First off, big huge ginormous thanks to @ye3honk for the image above!! 😍 EDIT: No longer coming soon, it is now HERE!!
So please give Yeehonk some MASSIVE LOVE for this commission. 🥰 And check below for a little teaser to this fic. 😁
Princes don’t cry. Princes don’t cry.
It was a mantra Thorin had heard from his grandfather on many different occasions that he tried to hold tight to when he could feel the stubborn tears stinging at the back of his eyelids. He didn’t cry when Heor and his buddies roughed him up for being younger and his greater crime, annoying. He didn’t cry when Dis broke his toy soldiers. He didn’t cry when Mahal took his mom from them far too early. And he didn’t cry when the dragon came and stole their home. So although he was lost and alone, huddled underneath a large oak tree as he waited for Balin to find him, he wasn’t even going to consider crying now. Because princes don’t cry.
Thorin tried to ignore the blood staining his pant leg from where he scraped his knee when he fell and the little thorns still nestled in his palms. He didn’t mean to run off, but they had been walking for such a long time! Thorin just wanted them to be at their new home already, instead of his dad constantly asking him to entertain Frerin and Dis when they got fussy or the nights spent in the open where every noise sounded like wargs ready to attack. That’s why when Balin volunteered to get firewood as they stopped the caravan for the afternoon, Thorin decided he was going to follow him and maybe finally get a little peace to himself. However, then he fell down that hill and through the thorny thicket…
Thorin whimpered again as his knee and hands started to throb. He could try calling for Balin or his dad again, but that hadn’t worked the first fifty times Thorin had done it. Thorin curled in on himself as tight as he could without hurting. He wasn’t used to being ignored, and he really, really didn’t want to be alone right now.
Thorin jumped to his feet, whirling around and screaming. Up in the upper branches of the tree, bouncing around like a little squirrel was a small boy with big feet. Thorin didn’t know what to make of him. He didn’t think he was a dwarf, but he was far too small to be a man or an elf. Although the pointy ear peeking out of his curls did have him questioning the growth cycle of elves. He watched as the boy finally made it down to his level, flipping himself on the bottom branch to appear upside down before Thorin.
“I’m Bilbo!” He introduced. “Here. Want to be my friend?”
Thorin hesitantly accepted the small acorn, not quite sure what to do with it. No one’s ever wanted to be friends with him. Dwalin was his friend, but he grew up with Dwalin so it didn’t count. Very slowly, Thorin nodded, causing the boy to grin widely before jumping to land back on the ground. He wasn’t as short as Thorin had originally thought, actually managing to be just a little shy of him, so Thorin still wasn’t convinced he was an elf. Maybe.
Having become convinced of Thorin’s reciprocation in their friendship, Bilbo immediately started talking rapidly as he started collecting acorns off the ground. Thorin followed him, not sure what else he should do, but understanding very little. Balin had been teaching him westron, but Thorin was still learning. It was such a stupid language. Why couldn’t everyone just learn to speak khuzdul instead? Even though his dad told him it was Mahal’s secret language, it just made more sense to him. It was quiet, and Thorin looked up to see Bilbo staring at him expectantly.
“I asked, what’s your name?” Bilbo repeated, not the least bit put out.
Thorin suddenly straightened up. Balin would be appalled at his manners.
“Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. At your service.” He bowed.
Bilbo’s mouth formed an ‘o’ before repeating the motion back to him. He went on to ask him about something else, but Thorin could only shake his head, frustrated that he didn’t understand. Realizing the issue, Bilbo pointed to the side of his head and repeated the question.
Thorin copied the motion before feeling his plaits. He wondered if this is what Bilbo was referring to.
“M-Mababnulzant (B-Braid)?” Thorin questioned, not knowing the westron equivalent.
Bilbo blinked at him, his hand falling to his side as he cocked his head to the side.
Thorin knew it was rude, but he couldn’t help laughing at the truly awful pronunciation. Bilbo grinned in response, coming up with an even worse way to butcher the word. The both dissolved into a fit of giggles that had Thorin clutching his stomach when the little nettles in his hands moved.
Bilbo stopped, his eyes rounded with concern as he reached for Thorin’s hand. When he saw the thorns and blood, the other boy winced in sympathy.
“Ow.” He repeated. “It hurts?”
Bilbo’s lips pressed into a thin line before he grabbed Thorin gently by the wrist, leading him away from the tree. Thorin dug in his heels hesitantly, but Bilbo only gave him an encouraging grin. He said something to Thorin, but all he could grasp was ‘come’, ‘mama’, and ‘help’. Not sure what to do, but hoping Bilbo would actually be able to help since they were friends now, Thorin let him lead the way through the forest. He tried not to despair as nothing seemed familiar to him. Luckily, Bilbo seemed to know the way very well. In almost no time at all, the trees began to thin and large hills dominated the landscape. Thorin thought that alone would have amazed him the most, but the moment they passed through the treeline, they became the subject of the stares of several beardless faces.
All of the people had Bilbo’s same curly hair, same large feet, and same pointy ears even if they came in all different shapes and sizes and colors. Thorin thought he finally understood now. This was Bilbo’s clan! So he clearly wasn’t an elf then. Thorin ran through his lessons with Balin on the seven clans. Well Longbeards, Firebeards, and Stiffbeards were definitely out. Blacklocks didn’t seem likely either. Feet, there was one having to do with feet…OH! They must be from the Stonefoot Clan.
