NAME : thorin , son of thrain , son of thror . EYE COLOR : blue like chalcedony stones . HAIR STYLE & COLOR : wavy , loosely curled at the ends , braided by either side of his face , and held by two clasps in the back . black with hints of dark brown in the sunlight , streaked with silver - gray . HEIGHT : four foot five , one-hundred and thirty - seven centimeters . CLOTHING STYLE : layers , velvet , armor scales , hems with geometric designs , different shades of blue , fur collars , gold embedded in his sleeves , and precious stones pressed into his belt . layers that make him look more imposing , wider , and take up as much room as possible . PHYSICAL FEATURES : large , yet sparse brows , a delicate mouth surrounded by a strong , short beard , calloused fingers from battle and hard work , long , curving lashes , big ears , hairy from head to toe , and scarred underneath his layers . should he have lived after the battle of the five armies , he would have had a long scar on his forehead that cut into one of his eyebrows , where the hair ceased to grow .
𝒊𝒊. 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑫 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨 .
FEARS : that the madness that claimed his grandfather and father will also claim him . that he will not match the greatness of his forefathers . more of his family dying . that the outside does not reflect the inside . GUILTY PLEASURE : he enjoys forging rings of all kinds . large rings , small rings . rings made for large gemstones , rings carefully detailed for ceremonies . he does not like to decorate himself and wear a lot of jewelry or beads , but he is fond of adorning his hands with rings . in the blue mountains , among his personal belongings , are ring designs sketched out on scrap pieces of parchment . AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE : reclaim erebor , rule under the mountain , move his people back to their rightful place and secure a better , more deserving life for them all . no more disrespect and hardship . to show them and himself that he is worthy .
𝒊𝒊𝒊. 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑹𝑫 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨 .
FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP : are they all still safe ? are they all still there ? WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT MOST : there is a constant mountain of things that occupies his thoughts . his father , erebor , proving himself as a provider , his brother , his grandfather’s sickness , and so on , circling endlessly without quieting . WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED : is it alright to rest now ? am i needed ? WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS : his loyalty . his loyalty to the cause , to his forefathers’ visions , to traditions , to his willingness to forgo some of his pride for the chance of help ( when he deems fit ) .
𝒊𝒗. 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑻𝑯 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨 .
SINGLE OR GROUP DATES : neither . it does not currently hold his interest , though he would court without a group present if possible . TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED : respected . it does not matter if dignitaries , some of the dwarrows , or even members of the company do not like him , so long as they respect him , his kingship , and his decisions . BEAUTY OR BRAINS : a sound head on one’s shoulders is a must . DOGS OR CATS : neither . like other dwarrows , he does not get along with animals in that manner . he prefers ravens .
𝒗. 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑭𝑰𝑭𝑻𝑯 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨 .
DO THEY LIE : he tends to withhold things , or simply not speak at all , rather than outright lie . he does not mind interrupting a conversation he does not want to partake in by suddenly turning and walking away . he will deflect the questions that he does not want to answer . BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES : he must . he does . perhaps not as deeply sometimes , but he is a king inside and out , and with such a destiny comes confident belief . BELIEVE IN LOVE : familial love is the one love he is familiar with . love for his kin . he believes in them , and thus , believes in the love that they share . WANT SOMEONE : there has not been the occasion for him to consider . a part of him believes that mahal has forged him to be craft - bound , rather than find his one . he has not let himself ask his feelings if he wants someone , however .
𝒗𝒊. 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑰𝑿𝑻𝑯 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨 .
HAVE THEY EVER BEEN ON STAGE : he has stood and spoken to his people many a time . he has had hundreds of eyes looking upon him , listening , yearning . DONE DRUGS : tabacco smoking . CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN : when his work required it of him . men are incredibly prejudiced towards dwarves , as much as the elves , and he learned to endure and take with resolved silence the unkind words and remarks in order the earn his coin . while he never truly changed , he loathed those decades when he had to pretend to .
𝒗𝒊𝒊. 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑯 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨 .
FAVORITE COLOR : deep , dark navy blue . FAVOURITE ANIMAL : a raven . FAVORITE BOOK : he does not have a lot of opportunities to read , and would rather be inside of his head . he might read about durin the deathless , or other heroic tales that are inspiring . FAVORITE GAME : he enjoys watching the “ broken bone race ” , or the pony race on the last day of muhutuzakhmerag ( spring fest ) , because dwalin won the first one , and thorin has a good time seeing dwalin continually try to win the rest against the dwarrows and hobbits that enter the race .
𝒗𝒊𝒊𝒊. 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑬𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻𝑯 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨 .
DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE : december 31st . HOW OLD WILL THEY BE : 195 ( varies ) .
𝒊𝒙. 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑯 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨 .
I LOVE : deeply inside of me , hidden often in dark caverns , and for few does it shine . I FEEL : a calling , a guttering spark . I HIDE : the call of gold , the allure of bright yellow glimmering . I MISS : my family as it was before . I WISH : to prove that i deserve to stand tall among my ancestors in mahal’s halls .
𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑮𝑬𝑫 𝑩𝒀 ; @tharanduil & @anamteine. 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑮𝑰𝑵𝑮 ; whomever would like to do this .
—— SUCH WORRY PAINTED ‘pon visage for the nameless, utterances streaming forth for other to live. heartbeat faint under touch but there, symbol of HOPE as breath of life is continually given. eruption of water from lips — life restored. dwarf had survived, fire surely within veins to continue LIVING ( such strength! ). hand reaches to brush back wet ebony locks, so that deluge is freed, & breaths come forth effortlessly.
“careful.” hushed tone, as to not startle. notes shivering form, grimacing with narrowed emerald gaze ( sky becoming grey, offering no warmth to those ‘neath her ). “breathe.” hand passing through own soaking hair, chest swiftly rising & falling from rescue. “you will survive.”
𝒎𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒍’𝒔 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒅𝒊𝒆 this day ! let breath come forth , he who wielded the oaken - shield , and fight the river inside with the tenacity that gripped ‘pon the fallen branch floating amidst gore . hands formed soaked fists , retching ‘pon the ground ‘til his throat feels sorely stripped , sharpened like a blade ‘pon the anvil of his heaved coughs as if mahal was forging the life back into him . barely is he aware of a hand in his hair , spark - warmth alike that which had brushed his mouth in the daze of near - dying . the shudder that struck him at the contact has the dwarf reaching up his hand to smack the man’s . ❝ ————— do not ————— ❞ he grit out , before breathlessness conquers him , and chin falls to his chest .
o , how the pangs in his chest make color - less his pallor , prodded by some unseen searing poker ‘tween his flesh . breathe , he hears spoken . i will survive , he chants back in his head , unable to form the words out - loud as mouth sputters and posture sags ‘neath puddled attire . may the maker see durin’s son through ! he is the fighter’s bronze , molded by perseverance’s unrelenting hammer . for my people . eyes that had shut open part - way , peering at the man through a glaze and sogging dark lashes . the dwarf lays still ‘pon the ground as he stares . ❝ ————— ... why ? ❞ ‘tis almost accusatory ! fine - haired brows pinched , distrusting countenance wrought with fatigue . why would a man do such a thing for a dwarf ? lids flutter , but sight remains fixated ‘pon the other . why ?
while this may not be a blue hood with a silver tassel , the color palette for thorin’s clothing still reflects j.r.r. tolkien’s book description . thorin is layered with various shades of blue , from the geometrically - patterned blue velvet tunic he wears to the blue of his leather gauntlets adorning both forearms that matches the blue leather of his coat . his scale armor is steel with three gold pieces on either shoulder . the fur lining his outermost layer is from a skinned warg kill , as is the fur on his steel-tipped boots , around which is wrapped leather straps . with long sleeves tucking into leather finger - less gloves to fit beneath his gauntlets and a high collar , nearly every inch of him is covered . beneath his velvet tunic are sewn additional flaps of fabric with scale armor lining the hems that cover the front of his legs . underneath it all , he is dressed in at least one more top layer and a long one-piece undergarment . his sturdy trousers have a leather motif on top of his knees that serves as a form of protection . embedded in his belt - buckle , a design which matches the other geometric patterns that remain constant throughout all his clothing , is a diamond in the center , flanked by lapis lazuli . around the rest of his belt are more steel scale armor pieces with gold scales placed in the middle of them . he wears dark gray wool socks that are somehow usually a bit too big for him .
𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑮𝑬𝑫 𝑩𝒀 ; @jokethur . 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑮𝑰𝑵𝑮 ; whomever would like to do this .
𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒏’𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒈𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 the window with a shimmering light that shone and made gilded where it went o’er the slightly splintered wood - board floor and olden off - color bed - sheets . ‘pon the bed it did melt , turning to golden statues the figures that lay ‘neath its reach . they were entwined in the thread - bare fabric alike gems sleeping tucked in stone crevices , facets snug and formed for the other’s shape . the dwarf stirred when the light glimmered ‘pon his face , lids quivering , dark lashes sweeping o’er the crest of his warmed cheeks before his eyes opened part - way . o , to be at the morning’s bidding ! it spared no mercy for his slumber . its bright beacon washed his sight with white ‘til a few blinks brought his surroundings back to some form less indistinct . ‘twas , with his eyesight’s shortness , not entirely clear , but he was no longer blinded . groaning , his broad chest pushed upward as shoulders stretched , pinched with a hitch of his breath , then settled back ‘pon the creaking bed . he knew well who the head ‘pon one of his shoulders belonged to , of the man draped beside him with hair as molten gold marbled with the dwarf’s streaked obsidian . he turned his head towards him , sluggish smile forming .
❝ ... mamamshul - ‘ibinê , ❞ he murmured , ❝ ————— gilderoy . ❞ bearded chin canted slightly upwards , mouth brushing ‘tween his bonded’s brows . breathing the man in , eyes fell once more shut . he did not like the thought of departing from this most heart - full moment that overflowed ‘neath his skin and solidified ‘round his marrow , making within him a cast of ardor - metal . is this truly meant for me ? he had endured o’er a century of craft - bound regality without room for naught but ensuring the dwarrows of erebor persevered . did i do enough ? the work of durin’s line is so oft undone , and undone , and undone . am i allowed this joy ... ? his forehead creased , throat working . the hair - covered arm wrapped ‘neath and ‘round gilderoy’s shoulders tightened , drawing him in closer . he is selfish ! the dwarf wishes the other to wake with him , to hear his sounds before they come ‘pon the nearing hour when he would have to go to the forge . ❝ gilderoy ? ❞ deep but insistent , eyes opening . mouth finds the man’s , and graces ‘pon it a demanding kiss decked in destitute longing .
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅 o’er the land , darkening ‘round the fringes of light like a fist prepared to grip . skies turn gray with the migration of foul intent , wings ‘pon which herald destruction’s nigh flight . the dark lord spread his fingers and hence rode outward along his murky knuckle a dark - clad horseman to erebor’s gates . it dripped with hobbits and the rings of old to the white - raven king , and spoke thusly , for sauron knows that one of these was known to you on a time . twice it came before him , and once more was promised as it went on its way . a threat ! he knew it was such as he had stood crowned in finery ‘pon the gate , sight following the shape of it riding yonder . left behind was a dread alike the cold press of steel . bilbo . we must warn the hobbit !
hastened the mountain - king on the journey to rivendell . whilst elves are liked least by him , the passing seasons and a certain hobbit’s insistences had taught him to quell such dislike for kingdom’s sake . tucked within his robes was kept this last correspondence from bilbo , in which the hobbit had told his intentions to set out ‘pon the road once more to erebor . the dwarf’s chest felt clutched by sharp , gelid metal . do not let it be because of me . mahal , do not let him be found ! swift was the pace , despite olden solidity slipping , slowing his movement . fíli was left to serve as the mountain’s interim sovereign , and for council with the elves , glóin and his son gimli had departed with him .
the king ‘neath the mountain strode through the valley’s bridge and stone - paths after ignoring the elves’ irksome greeting , breath quick and a distraught pallor seeping through his stoicism’s stiff - lipped mien . ❝ bilbo ? master baggins ? ❞ leaves crunched under his hurried , stomping steps , eyes glancing to and fro ‘round statues and decoration . suddenly , swept out in front of him is a clearing of sorts , and he halted . the breeze shifted through the strands of silver streaming down his head and about his face , tucking ‘round his fur - clad shoulders . why did i stop ? sight slid slowly ‘til it settled ‘pon a distant bench which held like a pedestal faint figures . he drew closer bit by bit , the corners of his eyes tapered uncertainly . solace is found when the dwarf - king recognizes one of them . ❝ ————— bilbo , ❞ breathed like he had been holding it inside for far too long . i know those leaden curls . the hobbit was slumbering , head ‘pon the lap of an ... elf - maiden .
she , with beauty fairer than crystal ! sparkling despite the yawning darkness . he looked ‘pon her with incredulous wonder , mouth parted slightly ‘neath his colorless beard . briefly does he stare before he shakes himself like a raven’s fluttering feathers . dipping his head into a graceful bow , chin to chest , before eyes lift ‘neath grayed lashes . he finds himself standing before the bench and the elf , and with a dignified lean , turning his head as tresses spilled o’er , he gave to her a tender press of his lips to her smooth cheek before his posture pulled back . she was like cool fountain waters to his reassurance’s thirst . ❝ ... you have my gratitude , ❞ he proclaimed deeply , benevolent sight flitting ‘tween her and the hobbit. ❝ ————— for looking after him . ❞ the smile ‘pon his mien is subdued , but glimmering genuine .
you cannot get over the past . you are constantly remembering , never forgetting . you cant live in the moment because the moment is not what brought you here . you are birthed , raised , and killed in the past . you will never get over what was done to you , be it big or be it small . you cannot escape what you refuse to confront .
𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑮𝑬𝑫 𝑩𝒀 ; @solereus & @jokethur . 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑮𝑰𝑵𝑮 ; whomever would like to do this .
words reached his ears and yet he froze in place like a statue , staring so very obviously at the one standing there . never had he come across a dwarf before , very rarely did he see a man in those parts , but a dwarf was a true sight to behold . he perhaps realised how stupid he looked , quickly taking life once more to brush off his dirties hands , brown smears left on tanned pants before he extended a hand . did dwarves even shake hands ?? he supposed he would find out . they were exactly as bilbo had said in his stories , perhaps a little too accurate , after all many folk did not see his tales to be true .
’ samwise gamgee . ‘ he stated his name before pausing again , he didn’t answer his question with his name . ‘ uh ————- yes , i’m master bilbo’s gardener . not that he mentioned anyone would be coming to meet him mind . he left with master frodo not too long ago , usually comes back around noon . i didn’t know he’d be having visitors , i would have made some tea or something . ‘
his arm moved to offer up the bench to him . ‘ feel free to take a seat though , he shouldn’t be too long mister uhm ?? ‘ he was quick to fumble , hobbits may enjoy company but with no home to offer him into and no food or drink to give he could only grab the water that he had and offer that to him now . he supposed he should go back to his gardening and yet a million questions burned in the back of his mind , far too distracted now to think about the weeds .
𝒂 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒘 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒖𝒑𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒔 , awaiting words that were not babble with regally hewn composure . if one thing has not changed , came his thoughts , it is this place and its people ! nature’s gems enriched it with as many colors as a treasury , and its inhabitants ever tended to its shimmer . chalcedony - blue eyes blinked at the gesture , but mirth’s glimmer upturns the corners of his mouth , bringing out his ringed hand to grasp the other’s , squeezing it once momentarily before releasing it . ❝ ————— mister gamgee , ❞ he repeated in baritone acknowledgement , head canting slightly sideward . ❝ i arrived ahead of our arrangement . he did not expect me for another week . ❞ the dwarf is early this time , instead of late . he glanced back towards the painted gleam of the emerald door and , by his declining eyesight’s faceted folly , the edges that faded ‘round a core of clarity . a deep chuckle came , shaking his head a tad as strands spill like silver streams down his shoulders . ❝ no need , mister gamgee . i can wait . ❞
❝ ————— ... thorin , ❞ is the title he presents to the gardener , the second bow of his head gifted with greater sincerity . gardeners must have status in the shire , after all , he decides . ‘pon these lands are the generosity of mahal’s wedded , wife of the maker . he , mahal’s child of the rock , could not quite fathom holding grass and trees more priceless o’er gold and tourmaline . how long ago it seemed that he had berated gandalf for such differences . they drink out of clay , and they cannot tell a gem from a bead of glass ! had been the retort embedded with his shining ire . much of his stance had forever entirely shifted by the renowned journey’s end .
glancing to the offered bench , he stepped towards it , metal - tipped boots tramping ‘pon the greenery with the weight of his finery . seated , eyes looked skyward . some time , then , before bilbo returns . sight then settled ‘pon the gardener expectantly , as if thinking that the hobbit would take a seat beside him . his head inclined towards the bench’s unoccupied room . ‘tis the manner of a ruler oft in the presence of company , presuming such collective graces to be performed still . does this hobbit know the tale ? he has nary a crown on his head nor has he mentioned his regality , but such royalty is bound deep into his every crevice and action . ❝ how long have you been a gardener for master baggins ? ❞ is inquired in a drawl . ❝ it must be quite a task ————— this entire land looks to me like a garden . ❞
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒏𝒖𝒍𝒃𝒊𝒛𝒂𝒓 , 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒊. then thorin looked up , and found that it was indeed the body of thrór , but the head was severed off and lay face downward .
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