Fanfiction: Sapphire, Lodestone, Emeralds 5/7 (The Hobbit - An Unexpected Journey)
Title: "Sapphire, Lodestone, Emeralds 5/7"
Status: WIP
Fandom: The Hobbit - An Unexpected Journey
Characters/Pairing: Thorin, Thranduil
Disclaimer: The Hobbit @ J. R. R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson. No copyright infringement intended.
Rating: K
Genre: character study, friendship, romance, Alternative Universe - Canon Divergence, pre-canon
Warnings: none
Summary: Thorin commits an act of rashness, the last one for a long while...
AN: A semi-fill for this prompt on hobbit_kink.
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Six Part Seven
Interlude II - Sapphire, Lodestone, Emeralds
Thorin had heard the songs as a child, had listened to them with rapt attention, for unlike the fairy tales of Men and Elves, these were true as stone. They spoke of courting gifts and heroic deeds, tragedy and love.
Lying in bed, his mother's kiss a soft memory on his brow, he had dreamed of his own fated meeting, had tried to imagine his One, and wished for him or her with all the might of his young heart.
All khazâd held out hope, yet few were willing to discuss a matter of such sacred intimacy. Those who did described their longing as similar to the call of precious gems that whispered from deep within the mountain.
Thorin's was nothing like that. It felt... alien, and rightly so in hindsight.
He dreamed of the ivory spires of a great white city and a majestic forest. He inhaled and smelled a sweet earthen scent, damp soil and leaves and blooming flowers. He felt the sudden need to learn, to understand the path of a stranger. He gained a calm like a bottomless well that was not his own, for it shattered too easily when faced with the furnace that was Dwarven anger.
Thorin thought of sapphire eyes, their cool regard and kindness, and came to fear that treacherous pull, beckoning him closer, irresistible as lodestone. He wished to possess and protect, to touch and kiss, for them to join in the throes of passion...
And then, on that day in Erebor's throne room, Thorin was finally forced to admit the truth: Thranduil, immortal King of the Elves and father to a son, would never be his to have and hold, would never even think of himself as anything but whole.
XXX
Thorin felt the edges of the chest dig into his arms, clutching it too tightly under the unsettling weight of the Elvenking's gaze, both puzzled and contemplative.
“I am certain you mean well,” Thranduil said, voice stern and distant, but hand gentle as he closed the lid over the emeralds, “but these are not yours to give.”
“I --” Thorin swallowed, at a loss for words, feeling young and foolish.
His heart was thundering in his chest, the rush of blood loud in his ears. Truly, he wished to take back Thrór's cruel words, to make amends and find a way to reconcile their people. But Thorin was also keenly aware that he lacked the power to do so, that this was an act of rashness, committed for selfish reasons. Yet he held his head high, refusing to let shame settle into his heart.
If he was meant to be denied happiness, then so be it. But had he done nothing now, not even tried, would have meant to live with the bitter taste of regret until his dying day.
“My apologies,” Thorin finally settled on, feeling his smile waver. “It seems I failed to think yet again.”
“There is nothing to forgive, mellon nîn. Your heart is true." Thranduil inclined his head, studying the young dwarf before him intently, before reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Be at peace. What happened today was no fault of yours."
Thorin had to close his eyes, felt pulled apart by warring emotions. “Thank you.”
“Na lû e-govaned vîn.”
The lips that brushed his brow in farewell were cool and soft. To not follow them with his own, to claim them and linger, took strength Thorin had not known he possessed, but all he did was shiver, and stand rooted to the spot.
The breeze blowing in from the tunnel's entrance was mild, carrying the smells and sounds of the stables that lay beyond, blocked out only when Thranduil turned to leave. The raw-edged urgency of his longing gentled and settled, a shadow of what could have been.
“Gaubdûkhimâ gagin yâkùlib Mahal,” Thorin whispered.
His soft voice echoed, fervent as a prayer, but his One was gone.
The End
khazâd - the Dwarves
mellon nîn - my friend
Na lû e-govaned vîn. - Until next we meet.
Gaubdûkhimâ gagin yâkùlib Mahal. - May we meet again with the grace of Mahal.
Status: WIP
Fandom: The Hobbit - An Unexpected Journey
Characters/Pairing: Thorin, Thranduil
Disclaimer: The Hobbit @ J. R. R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson. No copyright infringement intended.
Rating: K
Genre: character study, friendship, romance, Alternative Universe - Canon Divergence, pre-canon
Warnings: none
Summary: Thorin commits an act of rashness, the last one for a long while...
AN: A semi-fill for this prompt on hobbit_kink.
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Six Part Seven
Interlude II - Sapphire, Lodestone, Emeralds
Thorin had heard the songs as a child, had listened to them with rapt attention, for unlike the fairy tales of Men and Elves, these were true as stone. They spoke of courting gifts and heroic deeds, tragedy and love.
Lying in bed, his mother's kiss a soft memory on his brow, he had dreamed of his own fated meeting, had tried to imagine his One, and wished for him or her with all the might of his young heart.
All khazâd held out hope, yet few were willing to discuss a matter of such sacred intimacy. Those who did described their longing as similar to the call of precious gems that whispered from deep within the mountain.
Thorin's was nothing like that. It felt... alien, and rightly so in hindsight.
He dreamed of the ivory spires of a great white city and a majestic forest. He inhaled and smelled a sweet earthen scent, damp soil and leaves and blooming flowers. He felt the sudden need to learn, to understand the path of a stranger. He gained a calm like a bottomless well that was not his own, for it shattered too easily when faced with the furnace that was Dwarven anger.
Thorin thought of sapphire eyes, their cool regard and kindness, and came to fear that treacherous pull, beckoning him closer, irresistible as lodestone. He wished to possess and protect, to touch and kiss, for them to join in the throes of passion...
And then, on that day in Erebor's throne room, Thorin was finally forced to admit the truth: Thranduil, immortal King of the Elves and father to a son, would never be his to have and hold, would never even think of himself as anything but whole.
XXX
Thorin felt the edges of the chest dig into his arms, clutching it too tightly under the unsettling weight of the Elvenking's gaze, both puzzled and contemplative.
“I am certain you mean well,” Thranduil said, voice stern and distant, but hand gentle as he closed the lid over the emeralds, “but these are not yours to give.”
“I --” Thorin swallowed, at a loss for words, feeling young and foolish.
His heart was thundering in his chest, the rush of blood loud in his ears. Truly, he wished to take back Thrór's cruel words, to make amends and find a way to reconcile their people. But Thorin was also keenly aware that he lacked the power to do so, that this was an act of rashness, committed for selfish reasons. Yet he held his head high, refusing to let shame settle into his heart.
If he was meant to be denied happiness, then so be it. But had he done nothing now, not even tried, would have meant to live with the bitter taste of regret until his dying day.
“My apologies,” Thorin finally settled on, feeling his smile waver. “It seems I failed to think yet again.”
“There is nothing to forgive, mellon nîn. Your heart is true." Thranduil inclined his head, studying the young dwarf before him intently, before reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Be at peace. What happened today was no fault of yours."
Thorin had to close his eyes, felt pulled apart by warring emotions. “Thank you.”
“Na lû e-govaned vîn.”
The lips that brushed his brow in farewell were cool and soft. To not follow them with his own, to claim them and linger, took strength Thorin had not known he possessed, but all he did was shiver, and stand rooted to the spot.
The breeze blowing in from the tunnel's entrance was mild, carrying the smells and sounds of the stables that lay beyond, blocked out only when Thranduil turned to leave. The raw-edged urgency of his longing gentled and settled, a shadow of what could have been.
“Gaubdûkhimâ gagin yâkùlib Mahal,” Thorin whispered.
His soft voice echoed, fervent as a prayer, but his One was gone.
The End
khazâd - the Dwarves
mellon nîn - my friend
Na lû e-govaned vîn. - Until next we meet.
Gaubdûkhimâ gagin yâkùlib Mahal. - May we meet again with the grace of Mahal.