king of carven stone

indie Thorin || written by Lorrie 

[carvenstoned]

skyshattering:

          “i don’t mean to— that’s not what i’m———” elyon did not meet thorin’s eyes, diverting her gaze instead towards her shuffling feet. she stood a solid foor taller than him, yet somehow he made her feel small, smaller than even their hobbit companion. “i know that, i know you’ve not— rolled over.”

          “our war is to the east, yes. but my war has followed me from skyrim, the one i chose to take up arms for. i cannot stand by silently while the same injustices happen here as they happened in my homeland. what kind of a hypocrite would i be if i did?”

          she met his eyes at last, though her lip quivered slightly. she opened her arms, palms turned up in a gesture of surrender. “but i don’t have centuries, or ages. i’m sorry— i’m only human. as much as it offends you, decades are all i have, at best.”

          at worst— well, she wasn’t sure she’d make it out of his mountain.

          “This war is not Imperial and Stormcloak. This is not a matter of Nords and other races. I understand your sense of justice, but you do not know our ways, our people, our world. If you wish so dearly to help us, listen and heed the help we ask for.” He remained rough and bristling where Elyon was fretful and distressed. He stared at her even as she looked away. 

          The mention of her humanity, her short life, took the dwarf aback. Just what did she think he was asking of her? 

          “Elyon, you are your own person with your own life. None of us among the company would ask you to give your life for a cause you’re not involved in. The fact that you are willing to help us in this endeavor is more than we could ask for.” He was quiet as he spoke, brows furrowing slightly with a concern he didn’t know how to voice. 

          Tentatively, a hand reached out to touch her arm. “You have no obligation to us, nor would we ask it of you. Years, decades, any amount of time. You owe it to no one.”

[carvenstoned]

skyshattering:

          elyon’s cheeks flushed vividly, reflecting her shame. he made her feel like she was being scolded, as though she had gotten caught sneaking off with the last cookie. as though she were a young child instead of a grown woman.

          it showed in her stance as well, in the way she turned her head and gaze elsewhere, brows furrowed, in the way her shoulders tensed and fingers curled into fists, in the way she worried her bottom lip.

          ( she was not always a subtle woman. )

          “maybe i can’t,” she finally started, still pointedly looking away from him, lest he make her feel smaller still, “but even mountains crumble if you keep chipping away at their base. it may take decades of persistence, but…”

          a heavy sigh escaped her lips, her eyes closing for a long moment, a moment taken to recollect herself and her thoughts.

          “but it’s worth it. please, do not ask me to just stand idly by in the face of injustice and prejudice, i cannot abide by it. this is something i’ll go to war for.” the ‘again’ was left unsaid, still it hung in the air between them. she held her ground, despite her shoulders still being squared and her brows knitted, in a defensive stance. “i cannot let it go. that is not who i am. scold me for it, if you must, but you won’t change my mind.”

         “Decades.” He spoke the word idly, mulling it over. Stern blue eyes became distant, looking somewhere far beyond the hidden valley.  “I wonder, do you think we accepted the place forced upon us by Elves and Men? We, who forged their armor, mined their jewels, do you think we merely rolled over and took the scorn they showed?” 

        Now he looked at her, and though his gaze lifted to find hers, he glowered as though he stood taller than any elf. “You speak of decades. We have been here centuries, ages. Our history runs as deep through this earth as the gold and silver they covet from us. You have not known a single year of the lives of my people, you’ve no right to look upon us and suggest we have not been persistent.” 

        Perhaps only then, after a beat of age-old anger, did he actually see her fretful state. How young she was, this warrior of Men--and she called his words “scolding,” as though she were a child. Were she a dwarf, she could triple her age before the title left her. He tried, in his way, to soften his tone before he spoke again.

        “Our war is to the East. Save your anger for the dragon that awaits us.” 

[carvenstoned]

skyshattering:

         she struggled, briefly, when he tugged her away. elyon was not one to back down from a fight or argument, and still had some choice words for the other two —– but thorin was right there, pulling her away and reminding her of how dependent on the elf-lord the welfare of his company was.

        the second he released her arm, she took to pacing, back and forth across the room he had brought her to.

         “they have no right, no right to speak of you that way.” anger emanated from her like an avalanche, cold and relentless. the air around them thickened with static, thunderstorm weather in a room, her rage enough to make her barely-contained powers seep from her pores, too much for a girl to handle. “what customs are these, that let your host speak ill of you in your presence? have they no notion of decorum?, how rude, how disrespectful!”

         she kept on pacing, hands clenching into fists and relaxing every now and then, still outraged by the way he’d been treated. “don’t blame this on my foreignness, you know i’m right!! who gave them the right to speak to you in such a manner!?”

         her tirade went on longer, before she finally tired herself out, the electricity in the air waning at last. ivory hands hiding her face as she took a long, deep breath, shoulders slumping.

         “i’ve said before that you were no king to me. i apologize. i…assumed, childishly, that this world was not subject to the same injustices as mine did. that was naive and idealistic of me. i——” another pause, another deep breath, another sigh. “you have my sword. and my life, if need be.”

          Once before had the mysterious powers of the foreign woman truly left him without words, when her voice alone knocked orcs from their feet. (a power any Nord could posses with practice, she’d claimed) Yet now she moved through this room, her voice echoing in the vacant hall, and he felt the electricity in the air. The air felt thicker with it as she paced towards him, as though sparks would crackle off the metal he wore. 

          Just what powers did this woman possess? 

          Overwhelmed, Thorin could only pinch the bridge of his nose while Elyon said her piece. When she finally finished, and the static receded, Thorin found the words to speak. “Elyon Oathkeeper, I appreciate this vow of service--but you were right in your claim. To you, to them, to anyone beyond the mountains of the dwarves, I am no king. I may lead my kinfolk, but none in middle earth beyond them will recognize me as a king until Erebor is reclaimed. Some, even then, will not see me as king.” The sigh that followed betrayed his age, sounding old and tired. 

          “Your outrage...You speak as though you can move mountains by pushing at their base. You cannot undo centuries of the world’s ways by having a shouting match with an elf. Since our very creation we have been lesser in their eyes, lesser in the eyes of those that made us. Even I know that is not a battle to fight today.” 

[skyshattering]

┆ ❧ ❛ @carvenstoned.

          rivendell was a breath-taking place. the last time she had been this taken aback had been when she had first stepped foot in blackreach. the elven town, however, was an entirely different kind of beauty, with its vibrant greenery and waterfalls. it had led elyon away from the company, up and down staircases and across bridges to take in the architecture of this world’s elves.

         “…dwarves take back the mountain, our defenses in the east will be strengthened.”

         it was gandalf’s voice that perked her ear, made her turn her head towards the sound. the wizard and the elven lord that had greeted them walked side by side across a bridge, voices loud enough to be heard by anyone who cared to listen. she crossed the balcony to be closer to the sound, spotting bilbo just a few feet away, down a small flight of stairs. ( ah, curious little hobbit. ) perhaps it was nosy of her, but still she stood by a ledge, listening to what their exchange.

          “it is also dangerous to do nothing.”           “oh, come, the throne of erebor is thorin’s birthright. what is it you fear?”           “have you forgotten? a strain of madness runs deep in that family. his grandfather lost his mind. his father succumbed to the same sickness. can you swear thorin oakenshield will not also fall?”

          it was all she could stand. the words rubbed her the wrong way, pale fingers clutching the rail with enough force to turn her knuckles white.

          “is this how you treat your guests?” her voice was loud enough to turn the heads of the two. “by criticizing and belittling them the moment they have their heads turned? or by treating their homeland as a pawn in your game? did you only instigate this quest because it was convenient to you?”

          she was terribly out of line, she knew it. yet, she had seen too much and fought too hard to stand by and let them trample all over the one friend she had made in this world.

          “you’ve questioned and doubted him at every step of this quest, not to mention going deliberately around his back, how dare you!? this is his kingdom, his home, not just leverage for you to use when its convenient to you! he is a king, dammit, he deserves your respect, not to have you constantly doubting him and his capabilities!”

          “and if he does fall, then by talos, i will be there to help him back up, as will his kin. his fall is no certain thing. fuck your lack of faith, i believe in him, even if no one else will! how dare you!?”

[carvenstoned]

          He heard them long before he saw them. Before he saw the hobbit standing at the top of the stairs, listening to their conversation. So familiar were these words, echoes of similar things he’d heard with a different name attached. Everywhere the past three heirs of Durin led, doubt followed like a shadow. The madness that befell his forebears now lingered somewhere in the mists ahead of them. 

          Waiting, always waiting, to prove right every word of doubt they whispered.

          It was almost funny, how Gandalf gushed his support in this moment--for his own purposes, of course. He believed when it suited him, it seemed. That was the way of Men, elves, all the tall folk and those beyond their underground havens. Loyalty came and go when it suited them. 

          No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a voice cried out, a harsh shout across the quiet open air. Even his own company would not dare do such a thing, to risk the wrath of the elves giving them shelter, except--

Elyon. 

          Thorin looked up and his stomach fell like an iron weight sat upon it. What audacity had overcome the foreign woman, to shout at the elf-lord that had saved their very lives? Loathe as he was to admit it, they needed him, if only for this moment. 

          Only as he raced up the final few stairs toward her did he realize just what she was saying to them. “And if he does fall... I will be there to help him back up...”

“I believe in him.” 

          There would be time to let the impact of such impassioned words sink in when they were alone. For the moment, he took hold of the Nord’s arm and pulled her back from the balcony. “What in Durin’s name do you think you’re doing?” He hissed, voice low--though no doubt the elf could still hear him. “Do you want to have us thrown into the wilderness in the dead of night?” 

          Further still he pulled her, toward the door of the building behind them. Whatever it was, it was away from them, away from this. “Forgive her--she is not from this land.” The called-out apology very nearly came through his teeth, but he offered what was required of him nonetheless. “She is unfamiliar with the customs of Middle Earth.” 

[carvenstoned]

burglarybusiness:

I’m fairly certain that I’m not anyone’s type. Probably because I don’t have a beard. which is actually fine because beard burn sounds painful.

Now now I’m sure there are plenty of hobbit ladies who would be happy to overlook your beardlessness. It isn’t if you know what you’re doing.

[skyshattering]

          “quite cocky, aren’t we?”     //     ( @carvenstoned. )

[carvenstoned]

          “Were there any falsehoods in what I said? As dear a friend as Bilbo may be, I know my wife’s tastes and he does not suit them.”

[burglarybusiness]

skyshattering:

loves on u

don’t let thorin catch you loving on the hobbit or he might get jealous.

[carvenstoned]

Bilbo... my friend.... no offense but you’re not her type

[carvenstoned]

sends him noods

casually saves these forever 

[carvenstoned]

please disregard my wayward display of affection for fictional memelords that was meant for my personal thank you for your time 

[carvenstoned]

skyshattering:

          “back then, you did not want to steal a kiss from me. you were too busy frowning at me instead.” the teasing was mutual, as usual. far had they come from days spent bickering and arguing, two strong personalities still finding a way to slot into each other without rubbing each other the wrong way. “in fact, you were too busy frowning at everyone around you. except perhaps your nephews.”

          “Make no mistake, I had ample frowns for the lads as well, even if fewer than for anyone else.” The old dwarf spoke freely about the harsher soul he was before, unafraid to poke fun when in such trusted company. “It serves to make me wonder what drew you to me in the first place, for the lack of royal charm I possessed.” 

[carvenstoned]

mctherconfesscr replied to your photo: Is the relentless optimism of the local youth...

holy shit those icons are beautiful. did you make them??

I did the cropping and the “slap the psd on it” bits, but the creative genius behind making such a beautiful psd belongs to @promisestoned! Everything beautiful on all my blogs ever have had a touch of her magic one way or another. Here’s her COMMISSIONS POST if you’re interested! She does themes and icons and all sorts of stuff :D

[carvenstoned]

 @uruking

         Despite the ever-lengthening list of things to be done, despite the devoted efforts to bury himself in every task those surrounding him would allow whilst battle wounds healed, there was no ignoring the monster under the bed. The Defiler waited. Not only in the dungeon cell, but in the back of his mind. In the shadows of Erebor’s halls. The once-called Oakenshield could delay no longer.

          Thus Thorin began a slow journey down into the dungeon, the ruins cleared for a sole occupant. Step after step of bracing himself, none of it enough for the moment he came face to face with his his failure once again. 

He saw his grandfather’s head rolling on the blood-soaked earth. He felt his father’s hands, trembling even as they gripped his shoulders. He heard a sickening thud as his nephew hit cold, icy stone. 

          Would Thorin even have the breath to question him? Would any question he asked give him an answer he could be satisfied with? The newly-crowned king took a breath, found his way out of his head. All that mattered now was the beast in front of him. Whatever there was to be done with him. 

          “There will be no trial for you.” He began, voice cold and low. “I am the judge of your crimes, and decider of your fate. If you can conjure up some reason why you should keep your head...” he approached the bars, and his words came sharp as steel. 

          “Start talking.”

[skyshattering]

┆ ❧ ❛ @carvenstoned.

          “you speak as though my kisses are some rare occasion for you,” despite her words, the dragonborn’s tone was as soft, loving. a smile tugged at her lips, dimpling her cheeks. “silly man. as if you’ve ever had to ask for any of my kisses. you’re allowed to simply take them, you know? they are all for you.”

[carvenstoned]

          “To say I did not ever have to ask might be overstating things.” The low rumbling voice of a mountain king could not disguise the teasing words, nor the slight edge of mischief in a faintly-curling smile. “There was once a time when you may well have struck me had I stolen a kiss from you.”

[carvenstoned]

kisses his forehead

          “What fortune is this, that I should be offered such a gift unbidden?”

[skyshattering]

          WHY CAN’T YOU SEE THAT I AM NO LONGER ONLY HUMAN?           THIS  BODY  IS  NOT  A  TEMPLE  IT  IS  A  BURIAL  GROUND.

[carvenstoned]

heidinnvif:

“Mmm.” Even when Valin did decide to speak, she didn’t always use her voice. Was that a tone of agreement on what she expected him to do, or simply an acknowledgement of his questions? It wasn’t always easy to tell the difference with her. “It’s for him.”

          A noble cause, to give a gift to the humble king of their neighboring kingdom. If nothing else, it answered the question of why she would seek out his help. Until now, she’d scarcely spared him a glance. “A friend of Elyon’s is a friend of mine. Ask what you will of me.” 

[carvenstoned]

heidinnvif:

“You.” The hard knock of bone against stone follows the single word- that sounds more like a grunt when it’s spoken- as the woman’s ax is suddenly held out in front of the dwarven king. A somewhat friendly attempt by the usually unfriendly nord to block his path, so that the smaller man would have to stop and listen to her. “– Need some things.”

@carvenstoned

     Ordinarily, the blade of a weapon gleaming in front of a king’s path would not be treated so lightly. Thorin recognized this stern face, however, as his Elyon’s unusual friend. Quicker to swing the blade she held than speak, this one was. Such a stark contrast to the gentle soul of his nightingale. 

     “And I suppose you expect me to obtain them for you? With the newly crowned king of Dale at your beck and call, why come to me?”