilbo's
shoulders, staring forward, not a word registering
of the negotiations happening before him. His mind
instead wandering, trying to remember when he had
lost himself. He stiffened with pain and fear as
he remembers holding Bilbo up. Though the sound of
his voice never varied, Bilbo must have felt his
Thorin's reaction and he stepped back, and
Thorin's arm instinctively dropped like a vise
around his waist. Slowly, the word ghivashel
echoed in his mind and he found he could release
some of the terror.
Thinks of a crude blade above him, his body
helpless as fury burned in him. And then such a
small body flying out of the darkness to save his
life; -his arm around Bilbo tightened
unconsciously- the terror that had instantly
replaced his fury had given him enough adrenaline
to start to move, desperate to save that innocent
life from the fate it had put itself in, but he
hadn't even had time to feel the pain that had
knocked him unconscious again.
"Do you agree to these terms, King under the
mountain?"
He distantly felt dusty curls tickle his nose and
cheeks, hardly aware of his position as he tried
to recapture the few flashes of memory he had of
that night before Gandalf woke him on the Carrock.
"Do you AGREE to these terms, King under the
mountain?"
Though he'd ignored the arrogant voice that grated
on his too-raw nerves, Thorin now felt the small
tug at one of his braids, knowing without doubt
that any he'd let touch him in such a way must be
obeyed. He made himself look up at the
tree-shagger, confident his expression would now
be as stoic as he'd ever been taught.
Not showing the least of the satisfaction he felt
at seeing annoyance flow through that cold-face at
having to repeat itself. "Do. you. agree. to these
terms, *King* under the mountain?"
He would have waited a deliberate pause before
replying, but the tug on his braid was firm now,
and the memories of his madness too fresh for him
to allow himself to tease his hobbit, so he
growled his reply quietly, sparing a glance at
Bard for it to apply to him as well. "The dwarrows
of Erebor will stand behind Bilbo Baggins'
treaties for so long as I draw breath."
-------------------
Some bloody and exhausting weeks later, in a once
luxurious chamber that showed the marks of hurried
cleaning in the shifting light of the large blaze
trying to fight the winter chill in the stone
floor, a dwarf knelt, in casual dress that did not
quite hide the bandages he wore and few ornaments
shinning in his loose hair.
That he was able to kneel, and that those dark
tresses shone with returning health were all that
mattered to the now similarly dressed hobbit
standing before him and looking at the bright
silver in a wide, callus and scar-filled palm.
"I cannot promise you..." The voice was as low and
worried as the eyes watching him.
Bilbo stared back firmly, "You can promise to love
me."
That smile was very slowly becoming familiar.
"Yes. I can promise to love you until Mahal
remakes the world, and forever after."
"And I promise to love you. And to protect you
from the gold-madness. By whatever means
necessary." He was tempted to stick out his hand
to seal the deal, but caught himself and settled
for the businesslike stare that has gotten him the
best casks of Old Toby, each year.
Thorin's breath drew in with a slight frown, but
it finally changed to a self-mocking smile, "Are
you trying to tell me something, my Master of
Negotiations?"
"Only what I have already said, My King. Hobbits
are stubborn," he picked up one of the mythril
engagement rings being held out and slid it onto
Thorin's offered finger firmly, "That which shall
not be named will not win you to wreck its havoc."
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